D.R.T.

I pondered that. "How many bodies are we talking?" I asked.

"Ten so far. That's why it sounds like someone is cleaning house. Mostly low levels, but surprisingly, we've gotten a couple that are higher. If nothing else, it's going to cut down on Meth in Chicago for a bit."

I pondered that after they left, and was still thinking about it when Claire came to the door for my next session later that day. Larry came by every third day, but called every day... with Claire coming every two days, and most of the force being warned to stay away due to the investigation, I was starved for information over the next two weeks.

Claire had made a habit of coming every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday at 6:30 PM. Larry came at random times during the day, so I was surprised when I was finishing up a Friday session with Claire and Larry walked into the room. He asked Claire to stay.

"I didn't want to tell you this until we were sure, Rob... got the final bit two hours ago, but didn't want to interrupt Dr. Claire." Larry nodded to Claire. "He's dead, Rob. The guys finally got an ID on the shooter yesterday, and went to grab him last night. They found him dead, but they also found his gun. It took a while earlier today, but they've matched the gun as the one used to shoot you, and kill Thornton and Bree. Rob.... it's Wyatt Johnson's service revolver.."

"Who is Wyatt Johnson?" Claire asked.

"Johnson was a young cop, fresh out of the academy. He was gunned down by a kid hyped on a type of Meth linked to Thornton last year. The most likely way my wife and Thornton met was her buying a dress to go to his funeral. But his service revolver was recovered at the scene; to the best of my knowledge, it should have been locked up in the armory or in an evidence locker. How the hell was it used to commit two more murders, and to shoot me?"

"Somebody on the inside is dirty, Rob. Someone with some pull, someone who can do things. And they're dirty as hell. I haven't told you this, but someone's cleaning up an organization, taking out a lot of low and mid-level folks, a bunch of who were leads in the investigation." Larry confirmed. "Like I said, their dirty as hell, and trying to hide the evidence."

It was a long and frustrating three weeks in the hospital, and it had now been a month since Bree's death. As I was being let out, one of the guards told me that Parker wanted to see me. While I was still pissed as hell at him, he was still IA, and I needed to cooperate.

When I got to Michigan Avenue, I went into the BIA offices and asked for Parker. Most of the faces there recognized me and I saw sympathy and concern. Not so much when Parker came out of his office and escorted me back.

While he still wasn't friendly, at all, Parker no longer seemed quire as hostile, either. He discussed my situation on the force, and finally admitted that I was no longer a suspect in any way, but that I'd be remaining on paid leave for the next three to six months while the case was further investigated and I rehabbed. It was not what I wanted to hear, but it was something.

"So, has the ISPD DCI been helpful? Or the Feds?" I asked as the conversation began winding down. That seemed to be a shock to Parker.

"DCI? They aren't investigating, not as far as I've heard. And the FBI is too busy working the slew of killings of minor drug figures to be helping much in your wife's murder investigation. Uh, when did you hear about any DCI involvement?" Parker asked.

"Oh, they came by my room in the hospital. Funny, I thought you would have known. They're the ones who officially removed my cuff." I said. That news seemed to agitate Parker a bit.

"Don't want DCI involved in this case. Who asked for their help?" Parker blurted out.

"Well, I have somewhere to go. Be a stranger, hear?" I said as I walked out the door. Parker's agitation was interesting; it appeared he wanted to have a capstone collar for his career advancement, and didn't want the DCI to get any credit.

Since it was still early, I called and setup an immediate appointment with Claire; I'd begun to rely on her as my mental and emotional anchor with the storm swirling around me. The session went well, although it became tough to get through when I started talking about the trauma of losing Bree, finding out she had been cheating on me, and the attempt on my life.

"I don't know what I'm going to do. Technically, I could take an early retirement and move on... it's hard to think about going back to work on any case other than this one right now, and I'm forbidden from working on it. I know that I'm going to be out for 4 more months, minimum, before I can return to duty, and it's not fair to my team, or my Lieutenant, Sharon Harper, to come back, either... they're dealing with cases I'm not involved with, Sharon is taking over my old position.... I don't know how I can slot back in. I know they'll want me back, though it will hurt Sharon's career, since she's now having to prove she can do the job in a trial by fire of the worst sort. I just don't know. Normally, I could have asked Bree when I got to a crossroads or a tough problem like this, but here.... I just don't know what to do."

"Well, Rob, you need to focus down on what you want. You've demonstrated exactly the ability to do that throughout your life and your career. You need to find that confidence in yourself you already know you have. Oh, look at the time. I need to get dinner for my daughter."

"Look, Doc, this is my first night out of the hospital, and I'm hungry for the first meal in nearly a month that isn't hospital food. How about I treat you and your daughter to dinner?

"Well, I shouldn't. Besides, I'd have to get my daughter."

"It's fine, just think about it as extended therapy, paid for by my picking up the check and my sizzling company. So, where, roughly, would you pick her up from?"

"Well, we're not too far from Fulton Market. I suppose I could meet you somewhere near there..."

"Macello has really good Italian. I always try to get one of their Pizza Margerhitas when I'm at Fulton's Market in the evenings. You and your daughter like pizza?"

With a little laugh, Claire confirmed, "Ah yeah, we know Macello well. And have you been talking with my daughter behind my back? Because you suggesting her favorite restaurant sounds like a setup." With a promise to meet her there in two and a half hours, we separated.

I returned back to the Marriott; they had been notified, and packed my room and bags, but kept them waiting for me. I checked back in, as I still didn't know that I could deal with the house, and went up to freshen up. I was pushing the two and a half hours when I finally Ubered into the Macello lot, clean and dressed nicely for a casual dinner. I was tired, but still doing well; the physical therapy had obviously been helpful.

I got us a table, but had only just sat down when Claire and a mini-Claire, about thirteen years old, showed up. I stood and waved them over.

"Rob, this is my daughter Emilie. Emilie, this is Captain Rob Elliot of the Chicago Police Department. He's recently lost his wife, and just left the hospital today, so be nice if he acts tired, ok?"

I shook hands with Emilie, observing that Claire had worn a nearly identical outfit to the cream top and blue knee length skirt she was wearing on one of her hospital visits. "When you walked in, I could have sworn I saw your mom and a miniature version of her... so I guess that makes you 'E-Claire'?", I teased.

Claire looked at me for a minute, then turned to her Emilie. After a moment of staring at each other, the broke out in laughter.

"Did my mom tell you that's the nickname my dad had for me?", Emilie snorted amid the peals. I was stunned for a moment before I, too, began laughing. Things progressed from there.

While I did, indeed, order the Pizza Margherita, Emilie wanted Pizza Vegetariana, and Claire asked if it was ok to order the Butternut Squash Ravioli. I smiled and nodded yes, ordered a Grigliata Mista as an appetizer for us to share, and a side of Porcini Risotto and a bottle of wine for her and I to share. Claire smiled and visibly relaxed.

"Dinner is my payment for two beautiful women, and your professional therapy. And for being a friend, when I'm in such a dark place in my life. Order whatever you like."

Over the next hour, I cam to understand what Claire's life was. She had lost her husband four years earlier, when he was called up and sent to Afghanistan. In civilian life, he'd been a high school guidance counselor. "What can I say, he was driven to serve and help people. I found it fascinating when we met at UI Champaign when I was working on my bachelors. It was... hard losing him."

While we obliquely touched on my status, for the most part, Claire seemed to take it as important to steer me to events and discussions not pertaining to my situation. While at first that perturbed me, after a few minutes, I realized for the first time since I entered my home those long weeks ago, I was smiling inwardly and outwardly, able to once again enjoy the simple pleasures of life, both the food and the companionship.

It was the first good evening I'd had since coming back to Chicago. And then my cell phone beeped. Looking down, I saw I'd received a text from Larry.

"u r n danger run n hide asap"

Seeing that, I immediately stood up and got the waitress' attention. "Bill, please." I requested. Claire looked at me askance, shocked at the suddenness. "Claire, that was Larry. We have to go, NOW. I'll call Larry in a moment. Do you have a car?" She nodded yes. "Go, take Emilie, and pull to the door and wait for me." They hustled out quickly, with fear on Claire's face and wonder on Emilie's. Taking care of the bill, I rushed out and got in the car just as Claire pulled up.

"I don't know what's going on yet, Rob, but I'm taking you to my home while we discuss it." I nodded and called Larry, but he didn't pick up. Frustrated, I called Sean. It rang five times before it connected.

"Hello <sob>. Rob, is that <sob> you?", I heard her voice. Lisa Hallowell.

"Lisa? What happened? Why didn't Sean pick up?" I asked.

"Oh, Rob! He's...." and she broke down in tears. After a moment, I could tell she had dropped the phone and I could hear her wailing. A moment later, I heard another voice.

"Rob? Is that you?", Sharon asked.

"Sharon? What's going on?" I was worried now.

"He's dead, Rob. Sean was murdered three hours ago. There was a loud argument at headquarters, and Sean stormed out. Someone shot him in the parking lot, Looks like a 9mm through the right temple. There aren't any current witnesses."

"You're there for Lisa? God, I need to get there, too."

"You can't, Rob. Whoever killed Sean was in headquarters. While everyone knows it wasn't you, your name was something Sean was yelling about with whoever it was before he stormed out. Rob, you're probably in danger, too. Where are you? I can get a couple Blue and Whites to you...."

"Not a good idea. If it's someone in headquarters, they'll be listening to the broadcast, and dispatching units will tell them where I am. You'd just put good cops in additional danger." Claire was pulling up to a row house by this point. "I'll call soon. I've got others with me, and need to get them safe. Bye, Sharon. Help Lisa and tell her.... you know."

"Be safe, Rob. And I will." And we clicked off.

I turned to Claire and asked the next question. "Claire, do you have a firearm in the house? Someone has just murdered my Captain, and it's almost a certainty that it's related to my wife's murder. I need something in case they come after us, or even just me, here."

"I'm sorry Rob, I don't have those in my house. I just don't think I need one, and I never wanted one. My husband had one when he was alive, but I got rid of it after... you know."

"Claire, this is Chicago... the only places in the US you need one more are Baltimore and Detroit. You need a firearm. You can't keep yourself safe without one, not when the threat is from the inside of those who are supposed to protect you." Realizing that Claire couldn't give us what we needed, I called Larry on my cell. He didn't pick up, so I ended up leaving him a message asking him to get one, and get here now. I was worried about my old friend... he always picked up.

I turned to Claire after that, and we started discussing the need to protect her and Emilie. "Claire, E-Claire, what do we have here we can use to protect ourselves? And is there some bolt hole that you two can go to wait this out until either Larry or the force gets here?"

"I can go in my bathroom and hide in the tub; that would stop some bullets if we keep down. I also have a baseball bat we can take in with us. There's room for mom and I both there." Emilie stated to my question. Just as I was about to do it, my cell rang with an unknown caller on the screen.

Picking up the phone, I answered. "Hello?"

The voice that came out was raspy, like someone who'd just had a coughing fit. "All I want is you. The woman doesn't have to die, too. Just do what I say, and her and her kid will be alright."

"Alright, we agree on that. What do you want?" I asked.

"Strip down to your skivvies and come out; alone, unarmed. When you get to the sidewalk, turn right and keep walking to the end of the block. Easy-peasy," the voice stated,

"And then?", I asked.

"Well, you're having a bad day. Maybe it'll get better. Probably not, though.", the voice stated, chuckling softly at the end.

"Okay. Just... don't hurt anyone else." I heard my phone click off.

Claire was white as a sheet, overhearing me clearly, and being able to hear my cell. "He's... he's going to kill you, isn't he?" she asked. I looked at here and then Emilie and smiled.

"No. You don't need to worry about me. You have to worry about is you and E-Claire", I said as I glanced over at Emilie. Putting on her bravest face, she smiled back. "Besides, that's what I do. I protect those around me." Turning back to Claire, I realized, "Maybe, in the end, that's what hurts me most about losing Bree; I wasn't there to protect her, before or after here death." I started to disrobe.

As I got to down to my underwear, Emilie started laughing, somehow finding humor in the situation. "Superman boxers? Really, Captain Elliot?" Even Claire teased me, finding humor in my discomfort, momentarily laughing before she came back to the reality of the situation.

"My late wife bought them; I always tried to please her with my clothing, and she found them sexy." With that, the two ladies ran up the stairs.

I left my socks on, and put my shoes back on before opening the door to the crisp, autumn air. Pulling my socks up fully, I took my cell, dialed 911, but turned the volume all the way down, silencing any sound back from it.. Speaking softly into before walking out, I said, "This is Captain Robert Elliot of the Chicago PD. I expect that in the next few minutes I will be murdered by an unknown assailant. Ensure the recording of this call is kept for use in the investigation of my murder, the murder of Captain Sean Hallowell of the Chicago PD, the murder of my wife, Briana Elliot, the murder of Charles Thornton, and with some connection to the murder of patrolman Wyatt Johnson, along with the death of the man who shot me last month. I will try to keep a running dialog and provide any clues I can." With that, I stepped out.

I stopped at the sidewalk for a good thirty seconds. It's not easy, walking to your death. I knew if things went the way they seemed, in a few days I would have a lone bagpiper playing in my honor. While it gave me comfort to know that would eventually happen, it wasn't comforting to know that it would be in a few days. I'd heard too many damn bagpipers in the last year, though I knew that even if I didn't have them playing for me, Sean's would be hard to take. And Larry hated them. He'd again have to be the man representing my family, thanking people for showing up.

I began walking.

I'd passed two more houses before I got to the end of the block. No one was there, so after a moment, the cold air raising goosebumps, I stepped into the crosswalk and continued into the next block.

It was after passing the second house, with the block unlit and a large SUV parked in front, blocking the view of the sidewalk from the street and vice versa, that I heard the voice again.

"That's enough, Elliot. Good, good, you seem to have followed my instructions, even the purposely vague one." The voice, even disguised, was recognizable to me.

"Parker? What the hell... you're a cop man!" I made sure to say, just loud enough to ensure my phone could pick it up. "Why are you doing this?"

"I couldn't let them keep looking, Elliot. I couldn't let YOU keep looking. I couldn't sit back and just wait for the investigation to finish. If they kept pushing, you, or one of your friends, was bound to figure it out. I made mistakes, left too much. Hallowell figured it out. His mistake was not letting anyone know before he confronted me. 'Good of the force', 'full honors if I eat a bullet'. Fuck that. The good old boys from Birmingham who helped me get set up were waving too much money, and I like my life, to do any of that. If it wasn't me, it was going to be someone else on the force."

"Your wife was a fortuitous event, at first." he continued. "When the tweaker shot Johnson, that was just a mistake; we sold to the wrong guy, and Johnson was the wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time. But getting your wife.... Thornton did that on his own. Laced her coffee when she was buying a dress or something. Ended up basically date raping her in the store, but got her hooked on product, the purest we had. She had it bad almost instantly. Thornton told her we'd have you killed if she tried to back out. Ultimately, that's why she was killed; she tried to trap Thornton; she set your bedroom up with video and sound, trying to get him to give information she could give you to help shut down the entire operation."

"That's why you got the warrant for the search the day before I got back, isn't it? It gave you cover to get the recordings."

"Spot on, detective. I tried like hell to pin it on you, but it was a losing bet from the get go. You were too much of a Boy Scout."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard this part before. You gonna tell me something I haven't figured out?"

"No."

We faced each other for a few heartbeats, with it seeming like an eternity. "Kneel, Elliot. I won't hurt the women; they don't know enough to matter. But you, on your knees."

I got on my knees, slowly; from that position, and where he was, my options went from slim to none in terms of finding a way to counteract him.

"I was a good cop Elliot, once upon a time. It was all I ever wanted to do, to serve and protect. Back then it seemed black and white. I'm not sure where I went off the rails, but it's too late now, the El is running and it won't slow down. I have to clean up loose ends, and pray. You are a loose end, and you're the reason I'm in trouble. We both know how it's going to end. But I'll send flowers."

I looked straight ahead, and thought about my life. Bree. Larry. Sean, Lisa, my mother and father, Sharon and my team. Claire and Emilie. I thought of those moments that mattered, and the one I came back to as the one I wanted to be my last thought was that first time I held Bree in my arms, looked into her eyes, and heard her say "I love you."

I gasped, and replied back to the those words outloud that only echoed in my memory. "I love you too, Bree."

I heard a shot.

I braced myself for the feeling of fire, the pain, again. I knelt there, waiting.

Then came the thump of a body striking the SUV as it collapsed.

Looking over, I saw Parker's face, still in a grimace of anticipation, with a one-inch jagged hole on the right side of his forehead, eyes glassy and unblinking in death.