Chase McDonald threw the doors open and jumped down the concrete steps at the front of 
the building. He hit the ground running and cut across the square, dodging pedestrians 
and a food cart, moving through a series of stone planter boxes. He reached the sidewalk 
and saw that this quarry was a good distance ahead. August emerged from an alley behind 
him and raced to catch up with his partner. No sooner had the detectives introduced 
themselves to Paul Brannon had the man, wanted on suspicion of armed robbery, bolted out 
of the room, leading them on a wild chase through the hallways of the office building 
before finally heading outside.
	Paul suddenly changed course and ran across the street at an angle. Chase and 
August cut across, looking back with one arm out to signal for the coming traffic to 
brake. They did, screeching to halts and blowing their horns. Stepping up onto the other 
sidewalk, Paul shoved people out of his way left and right. One crashed into a row of 
newspaper stands, and another was thrown back onto an outdoor table at a small cafe, 
causing it to fall over. Paul also managed to pull down some chairs and tables to block 
the detectives' path.
	Chase and August stepped through the mess as best they could. Paul looked over his 
shoulder and saw they were still on him, so he figured he'd lose them in the traffic. He 
took to the road again, but this time, instead of cutting across to the opposite sidewalk, 
he ran up through the traffic . . . oncoming traffic.
	"Geez!" August yelled as a car almost hit the guy.
	They had no choice but to follow, and they ran up the road through oncoming traffic 
after him. Cars blew their horns and swerved left or right. Paul tried tricking some 
vehicles, suddenly cutting left inside of right, hoping to send the truck or car right 
into Chase and August. But he had no such luck. The detectives were quick to react, staying 
far enough back to save their own skin. Literally. Bystanders on the sidewalks stood and 
pointed in shock as they saw the three men weave up through the traffic. Tourists from out 
of country where too busy snap picture after picture to really worry about what was going 
on.
	When he realized his plan had no affect, Paul turned left and stepped back up onto 
the sidewalk, into an alley. Chase followed, August right on his heels, starting to feel 
exhausted. Paul poured on all the speed he had as he ran down the alley, head held high, 
arms swinging and legs pumping. At the other end he turned right, and slammed into the 
back of two men. He fell to the ground.
	The men turned and saw Paul lying on the ground, gasping for air. "What the hell?" 
one said. "You all right?"
	Paul nodded, but then saw that both men had detective badges hanging from their 
jacket pockets. He closed his eyes and hung his head back, gasping, "Ah man."
	"Police," Chase yelled as he exited the alley. "Hold him."
	The two men looked at each other and grabbed ahold of Paul as he tried to get up. He 
struggled to get free, but then Chase was upon him, and he gave up. Chase slapped his hands 
on Paul's shoulders, gasping for air. "Thanks, detectives."
	The second man smiled. "We're not detectives."
	"What?"
	The first laughed. "We're actors," he said, turning. Between them, Chase saw the set 
of a movie, with lights, cameras, and a full crew of technicians.
	Paul was shocked with disbelief, not believing he had surrendered to two actors when 
he could have easily slipped away. Chase started to laugh. "You gotta be kidding me," he 
said. "Well, I'll tell you what. Since you guys caught this guy for me, I'll be in line on 
opening day."
	"It's a deal," the second actor said, then he and the other walked off laughing.
	Chase turned back and started walking with one hand around Paul's arm. August was 
coming out of the alley. "August. You'll never guess who stopped our man."

Los Angeles was suffering from one of the worst rainstorms in recent memory. For five 
days straight there had been constant downpours without a moment of clear sky, and every 
forecaster in the city predicted the wet weather would last longer than they had earlier 
estimated. 
	It was a quarter after four when Stan Winters was awoke by the sound of breaking 
glass. He sat up quickly. His wife, Margaret, aroused by the sudden movement, turned over. 
"What is it?" 
	"I thought I heard something." He turned his head slightly, listening. 
	"Probably just the rain. Go back to bed." She rolled back onto her side. There was 
another sound of breaking glass, and she sat up instantly, too. 
	Stan threw the sheets back and swung his feet over the side of the bed. "Stay here," 
he said, and grabbed the baseball bat he kept between the bed and the nightstand. 
	"Stan, are you crazy? Get back here." 
	"Just call the police," he whispered. "I'm gonna look." 
	"Stan. Stan." It was no use, as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. 
"Crazy old fool," she mumbled angrily, grabbing the phone from the nightstand. 
	Stan made his way down the hall, holding the bat close to his face. He could hear 
the storm raging on outside. He stopped suddenly as a dark figure dashed by the end of the 
hallway. Someone was definitely in the house. He tightened his grip and moved on, slowly, 
his bare feet touching the cold hardwood floor. When he reached the entrance, he paused 
and looked around the corner. 
	He could hear movement, desk drawers opening and closing, footsteps, and a flashlight 
beaming flashing around in the living room. Cautiously, he left the hallway and walked 
through the dining room. As dark as it was, and with such little moonlight coming in the 
windows, he could hardly see where he was going, and bumped into one of the chairs at the 
dining table. 
	In the living room, the intruder stopped and looked up, hunched over the desk. He 
glanced about. 
	Stan stood in the darkness and cursed himself silently. He proceeded forward toward 
the arched opening to the living room. When he came out, he saw the flashlight lying on 
the desktop, pointing across the room. He squinted, trying to see through the dark. He 
slowly looked from left to right, raising the bat and standing ready to strike. 
	Without warning, something crashed into him from behind. He fell to the floor, the 
bat spinning across the room. He turned over and saw a man, hidden in shadows, towering 
before him. "Please," Stan pleaded. "Don't hurt me. Please." 
	The man just stood there, staring. Then he raised his right arm, and in a flash of 
lightning, Stan the stainless steel pistol clenched his fist. 
	"Oh, God, no. Please. Please, no." 
	"Stan?" Margaret's voice shouted. "Stan, are you okay?" She was coming down the hall. 
	The man looked over his shoulder, then looked back down at Stan. "Tonight's you're 
lucky night, old man," he said, then ran toward the front of the house. 
	Margaret came into the living and stopped in shock. "Stan!" She ran forward, 
kneeling to help him up. "Are you okay? What happened?" 
	He sat up, putting a hand to the back of his head. "I'm okay. He hit me from behind." 
	A crash. They both turned and looked down the entryway. The front door was wide 
open, nothing but heavy, drenching sheets of rain beyond the porch. The intruder was gone.



The next morning, several black-and-white and unmarked police units were outside, going 
over the Winters' home. Stan was sitting on the couch, holding a cold-pack to the back of 
his head. Chase McDonald was standing before him, writing notes on a pad of paper. "Can 
you describe the assailant for me, Mr. Winters?" 
	"It was really dark," the old man said. "I couldn't really see good, especially 
without my glasses. But he was tall. I could tell that much." 
	"How tall would you say he was?" 
	He thought for a moment. "Oh, I don't know. Five-eleven or so. Maybe six. Yeah, I'd 
say he was about six feet tall." 
	"And hair? Eyes?" 
	Stan shook his head. "No. I didn't see any of that." 
	"What was he wearing?" 
	"He was dressed all dark. Black pants, black gloves, black jacket. I'm afraid I don't 
remember much more than that. Sorry, detective." 
	"That's okay." Chase swung the pad closed and pocketed it and the pen. "How's your 
head?" 
	Stan adjusted his hold on the cold-pack. "Still a little sore, but I'll be alright." 
	"Mac," a voice called. 
	"Excuse me, Mr. Winters." He walked over to see August Brooks standing at the desk. 
"What is it, August?" 
	"Our suspect's flashlight. Must have left in a hurry and forgot it." 
	"What do you think our chances are he touched it without his gloves?" 
	August shook his head. "Zilch, but it's worth a shot." He put the flashlight into a 
large plastic evidence bag. "We'll have Annie check it out." He called a uniformed officer 
over and handed him the bag. "Get this over to forensics right away." 
	"Think it's the same guy?" Chase asked. 
	"Two robberies in the same neighborhood in two days? It's a safe bet." They walked 
toward the front door. "Get anything from the victim?" 
	"Just an estimated height and that he was dressed all in black. Better than the 
previous descriptions." 
	"What was stolen?" 
	"A gold watch and an antique coin collection." 
	"That it?" 
	Chase nodded. "I think our guy's plans went off track when he had to deal with Mr. 
Winters. Otherwise, he probably would've cleaned out the house." 
	They came out onto the porch and stopped, looking out at the rain. "When is this 
rain gonna stop?" August complained, zipping his jacket up. "I'm sick of it. Sick. I can't 
do any work in the backyard because of it." 
	"I don't know, August. I kinda like the rain." 
	"What?" He laughed. "Yeah, you would." 
	"I like it when it rains. And besides: it's easier to warm up when it's cold, then 
cool down when it's hot." 
	"Well, I'll give you that," August said, and then they ran through the rain to their 
car.



August drove through the wet streets of Los Angeles as Chase dug into a crinkled bag, 
lifted a handful of something to his mouth, and ate it. "What is that?" 
	"Goldfish," he said, chewing, then offered the bag to his partner. "Want some?" 
	August held his hand up. "No, thanks." 
	Chase just shrugged and took the bag back, ate some more. "They're baked, not fried, 
so they're better for you." 
	"So, how are your sessions with Judith going?" 
	"I hate to admit it, but I think she was right about me coming to see her. I've 
really been feeling a lot better since they started." 
	"Well, I'm glad for you, man. I can't say I know what you went through after Nicole 
was . . . you know . . ."
	Chase nodded.
	"But I'm glad you're finally opening up about it. To tell you the truth, I was 
always a little worried about you after it happened."
	"Yeah?"
	"Yeah. I mean, it's been over a year since the incident, and you've hardly ever 
mentioned it. You looked okay on the outside, but I had a feeling it was eating you up on 
the inside. Kendra did, too."
	"Well, I think these sessions are gonna pay off."
	"I hope so. Now give me some of those Goldfish."



Coming into the station, they bumped into James Harris walking down the hall. He looked 
up. "Hey, guys," he said, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. 
	"Something wrong?" Chase asked. 
	"Oh, it's my wife." 
	The two glanced at one another. "Your wife?" August said. "We didn't know you were 
married." 
	"Yeah, well, we're married but we've been separated for awhile now. She's still up 
in Seattle." 
	"That why you're bummed?" Chase asked. 
	"Well, that's part of the reason." 
	"And the other?" 
	"I don't think we're gonna be getting back together anytime soon. I just talked to 
her. I'm thinking divorce." 
	"Ooh," Chase said. "I'm sorry." 
	"Yeah, me, too." 
	"Thanks, guys. I'll see you later." He walked away. 
	They watched him go, then headed on down the hall. "You ever worry about that 
happening with you and Kendra?" 
	"Nope. Our marriage is just fine and I don't see it taking any detours." 
	They reached their desks. "You know, come to think of it, I don't think I've ever 
seen you two have an argument." 
	"Um, well, we've had our share. Every marriage does. But fortunately my baby's 
understanding." 
	"She understands you apologize all the time, even if it's not your fault?" 
	August nodded. "Yup." 
	"That's what I thought."



Jack Nelson made his way to the bar and took a seat next to a man wearing a blue baseball 
cap. He asked the bartender for a beer. "I've got your stuff, Charlie," he said, after 
the bartender gave him his order and left. 
	Charlie Morton adjusted his hat and said without looking, "Any problems?" 
	"More like a little inconvenience," Jack said. "You said they were supposed to be 
gone, but they were still very much there. But don't worry. I got what you wanted." 
	Charlie took a drink. "Let's see it." 
	Jack handed him a small bag. Charlie reached in and pulled out the first item, an 
antique gold watch. He thumbed the button and sprung the lid open, looking at the face of 
the watch. He snapped it shut and returned it to the bag, then pulled out what looked 
like a thin book. He opened it to reveal an array of antique coins, from shiny copper to 
rust-colored. He nodded in satisfaction, smiling as he returned the collection to the bag 
and pulled the string, closing it. 
	"Good," he said. 
	"Nice doing business with you." Jack took a final drink. 
	"I got another run to make in an hour." 
	"I'll be awaiting your call, then," Jack said, and left.



With Cragmeyer off for the week, Annie Mason was in charge of forensics. "Nothing," she 
said, and dropped the papers on the desk. "No prints on the flashlight." 
	August picked the bagged flashlight up and looked at it. 
	"Anything special?" Chase asked. 
	Annie shook her head. "Just your typical Maglight." 
	"Wait a minute. Let me see that." He took the bag from August and looked at the 
flashlight. "Even a robber has to change the batteries in his flashlights," he said, to 
which Annie raised her eyebrows knowingly. 
	It was obvious the idea hadn't occurred to her, and she said, "Let's check it out." 
	They followed her over to one of the tables, where she took the Maglight from the 
bag and unscrewed the bottom, dumping one of the Energizers into her palm. Grabbing a 
fingerprint brush, she applied the necessary compound to the battery. The detectives 
looked on from behind her. Finished, she held the battery up in the light. 
	"I think we got a print," she concluded. "Looks like it's just a partial, but it 
might still work. Good thinking, Chase." 
	He smiled. "Thank you, Annie." 
	"Too bad you don't always think like that," she added sarcastically, walking away 
with the battery. 
	August tried to keep his laughter down. Chase looked at him. "What do you find so 
funny?"



Captain Jensen was talking to someone when Chase and August entered his office. "Sorry, 
Captain," Chase said. "We didn't know you were with someone." 
	"That's alright," the captain said. 
	"I know what voice," the person in the chair said, and stood. "Hello, Chase." 
	Chase seemed surprised. "Catherine?" he asked as he walked up. 
	"Yeah." She was tall, wearing jeans and a leather jacket over a wool sweater. Her 
black hair fell to her shoulders. They embraced, old friends who had not seen each other 
for a long time. 
	"You two know each other?" Jensen asked. 
	"Yeah. Yeah, uh, Catherine and I knew each other when I was back in the Academy years 
ago. We were parters for awhile, too, after we graduated." 
	"Oh," Jensen said. 
	August cleared his throat. "Oh, Catherine," Chase said. "This is my partner, August 
Brooks. August, this is Catherine Chang." 
	"How do you do?" August said as they exchanged handshakes. 
	"Fine. Nice to meet you." 
	"So, what are you doing here in L.A.?" Chase asked. 
	"Catherine's just transferred out," Jensen explained. 
	"Really? That's great." 
	"Yeah, well, it wasn't under the best circumstances," she said. "Remember your old 
buddy Victor Velardi?" 
	Chase almost laughed. "Victor? Ha. I'd forgotten all about him." 
	"Well, turned out he'd been on the take for the last couple years. Several other 
cops knew about it and helped keep it a secret. When my testimony put him away, I didn't 
want to have to worry about one of them taking me out, so I decided to put in for a transfer 
and come out." 
	"Vic on the take?" Chase asked. "Man. He was quite an ass in the Academy, but I never 
thought he'd do that." 
	"Well, he did, and now he's serving fifty to life." 
	"Hate to interrupt the reunion here, people," Jensen said, "but what were you coming 
to tell me, Chase?" 
	"Oh, right. August and I found a flashlight at the house that was robbed. Checked it 
out and there were no prints, but we found a partial one on one of the batteries inside. 
Annie's running it for a match right now." 
	"Good, good." He grabbed his coat from the wall. "I've got a meeting with the 
commissioner, so I'll see you all later. Keep me posted. Welcome aboard, Catherine." 
	As they walked out of the office, August said, "I gotta make a call, Chase. Nice 
meeting you, Catherine." 
	"Nice meeting you." 
	Chase and her stood in the hall in a bit of an awkward stage, not really knowing 
what to say. "So," he said, but the silence returned. They both laughed. "It's really great 
to see you again." 
	"It's great to see you, too, Chase. I'm free for lunch today if you'd like to get 
together?" 
	"Sure. That sounds great." They walked back toward his desk, talking and laughing 
about their days together in the Academy.



Charlie Morton replaced the box over the thermostat and gave it a final look-over. "Well, 
I'd say you're all set, Mrs. Templer." 
	He was standing in the living room of Julia Templer's house, having just finished 
repairs on her heating/air conditioning unit. He wore a pair of dark coveralls with 
Fischer Heating and Air embroidered on the back. He gathered his tools and started 
returning them to the toolbox. 
	"Thank you so much," she said. "My husband will be happy to know we could find a 
repairman for a reasonable price." 
	Charlie laughed. "Yeah, I know what you mean. We know how high some of those other 
places can get. Those are some remarkable antiques you got there," he said, gesturing at 
the display. 
	A glass cabinet displayed dozens of antique statuettes, some bronze, some gold, 
some silver. "Oh, yeah. My husband's. He's crazy about them. I just see them as a nuisance. 
Just old junk collecting dust. But Jonathan, he loves them. So much do I owe you?" 
	"Well, let me put my tools away and I'll write everything up." 
	Moments later, Mrs. Templer's check folded in his chest pocket, he walked out to 
his van and climbed in, setting the toolbox in the passenger seat. He backed out of the 
driveway and straightened up in the street. As he drove away, he grabbed his cell-phone 
from the dashboard and dialed. 
	"Yeah, it's me," he said when the other end was answered. "I've got another place 
for you."



Two hours later, Chase and Catherine were sitting at a table in Sevens. Outside, the rain 
continued to pour thickly. "So, how's the old gang? Just about all of them transfered 
back there with you." 
	"Everybody's doing great. Joe finally made detective." 
	Chase laughed. "I used to tease that guy so much about being on beat patrol for 
the rest of his life." 
	She laughed, too. "Yeah. John and Irene had a kid. A boy. They're doing good. 
Everybody else is still just hanging around, doing what they were doing when you were 
still there." 
	"Man. It's been years since I've seen all those guys. I've got to get back to New 
York one of these days. So what about you? What have you been up to since I left?" 
	"Not much. Took down a major drug dealer a couple months back. Set up this huge 
sting operation. Almost went south, but we pulled it off. Couple officers were injured 
pretty badly, but in the end, we got the bad guys and didn't lose a single cop." 
	"How's your sister?" 
	"Michelle's doing good. She's doing pretty good for herself. She managed to turn 
her life around. Kicked the drugs, got a good job at an advertising company--personal 
assistant to the Editor In Chief, no less. Met a great guy, got engaged. The marriage is 
sometime next year. She's not sure yet." 
	"That's great. You know, I was always worried about how you might be if anything 
ever happened to her. You two were so close." 
	"Yeah, I always wondered that myself. I almost lost it when she OD'ed a couple 
years back. That was the turning point. I don't know what happened to her in the hospital, 
but when she came out after that, she was a completely different person." 
	"That's good to hear." 
	"What about you? Is there a Mrs. McDonald?" 
	Chase laughed. "No. There could've been, but it never happened." 
	"Why not?" 
	"Well, let's just say that she was never too crazy about me being a cop. She thought 
I should stick to my medal sculpting and make my life as an artist." 
	"What happened to her? She still around?" 
	He shook his head. "No. She got a job offer from an art gallery in Dallas. She 
wanted me to quit the force and move there with her, but I just couldn't do it. She's 
engaged now, though. I'm happy for her." 
	"That's good. So, you still sculpt, hu?" 
	"Yeah. I haven't had much time for it recently, but I do it when I can." 
	"You know, um . . . I was thinking earlier. Since I'm going to be out here in L.A. 
now, I was thinking maybe we could pick up again what we once had?" 
	She reached out and put her hand atop his. He smiled. "That's certainly a 
possibility. We had a lot of fun together, didn't we? Remember the day we went to Coney 
Island?" 
	She laughed. "Oh, how could I forget? That hotdog must've been there since the 30s. 
But really. I was thinking about us on the flight out here. I think if you had stayed, 
something great could have happened with us." 
	Chase smiled. "Yeah. Probably." There was an awkward moment of silence, and then 
his phone started ringing. He grabbed it from his inside coat pocket. "McDonald. Okay. 
I'll be right there." 
	"Duty calls?" 
	He returned the phone to his pocket. "Forensics got a name back from the print we 
found. August is waiting for the guy's file to come in," he said, standing. 
	She stood and grabbed her coat as Chase dropped some money on the table, and they 
headed out of the restaurant.



August was in the forensics lab when Chase and Catherine entered. "Our mystery man is 
revealed," August said as they walked up. 
	Chase introduced Annie and Catherine to each other, then said, "Okay. Who's our 
burglar?" 
	August opened the file. "Wanted for burglary, murder, attempted murder, armed 
robbery, and assault, our mystery man's real name is Jack Nelson, and--" 
	"Jack Nelson?" Chase grabbed the file, looking at the mug shot paperclipped inside. 
	August traded a look with Annie. "You know him?" 
	Chase stared at the picture for a long moment before looking up at his partner. 
"He's the guy that killed my father." 
	August didn't know how to respond, and he looked at Annie and Catherine in concern. 
Chase stared at the mug shot, the eyes of the person who had taken his father from him 
glaring back. "I thought your father killed both of those bank robbers?" August asked. 
	Chase said without looking up, "No. Everyone did. But the police found him a couple 
weeks later. They came close to getting him, but he got away." 
	"His last known address was a place in Oregon, so that's no good. Don't worry, Mac. 
Something'll turn up. We'll catch this guy." 
	Chase said nothing, just kept staring at the mug shot. August answered his phone when 
it rang. "Brooks. Where? We're on our way." He hung up. "Just had another robbery." 
	Chase gave the file back to Annie. "Let's go."

The house was crawling with police, uniformed and plain-clothed, when they arrived. 
Chase pulled alongside the curb, and they climbed out and hurried through the rain to 
the front porch. In the living room, a paramedic was tending to Julia Templer, sitting 
on the couch. The man put a bandage on her forehead to coverage the bruise and left. 
	"Mrs. Templer?" August asked. 
	She nodded. "Yes." 
	"I'm Detective Brooks. This is my partner, Detective McDonald. Can you give us a 
description of the suspect?" 
	Chase glanced around the room as she gave the expected description: he had a hood 
over his head and something covering his face, and was dressed all in dark clothing. But 
he was tall; she estimated around six feet or so. 
	"What was taken?" Catherine asked. 
	"A lot of my husband's antique collection." Julia led them over to the display 
cabinet, where the windows were busted out and almost all of the shelves were empty. Glass 
crunched under their shoes. "He took just about all of them." 
	"What were they?" Chase asked. 
	"Antique statuettes. Gold, silver, bronze. My husband collected them from all over 
the world. It cost him a fortune." 
	"Did you walk in on the robbery?" 
	She nodded. "I was out back in the garden working and came in to get something. I 
heard a noise coming from in here, and when I came into the room, I saw someone putting 
the statuettes into a large bag. When I ran out to grab the phone, he came after me, spun 
me around, and hit me on the head. I must have hit my head pretty hard on the kitchen 
floor when I fell, because the next thing I knew I was waking up and he was gone. That's 
when I called the police." 
	Chase had wondered around the living room, looking for anything that stood out. On 
the desk he found some business cards. One was stamped Fischer Heating and Air. He picked 
it up and looked at it. It looked familiar. Catherine came up behind him while August 
finished questioning Julia. "What is it?" 
	"A business card for a heating and air company. I've seen it before somewhere. But 
where?" He looked up, thinking. Then it hit him, and his eyes widened.



"Fischer Heating and Air? Yeah, they were here," Stan Winters's voice said. 
	"When exactly?" Chase asked, standing on the front porch of the Templer house. 
	"The morning of the robbery. We wanted them to check our heating system before we 
went on vacation, but we ended up staying when my wife got sick." 
	"Did you mention to the repair man that you were going on vacation?" 
	"Yeah, I did, as a matter of fact. You don't think it was the repair man, do you?" 
	"Well, we're not sure, but we need to question him. Do you remember his name?" 
	"No, I don't. Sorry." 
	"That's okay. Thanks for your help, Mr. Winters." 
	"No problem. You get the son of a bitch that stole my watch and coins." 
	"We will. Bye." Chase turned his phone off and walked back inside. August and 
Catherine where in the living room, looking it over. "I think I found a connection." 
	"What?" August asked. 
	"Fischer Heating and Air was here earlier today," he explained. "And they were also 
at the Winters' house the morning of the robbery." 
	"Could be a coincidence," Catherine suggested. 
	"Maybe," Chase said, "but if we can place Fischer at the scene of the first robbery, 
we might have a connection."



As August drove through the rain, Chase dialed on his cell-phone. "Where was the first 
robbery?" Catherine asked from the backseat. 
	"An apartment," August replied. "A young girl who collected rare and expensive books." 
	"Hi, Ms. Rabin? This is Detective McDonald. Fine, thanks. We're doing some follow-
up investigation on your robbery. No, not yet. Could you tell me if Fischer Heating and 
Air were at your apartment any time before the robbery? Really? When? Okay. No, no, that's 
fine. I'll be in touch. Thanks." He turned the phone off. 
	"Any luck?" Catherine asked from the backseat. 
	"They were there at noon the day before the robbery."



Trevor Townson was lost in a mess of paperwork when a knock fell on his office door. "Come 
in," he said without looking up, then grabbed another file from the desktop. 
	The detectives came inside. "Mr. Townson?" Chase asked. 
	"Yeah. What can I do for you?" 
	"LAPD. I'm Detective McDonald, this is my partner Detective Brooks and this is 
Detective Chang. We'd like to ask you some questions." 
	"Sure. What about?" 
	"Mr. Townson," August said, "we have reason to believe that one of your employees 
may have been involved in a series of robberies that happened recently." 
	"Really? And what makes you think that?" 
	"Well, all three victims were visited by a field man prior to the robberies; we 
found a Fischer business card at each scene. All three places had something of value in 
them: expensive books, antique collections. We're not saying one of your employees is 
involved, but we need to rule it out." 
	"I see. Well, if you gave me the addresses of the homes robbed, I could check them 
with the field logs and see who made the calls. It'll take awhile, though, I'm afraid. We 
just had an ex-employee come in a rage and pretty much destroy everything in the offices." 
The detectives looked around at the mess of papers, folders and file boxes scattered around 
the floor. "But I'll call you as soon as I find out who made the calls." 
	"Thanks, Mr. Townson," Chase said, and reached for a pen to write down the addresses.



"Jack Nelson," August said, handing the papers to Captain Jensen. 
	"Any leads yet?" Jensen glanced through the papers. 
	"Well, we think that someone from Fischer Heating and Air might be involved." 
	"How so?" 
	"We placed one of their field men at each home prior to the robberies. We think 
somebody who's out making calls scopes out the homes they're at for valuable items, then 
informs Nelson of the location, and he comes in and does the robbery." 
	"Quite a scam. Let a guy in your house to fix the thermostat, and he's really 
scoping the place out for a robbery." 
	"Yeah. Also, I think you should know that Chase has dealt with Nelson before. In 
a way, at least." 
	"What do you mean?" 
	"I didn't know it until he said, but Nelson is the same guy who killed his dad when 
Chase was just a kid." 
	"Oh. Do you think that might be a problem? Because I'll pull him from the case if 
it will be." 
	"I don't think you have anything to worry about, Captain. I know it's tempting for 
Chase, but so far he's doing good. He's keeping it under control, and he's working it just 
like it was any other robbery case." 
	Jensen sat back in his chair, thinking. "Okay. Keep up on the leads. Let me know 
what you find." 
	"Right, Captain." August turned and opened the door. 
	"And August." 
	He turned, stopped in the doorway. "Yeah?" 
	"You keep an eye on Chase. I'd prefer to play it save and pull him, but if you 
vouch for him . . . " 
	"I vouch for him, Captain," August said, and left. He came back into the squad 
room just as James slammed his phone down. "Hey, James." 
	He looked up. "Oh, hi, August," he said quietly. 
	"Problem with the phone?" he asked jokingly. 
	"Ah, my wife. I don't know what's going to happen. She's trying to get me to come 
back up to Seattle to talk about things. Plus, I got this double homicide that looks like 
it's going nowhere fast." He stood and grabbed his coat and a file. "I got to get over to 
interview a witness. I'll see you later." 
	August walked back over to his desk and sat down. "Where're you staying, Catherine?" 
	"I got this studio apartment I was supposed to move into today, but building 
maintenance found a leak or something, so I'll have to wait a couple days before I can 
move in. I was just going to get a hotel room for a couple nights." 
	"No need," Chase said, sitting at his desk. "Just stay at my place." 
	"You sure?" 
	"Yeah. Why not? I've got an extra room. And I'm sure listening to the ocean would be 
better than listening to the couple next door bicker all night long." 
	"You live by the ocean?" 
	"Right on the beach. So, how about it?" 
	She seemed excited. "Yeah. Yeah, sure. That sounds great." 
	"Okay. So after the shift's over we'll go to my place." 
	"Sounds fine. I got to run to the ladies room real quick." 
	"It's right down that hall," he said, pointing her in the direction of the rear 
hallway. 
	They both watched her leave. "I take it there was once something between you two," 
August said when she had gone. 
	"Oh, yes," Chase said. "There once was. We met during our senior year of high school 
and enrolled in the Academy together. After we graduated, we worked the beat together for 
a short time, about a year, before she transfered back to New York. Her sister was having 
some drug problems and she wanted to be closer. We kept in touch over the phone for a long 
time, but just sort of drifted apart over the years. But there was some pretty serious time 
between the two of us." 
	"You know, the captain is worried about you being involved with this case. But I told 
him you were doing good and keeping it under control." 
	"Thanks, August. But if I start to lose it, I want you to personally recommend I 
be pulled. I'm serious." 
	August nodded silently. "Hopefully, it won't come to that." 
	"Hopefully."



Jack Nelson opened the door to his apartment. Charlie Morton was standing out in the 
hall, rain glistening on his jacket. "How'd it go?" 
	Jack walked away from the door as Charlie came in, shutting it behind him. "Good 
enough. The woman walked in on the robbery." 
	Charlie suddenly looked concerned. "Did you kill her?" 
	Jack smiled. "No. I only kill when I need to." 
	"Then I take it you got what you went for?" 
	"Right there." Jack pointed at bookcase against one wall. One shelf was cluttered 
with statuettes. "I'm sure they're bring in a hefty price for you." 
	"Me, too." Charlie took a bronze one off the shelf and held it before him, smiling 
as he looked at it. 
	"Care for a drink? Brandy?" 
	"Yeah, sure." His full attention was on the object. 
	Jack took two glasses from a cabinet and filled them with the amber-colored liquid, 
then walked over and handed one to him. "Thanks," Charlie said, and took a drink. "I got 
a great run coming up tomorrow. Guess where?" 
	Jack took his glass and sat back in a chair. "Tell me." 
	"Hollywood Hills. Big mansion. Owned by some rich doctor. Vascular surgeon, I think." 
	"Sounds like a real treasure chest." Jack took a drink. 
	"I image there'll be more than just antique coin collections and old statues. I'm 
thinking plenty of jewelry. Diamond rings, necklaces, watches, earrings, everything. And 
I'm sure the good doctor has got some extra cash lying around the house." 
	Jack smiled. "What time's your run?" 
	"Eight-thirty tomorrow morning. They said their air conditioning system isn't 
working right. So give me . . . an hour, hour-and-a-half, then I'll call you. Let you 
know what I see." 
	"Good," Jack said. "I've been up for too long, so I think I'll make this one a night 
job." Then he finished his drink.



"Goodnight, Chase," August said as he headed out. 
	"See you tomorrow, August." Chase was still at his desk, sorting away some files. 
Catherine came in from the rear hallway and sat on the edge of his desk. "You all set?" 
	"Ready to go," she said. 
	"Great." He shoved the last file into his overcrowded drawer and slid it shut, 
then stood and grabbed his jacket. "Let's go." 
	As they came down the hall, Jensen stepped out of his office. "Chase, can I have 
a word with you real quick?" 
	"Sure, Captain. I'll be right back," he told Catherine. 
	"Shut the door." Chase pushed it up behind him. "Chase, August told me that this 
robbery suspect is the same man who killed your father." 
	Chase nodded. "I know he did. He told me earlier." 
	"You know how I don't like my detectives working cases that they have an emotional 
connection to. And I know, in this case, the emotions are very strong for you. I don't 
want this to turn into another Bobby Cole incident. I don't want to see on the news or 
read in the newspaper that an L.A. homicide detective was spotted in an eight-hour high-
speed pursuit with Nelson that ended with a city block going up in flames. You hear me?" 
	"I hear you, Captain." 
	"Good. Now August said you were doing well enough to warrant you staying on the 
case. But I'm not kidding. If I have one moment where I think your emotional connection 
has gotten in the way of bringing Nelson in, I'll pull you from the case. Got it?" 
	He nodded. "Yeah. And I wouldn't be mad at you for doing it." 
	"Yes, you would. But I trust you, Chase. I believe you'll do this the right way. 
Now go on. Take that attractive young lady waiting for you out to dinner." 
	Chase smiled. "See in the morning, Captain." 
	"Goodnight, Chase." 
	"So, what was that all about?" Catherine asked as Chase returned to the hall. 
	"Nothing." They started walking. "Captain just wanted to make sure I wasn't going to 
let my emotions get in the way of the case." 
	"Ah. So, you have those talks with your captain out here, too, hu?" She laughed. 
	"Very funny."



As Chase led her down the stairs in his house, Catherine said, "This place is nice." 
	"Thanks. Should've seen it when I first bought it. Had to repaint all the walls, 
redo the tile in the bathroom and the kitchen. The place was a mess." 
	"What's for dinner?" 
	Chase turned the lights on as they came into the living room. "Well, if I had 
known you were coming I would've got some stuff at the store, but . . . " He opened the 
refrigerator and looked in. "How does last night's spaghetti sound?" 
	"Fantastic." 
	After dinner, Catherine was standing out on the balcony, looking through the night 
at the dark ocean beyond. Through the heavy rain she could hear the waves crashing onto 
the beach. Chase came out behind her. "What a place for a house." 
	"Yeah," he said. "You should see it on a clear day." 
	"Thanks for letting me stay here until my apartment's livable. I appreciate it." 
	"No problem. Besides, you're my friend. I'm not about to let a friend sleep in a 
hotel when they can stay at my house." 
	She turned to him. "You know, at one time I was more than just your friend. I was 
much more." 
	He smiled. "I know. I liked that time." 
	"And I was hoping, since you're not taken and I'm not taken, maybe we could see if 
we still have that thing between us that we used to have?" 
	"What thing?" They were slowly closing in on each other, their voices quieting to 
near-whispers. 
	"I think you know what thing." And they kissed. They put their arms around each 
other. They kissed for a long time, and then she pulled back. 
	"Oh," he said. "That thing." They both laughed, and then kissed again.



A flash of light, and everything came into focus. 
	The place looked familiar to him. Then he realized he was in a bank, standing in 
line next to his father, Robert, holding his hand. Little Chase was looking at all the 
people, already fascinated by the world around him at such a young age. "How about some 
ice cream after we leave, Chase?" Robert asked. 
	"Sure, daddy." 
	Suddenly, the doors slammed opened. No. No, not again. Two men dressed in dark 
clothes and wielding pistols came in. Please, don't make me relive it. Please. "Get down 
on the floor," the one, a young Jack Nelson, was yelling, while the other started hitting 
the registers. "All of you, hit the floor. Now. Move, move. Get down." It all seemed so 
far away, something that happened years and years ago. 
	Robert didn't move. "What are you waiting for?" the robber shouted at him. "Get 
down on the floor. Now." 
	Little Chase watched everything. 
	"Now. Get on the floor, or I'll drop you." Robert stood his ground. "What, are you 
deaf? I said get down." 
	And then, everything happened in slow motion. Robert exploded from the line, charging 
at the robber. No. Not again. The two men collided and began struggling for control of the 
gun. Chase just stood there, frozen in place, watching. Robert punched him in the jaw and 
knocked him down, then turned as the other came from around the counter. Robert fired, and 
the second robber went down. He turned back to the first just as the man got to his feet, 
and Robert was slugged in the jaw, making him stumble back. 
	Before he could regain his balance, the robber brought up his backup weapon and 
pulled the trigger just as Robert did the same. Two shots rang out, and Robert clutched 
his chest. Nooo! The robber yelled and grabbed his shoulder. Chase watched as his father 
landed on the floor right in front of him. The robber, weakened by the gunshot, forgot 
about the money and ran out of the bank without looking back. 
	Chase crouched down to see his father. "Daddy?" he said, beginning to cry. "Daddy?" 
He tugged on his father's arm. Robert looked at his son for the last time and smiled as 
the life slowly left him. "Daddy. Daddy!" 
	"Dad."
	A flash of light.
	"Dad!"
	A flash of light. 
	"Dad!" Chase screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed, panting loudly, his face covered 
in sweat. He realized it had been a dream and hung his head down, putting his face in his 
hands. 
	Beside him, Catherine sat up and put her arm around him. "What's wrong?" 
	Chase was fighting to control his breath. "It was just a dream," he said. "Go back 
to sleep." 
	"Your father?" 
	He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. "Yeah," he said. He threw the sheets back and 
climbed out bed. He turned the bathroom light on and ran some water in the sink, splashing 
it on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror. Catherine came in behind him, wearing 
nothing but a long shirt. She put her arms around him. 
	"Come back to bed, Chase," she said. "It's okay. It was only a dream." 
	He continued to stare at himself for a long moment, then walked out with her.

The next morning, August was standing at his desk, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup 
as he looked over the contents of a manila folder. "Morning, August," Chase said. He 
and Catherine were walking into the room. 
	"Morning, Chase. Catherine." 
	"I'll be right back," she told Chase. "I've got some more stuff I need to square 
away with your captain." 
	As she left, August walked over and said, "So? How was your evening?" 
	"Fine." Chase took his jacket off and hung it over the back of his chair. 
	August laughed. "Anything I should, uh, know about?" 
	"No." 
	August nodded. "Right," he said with a smile, then sat on the edge of Chases' desk. 
"So, what happened?" 
	Chase sighed. "We went back to my place, had dinner, reminisced about our days in 
New York, went to bed, drove to the station this morning, said good morning to you." 
	"Ah." August fell silent, as if waiting for more details. "Go on," he said when he 
heard none. 
	"What? That's all that happened." 
	"Uh-hu. Sure." He got up and walked back to his desk, grinning ear-to-ear. 
	"Did Mr. Townson call in yet?" 
	"No, not yet." August dropped into his chair. 
	James walked in, looking a bit more cheerful than he was when they had last seen 
him. "Hey, James," Chase said. "You look a little happier today." 
	"I talked to my wife again last night," he said, almost excitedly. "Maybe it's not 
going to be so bad after all." 
	"Really?" August said. "Hey, that's great." 
	"She said she's going to find time to come down next month." 
	"Next month?" 
	"Yeah. She's got this big medical conference coming up in a few weeks that she 
needs to prepare, but she said she'd try to get down in time for Christmas." 
	"Well, that's great, James," Chase said. "I hope it works out for you." 
	"Thanks, Chase. We just got some new leads in on that double homicide I got, so I 
got to run. I'll see you guys later." 
	"Guess things are looking up for him," August said as James left, then cast a wry 
smile at his partner and added, "Just like the way things are looking up for you and 
Ms. Chang?" 
	Chase returned the look as his phone started ringing. "Detective McDonald," he said. 
"Charlie Morton? Hang on a second." He reached over his desk and grabbed a pen and pad of 
paper. "Okay, go ahead. 2733 Harper Avenue. Got it. Thank you very much, Mr. Townson." He 
hung up. "August. Serviceman's name is Charlie Morton." 
	"Let's go," August said, and grabbed his jacket as he followed Chase down the hall.



Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of Charlie's extremely small house 
and climbed out. "Doesn't look like anyone's home," August said as they walked up onto 
the porch. 
	Chase banged on the door. "Charlie Morton? LAPD, open up." No answer. "Hello?" 
	August heard a car engine and casually turned around to see who it was. Charlie 
was just about to pull into his driveway, but saw them and straightened the wheel, 
taking off down the street. "There's our boy," August said, and they ran for their car. 
	Chase backed out and popped the car into drive, and took off. "Easy, Mac," August 
said, struggling to get his belt on. "Slippery when wet. Remember that." 
	Charlie barreled down the street through the drenching rain, the van fishtailing 
as he spun a corner. Chase's car did the same as he followed seconds later. The van 
dodged around a stalled car, to which the driver shook his fist in the air and yelled 
at him. As Chase raced by, they hit a puddle that sent water flying all over the helpless 
man. He screamed at them. 
	"I think he's mad at you, Mac," August said. 
	Chase said nothing, concentrating on the red van up ahead of them. "Hang on." 
	The car fishtailed again as they turned another corner. Two blocks up, the van cut 
left through a four-way stop without braking, sliding sideways in the rain and heading 
out towards more-crowded streets. Chase felt the back end of their car swing out as he 
hung the corner tight, hands working the wheel like an expert. 
	The street was narrowed down to two lanes by the orange cones of a Caltrans crew. 
The van turned north onto an adjacent street, moving fast. Several blocks down, the van 
reached Hollywood Boulevard and was slowed by heavy traffic. Chase followed, the light 
and siren clearing traffic only a little, since there wasn't much room for anyone to pull 
over. They were one lane over and several cars back from the van. 
	"What's he doing?" August shouted. 
	The van angled right and left the street, driving up onto the sidewalk. Chase 
slammed the accelerator and yanked the wheel. Their car bumped onto the sidewalk, and 
Chase gunned the vehicle forward. Pedestrians ran screaming for cover as the van and car 
shot by, splashing puddles of water against the front windows of stores and restaurants. 
	The accident that had caused the traffic jam was at the crosswalk. The road beyond 
was clear. Charlie pulled the van back into the street and raced through the intersection, 
cars locking their brakes and blowing their horns. 
	"Watch out. Watch out!" August yelled, clutching the handrail above his door tightly. 
	Chase pulled the wheel and drove back onto the street, swerving around the cars 
that had stopped there. The van had gained a short distance, but Chase was closing it 
fast. At the next intersection, a black-and-white patrol car was pulling through. The 
van slammed right into the left rear fender, and the cop car went spinning in a circle, 
sliding diagonally across the intersection, and slammed up onto the curb. 
	Charlie fought for control of the van, spinning the wheel left and right. The 
collision had sent it off course. "He must have clipped something," August said as they 
approached the intersection. 
	"There." Chase pointed at the cop car over on the curb as they ran the red light. 
	August turned to look out the back window, and saw the cop being helped out by some 
pedestrians. "Looks okay." 
	Charlie got the van under control and tried to think of what to do next. 
	"I'll gonna pull up alongside him," Chase said, and did just that. "Hang on." Chase 
pulled the steering wheel right, and the front of their car hit the back fender of the van, 
and the vehicle fishtailed. 
	Charlie yelled out, clutching the wheel tightly, struggling to gain control. The van 
angled and shot across the street. People ran as the van bounced up onto the curb and took 
out a fire hydrant. A fountain of water rose, the wind sheeting it across the sidewalk and 
street. 
	Chase pulled over, and he and August climbed out of the car and into the rain, guns 
drawn. They started toward the van, which could dimly be seen through the roaring fountain 
of water. A few people who were still there hung back against the wall of the building, 
watching curiously. Chase stepped through the spray to the van and looked inside the window. 
	Charlie looked unconscious.



A half hour later, Charlie was sitting in the interrogation room, a bandage over his 
forehead and holding an icepack around his left wrist. Chase and August walked in. "Mr. 
Morton," Chase said. "You got quite a scam going here, hu?" They sat across from him. 
"Tell us about it. Or, should I see if we got it figured out? When you make the field 
calls for Fischer Heating and Air, you scope the homes out while you're there, then you 
call Jack Nelson to let him know which places are worth robbing. Correct?" 
	Charlie said nothing, just nodded. He knew he'd been had. 
	"How did your association with Mr. Nelson start?" August asked. 
	"About two weeks ago," Charlie explained. "Jack broke into my home during the night 
to rob the place. I was up getting a drink and caught him in the act. He attacked me, and 
we fought. When he found what I did, he said he'd let me live if I would inform him of 
which houses had valuable stuff in them. You'd be amazed at what you'd agree to do when 
you got the barrel of a Colt .38 stuck in your mouth." 
	"Where does Nelson live?" 
	"I don't know," he lied. 
	"Don't lie," Chase said. "We found some of stolen items at your house, and that ties 
you directly to him. You had to see him in order to get them." 
	"How do you end up with some of that, anyway?" 
	"That was part of the deal. I help him, I get half of what he gets. Unless it's 
something I want myself, then he gets it for me." 
	Chase looked at August. "Oh, so Nelson is being a good citizen these days and helping 
others get what they want." He turned back to Charlie. "What do you have from the robberies?" 
	"A gold watch and an antique coin collection, and some statuettes." 
	"I'll ask again. Where does he live?" 
	"I can't tell you. If I do, he'll kill me." 
	"Where does he live?"



Within minutes, Chase pulled up to the Trinity Apartments complex, siren wailing and 
lights flashing. Chase, August and Catherine climbed out with weapons drawn and ran 
through the rain. They hurried up the steps to the third floor and moved into the 
hallway. 
	"5C," Chase said. They came to a T-junction and looked around to get their bearings. 
	"1C," August said, pointing at the first door in the left hall. 
	Apartment 5C was the third door on their right. August took up position on the 
opposite side of the door of Chase and Catherine. Chase knocked on the door with the 
back of his hand. "Jack Nelson? LAPD. Open up." No answer. 
	August gestured he would count to three, and held up three fingers. When he pulled 
down the last one, he and Chase stood side-by-side and kicked the door in. The three of 
them charged into the apartment, sweeping it with the guns. August split from them and 
checked out the bedroom and bathroom. The living room and kitchen area were empty. 
	"Nothing," August said as he came out. "He's gone."
	They holstered their weapons as they spread around the living area, looking for 
clues. "Chase, August," Catherine said, and pointed at a bookcase. One shelf held a few 
statuettes. 
	"There's the rest of them," August said. "Catherine, call for back-up. We'll need 
someone to sit on the apartment and collect the stolen property." 
	"Right." She started dialing on her cell-phone as she stepped out into the hallway. 
	"Here's Ms. Rabin's books," Chase said, pointing to another shelf. "Does that 
Treasure Island look like it's one of the first copies every printed?" 
	"I'd say so." 
	"Looks like we'll at least recover all the stolen stuff today." Chase's phone 
started ringing. He grabbed it from his inside coat pocket. "Let's get back to the 
station. Find out what more Charlie Morton knows."



Later, in Jensen's office, Chase said, "Charlie Morton talked some more. Nelson plans 
to hit his next target tonight. It's a house up in the Hollywood Hills, owned by a 
doctor. Our plan is to get the doctor and his wife out of the house, and then Catherine 
and I will go undercover as them and wait for Nelson to come in." 
	"What about back-up?" Jensen asked. 
	"It's a brand new development, Captain," August explained, "so there's not a lot 
of places for the black-and-white's to hide. No large trees or shrubs." 
	"The three of you alone with no back-up? I don't think I like that. Why not just 
park some unmarked cars in the driveways of the houses?" 
	"There's still a lot of empty homes," Chase said. "People haven't moved in yet. 
It'd be kind of suspicious if all these cars were parked around." 
	"How about putting some units on one of the next blocks?" Catherine suggested. 
"It's not close, but it's close enough." 
	"Yeah, how about that, Captain?" Chase said. "If anything goes wrong, I'll send 
word to August, and he can come in with back-up." 
	Jensen sat back, considering. "I still don't like it. But you guys have never 
let me down before. Okay. Do it. Get the people out of the house, set up some units on 
the next block, and nail this guy." 
	"Thanks, Captain," August said, and they headed out. 
	"And Chase." 
	Chase turned in the doorway and leaned back in. "Yeah?" 
	"Keep a clear head out there. You're close to getting your father's killer. Don't 
let it get the better of you." 
	"I know, Captain."



It was almost eleven when Chase and Catherine were in the upstairs bedroom of the 
doctor's house, lying in bed together. "Let's try to keep this professional, shall we?" 
she said jokingly. He laughed. "Have you given it anymore thought?" 
	"About what?" 
	"You know what," she said, nudging him with her elbow playfully. "About us. 
Getting back together?" 
	"Oh. Well, I think it's a strong possibility." 
	She smiled. 
	Another hour went by, and finally, it was just after midnight when Chase heard 
the faint sound of glass breaking. He looked at Catherine. "Quiet. Stay here." He got 
off the bed and went to the door, easing it open. He cautiously stepped out into the 
hallway and approached the low wall carefully, looking down into the living room. 
	In a source of moonlight coming in from a downstairs window, a dark figure moved 
across the floor toward the stairs. Chase quickly went back into the room and pushed 
the door shut. "He's coming," he whispered, and jumped back into bed. "Get ready." He 
turned his head and shut his eyes. 
	Moments later, he heard the door handle turn, and quiet footsteps fell onto the 
hardwood floor. Chase listened intently as the sounds moved away from the door to the 
other side of the room. Taking a risk, he carefully opened one eye and looked over 
Catherine. 
	Jack Nelson had his back to the bed, going through the jewelry lying on top the 
dresser. Chase tapped Catherine on the shoulder, and they both sat up on the bed, aiming 
their guns. "Hold it right there," Chase said. 
	Jack froze with his hand on a gold Rolex and turned his head slightly. "You didn't 
say Simon says," he joked. 
	They climbed off the bed, their guns never leaving their target. "Put the bag 
down," Chase said, "and turn around." 
	Nelson complied, dropping the bag to the floor and slowly turning around, holding 
his hands up on either side of his head. "Doctor Kimble, I presume," he said. 
	"Wrong. Detective Chase McDonald, LAPD." 
	"McDonald," he repeated. "Why does that name sound familiar?" 
	"Think back," Chase said. "It was a long time ago. A bank. A father waiting in 
line with his son to cash a check. A guy comes in to rob the place. The father doesn't 
like that, so he struggles with the robber. The robber shoots him in the chest and flees. 
Ring any bells?" 
	Jack was obviously thinking, then a smile crept across his face. "Oh," he said 
slowly. "You're Chase McDonald. The little boy whose face was all over the newspapers. 
'Young boy witnesses dad's murder in bank.' I remember that like it happened yesterday." 
	"You're under arrest, Nelson," Chase said. 
	"Am I?" 
	"Turn around, put your hands behind your head, and don't move." Jack did so, 
slowly. Chase walked toward him. "You got him covered?" he asked Catherine. 
	She angled around for a better aim at him. "I got him." 
	Chase holstered his gun and reached for his handcuffs. Just as he was about to 
slap the first one around Jack's left wrist, Jack grabbed a thin flower vase from the 
dresser and spun, breaking it over Chase's head. Chase stumbled back, colliding with 
Catherine. 
	Jack hightailed it out of the room and into the hall. "Are you okay?" he asked as 
they scrambled to their feet. "Are you hurt?" 
	"I'm fine. I'm fine." 
	"Call August. I'm going after him." Chase pulled his gun and took off out of the 
room. He ducked as soon as he came out into the open hallway. From the living room, 
Jack fired upward and put two slugs into the wall, then ran. 
	Chase bolted down the stairs and hit the living floor running. He moved through 
the kitchen and onto the back service porch, where he found the door open, swinging in 
the breeze. Outside, he followed the cement path around the house, where the side gate 
was open. The air was cold, breezy. The sky was overcast, but at least the rain had let 
up. 
	Chase saw August running down the street when he came out front. "That way!" 
August shouted, pointing down at the end of the cul-de-sac, where the remaining homes 
were being built. They were nothing but wood frames. Chase saw there was no place in 
them to hide. 
	"Get back to the car!" Chase shouted back. "Go around and cut him off on the 
other side!" 
	August turned and ran back down the street as Chase headed for the construction 
zone. As he ran up the dark street, he heard Catherine call his name, and a moment later 
she had caught up to him. He spotted Jack running into the darkness between two homes. 
He jumped up and scrambled over a chain-link fence. Chase came through the first row of 
houses in time to see Jack drop down on the other side of the fence and head right, making 
for the steep hill behind the houses. 
	"He's going for the hill!" he shouted to Catherine. They quickly climbed up and 
over the fence, the dirt crunching under their shoes as they hit the ground and made for 
the hill, wading through the sage and chaparral. 
	Chase caught sight to Jack's fleeing form and stopped, aiming the gun. "Freeze!" 
Jack spun and fired three shots, causing Chase and Catherine to duck for cover. The 
bullets hit the ground around them, throwing up dust, and they heard the him continue 
his run. Chase pushed on through the darkness and the scratchy bushes, Catherine right 
behind him. 
	On the hill high above them was the famous Hollywood sign. They finally reached 
the top of the hillside moments after Jack. A fire road along the top of the ridge led 
up toward the "D" in the large sign. The sign was not illuminated, but the letters stood 
out against the night sky. 
	Jack seemed to be heading for the sign. Chase stopped behind a large rocky 
outcropping and aimed his gun up the hill. "Jack! Freeze!" Jack spun and fired, the 
bullets danced off the rock. Chase lifted his head and returned fire, but heard no 
indication that they met their target. "Come on." He and Catherine continued up the hill. 
	Jack dodged between the third "O" and the "D," vanishing into the darkness beyond. 
Chase and Catherine followed. They reached the flat white metal of the "D" and stopped 
for a moment, fighting to get their pulses down. "Split up," he said. "You go up the 
front, I'll go up along the back." 
	She nodded, and they split. The wind howled loudly up on the hill, wiping their 
clothes and hair. Below them, the lights of the housing development and city beyond 
sparkled. Chase moved slowly through the darkness. It was hard to see, but he did his 
best to make his way. The backs of the letters were braced with huge metal struts. 
Another ten or twelve feet up the hill was a service road protected by a tall chain-
link fence. He hoped Jack hadn't made it that far. 
	The wind vibrated loudly off the letters. Chase moved quietly past the second 
"O" and into the shadow of the "W." It was so dark, he'd probably find Jack by tripping 
over him. 
	Catherine passed the "Y" and came up on the second "L." She threw occasional 
glances over her shoulders, but so far had seen nothing. As she walked by, she missed 
the huddled form hiding in the shadows of the "L." 
	A momentary break in the wind caused the vibrating to die down. Chase listened 
hard for any sound that would reveal Jack's location. He thought he heard something, 
like words muffled, but the wind picked up again before he could hear it more clearly. 
He pressed on, nearing the "Y." 
	As he left it's shadow, he walked between it and second "L" to see how Catherine. 
But he didn't see her. "Catherine?" he whispered. "Catherine." 
	"Here, detective," Jack's voice said above the wind. 
	Chase spun, bringing the gun up. Jack had Catherine in front of him, holding the 
gun to her temple. "Looks like we got ourselves a standoff." 
	Chase tightened his grip on his gun. "Let her go, Nelson," he demanded, shouting 
to be heard over the wind. "You don't want to add another cop to your list, do you? LAPD 
will eat you alive." 
	"Then again, I don't want to go to prison, either. So what do you suggest, 
Chase McDonald?" 
	Chase looked at Catherine, could see she was holding her own. She looked back 
at him. "Drop the gun, Nelson," Chase repeated. "You shoot her, I shoot you. You try 
to shoot me, I'll shoot you. Either way, you lose." 
	"How about we take the option where I win?" he suggested, then put the gun 
behind Catherine's back and pulled the trigger. 
	Catherine screamed out with the gunshot. "No!" Chase yelled, and Jack vanished 
into the night. She fell to the ground as Chase ran up, dropping to his knees to catch 
her. He lifted her into his arms. "Catherine. Catherine?" 
	"Chase . . . " She said weakly. She coughed. Blood trickled down the corner of 
her mouth. 
	"Catherine." He reached around behind her and grabbed the walkie-talkie from her 
belt. "August. August, this is Chase!" 
	A crackle of static. "Mac, where the hell are you?" 
	"We're up on the hill, below the Hollywood sign. Jack got away. Catherine's been 
shot. Get an ambulance." 
	"Is she okay?" 
	"She's hit bad. Just get an ambulance!" He threw the walkie-talkie down and looked 
back at her. "Don't say anything, Catherine. Just be still. Help is on its way." He held 
her head against his chest and put his cheek on top of her head, protecting her from the 
wind. As he held her, the rain began to start.

Two hours later, August was at one of the payphones in Los Angeles Memorial. "I don't 
know, baby," he said to Kendra. "Chase is talking to the doctor right now. Yeah, I'll 
let you know. I'll call you before I leave. Bye." He hung up and went back to the 
waiting room, taking a seat on one of the couches. He'd been sitting for less than 
three minutes when Chase came down a hall, blood on his shirt and coat. August stood 
and walked over. "Mac. How is she?" 
	Chase just looked at him, in a way that was like he was looking right through 
August and didn't even see him. "She's dead," he said quietly, then shook his head a 
little. "I'm, I'm going home." 
	He walked past August and exited out the front sliding doors. His partner watched 
him go.



Noooo! Chase's father landed on the floor in front of him. Jack turned and ran out of 
the bank without looking back, holding his shoulder. 
	Chase crouched down beside his father. "Daddy?" he said, almost crying. "Daddy?" 
He tugged on his father's arm. Robert looked at his son for the last time and smiled, 
the life slowly leaving him. "Daddy. Daddy! Dad! Dad!" 
	A flash of light. 
	Chase woke up with a start, breathing heavily. He was covered in a cold sweat. He 
laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes, listening to the rain fall outside. 
Another storm had moved in after they reached the hospital. He looked at the clock and 
saw it was 3:45 in the morning. He had only been asleep for half-an-hour. 
	He shoved the covers back and sat up on the edge of the bed, holding his face in 
his hands. He was cried. He put his hands behind his head, rocking back and forth slowly. 
He craned his head back and looked at the ceiling, tears tracing lines down his cheeks. 
"Dad," he said quietly. "Catherine." 
	He got up and went to the bathroom, ran the water, and splashed it on his face. He 
stared at himself in the mirror, then said quietly, "You've taken enough people from me, 
Nelson. You're dead."



It was a quarter after eight when August came into the station. He saw James sitting over 
at his desk. "James. You see Chase this morning." 
	"Hu-uh," he said without looking up. "Can't find him?" 
	August shook his head. "No." He hung his jacket of his chair and fired up his 
computer. "I've been trying to call him all morning, but I keep getting the busy signal." 
	"I heard what happened last night," James said, taking a break from typing. 
	"Yeah, it wasn't a good night to be Chase McDonald." At the mention of his name, 
Chase came into the room at a sharp, brisk pace. "Chase," August said. "Where you been? 
I've been calling you all morning, man." 
	"I ripped the phone out of the wall," he said flatly, sitting down. 
	"You what?" 
	"I ripped the phone out of the wall," he repeated, louder than he meant. "I just 
. . . got frustrated this morning, and I needed to take my anger out." 
	"You know, I was thinking last night. There still might be a way to catch Jack." 
	"How?" Chase asked, in a tone that said he was already unsatisfied with the answer. 
	"Well, as far as we know, Jack has no idea Charlie Morton's been arrested." 
	Chase paused in his movements of opening a desk drawer, then said, "Go on." 
	"We cut a deal with Charlie for him to help us get Jack." 
	"What's your plan?" 
	"We have Charlie tell Jack to meet him about a new place loaded with money that he's 
just come from. When Jack shows up, we nail him." 
	"Sounds workable," Chase said, still considering. Then turned his chair around and 
said, "Let's hear the details."



August slapped a sheet of paper down on the table before Charlie Morton. "This is a full 
pardon from the district attorney's office," he said. "If you help us, it will guarantee 
that you will not be tried for your involvement in Jack Nelson's robbery spree." 
	"And if I don't sign it?" 
	Chase leaned over the table. "If you don't sign, you go to jail for a long time. And 
eventually, Jack will show up there as well, where he can personally thank you for the time 
you spent with us that ended up with you revealing his home address and how the operation 
works." 
	Without hesitation, Charlie fumbled to pick up the pen and scrawled his name on the 
line at the bottom of the page. "Now, what do you want me to do?" 
	August took the paper and left the room to have it sent on it's way to the D.A.'s 
office. Chase sat down in the chair opposite Charlie. 
	"We want you to call Jack," Chase explained. "Tell him you just made a service call 
to a house that is loaded with . . . whatever. Make something up. Jewelry, money, whatever. 
But don't tell him the address. Act like the phone is breaking up, and tell him to just 
meet you someplace close by in an hour-and-a-half. Got it?" 
	Charlie nodded, following right along. "Yeah. Yeah, I got it." 
	"Good. As soon as Jack shows up, we'll wait for a few moments to let him get 
comfortable. I'll give you my pager. When you feel it go off, get out of there. We'll be 
coming in. Understand?" 
	Again, he nodded. "Yeah. Understand clearly." 
	"Good. Now come on." They stood. "You got a call to make."



Charlie was standing on a street corner in the middle of the rain, surrounded by early 
afternoon traffic on two sides. Holding his cell-phone to his ear, he waited for the 
other end to pick up. "Do I have to be out here in the middle of the street in the middle 
of a rainstorm?" 
	Behind him, dry underneath a building awning, Chase said, "Adds to the realism. 
Can't have you calling from a place where the words 'officer' and 'detective' are being 
used in the background, can we?" 
	Charlie turned back to his phone. It rang several times with no answer. He turned 
it off. "No answer." 
	"Dial again." 
	"There's no answer at his apartment." 
	"Does he have a cell-phone?" 
	Charlie remembered that Jack did have one just as Chase mentioned it, and was about 
to dial when the phone started ringing. He looked at Chase, who nodded for him to answer. 
Charlie did. "Hello? Hey, Jack. No, I just tried calling you at home. Where are you? Oh. 
No, I hadn't heard. Listen, if you're up for it, I got another place for you to hit. You 
want the address? What? What? I can't hear you." 
	He looked at Chase to make sure he was doing his fake bad reception correct, and 
continued. "No. No, the phone's breaking up. I can barely hear you. Listen. Just, just 
meet at the Rose Diner in an hour-and-a-half. Okay? Okay? Bye." He turned the phone off 
and turned to Chase. "He went for it," he said. 
	"Good." Chase opened the umbrella, and they walked back to the car.



Back at the station, Chase had drawn a bird's-eye view of the Rose Diner and surrounding 
streets on the whiteboard. Several detectives and uniformed officers were present, as 
well as August, James, and Captain Jensen. "This is the Rose Diner," Chase said, pointing 
to it with the whiteboard pen. "Mr. Morton will meet Mr. Nelson here at approximately one 
this afternoon." 
	Everyone listened closely. 
	"When Mr. Nelson arrives," Chase continued, "we will hold back until you hear my 
signal. We give them a couple minutes, let Nelson settle in. I'm going to give Mr. Morton 
my pager, and will page him prior to my signal. When you hear my signal, you will converge 
on Mr. Nelson. Do not fire unless fired upon. There will be civilians outside on the 
sidewalk. We can't clear them all or else it'll arouse suspicion. Any questions?" 
	Everyone shook their heads. 
	"Good. Now, I've already talked with the diner management, and they've agreed to it. 
So let's not shoot their place up, okay?" That got a few laughs. "Now let's talk about 
everyone's positions."



Chase leaned into the Captain's office and knocked on the open door. "You wanted to see me, 
Captain?" 
	"Yeah. Come in, Chase. Shut the door." 
	He did, and walked up to the desk. 
	"Chase, I'm very impressed with the way you've been handling this. I'm not going to 
pretend I know what you're going through, having these memories of your father reemerge and 
now Catherine to deal with. But you're handling it well." 
	"Thank you, Captain." 
	He stood and walked around to Chase. "And I got to admit, I was afraid it was going 
to come down to me pulling you off the case." 
	"Well, I'm glad I disappointed you." 
	Jensen laughed. "Me, too. Have you talked to Catherine's family?" 
	"Yeah. Her sister. She's taking the redeye out from New York tonight. I don't think 
she's doing well. She had just turned her life around from a drug addiction that nearly 
killed her and was going to get married next year. Catherine was really happy for her and 
was looking forward to seeing her little sister start a family." 
	"It's a cruel world we live in, Chase. We just have to learn how to deal with the 
pain around us. And you're doing an admirable job." 
	"Thanks, Captain." 
	Jensen nodded. "Now get out there. You've got a criminal to bring in." 
	"Yes, sir," Chase replied jokingly, and left the office.



Half an hour later, the detectives and plain-clothed officers were gathered in the squad 
room. A uniformed cop brought Charlie Morton in from the rear hall. Chase stood before 
everyone. "Okay, people. Just like I said. Wait for my signal. Do not jump the gun. We take 
Jack Nelson on my word. Ready? Okay, let's move." 
	Everyone filed out of the room. August and James joined Chase as he walked Charlie. 
"James, you ride with August." 
	"And you?" he asked. 
	"I'm dropping Charlie off outside the Rose. I'll be using one of the taxi mock-ups 
from the motorpool. After I drop him off, I'll circle around and join up." 
	"Got it," August said, and he and James headed for the elevator as Chase and Charlie 
went in the opposite direction.



Chase steered the taxi through the rain toward the Rose Diner. Charlie sat in the backseat. 
"Just play it cool, Charlie," Chase said. "If you act nervous or get fidgety, he might 
suspect something. Just act like you normally act when he comes in. Got it?" 
	Charlie nodded. "Yeah." 
	"Remember, when you feel that pager go off, get the hell out of the way." 
	Chase pulled up to the curb, and Charlie climbed out, pretending to pay Chase the 
cab fair, just incase Jack already suspected something and was watching the area. Then 
Charlie shut the door, and Chase pulled back into the street. 
	Charlie opened the door to the diner and came inside, shaking the rain from his 
trench coat. He took a seat at the bar, glancing around him. Only a few booths were 
occupied . . . by undercover police officers, wearing radio headphones in whichever ear 
faced away from the bar. Charlie ordered a soda from the man behind the bar. 
	August and James were stationed in the barber shop across the street, watching the 
inside of the diner through military binoculars. Chase in from the back of the store. 
"Charlie's inside and waiting," James observed, handing the binoculars to Chase. 
	Chase peered through them, looking at Charlie and each cop positioned inside. He 
lowered them and checked his watch. "It's almost 12:30. Now we wait."



The wait seemed to go on for hours. Chase kept an eye on Charlie through the binoculars. 
He had ordered a sandwich, and seemed to be doing okay, considering he was setting up a 
man who would most-likely kill him if things went south and he got the chance. 
	Finally, the clock in the barber shop hit one o'clock. "Chase," August said, 
pointing out the window. "Ten o'clock." 
	Chase stepped up to the window and looked across the street. Jack Nelson was walking 
down the sidewalk. Chase lifted the walkie-talkie to his lips and pressed the button, 
"Look alive, people. Suspect is on the sidewalk. Repeat, suspect is on the sidewalk. 
Nobody move until I say to." 
	Jack entered the diner and sat down beside Charlie. "Charlie," he said, taking 
his rain-soaked hat off and beating it against his leg. 
	The cops in the store casually glanced around, getting a look at Jack. 
	"I don't know how much longer I can keep this game running, Charlie. The police 
are getting close. Hell, I was within ten feet of one last night who was itching to take 
me out. This might be my last one before leaving the city. It had better be a good one, 
too." 
	"All exterior units," Chase's voice crackled in the officers' ears, "move into 
position." 
	Through the large windows that looked out onto the sidewalks, the undercover 
officers saw the others moving in. A car pulled up, and two men climbed out, one putting 
change in the meter while another grabbed a paper. A third man came into view, stepping 
into the phone booth near the newspaper machines and pretending to make a call. A forth 
officer, disguised as a homeless man, began rummaging through the garbage looking for 
cans. 
	"So, what's this place got that the others don't?" Jack asked as the bartender left 
him his soda. 
	"You won't believe it," Charlie explained, dragging out as much time as Chase needed. 
"I went upstairs to check their vents, and in the master bedroom, I found this briefcase. 
There must have been over ten million in it." 
	"You serious?" 
	"Hey. Would I lie to you? I'm talking big stacks of money as thick as this sandwich. 
At least ten million. Maybe fifteen. Hell, maybe even twenty." 
	"That does sound good," Jack said, and smiled. 
	In the barber shop, Chase took out his cell-phone and dialed, then turned it off and 
returned it to his pocket. He raised the walkie-talkie to his mouth. "Okay, people. We go 
on my mark. Stand by." 
	"So, what's the address?" 
	Charlie was opening his mouth to say a fake one when he felt a vibration. He looked 
down, and Jack saw the pager. "Since when do you wear a pager?" he asked with a smile. 
	"Oh. You know, everybody's got one." 
	"Ah. So, what's the address?" 
	Charlie was starting to lose it. He needed to get out of there, now!, but couldn't 
think of an excuse good enough for Jack to let him go for a moment. 
	Earth to Charlie. What's the address?" 
	"Oh. Oh, uh . . . " Too late. The sweat was on his forehead. The nervous flicking 
was in his eyes. 
	Jack looked at Charlie with a questioning eye. And in the man's glasses, he could 
see the reflection of someone behind him moving a hand under their jacket. Without 
warning, Jack dropped off his chair and spun, drawing his gun and opening fire. The two 
cops seated a couple tables back were slammed in the back and chest, and slumped over 
their tables. 
	Charlie ran out of the diner, not wanting one of Jack's bullets to find a place in 
him. 
	"Damn!" Chase grabbed the walkie-talkie. "Suspect made us! Move in! Move in!" 
	Chase, August, and James charged out of the barber shop and raced across the street 
in the rain, cars swerving to avoid hitting them. They drew their guns as they came up 
onto the sidewalk. Jack fired out through the window, and they all hit the pavement. 
	"Damn it!" Chase shouted. "We can't let him get out of there, August. We'll never 
catch him again." 
	"Don't worry, Chase. He's not going anywhere." 
	At the back of the diner, Jack grabbed one of the employees who had been cowering on 
the floor by the counter and held her in front of him like a shield as the cops came in 
through the door, guns aimed. 
	"Now, no sudden movements," he said, backing up toward the kitchen entrance. "Or 
the pretty little lady gets it." 
	Chase and August came in, James on their heals. "Jack!" Chase shouted. "Drop the 
gun and let her go! You're caught!" 
	"Another time, detective," Jack said, shoving the girl forward and bailing. 
	Chase took off so fast he looked like the Flash. Jack ran through the kitchen, 
firing randomly of his shoulder. Chase ducked to avoid the bullets as he came in. Pots 
and pans rattled all around him. "Give it up, Jack!" 
	"Never! Haha!" Jack shouted like a comical superhero villain, and threw open the 
door that lead to the alley. As he exited into the alley, he gunned down the two officers 
approaching the back entrance. 
	Chase emerged moments later and looked up and down the alley. Empty. He heard 
footsteps and turned, raising his gun . . . and let out a sigh of relief when he saw it 
was August, coming into the mouth of the alley. Chase threw his hands out to his sides, 
as if to say, "Well?" August repeated the gesture. 
	"Great!" Chase shouted, turning in place. That's when he turned back and looked up. 
The bottom ladder of the fire-escape was shaking slightly, but he saw no signs of it 
having been used. But he did as he was looking at the first balcony. 
	From an open window, Jack hung out with his gun--pointed at August. "August!" Chase 
yelled, and Jack fired. 
	August yelled out and fell clutching his leg. Chase brought his gun up and cut 
lose with a hail of bullets, forcing Jack to duck back inside. He ran up to his fallen 
partner as James came into the alley from the service entrance. "Chase. Talk to me." 
	Chase looked at his partner's leg. "You're okay. He just grazed you." He turned to 
James. "I'm going after Jack." 
	"Wait." But it was too late. "Hang on, August." 
	Chase ran and jumped, grabbing the bottom ladder and climbing. He looked into the 
window with his gun leading the way, but the room was empty. He slowly climbed in. The 
room was large, probably a former storage area for the store that had been below. It was 
dark, and had a musty smell. He walked through the room, the floorboards creaking and 
straining under his feet, but managing to hold. 
	He was hit from behind, and slammed onto the ground, the gun sliding across the 
floor. He rolled on his back to see Jack's foot coming down, and moved his head just in 
time. He pulled his leg out from under him, and they both scrambled to their feet. 
	"You know? Now that I think about," Jack said, "maybe I should have killed you when 
I killed your daddy." 
	Chase threw a punch, but Jack blocked it and slammed the back of his fist into the 
detective's jaw, then kicked him in the back when he spun around. Chase slammed into a 
pile of dusty old blankets and mattresses. He turned as Jack was drawing his gun, and 
grabbed the first thing he could--a crowbar--and flung it in his direction. The steel rod 
knocked the handgun from Jack's hand, and he smiled. "Impressive," he said. "Most 
impressive. Let's see if you can keep up." 
	He kicked Chase again to keep him down, then ran out of the room. Chase struggled 
to his feet, grabbing his gun from the floor as he crossed to the door. He saw Jack racing 
down a flight of stairs and hurried after him. On the bottom floor, Jack ran down the hall 
and kicked open the back door. He came out so fast he didn't see where he was going, and 
rolled down the embankment that lead to the empty rear parking lot.
	Chase came out seconds later, and was raising his gun when the same happened. He 
rolled down the embankment side over side. He felt the gun leave his hand. When he landed 
on the pavement, he looked around. The gun was several yards to his right, and Jack was 
gaining more distance. He contemplated for a second too long, then jumped to his feet and 
hightailed it across the parking lot after Jack. 
	At the back of the parking lot, the ground gave way to a field of grass, then dirt 
as Jack came to a line of railroad tracks, stepping over them, then a chain-link fence. 
Beyond was a series of older buildings of a primarily industrial section. He scaled the 
fence in no time and dropped to his feet, running down an embankment this time he could 
see, and made for the nearest alley. 
	Chase ran over the train tracks and hit the fence just in time to see Jack 
disappear between the two closest buildings. He swung down the other side and made for 
the same alley. 
	Jack turned right and came to a dead end full of trash cans. He was about to reenter 
the alley, but saw Chase coming. He turned back to the dead end and saw a door marked 
"Lorrelli � Service Entrance Only." He yanked on the handle, and the rust-coated chain 
broke easily. 
	Chase turned into the small dead end pocket just in time to see the door shut. 
Breathing heavily, he pulled it open and looked inside. He heard footsteps. Chase grabbed 
his walkie-talkie, which he was now glad he had clipped onto his belt. He pressed the 
button. "James. I'm at a place called the Lorrelli building, out behind the diner. Jack's 
inside." 
	Jack tried to keep himself oriented as he ran the halls. As best he could tell, he 
was heading toward the front entrance. He came through a large door way, and the front 
doors of the building, double-glass doors covered with dust, came into view. He raced 
toward them, but skidded to a halt as he saw the police car pull up to the curb. 
	He turned to head back, and saw Chase down the hall. When the detective spotted him, 
he shouted, "Stop, Jack!" and broke into a run. Jack instead broke left, dodging around 
what had been the entrance lobby's front desk, and practically crashed through a doorway 
the rusted plaque labeled "Stairwell." 
	Chase came into the lobby as the cops, having busted the windows out with the 
nightsticks, came through the front door. "He went up the stairs," Chase said, hearing 
footsteps clattering on medal steps. "I need a gun." 
	One cop tossed him his revolver, and Chase disappeared into the darkened stairwell. 
Jack was already a flight-and-a-half up when Chase came into the stairs. Their footsteps 
echoed in the stairwell. Chase caught sight of Jack momentarily and leaned over the rail, 
fired off two founds. The footsteps above him continued. 
	At the top floor, the ninth, Jack, exhausted, reached the landing, opening the door 
and running into the hallway. Chase reached the last landing moments later and paused to 
catch his breath. But every second he spent breathing was another second Jack had to get 
away. He threw the door open and stepped into the hall, the gun sweeping his path. 
	Somewhere ahead of him he heard glass shattering, and run. He kicked open every 
door he came to, and the sixth one revealed a room with a shattered window. Chase ran 
across the floor and looked out. Another fire-escape. Below, the street was covered with 
black-and-whites and crawling with cops. So he looked up . . . and saw Jack making for the 
roof. 
	Jack came off the last ladder and hit the roof running, heading for the far side 
of the building. Gravel crunched under his shoes. He reached the rim of the roof and 
looked over. Below, cop cars pulled up to the building, sirens wailing. 
	"Jack!" He stopped and turned slowly. Chase was coming across the roof, gun held 
firmly in both hands. "You're finished, Jack," Chase said. "Get down on the ground and 
spread your arms." But he didn't. He just stood there, looking at Chase. "Get on the 
ground, Jack!" 
	Jack smiled and turned away from Chase, raising his arms to either side. "You don't 
understand, detective," he said, almost cheerfully. "I can't be killed. And I won't be." 
Chase adjusted his grip on the gun, staring Jack down. The man smiled. "You won't kill me, 
detective. You can't. It's against your rules."
	August was coming out the front of the building when he heard a gunshot and looked 
up. Someone was falling from the roof. "Oh, God, don't let that be Mac."
	Chase stepped to the roof and looked. Jack's body was nine stories below, lying in 
a twisted heap on the hood of a police cruiser, the window shattered from the brunt of the 
impact. Chase turned and slumped down against the wall, sliding to the surface of the roof. 
He took a deep breath. "You can rest in peace now, dad."