CHAPTER 5

A/N: Many thanks to Ace Bullets for her help. All mistakes are mine.

I should have told Kevin that I'm a cop…

He should have done it at the very moment that Kevin began to respond to him, when he had a connection with him and the knife had been lowered. It would hardly have made the situation any worse in that moment but could have swung the balance in their favor.

Almost surely, Kevin would have just got scared and ran away. And everything would have ended there and then. Period.

Or Kevin could have trusted Ed, accepted his offer of help — the SRU's officers had a good reputation among the townspeople, better than the regular cops — and told him about the people that had threatened him.

And then, Ed would have called Greg... And after a short time one of the SRU's teams would have handcuffed the bastards that had blackmailed Kevin... Everything would have been over. Kevin would be alive. Clark would not be forced to go through this nightmare. The young and inexperienced Officer Howell would not have fallen into this stressful, tense situation that he couldn't handle.

And Ed...

Ed would not be where he was now.

He'd been sitting immobile with his clenched fists resting on his knees, eyes staring emptily at the gray concrete wall of the detention cell. Sitting still in a cool room for a protracted period of time was not conducive to future mobility, but Ed was oblivious to any discomfort.

He'd played and replayed the morning in his mind like a movie that he could recite word for word, over and over again trying to work through what had happened, to sort it out, to understand. His thoughts and emotions were snarled up in a knot so tangled he wouldn't know where to start unraveling them. His mind labored on, self-torturing, sick with grief, recrimination. His own personal debriefing; his own personal judgement, with himself in the role of Prosecutor, Defense, and Judge.

So, why did you hesitate, Constable? Why did you not take this solution? What were you thinking?

Ed closed his eyes, recalling every detail.

He had been scared; no, horrified. He could still feel this horror deep inside, and had a strong suspicion that it would remain there for a long time to come.

But wait. Were there really any reasons to be horrified so badly as to cause loss of control?

Kevin had not been going to kill Clark; he was not a murderer. God, he was not even a robber. It was so obvious, Ed could see it distinctly!

Yes, distinctly...

Even not being a profiler, Ed had always been good at "reading" people. Just another one of those little things you learn how to do if you want to stay alive and save other lives in his line of work. A subject's gestures, movements, posture, look, speech. See, evaluate, predict and forecast future actions. Quick and calm.

He was good, no doubt. His percentage of mistakes and failures was low. But nevertheless... mistakes and failures happened.

What if he'd missed something at the time and "read" Kevin incorrectly?

One minor wrong conclusion. And the catastrophic result.

His imagination immediately provided him an all-too-vivid probable picture of this result - Clark's face, covered with a sheet – and Ed shook his head in denial, his mouth drying out; icy tendrils of fear racing up his ribs to curl around his heart. He shut his eyes and tried to remember how to breathe. No, no, no… That was something he must never think of...

I couldn't. I could not risk! It was my son's life at stake there! Who would not have been horrified?! Who would not have had doubts?! Ed groaned mentally.

But then the next moment, on the heels of that attempt at self-justification came another wave of excruciating shame.

Thus, Constable, his inner Judge said coldly, let me get this straight. You just become frightened and missed this obvious solution that any of your colleagues would have used immediately after the primary assessment of the situation.

Ed sighed heavily. He knew the shame he was feeling inside was merely a taste of the disgrace that loomed on the horizon.

His colleagues... What if it had not been him but Greg Parker there? Greg ... Certainly, Greg would have known how to deal with this, what to do, what to say. He would have found an approach to the panicked robber armed with a knife. He would have found a way to cool down that hot-headed, hyper-enthusiastic, excitable young cop. And all involved would have been alive and safe as a result.

Instead, everything Ed had said and done seemed to only make things worse.

He tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, but the grief pressed too heavily upon him.

But what if it was not only fear? Ed rubbed his aching temples. He had been in this business too long to be really scared. He was used to the permanent risk and stress and danger. He was used to making split-second decisions on which many lives depended.

All right, his conscious mind had been afraid, there is no point in denying it. But maybe it was his subconscious that had noticed some minor signs in Kevin; that something dangerous that was there, but had somehow escaped Ed's direct vision? Maybe not the fear, but his experience, his intuition, his gut feeling had stopped him from revealing that he was a cop?

For one moment, he allowed himself to be caught up in this comforting version but then he only chuckled bitterly.

Or maybe you're just trying to justify yourself now, Constable? So typical ... People tend to look for and find justification for their mistakes. Nobody wants to live with the burden of guilt. It won't work, Ed Lane. You may not be the best negotiator or profiler, but what about the tactics? a nasty voice stabbed at the back of his brain. What excuse and justification could you give now, you damned consummate Tactical Leader?

Ed dropped his head into his hands under a wash of self-blame and tried to swallow past the sudden knot in his throat.

How many times had he had the opportunity to disarm the robber? More than once... The moment when Kevin was stunned, bewildered, distracted - Ed had only been a leap away and the knife had been lowered. The perfect moment! Minimal risk for Clark, less than minimal!

So why the heck you were lingering for?!

Why did you hesitate?!

He had no answer…

Why the hell didn't you tell Howell that you were a cop too? You idiot, you saw that the kid was crumbling under the stress and wasn't picking up your hints and clues! What did you expect?

He had no answer…

His mind kept running obsessively, hauntingly, examining the situation from every angle, compulsively replaying every word, expression and gesture and castigating himself for... for everything.

And here at last he got to the highest point of his disgrace.

Why didn't you linger and hesitate when you lost your temper and lashed out at that confused, shocked, bewildered kid?!

Ed moaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

Bravo, Ed Lane! You're such a brave fellow! Keep it up! Vent your spite, your frustration, fears upon inexperienced greenhorns!

He seized his head with his hands, for the first time regretting that he had no hair to grip.

Before his mind's eye again rose that rookie with that unforgiving expression on his face, stubbornly targeting his Beretta in Clark's direction, deaf to Ed's persuasions and to the desperate pleas of Ben and Daniel. The sound of the gunshot... The two bodies, lying motionless in a pool of blood.

He stilled at the terrible reminder, one that he would rank near the top of his list of "days I'd like to expunge from my memory" and a slow burn of weary anger flared inside him. Stupid, stupid kid… But he instantly suppressed the surge and forced himself back under control.

No. Even if the rookie had made the mistake of using excessive force; even if he had not been sufficiently well-trained to go out onto the streets; even if he had been a simply stupid, incompetent idiot... none of this would ever be reason enough to justify Ed's sudden, vicious attack against him.

Ed stared at his right hand, at the bruised knuckles. He kept playing the moment over and over in his head and it still sent a chill up and down his spine. Never in his most craziest thoughts would he ever have believed that he would be able to commit such a cowardly and heinous act.

It occurred to him, very belatedly, that his career was probably over now.

The threat of suspension or being reprimanded did not bother him. He hardly even dared hope that the outcome would only be confined to this, knowing only too well what being charged with assault in the first degree meant. Inwardly, he was ready for the inevitable dismissal, being put on trial and further imprisonment.

But nothing mattered except his son's well-being right now, and even the unwelcome thought of his entire future now hanging in the balance paled into significance.

He thought about what his boy would be forced to go through after this. Nightmares. Perhaps, growing up without a father, condemned. Baiting and bullying at school. PTSD?

O God. What have I done?

Could he even dare to look Clark in the face now?

He will hate you, be afraid of you, be ashamed of you, and he would be right… You'd never factored in what all of it would do to your boy. You're a selfish bastard, Ed Lane.

He couldn't sit still any longer, so he got up, surprised to find every muscle heavy and aching as if he had pushed himself too hard in the weight room.

The detention cell was small — no more than five paces long — much too inadequate for his long legs. Yet, Ed began walking to and fro, lost in thought, reeling, blind to everything but his internal dialogue of misery, guilt and fear.

Clark. Clark. Clark. How would this nightmare affect his mental health? Physical? Was he all right? Where was he now? Did the paramedics get him to the hospital or not? Was Sophie with him now? How was he?!

He remembered how pale and disoriented Clark had been when he had come to his senses after fainting, his eyes barely focused; how he was swaying when he tried to stand upright. With creeping horror, Ed suddenly thought about other possible causes of these symptoms besides the obvious post-traumatic shock. He thought about a possible head injury.

What if Clark had not only fainted after the cop's shot, but was unconscious? What if he had hit his head during the fall? He himself had been too shocked at that moment to check Clark's head for possible lumps and all that. And he had not been able to inform paramedics about Clark's possible loss of consciousness. Ben could have told them. But what if he had not? What if the paramedics let him go home, unchecked, having decided that it was a simple fainting? What if there was something more serious?

A tight knot of fear expanded in the pit of Ed's stomach and his heart accelerated as if gearing up for a coronary.

God, please, just let my son be okay…

He'd been agonizing about losing Clark's respect and love, but it appeared that there were worse things ready to steal his son away from him.

For a moment he felt as though he was choking, the rising panic strongly squeezing his chest, the air around him suddenly thickened, growing hot and impossible to breathe. He sat down again on the bench and dropped his face in his hands, rocking slightly back and forth. He ached with the need for news about Clark, to know if he was okay.

If there was something wrong with Clark they would have to inform him. Wouldn't they?

He clenched his right hand into a fist and pressed it to his mouth.

No, maybe not. Face it. This is a charge with first-degree assault of a police officer. Any news would only be forthcoming after hours and hours of approvals and then, only if the brass and detectives on this case and the prosecutor consider it necessary to inform you...

A helpless groan of despair rose in his throat, choking him. He jumped up and resumed pacing, feet moving with the rhythm of his thoughts.

Stop. Calm down. At the end of the one phone conversation that you had the right to use, Greg had promised to take care of Clark and Sophie. He would inform you if there was something serious, in spite of any protocols and limitations. Unless…

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Unless Greg, as Ed's senior officer and direct boss, had also been temporarily suspended…

Ed slowly sat back down on the bench, drained, suddenly realizing how many people near and dear to him his offense may have adversely affected.

He automatically raised his left hand to look at his watch, but only saw the red mark on his wrist from the handcuffs. As cops had stripped him of everything during his arrest, he didn't have anything to check the time, so he couldn't tell how long he'd been sitting here. It felt like hours.

He should be beside his child now. He should be kneeling before his wife now, begging for forgiveness. He should be apologizing to his team for failing them, too.

Instead, he sat passively in a detention cell, denied access to any further news, helpless.

And there was nobody to blame but himself.

(tbc)