Mirror Image

DISCLAIMER:

All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of Mark VII Productions and Universal Studios. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at an Emergency story. I want to thank Waikiki23 for her encouragement to write this story. And my gratitude to my beta and gracious friend, HotchRocks, for her hard work in ensuring that my English is readable. I should note that I am not a medical person, nor do I work in the fire fighter profession. Any and all remaining errors are all mine.

Present Time:

"John Gage, you are under arrest for the murder of Roy Desoto." Chocolate eyes stared back, face devoid of emotion, Detective Alex Hayes knew he was looking at a stone cold killer. The man didn't even have the decency to appear upset over the death of his partner of five years. Hayes was plenty affected for both men; he was with Desoto as he drew his last breath.

An hour and half prior:

Detective Hayes and his partner, Detective Clay Sawyer, responded to the shooting Los Angeles Police Department dispatch had called them out four minutes prior, making good time as they were already in the area working on a homicide case. Hayes pulled the sedan to the side of the street where he had a solid view of the paramedics working on the shooting victim. With any luck, this wouldn't turn into a homicide case, he hoped. Hayes, the senior detective, had three years in homicide and Sawyer was a rookie detective with only six months in the grade. Between the men, they had nearly fourteen years with the LAPD.

Both officers sat for thirty seconds observing the scene before exiting their light gray unmarked car. Hayes exited the driver's side of the car, slipping the keys into his coat pocket, closing the door before walking to the front of the car waiting for his partner to join him. Next they took the few footfalls over to the scene careful to not step on any evidence. Instantly they recognized something was different about this run as a third man ordered two Los Angeles City paramedics treating the victim to inject medications into the IV. Biophone was opened, but the orders didn't come through it. The victim had multiple gunshot wounds. Hayes had seen enough victims to recognize this one wasn't going to make it. His cutoff light blue shirt tossed to the side, with the sun beaming off the LA County Fire Department badge, put a lump in the detective's throat. Name tag across from the badge read R Desoto. The Fire Department might not be the police, and there was a sibling rivalry, all in good fun. But they were just like him, working to protect the citizens of the Los Angeles. This would be personal for the detectives, a brother in blue had been shot. The case would be worked with the same vigor had the man been a police officer.

A non-rebreather oxygen mask was placed over the man's mouth and nose, with elastic holding it in place behind his head. An IV snaked down his left arm, and two large pressure bandages secured to his chest. EKG leads scattered across his chest led to a scope with what appeared to be a slow but steady heart rate. Hayes couldn't read the squiggly lines, but was sure the paramedics understood what they indicated. A second IV line was established by the shorter of the two paramedics. The third man sat back on his heels, clearly showing the bald spot on the back of his head as he evaluated his patient.

"What do we have fellas," Hayes asked as he stood near the victim's feet.

"Triple gunshot wounds to the chest, but he's going to be just fine," Warner, the older paramedic said patting Desoto on the shoulder. He looked up giving the detective a slight nod no; his eyes indicating the man wouldn't even make it to the hospital alive. "We're fortunate to have Doctor Carlyle riding with us today, and can provide more than the standard level of care."

"Do you mind if I ask him a couple of questions," the determined detective asked moving to kneel beside the fallen fireman.

"Sure, we're just waiting for the ambulance," Rogers, the shorter paramedic said stepping aside so the officer could get closer to the victim. "I'll find out where it is."

"I'm Detective Hayes, can you tell me who shot you?" Serious brown eyes looked into barely conscious hazy blue eyes.

"M…my partner…nev…never thought he'd turrrrrn on me," Desoto struggled to get out. His breathing labored, and color more ashen with each passing moment, the heart rate on the screen slowing. Warner turned up the oxygen to one hundred percent.

"Tell Jooo I lovvve herr," his words became more breathy and difficult to get out.

"She'll meet you at the hospital and you'll be able to tell her yourself," Warner said with a supportive hand on Desoto's shoulder.

"What's your partner's name?" Acid rose in the back of Hayes's throat. Partners turning on each other was never good. It happened every so often even in the police department, usually over something personal.

"Jonn Gagggg…" He quit breathing with his head listing to the left slightly. The squiggly lines on the monitor changed to a flat line.

Warner grabbed the paddles as Carlyle pushed a button on the device and placed gel on the paddles. The numbers climbed upward, one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred. "Go!" The life giving instruments placed on the patient's chest and activated making the man arch up off the pavement. "Drop two amps bi-carb," the doctor ordered.

"Bi-carb in. The ambulance was in an accident and another won't arrive for at least twenty-five minutes." Rogers responded as he pushed the button to make the paddles charge as the flat line continued across the screen. The dance between life and the claws of death continued for a solid twenty minutes, medications administered, chest compressions, and electric shocks given until there was nothing left to do.

Carlyle let out a deep breath shaking his head. Everyone knew the patient wasn't going to make it, but it seemed so futile to lose a life like this, especially one of the good guys. Even if they'd been in a fully equipped emergency room, the man didn't stand a chance, but the doctor was a sore loser when death ripped a life away. Looking at his watch, "Time of death 13:13."

All three men appeared defeated with slumped shoulders and lowered heads. In the distance, the wail of the ambulance siren could be heard with at least two minutes away for the arrival.

"Some days," Warner shook his head.

"You did your best," Hayes placed a hand on the paramedic's shoulder offering support. "Is there anything you can tell me that might help?"

Warner picked up something laying under the victims destroyed blue shirt, handing it to the detective. "He had this in his hand when we arrived."

Turning the thin plastic piece over revealing the inscription, Hayes questioned the paramedic. "J Gage." The name badge was identical to the one on Desoto's shirt with fabric attached still to the plastic as if it'd been ripped from a similar type shirt.

"The County's premier paramedic team, Roy Desoto and John Gage out of Carson. Desoto helped get the paramedic program pushed through the system to be created. Never had a chance to meet him before today," Warner shook his head in disgust. "What a way to…"

"The ladies on the corner flagged us down; we were returning from a nothing run. Got to him within two minutes of the shooting," Carlyle offered indicating up the street. Two Hispanic women sat on the side of the street huddled together, one fingered a rosary, while the other's mouth was moving in what appeared to be silent prayers.

"Thanks," Hayes said as he and his partner made their way to the witnesses introducing themselves. "Ladies, can you tell us what you saw."

"He's dead isn't he?" A plump woman in her forties wearing a flowered blue dress asked with trembling hands.

"Yes, ma'am, I'm afraid he is," Sawyer answered, watching their reactions. Were they witnesses, or did they have anything to do with the murder? His mind said anyone at the scene presenting as a witness could be an accomplice or perpetrator.

"Dios mío no…," the women whimpered and clasped hands.

"May I get your names please?"

"Helena Gonzales and this is my sister-in-law, Isadora," the lady who asked about the fallen fireman answered. Her sister-in-law, who had been fingering the rosary, nodded her head whispering, "sí."

"Can you tell me what happened?" Hayes asked as he knelt at the same height as his witnesses sat.

After a moment of conversing in Spanish, it was decided that Helena would speak because her English was better, and only to the dark haired detective because he didn't look down on them. Hayes didn't let the ladies know he understood their conversation, and would instruct his partner on why their decision later.

"We were walking to the store, Tito's grocery, they have a nice sell on melons right now. That Tito always has good produce at a reasonable price," Helena started.

"My wife would agree with you," Hayes said with an understanding nod. Anytime he could connect personally with a witness made the interview process go smoother.

Helena smiled and opened up more. "Before we got to the corner we heard a noise like… like… a car backfire, but not the same. It happened all quick tres times." She held three fingers up to make sure he understood. Hayes nodded his head, writing in his notebook encouraging her to continue. She took a shuddered breath to calm her nerves. "Then a car door opened, and the man was shoved out the door, and the car took off with the door still opened. It was horrible." Both ladies trembled.

"I'm sure it was," he waited until they both let out a cleansing breath.

"What happened next?" Sawyer asked also taking notes in his book.

"El pobre hombre cayó al suelo," Isadora looked at the police officer as if he'd lost his mind.

Sawyer, not understanding, shook his head in confusion.

"He fell to the pavement of course," Helena explained as she would to a small child. Sawyer nodded his head in acquisition, mumbling 'Of course.' Hayes hid his amusement as Helena continued. "The poor dear fell with a thud hitting the street with such force. And the blood… oh, Mary, Madre de Dios….," tears pooled in her eyes. Isadora hugged her fiercely. After another moment she continued. "We didn't know what to do, then we looked up the street and the fire department truck was driving by so we waved and yelled at them. They stopped and tried to help."

"Did either of you touch the victim?" Hayes didn't see blood on their clothing, but it was a routine question. Both women shook their heads negatively.

"Did you see the driver?" Hayes asked.

"He was white with long brown hair. I don't know how he kept it out of his eyes," Helena answered with a shake of her head.

"Can you describe the automobile the man fell out of?"

"Una caja blanco," Isadora said with determination.

"A white box?" Hayes's eyebrows shot up in puzzlement.

"We don't know cars very well. It wasn't a car or a truck. Trucks have opened backs, but this didn't and it didn't have a top over the back as some trucks have. It was white, but not a car and not exactly a truck," Helena appeared confused trying to describe the vehicle.

"How many doors?"

"One on each side."

"Did the vehicle have any marks or did you see the license plate?" he wasn't sure how to put a bulletin out on a white boxy vehicle.

Both ladies shook their heads no. "Thank you for your help. This officer is going to make sure you both make it home," he called over a patrol officer giving him directions.

"What do we have," another man wearing a suit similar to the detectives.

"Hey Joe, Bill." The four men nodded greetings to each other. "County fireman/paramedic Roy Desoto has been murdered, apparently by his partner, a… one John Gage," Hayes read from his notes. "We have an idea where to pick up the suspect, can you handle family notification?"

"Sure," Bill the other detective agreed. After a few minutes conversing, they turned to leave.

"Bill remember to…" Hayes started.

"Don't worry we got it covered. Find out if this was a lover's triangle gone badly, and if the wife has culpability in the murder," he answered walking backwards.

Hayes pulled into Station 51's parking lot and both men shared a look. A white range rover sat in the corner, a boxy white not quite a truck vehicle. Yep, their suspect was here, and they'd make this arrest quick.

Present time

"You have to be out of your ever lovin' minds!" A short fireman with a bushy mustache moved between their suspect and the detectives. The squad was parked on the apron and the men stood where the squad normally parked.

Marco took two steps sideways and with his forearm and fist pounding twice on the Captain's door, "CAP!"

The door opened and three firemen came out of the office, "What's going on?"

"Tell Cap what you just said to Johnny!" Chet ordered pointing to Captain Stanley.

Hayes tried to tread lightly. "We're here to arrest John Gage for the murder of Roy Desoto."

Faces of the firemen traveled through shock, bewilderment, and confusion as three placed themselves in front of Gage. Mike Stoker found a spot behind Gage with his hand on his friend's shoulder.

Hayes wasn't sure if Stoker was keeping Gage where he stood, or ready to grab him and run out the back of the station. He'd lost control of the situation and realized his mistake by not bringing backup. The firemen of Station 51 definitely had the upper hand. Were they all involved in the murder of one of their own?

A/N – All Spanish is courtesy of Google Translate.