Alone

Autor / Author: Elyse Dickenson
E-mail: JRD203@aol.com
Poznámky / Notes:
A story based in the first/second season.
Rated three tissue boxes, for heavy emotional angst.
Not recommended for small children.

"I realize that we've had to adapt since coming to the city, but there are certain..." Constable Benton Fraser paused, his mind searching for the proper term, before continuing. "Morals one must adhere to no matter what."

A decidedly malcontented yap sounded from below. Fraser briefly studied the white wolf jogging alongside him on the concrete sidewalk. The gleaming brown eyes studied him, taunting him.

"Well, all right, perhaps morals is not exactly the word I'm seeking," corrected Fraser. "It's not a sin to eat sweet foods. Well, there's always gluttony, to which you sometimes border precariously close."

The wolf snorted under his breath and picked up speed, trotting around the street corner.

Fraser just sighed. It wasn't as though Dief were turning into some truant, running wild and vandalizing the neighborhood, but Fraser had had to put the wolf on a diet - twice - since coming to Chicago three years ago. That had never been the case in the Territories, but then the temptations were so few, if any. It wasn't as though Mars bars were to be found under rocks up in the Yukon.

He probably would not be taking this long and circuitous route to the restaurant had Diefenbaker not been developing a little pudgy area around his middle. The wolf didn't get as near as much exercise as he used to while in the vast Canadian countryside past the 60th parallel. He couldn't run free, loping over hills and across plains, chasing caribou and rabbits. To even attempt that in the city invited being squashed by a car or caught by an Animal Control officer, so Fraser had decided to begin these long walks. At least it was nearing Fall, and the nights were cooling off.

Diefenbaker was waiting for him by a newspaper kiosk when he turned the corner.

The neighborhood was rundown. Ray would have another more unpleasant word for it, and would question his friend's sanity for walking through it at night. Fraser didn't worry. His own neighborhood was similar. Not everybody could afford to live in a house with a front yard and cable TV. Most people would choose a better living environment but it wasn't always that simple.

He was also well-schooled in self-defense, and the sight of the wolf walking beside him seemed to deter any thoughts of mugging the Mountie. At least that's what Ray once insinuated.

Diefenbaker stopped in his tracks, the hackles on his back rising. Fraser stopped, his senses also reaching out to detect the unseen menace.

A loud explosion tore through the air and in the distance, Fraser could see flames lapping fiercely at an apartment building. Screams echoed down the street. Fraser ran toward it, the wolf ahead of him.

~~~~~~~~~~
DETECTIVE RAY VECCHIO studied the check in his hand. It was a reasonable price for what he had eaten. There'd been just a tiny too much dressing on the salad, but he was rather fond of blue cheese so he really didn't complain. The steak had been cooked to perfection, as had the huge baked potato. He'd nursed his dessert along at a painfully slow speed, wondering where Fraser had decided to spend his time. The Mountie hadn't called to say he couldn't make dinner, but neither was he at the Consulate, which meant he was probably rescuing a cat out of tree. Maybe a litter of kittens out of a grove of trees. Who knew? Ray had settled on a solo meal nearly an hour ago. He went over some case notes, flirted casually with a pretty waitress who was unfortunately too busy with other customers to spare the time to chat, and wondered what was on fire.

Several fire engines had sped by a while ago, followed by even more police cars. He'd seen a TV news van speed by as well. The screeching tires indicated they'd just avoided making the evening news themselves as a nasty accident. If Fraser had been at the restaurant instead of who knew where, their partially-eaten meals would have ended up in the dumpster out back as they ran off to assist.

Ray was off-duty. Definitely off-duty. He'd put in a full day, a full week, a full month, years. He slapped some money down on the tablecloth, leaving a generous tip, then drained the last of his coffee.

Once outside, it was a short walk to the Riviera. The large green car was sandwiched in between two tiny Japanese imports. Put them both together and they might weigh as much as the Buick. A cool breeze swept past him before he got in the car. Fall was around the corner. Soon the leaves would turn scarlet, then the ground would turn white when snow covered the city. Fraser would be in his element.

As he stuck the key in the ignition and turned it, a sinking feeling gripped Ray. The police radio turned on and a call pierced his ears. Why did he have the feeling that Fraser was somehow involved?

~~~~~~~~~~
RAY NEGOTIATED THE large green vehicle into a disaster area. Police strobe lights cut through the air, their brilliance a shocking contrast against the darkness. Fire engines were positioned strategically around the building. Thick tendrils of gritty smoke rose from the devastated structure. Part of it remained, the windows blown out from intense heat, whereas one corner had quite simply collapsed in on itself. Firemen were still busy hosing down one area while others gingerly entered the structure in search of victims.

Ray flashed his badge at a uniformed cop, gaining entrance past the swarm of reporters busy taping the carnage for the eleven o'clock news. The cries of those who had lost everything pierced the air like lost souls. People huddled together, staring at the smoldering ruins of what had once been their home. It wasn't some swanky Astor Street residence. It was not a great neighborhood at all, but this had been home for many. Social Services would assist those who had nowhere to go.

A display of red through several firemen in heavy coats caught his eye and the worry that had been nibbling at the back of Ray's mind vanished. Fraser was standing by an ambulance. A paramedic was attending to a child strapped to a stretcher. A young black woman was talking to Fraser. No words could be heard through the chaos swirling around. The woman hugged Fraser and oddly enough, it seemed as though she were comforting him, not the other way around. A medic slid the child into the ambulance.

Ray came up behind Fraser. "Just 'cause you wear red doesn't mean you're an honorary fireman."

Fraser turned at his voice. Ray was shocked to see black soot all over the Mountie, framing his nose and mouth as though he'd been eating it. There were spots on the normally pristine uniform that actually looked scorched.

The other medic turned from his equipment case, then rubbed his jacket sleeve across his face, smearing some soot across his ruddy cheek. "Just take it easy," he told Fraser. Sensing Ray's concern, he concluded. "A little smoke inhalation, nothing to worry about."

Fraser nodded wearily.

Ray was about to suggest leaving the depressing site when Fraser moved away, stepping over a snake-like pattern of fire hoses in the street to talk to a fireman. The helmeted man and Fraser conversed, again too far away for Ray to discern the topic. The fireman turned, looking solemnly at the gutted structure, and shook his head. Fraser nodded imperceptibly, then handed something to the fireman, and came back to Ray.

"You look fried," observed Ray. "I'll give you a lift home, okay?"

Fraser quietly followed him to the car. Ray shuddered at the thought of anybody having been caught in that inferno.

~~~~~~~~~~
RAY IGNORED THE variety of 'No Parking' signs in front of Fraser's apartment building at 221 West Racine. The night air seemed colder, less friendly, as they stepped out on to the empty sidewalk. Ray drew in a deep breath but couldn't rid himself of the acrid smell of smoke. It had saturated Fraser. He doubted the Mountie even noticed.

The entire ride had been in complete silence. Fraser had simply sat back in the passenger seat and shut his eyes. Ray didn't feel like prodding his friend for answers. He'd find out the next day, or maybe when he got home, if he bothered to turn on the news. Someone hadn't made it out of that building and Fraser probably felt responsible.

Within minutes they were at Fraser's apartment door. Ray hadn't thought it wise to just let his friend go in unaccompanied. He was acting strange. Maybe he'd inhaled too much smoke or something.

Fraser opened the door in an almost robotic manner. He entered the sparse apartment, then stopped. Ray looked around, half expecting Diefenbaker to come up and back off, snorting his distaste at the powerful scent of smoke. "Where's the wolf?"

The other man stood rooted in place, his face impassive. A lost expression suffused his blue eyes.

"He..."

Ray thought about it briefly, the hassle of driving back and forth and having the animal slobber on the back seat, then groaned. "What? He's not still at the Consulate?"

Fraser's gaze slowly focused on the food dishes on the floor. Long seconds passed. "He didn't make it out of the building."

A chilling cold gripped Ray, twisting his insides. "Oh my God... why didn't you say something?"

There was no response.

"Benny?"

"Pardon?"

The Mountie looked bewildered, unsure of what to do next, or even if he could think of anything so mundane. Ray steered him toward the kitchen table and he sat down. Ray sat down next to him in the other chair. "God, Benny, I'm sorry."

"I suppose I couldn't expect him to listen to me. After all, he's..." Fraser paused, blinking. "He was deaf."

The voice was devoid of emotion. Ray recognized the signs of shock. Not necessarily physical, but psychological. Fraser had just lost perhaps his best friend. Ray glanced around the empty apartment and knew what he had to do.

~~~~~~~~~~
"IT'S NOT REALLY NECESSARY."

The phrase tumbled through Ray's mind, tripping over the events of the day. How he'd sat at dinner wondering what was taking Fraser so long while the man was suffering the loss of someone who could never be replaced.

Fraser had moved about like a zombie in the apartment, and only came to life when Ray began gathering clothes out of a drawer and stuffing them into a duffel bag. The Mountie had protested that he'd be fine, but there was no spirit in that defense, and Ray did not second guess his decision to take his friend home for the night. He shouldn't be alone at a time like this. He knew Fraser would argue that out, in civil tones and with facts to back him up, and not want to leave the apartment, so Ray pushed ahead, citing complications from smoke inhalation. One never could tell.

The Mountie had showered, changed in to T-shirt and shorts, and practically passed out in the guest room. He'd been exhausted from the physical ordeal. Sleep would relieve that, but Ray wasn't sure what to do about Diefenbaker's death.

He'd laid the soiled uniform on a chair on the back porch. The smoke had permeated everything, even the boots. Ray had grabbed some clothes: a set of R.C.M.P. jogging attire, some sneakers and stuff. He didn't think Fraser would be in any shape to go to work the next day.

He almost laughed aloud. Fraser had been concerned about bringing soot into the Vecchio house. Ray had sarcastically responded that that's what vacuum cleaners were for. But he let it slide; it gave the Mountie something to focus on.

Ray paced into the kitchen. He wasn't hungry but he opened the refrigerator anyway, leaning on the door and staring into the cool chamber. He'd tried talking to Fraser but the man hadn't been responsive. Perhaps tomorrow. There was no grief in his eyes, just an empty loss.

The front door shut, echoing into the house. A clatter of heels filled the air and Francesca came into the kitchen and dumped some shopping bags on the wooden table.

"What's that awful smell? Did you burn something?" she wondered.

Ray stared at a jar in the refrigerator. It took a moment to realize there were black olives within the green glass.

Francesca reached past him, stuffing a variety of items into the refrigerator. "Are you just going to stand there or are you planning on being a doorstop?"

Ray backed away, then sat down at the table, staring at the brown bags.

His sister shoved a bag of cold cuts into the meat drawer, then turned. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" When he didn't answer, her voice quivered. "Oh no, it's not Fraser."

"He's ... okay," said Ray quietly.

Francesca sat down, pushing the bags off to the other side of the table. "He's not hurt, is he?"

"Just a little singed. There was a fire. He's in the guest room."

"Oh, thank God," murmured his sister, taking in a deep breath. "I'll go see how he's doing."

"No, don't." Ray's voice didn't come out in its usual sharp tones, but she didn't leave her chair. "Just leave him alone, okay? He needs time."

"What are you talking about?"

Ray leaned back in the chair, exhaustion setting in. "There was a fire. Fraser rescued some people out of a burning building." Ray suddenly realized he was being redundant. Shouldn't Fraser be there, pointing that out?

"Ray?" Francesca's eyes shone with open concern.

"Diefenbaker didn't get out."

Francesca gasped, putting her hand to her mouth, her eyes widening in horror.

Ray gently grabbed his sister's hand, squeezing it. "He'll get through it. He'll be okay." Inwardly, Ray wondered if that was possible.

~~~~~~~~~~

RAY WOKE UP, his hands groping for the secure softness of his pillow. Bleary eyes opened slowly, sheer will forcing them to let in the early morning sunshine. The pillow was on the floor. Must have knocked it off during the night, when I couldn't get any sleep. He found his watch on the bedside stand. It wasn't even six o'clock.

He found the energy to shower, then get dressed. He cautiously checked on the guest room. The door was ajar, the bed neatly made, as though nobody had even been there. Ray quietly jogged downstairs. No one else was up yet, or at least they were being awful quiet about it. School wasn't for another few weeks so at least the kids would sleep in as much as possible till it was time to get locked back into a pattern.

Francesca was in her pajamas, wrapped up in a pink terry cloth bathrobe, staring at the toaster. The red glow of the tiny heating coils were busy turning two pieces of bread to toast.

"Have you seen Fraser?" asked Ray.

"He's out on the front porch," replied Francesca. "He seems okay, but...."

Ray just nodded.

The front door creaked when he opened it. He'd have to oil the one hinge. He'd meant to do it earlier, but somehow it wasn't that important.

Fraser wore his dark blue R.C.M.P. sweatsuit. He was sitting on the porch swing, coffee mug in hand, watching the street beyond. Birds chirped in the neighborhood trees. The paperboy pedaled by on his 10-speed bike, tossing the daily paper on to the tiny lawn, then repeated the act as he disappeared down the street.

"How are you doing?"

Fraser clutched the white mug between both hands. "He helped save two lives. Did you know that? He followed me in, even though I'd ordered him not to. Found a child hiding under a bed. Saved seconds. Saved lives. I took the boy and his sister out of the building. I thought he'd gotten out but..."

Ray leaned against the porch railing opposite. His hands clenched into the wood. "There might be a chance...?"

Fraser shook his head. "I talked with the investigator this morning. They're still sifting through the rubble, looking for the cause, making sure no one else got caught. They found a... his collar under some fallen beams."

"Maybe it belongs to another..?"

"No other pets were unaccounted for," finished Fraser.

"Do you, uh, want to talk?"

Fraser gazed into the half-empty mug.

Too soon perhaps? wondered Ray.

Fraser looked at his watch. "Do you mind dropping me off at my place? I don't want to be late for work."

"Work?" Ray was astonished. "Are you sure?"

"My throat's a little scratchy from the smoke, my eyes a little bloodshot," said Fraser, forcing a smile. "But otherwise, yes, I'm sure."

And who wants to go home to an empty apartment?

Ray went inside to get his car keys.

~~~~~~~~~~
RAY LISTENED TO the background noise of fellow detectives at work. It was a soothing sound at times, and today was no exception. It was normalcy. The voice on the other end of the receiver, however, was annoying. Some bureaucrat droning on about filling out proper forms and how the i's should be dotted and the t's crossed. The voice continued buzzing and he tuned it out, thinking back to the morning hours.

He'd dropped Fraser off at his apartment and offered to come up, but Fraser insisted it wasn't necessary, nor was a lift to the Consulate. Ray wouldn't take no for an answer. He turned off the ignition, pointing out his blatant parking violation to the Mountie. Fraser merely frowned, then went inside. It only took minutes for him to change - Ray was never really sure how he did it - maybe it was something they taught in R.C.M.P. school or something, and he was back down at the Buick.

Fraser hadn't seemed quite as lost as he had the evening before when Dief's death was so stark in his mind. The two men made idle chit-chat on the way to the Consulate. Ray purposefully drove slower than normal, but Fraser wouldn't change his mind about working, even though he sounded like some frog croaking in a swamp. Maybe he wouldn't be standing outside today. Or maybe that's what he wanted. To just zone out and forget.

The bureaucrat made some snide remark and Ray snapped back at him, escalating the conversation into a one-sided shouting match until Ray slammed the receiver down. He bent his head forward, placing hands over the top of his head.

It felt like somebody was tapping a pencil on his head. He looked up, catching sight of an eraser stub as Elaine pulled the instrument away. Her pretty brow furrowed. Arms crossed, she held a clipboard against her chest.

"What?"

"What?" repeated Elaine. "You're biting someone's head off on the phone. Well, that's sort of normal behavior for you, but, you look... are you okay?"

"Yeah, basically," he admitted.

Elaine sat down. "I heard some rumors floating around. Something about Fraser and a fire. He's okay, isn't he?"

Ray stared at the phone, wondering if he should call the Consulate, check on Fraser. "Yes, no."

Elaine stared at him questioningly. He sat back, steadying himself, knowing that it would not be the last time that day he would tell the tragic tale.

~~~~~~~~~~
ANOTHER SUGAR CUBE crunched between her molars. Inspector Margaret Thatcher swallowed the sweet granules, then followed it with a chaser of strong coffee. This was definitely not her normal morning routine, but the sugar cubes were there and, to a degree, they helped alleviate the stress.

She hated it when things went awry, especially when those things were under her command. The media had invaded the Consulate. She pondered the idea of bear traps placed strategically near each entrance, waiting to snare one of those videocam-carrying, stick-a-microphone-in-your-face leeches in their steel jaws. Of course that was wishful thinking. Civilized people, as well as Mounties, did not resort to such primitive measures.

Traffic had delayed her arrival at work, and when she'd entered the Consulate, she'd encountered the tail end of Constable Fraser entertaining a gaggle of reporters. Turnbull filled her in on the gist of what was transpiring. He wasn't quite sure of all the details, just that Fraser had saved some people from a burning building the previous evening.

The press wasn't entirely satisfied with the interview. It wasn't as though Fraser wasn't cooperative. He answered their questions, but in such polite tones, in such brief sentences, that for an instant she recalled his coaching from media relations expert Vivian Richards in regards to the train hijacking. The limelight wasn't for him, and he didn't encourage its following.

Thatcher felt she had no choice but to face the hungry reporters when they'd spied her. Fraser then slipped away into his office, closing the door behind him. She'd retreated to her own office afterwards, sucking down the coffee Turnbull brought in and munching on a bagel she'd grabbed on the way in to work.

It wouldn't be long before Vivian Richards caught wind of Fraser's heroics once again and decided to promote the incident for the betterment of the R.C.M.P. and Canada in general.

A knock sounded softly on the door.

"Enter." Her terse voice echoed even in her own ears.

Fraser did as instructed. He seemed subdued. Perhaps he was waiting for her to yell at him for his 'unauthorized' conference with the press.

"Do you realize that by day's end, Vivian Richards will be calling me? And she'll probably be in this very office tomorrow morning?"

"No, ma'am, I hadn't considered that," answered Fraser.

"I don't like arriving at work and running into a pack of the press, Constable. It gives me indigestion," said Thatcher.

"Sorry, ma'am," apologized Fraser.

Thatcher noticed how hoarse his voice sounded. Considering he'd been running around inside burning buildings like Superman the evening before, it was no surprise.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Fraser broke his gaze from the pen holder on her desk. "Yes."

Thatcher contemplated sending him home on sick leave, but he'd just protest it. A totally useless idea. She studied him again. His eyes seemed fixated on a stack of folders on her far shelf. Her eyebrows arched.

"Permission to make a suggestion?" he asked.

Thatcher nodded.

He gestured his head toward the manila folders. "That project should be tackled."

Thatcher shut her mouth before it fell open wide enough to admit small aircraft. The Windygates project. So dubiously named by a bureaucrat somewhere. A mind-numbing, tedious, finger-cramping exercise in futility of going back through a decade's worth of files in the basement to put together some esoteric spreadsheet that would just get handed out at a meeting and ignored.

She had brought the project up at a staff meeting a month ago. Even the normally unshakable Fraser had reacted. He hadn't outwardly cringed, but she could see the horror dance around in his eyes before he quickly squelched it.

Even with Fraser's intelligence and quick fingers, it would be a minimum of two weeks pulling file folders, writing down information, and constructing the spreadsheet.

Perhaps it would be for the best.

He would be out of the reporters' eyes. Busy working on an 'important' project. It would give Thatcher the perfect reason why Ms. Richards not try to parlay this incident into an item for the six o'clock news. If she'd turned on the news last night, she probably would have caught it anyway.

Fraser wasn't exactly exhibiting great excitement at the potentially eye-destroying task of reading ancient carbon copies, but neither was he expressing any regret over the suggestion.

"Very well," said Thatcher. "Your other tasks are complete?"

Fraser nodded.

"If we need you for anything, we'll know where to find you," finished Thatcher.

Fraser merely thanked her, then left.

Thatcher's eyes focused on the outer office beyond her door, then snapped out of her gaze. Something just didn't seem right. She'd have to get a copy of the morning paper to find out exactly what had happened that he wasn't telling her.

In the meantime, at least he wouldn't get into any trouble in the basement.

~~~~~~~~~~
RAY CRAMMED THE folder into the already over-stuffed filing cabinet and slammed the drawer shut. It seemed like any other day at the station. People complaining, crimes being committed, someone grousing that the vending machines never had any really good food. The only difference was that someone was missing.

Dief's loss wasn't common knowledge, or at least it didn't seem that way. Elaine knew, Huey, Welsh. Maybe that's why Fraser hadn't come over for lunch yet. Ray had insisted on a lunch date today. Fraser needed drawing out. He knew Dief was dead. They all knew that, but now Fraser would probably realize just how alone he was in that apartment.

Surely the Inspector would send him home after learning of the animal's demise? Ray sat down. His tired eyes stared at the paperwork in front of him. He'd never lost a pet himself as he'd never had one. Francesca had been inconsolable for a week after the hamster's unfortunate death when they were kids.

He heard Fraser before he saw him. Elaine was standing near her desk, obviously offering her sympathies to the Mountie, who had just entered the bullpen. Fraser didn't look much different than he had that morning, except for the almost imperceptible fatigue that tinged his eyes.

Fraser came over and stood near the desk, idly scanning some papers on top.

"Taking the day off?" asked Ray.

"No, there's no need," he replied. He rubbed at his eyes. "Perhaps I should pick up some eyedrops."

Ray paused. Was the Inspector that heartless? He grabbed his coat off the coat rack, keeping his thoughts to himself. Fraser would just defend his superior's decision. "What for?"

"I'm working on the Windygates project."

"The Windy-what?" repeated Ray in confusion.

"Windygates," repeated Fraser slowly. "I have no idea why it's called that as it has nothing to do with the tornado that destroyed several farms and a schoolhouse in Windygates, Manitoba back in 1947. The tornado crossed into North Dakota where it subsequently killed 11 and injured 30 people."

"Fraser, can I ask you something?"

"If I can be of some assistance." Fraser nodded as they headed toward the double doors. Huey passed by, offering his condolences. Ray noticed how Fraser seemed rather weary from all the good will.

"Do you have some little Rolodex in your head where you just look for these bizarre facts?"

"Oh, no, it was on a calendar down in the file room. Canadian weather facts, to be precise," explained the Mountie. "Perhaps that's where the name was pulled from."

"Ah," muttered Ray.

Once outside, they decided to walk to a nearby diner. It was only a few blocks away and Ray didn't mind that Fraser had suggested the trek. He didn't exercise nearly as much as he should, but sometimes chasing suspects and running up and down the stairs at the police station seemed to be enough.

Ray suggested that they stop at a pharmacy on the way back and get Fraser some throat lozenges. Even though the Mountie wasn't nearly as verbose as normal, it was apparent to the cop that the smoke had irritated his friend's throat badly. Fraser should be at home, recuperating.

The Mountie stopped in his tracks, his eyes locked on something in the distance. Ray followed the alarmed gaze, losing the line of sight when Fraser suddenly took off at a run down a side street.

"What? Armed robbers? Rogue elephants?" complained Ray under his breath, dodging pedestrians as he joined the pursuit.

He caught up with Fraser a moment after he saw what had so dramatically drawn the man away. The flash of a white tail disappeared around a building corner. Fraser had stopped and was watching, a wistful, torn expression pervading his eyes. Two boys were running down the sidewalk, a large white dog following, leaping and bounding between them.

Fraser looked crestfallen, as though his hopes had been dashed to the ground and destroyed. Ray felt horrible for his friend. He placed his hand on the man's shoulder for a moment, watching the children scamper off in the distance.

There wasn't much he could say. There was no analogy he could really make. Sure, he remembered thinking the Buick wasn't a pile of burnt and twisted metal at the wrecker's when he saw a flash of green in a parking lot, but that was a car which he could replace.

He didn't expect Fraser to pour his heart out to him. Fraser had a tendency to bottle up his grief in a canyon of emotional isolation. He'd beat it down until the problem was gone or submerged so deep he could simply forget. It wasn't the best way to deal with grief, but Ray's method wasn't any better. He got angry. He'd done it with his father's death and his own divorce. When things got bad, he tended to lash out at those who wanted to help, Fraser included. The best he could offer his friend right now was a supportive shoulder should he need one.

Fraser shook his head, perhaps to rid himself of the images that formed in his mind. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Ray glanced down a side street. "Um, you know that sushi place?"

The Mountie turned. "The one on Division?"

"Yup. Why don't we hit that for lunch instead?" suggested Ray.

"I recall your saying that you'd never let anything that wasn't cooked ever touch your tongue," reminded Fraser.

Ray wondered how Fraser could remember off-hand remarks made years ago. "Yeah, well, I'm not getting any younger. Figure I might as well try it out while my stomach can still tolerate it. Besides, Elaine said it was rather decent."

"You don't have to..."

Ray frowned. "I don't do anything I don't have to, Fraser," he reminded caustically.

"All right."

The two men fell into step beside each other as they headed in the opposite direction down the sidewalk.

"Just make certain I don't order anything with eyeballs in it," said Ray. "That stuff's gross."

~~~~~~~~~~
"DISMISSED."

Constable Renfield Turnbull had to stop himself from saluting before he pivoted on his polished boots and left. Thatcher's sharp gaze dissolved when the door shut behind him.

There were times when she could not fathom the young Constable at all. He'd had high marks in his class and his first posting in Vancouver had had nothing but exemplary remarks about him. She sometimes wondered if such high marks came because they wanted to get rid of him. He'd only been there four months before being transferred to Chicago, which he didn't seem to mind at all. Her mind wandered back to the expensive vase which was now stuck in a closet gathering dust. His long-winded explanation of its damage and subsequent attempt to glue it back together had been astounding.

Of course, his talents for cryptic responses, a drawback at times, was a blessing when it came to dealing with reporters. Even the most tenacious reporter had been seen going away frustrated.

But Fraser...

Thatcher laid the newspaper down on her desk again, flattening out the fold in the middle. The newsprint jumped up in her face again, as it had done the first time she'd seen the article. 'Thanks to the valiant effort of Constable Benton Fraser of the R.C.M.P., who had been passing at the time of the incident, no lives were lost in the inferno on Rosement Avenue. The only fatality was the Constable's dog, who perished in the building during the rescue attempt.'

Thatcher shut the paper, then folded it in half.

Why hadn't he told her? He'd just stood at attention as though it were any other day. She'd thought he was just trying to draw attention away from his heroics.

She didn't have to imagine how devastated Fraser must be feeling at the moment. When Toby had died, it had hit her hard. Her relationship with Brian had been on rocky ground at that point, and he'd offered not one ounce of true sympathy when he'd arrived at her apartment and found her crying over the death of her pet. "It's just an animal. I can get you another one." It wasn't the words, but the manner in which they'd been so casually tossed in her direction that had made her realize the relationship was doomed. She'd ended it soon after that, enduring her father's vast displeasure. 'Brian is a fine man. You should marry him. Give up that nonsensical idea of joining the R.C.M.P.'

Thatcher let out a weary sigh as the memories drifted away, as well they should. Part of her wanted to slap Fraser silly for being so much like a man and not showing his grief. Another part wanted to hug and comfort him.

But she couldn't. Or could she? She was so unsure as to where they stood, if they did at all. She'd tried to forget the train incident and had asked Fraser to do likewise but ... he couldn't. It was so confusing.

A knock sounded on the door and Fraser entered. He sat down at her behest.

"Constable Turnbull said you wanted to see me?"

Thatcher held up the paper. "Why didn't you tell me about Diefenbaker?"

Fraser was motionless. "It didn't come up."

"It didn't...?" repeated Thatcher incredulously. Fraser looked almost dispassionate.

"I know what it's like to lose..." Thatcher paused. Pet wasn't the correct word, not for Diefenbaker. There were times he almost acted human. "To lose an animal who was more friend than pet. Toby was very much like that."

"Your dachshund?" guessed Fraser.

Thatcher nodded, not surprised that he remembered. He had an incredibly keen sense of memory. "It was hard at first but..." No. No platitudes. No quotes out of some college psychology course. "I know it hurts, Fraser. If you want to talk, I'm here."

"I'll be all right," insisted Fraser.

"Is that why you requested the Windygates project?"

"Pardon?"

Thatcher hated it when Fraser 'deflected' direct queries. "Burying yourself in the basement isn't going to help."

"As I understand, the project needs to be completed. I have the time and knowledge to complete it. Constable Turnbull has other duties."

He's got it all worked out, thought Thatcher grimly. "Fine," she replied.

Fraser stood to leave, waiting for permission.

She nodded. "Ben?" He turned. "If you need to talk."

"Understood."

The door shut behind him. Thatcher stared at it glumly for several minutes. She couldn't let Fraser take this path. He had to talk about it - with someone. If not her, then....

She knew of only one way to get him involved in something else besides that blasted Windygates project. She picked up the phone.

~~~~~~~~~~
RAY DUMPED TWO Alka Seltzers into a glass of water and watched in great anticipation as the tablets dissolved in a fizzy action. He didn't bother to wait for completion and chugged it down, swallowing the remains of the tablets. His stomach didn't really feel all that bad, but after everything he'd eaten, he felt that it was better to err on the side of caution.

Sushi was out. No more raw anything.

From now on, everything would be cooked till it was charred and good and dead. His stomach flip-flopped as thoughts of Diefenbaker came to mind right after. Maybe he'd become a vegetarian.

But at least Fraser had enjoyed the meal, and told several stories of Inuit food, as well as how much food was imported into Japan. Ray hadn't particularly cared to hear about rice import quotas, but he just let Fraser ramble. If nothing else, it seemed to draw him out of his self-imposed misery, at least for a short time.

The phone rang.

"Inspector Thatcher?" Ray was surprised. "Look, okay, so he was a few minutes late back from lunch. Cut the guy some slack."

Ray waited to be chewed out by the woman but instead was asked, in such simple and honest tones that it hurt, why nobody had told her about Diefenbaker. Ray was shocked that Fraser hadn't mentioned it. Maybe he wasn't accepting it was as well as the detective had begun to think.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

Ray arched an eyebrow as he played with a pencil. "Paperwork, what else?"

"You don't have any cases where you're out investigating?" she asked.

"No, not right now but I'm sure something will come along real soon," said Ray. "You know us Americans, we're always committing crimes."

"Detective..."

"All right," apologized Ray. "What's this all about?"

"He'll stay in the basement and bury himself, in more ways than one," said Thatcher.

Ray shut his eyes for a moment. "Don't you have something else for him to do besides that 'project'?"

"He volunteered," said Thatcher, not without a hint of dismay. "He has no other pending matters."

"What are you suggesting?" asked Ray. "That I take him along to solve an American crime?"

"It would hardly be the first time," replied Thatcher coolly.

Ooh, that hurt. "But about that Windygates thing?"

"I'll tell him it's been delayed."

"Has it?"

"No."

"Isn't that... lying?" asked Ray curiously.

"The project will be canceled eventually," she assessed.

"I'm sure that's a diplomatic answer," said Ray. "Okay, so what do you propose we do?"

"Just call me when you get something."

She bid him farewell rather quickly and Ray was left listening to an annoying dial tone. He hung up, shaking his head. Maybe all Fraser needed was time, but then the image of the Mountie's sad face earlier that day surfaced in his memory. No, he needed to talk about it.

~~~~~~~~~~
THE BUICK CRUISED into the open space in front of the Consulate. Of course it would be easy to park. It was ten o'clock in the evening. Nobody but workaholics - or those trying to forget problems at home - were still at their jobs.

Ray put the huge vehicle into park, then glanced up at the window. Some lights were still on, indicating life still existed within the stone structure. He'd checked Fraser's apartment, but all he found was darkness and silence. He'd bumped into Mr. Mustafi, one of Fraser's neighbors, who said the Mountie was probably working late again. Ever since the fire...

Ray punched some numbers into his cell phone, then leaned back on the comfortable green leather in his Buick and waited. It was on the fifteenth ring that someone finally answered.

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked.

Fraser sounded tired. "Yes."

"Well, unless you've locked yourself into the Consulate, don't you think it's time you called it a night, went home?"

"I'm just finishing up some work," replied Fraser.

He sounded odd, as though the phone call had yanked him back to reality. Was the basement file room that much of a sanctuary from the pain?

"Come on, I'll give you a lift home," said Ray.

"You needn't bother."

"I'm right outside," continued Ray. "And I'm not leaving till you come down."

"Ray..."

"I know it's tough going home, Benny," said Ray, eyes scanning the empty street before him. "What with Dief being gone, but you can't stay in there forever."

Silence greeted him. Ray wondered what Fraser was thinking.

"I'll be down in a few minutes."

"Look, if you don't want to go home, the guest room's still vacant," said Ray hopefully.

"No, home will be fine."

Dial tone alerted Ray that Fraser had hung up, so he pocketed the phone. A few minutes later, as promised, Fraser came out the door. His tie was a little askew, his jacket unbuttoned. Ray made no comment as the Mountie sat down and just stared out the window during the short drive to his apartment. Maybe Thatcher's suggestion was the only viable alternative. Ray figured he'd better go right to bed when he got home; he'd need his strength to deal with Welsh in the morning.

~~~~~~~~~~

A KNOCK SOUNDED on the wooden doorframe. Welsh looked up from some boring paperwork to see Vecchio enter, then shut the door behind him. The Venetian blinds rustled slightly as they hit the door. "Can I talk to you for a minute, sir?"

Welsh didn't like this scenario. It was way too early in the morning for Vecchio to be getting into trouble. He laid his bagel on the paper plate and studied his subordinate with a well-practiced bland expression when Ray put a decaffeinated cappuccino on his desk blotter.

"And this is in regards to?"

"My case load," replied Ray.

"As I recall, you're wrapping up two cases at the moment, both of which are simply paperwork at this point."

"Yes, sir." Vecchio smiled.

No, he did not like this at all.

"Is there a problem? Did you run out of typewriter ribbon? White-out?"

"Oh no, sir, nothing like that," replied Ray quickly. "It's just that I'm going to be done with those pretty soon, today in fact, and I was wondering, well, er..."

Welsh stared at the mound of unfiled cases on his desk. "If I could read minds, Detective, do you think I would be working here?"

"Ah, no sir," replied Ray. "About the next case I'm assigned." His face scrunched in anticipation of his superior's answer. "Is there any chance I could get one without any dead bodies?"

"You're requesting preferential treatment?"

"No. Yes. Well, you see, it's sort of in the interest of international detante," said Ray uneasily.

Welsh arched an eyebrow.

"By any chance, does this have something to do with the Mountie?"

Ray nodded glumly. Welsh could imagine what this was all about. He'd seen the morose expression on Fraser's face the day after the fire.

"If two cases come in at the same time and one contains, as you requested, no dead bodies, then I'll give it to you," said Welsh. "Otherwise, you'll just have to do your job as assigned."

Ray smiled briefly. "Thank you, sir."

~~~~~~~~~~

THE NEXT TWO days passed with unbelievable slowness. Ray did not get his desired 'no bodies, please' case. Instead, he had to deal with someone who had been pushed - or jumped - from a roof. One look at the corpse, or what remained of it, had been enough that he'd nearly lost his last meal then and there.

It was the sort of case Fraser didn't need to be on.

But it had been an easy case to solve. Once Dr. Pearson finished the autopsy and a little more fancy forensics work, she'd been able to decipher the writing on the note the man had stuck in his breast pocket. A suicide note. Unfortunately the notification of next of kin had taken him away from the station - and any chance to drop by the Consulate to suggest lunch - for two days straight. Each day it seemed Fraser spent more and more time on the project, distancing himself from any emotion.

Ray stared at the phone on his desk, wondering if he should try calling again. If Fraser left his job before ten o'clock at night it would be a miracle. If was six o'clock now. It couldn't hurt to try again.

A voice answered and Ray asked the same question he'd asked each day since the fire.

"Oh, he's not here," replied Turnbull.

"Huh?" asked Ray in surprise.

"He left approximately 20 minutes ago," explained Turnbull's disembodied voice. "However, he went left instead of right."

Dealing with Turnbull was like trying to get through one of those annoying 'press #1 to reach your party' voice-mail messages. "Put it simple terms, okay?"

"I am," said the young Mountie. "Normally he takes a right when he leaves the Consulate, which takes him in the direction of either his apartment or the longer walk to your precinct. However, today he turned left."

Ray puzzled over the possibilities. Left? The cleaners? No, and besides they said it might take a few extra days to get rid of the smoke smell from the serge uniform. It might be a write-off but Ray was sure the Canadian government wouldn't begrudge the Mountie one measly outfit. How much could they cost anyway?

"Do you think he went out for dinner?"

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know," replied Turnbull. "He's only spoken two words to me all day."

"Two words?" Ray couldn't believe that.

"Yes. I arrived at eight o'clock this morning and he was already here," came the detailed explanation. "If he went out to lunch, I never saw him. As for the two words, it was 'good evening.' Well, actually it was three, because he did say 'Good evening, Turnbull,' before departing."

"Uh, yeah, thanks."

Ray hung up, glad to lose the trivial matter of just how many words had been spoken. Left? What would draw Fraser out of the basement to go that way?

A gloomy feeling abruptly seized Ray.

He knew what lay in that direction.

~~~~~~~~~~
THE YELLOW PLASTIC ribbon fluttered lazily in the early evening breeze. Fraser watched a tiny piece tear off and float down the street. The ribbon was such a familiar sight since coming to Chicago, although usually he had seen it applied to crime scenes, not fires.

The fire department had cordoned off the gutted structure. Aged red brick was scorched black and white by the destructive power of the conflagration which had turned the building into a charred shell. A fire department vehicle was parked not far away. Fraser had talked to the fire inspector earlier. Arson had been ruled out. An electrical short had started the blaze. Within a few days heavy equipment would turn the structure in a pile of rubble that would be carted off. Too much had been destroyed, leaving an unstable and dangerous husk.

No one could have survived the inferno.

It had been Ray who had pointed out that the press had erroneously identified Dief as a mere dog. The detective had been livid that the press had once again bungled the facts. Fraser hadn't felt up to correcting the mistake. To do so would mean contact with the press again, who would only push for the angle of the heroic Mountie who had suffered the tragic loss of his faithful pet. Perhaps in the recesses of his mind he entertained the thought that if he did nothing, then it would ease the emptiness he felt in his heart.

Fraser clutched the large manila envelope to his side. One of the investigators had gone into the hazardous black depths and returned with what he felt were the remains of Diefenbaker. It felt so unreal that all that was left of a vibrant creature was now ashes and a charred chain collar. If he hadn't decided that Dief should wear a collar after the incident with Animal Control, would he ever have been sure that Diefenbaker was really dead? That the animal hadn't somehow escaped the blaze and wandered off to hide and lick its wounds?

The enticing thought that perhaps he could have Dr. Pearson analyze the ashes, just to be sure, had come to mind, yet inwardly Fraser knew the idea was futile. The heat had been so intense that nothing truly tangible remained.

The light crackling of rubble under someone's foot broke Fraser's bleak introspection. Ray stood beside him, hands in coat pockets as he surveyed the ruins, which looked ever starker as the sun's setting rays struck them.

"It was quick," said Fraser. "So they told me."

The detective frowned, then just nodded. He glanced at the envelope secured within Fraser's grasp.

Fraser looked down at it, his throat constricting. "It's ... what left."

"I'm sorry," whispered the detective.

The two men stared at the building. A breeze wafted past, assaulting their nostrils with the days-old acrid stench of destruction.

"Can I give you a lift?" asked Ray.

Fraser turned, spying the green Buick parked down the block. "I can walk back to the Consulate."

"To dinner," said Ray.

"Pardon?"

"There's a sign out on the front door of the Consulate. It says 'closed until normal business hours tomorrow morning,'" said Ray mockingly. "You didn't even go out for lunch."

Fraser wondered how Ray knew that. As if he could read his friend's mind, Ray smirked.

"It's amazing what Turnbull can say without saying it, although he probably meant to say it, knowing him."

~~~~~~~~~~
THE DARK OBJECT rolled down the wooden floor, veering depressingly toward the left. Another gutter ball.

"Stupid, dumb... I bet the floor's warped," Ray cursed, hobbling back over to where Fraser sat, pen in hand as he marked down the score. Fraser smiled. At least Ray hadn't sworn this time. He'd used up practically every foul word in his vocabulary after he'd accidentally dropped the hefty black orb on his foot over an hour ago.

"You should really go home and soak your foot," suggested Fraser.

"No, no, I'm having fun." Ray stared malevolently at the bowling ball as it came back to rest in its slot.

"I'd hate to see what a bad time entails," remarked Fraser.

After leaving the building site, Ray had dragged Fraser to a tiny diner that served conceivably the best fried chicken he'd ever eaten. Dief would have stolen it right off the plate had he been there. After dinner, Ray had suggested they go bowling. In a way, Fraser was grateful for the reprieve from his problems and his job. It was a relaxing pastime, and he had no idea how enjoyable it was to aim a ball down a long, wooden alley. Ray, however, seemed to be thinking quite differently.

Fraser added up the numbers, deciding not to say aloud his friend's dismal score.

The detective grumbled something under his breath as he poked at his damaged foot.

"You don't have to do this, Ray. I'm all right. Dief's loss is... I'm accepting it. There isn't anything I can do to bring him back. He wasn't a person. He was a wolf."

"Ha!" snorted Ray. "Let's hear another one. He was your best friend."

"You are," said Fraser quietly.

Ray paused in the fruitless massage of his aching foot. "Thanks."

"Dief is - was - it's hard to explain. He was never a pet. Part wolf, part I don't know. Perhaps sled dog. There weren't many other options for parentage. Perhaps a Husky and an Arctic white wolf. I told you how we met, didn't I?"

Ray nodded, then his face fell as he glanced at the scores Fraser had been meticulously keeping. "Yeah, he bonked you on the head with a rock and a plank of wood. Explains a lot of things if you ask me."

"Pardon?"

"He was like a person, really," said Ray, changing topics. "Had bad habits and all. Those donuts."

Fraser smiled. "The candy bars were the worst. I was sure he'd get cavities."

"Since when do animals see dentists?" asked Ray.

"Oh, it's a growing problem amongst pets, particularly purebred animals. Genetics, cross-breeding, increased sugar in food, they all contribute to dental decay."

Ray stared at the other alley, his eyes giving away his thoughts of switching to the empty lane nearby so that he could increase his score. "I thought just candy did your teeth in."

"Oh, breads, raisins, granola bars are much worse. Maybe I should drive."

"What?"

"Your foot."

"What about it?"

"If it doesn't hurt, then why are holding it with both hands?" asked Fraser.

"I like holding my foot," said Ray between clenched teeth.

"Is this a fetish?"

"A what?"

"A fetish, it means-"

"I know what it means," snapped Ray. "I'm a cop." He looked at his foot, then at the dreary scores again. "Okay, but I'll drive."

"Fine," agreed Fraser.

Ray stood. His eyes squinted as though he'd stepped right into a bear trap.

"I'll drive," repeated Fraser.

"Oh, okay," agreed Ray, sliding his foot carefully along the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~
FRASER CLOSED THE door softly behind him. Dim light streamed in through the apartment's single pane windows, washing the floors with their feeble rays. It was quiet, so very quiet.

He'd driven Ray home after bowling. Ray had done an admirable job of hiding the misery he was experiencing from his smashed foot. Fraser had suggested a visit to the hospital emergency room, but Ray said he'd rather wait till the next day when he could see his doctor - if it was necessary. Nothing was broken, after all.

Fraser didn't push his friend any further. The detective just hobbled into the house, walking oddly as he let only the heel of the damaged foot touch ground. He was going to call a cab for Fraser but the Mountie was spared Ray's guilt-driven kindness when the detective's mother came downstairs to find her son holding his foot up like some injured animal.

A fleeting smile touched Fraser's face as he recalled the older woman's voice going on and on about ice and resting the foot in an upright position. Ray's whining protests were no defense.

Fraser decided to walk home.

By the time he'd arrived at his apartment, his fellow tenants were mostly quiet, save for the echoes of canned laughter from late night sitcoms that pierced the walls.

His entire routine seemed torn from under him. If Dief hadn't come home with him from work, then he would have been waiting at home, either staring at the door with a condescending stare, or lying on the oval rug, snoozing contentedly.

The food dishes remained undisturbed in their spot by the refrigerator. Only the perishable food had been removed. A tiny film was forming in the water of the other dish. Fraser dumped the water in the sink, then rinsed out the bowl. He held it in his hand for a minute, debating over whether to put it away in the cupboard, or leave it on the floor. Would putting it away assuage the painful memories? Fraser hesitated, then refilled the plastic bowl with cool water, and put it back on the floor.

He changed, then lay in bed, book in hand, but he couldn't concentrate on the printed word. It was too empty, too lonely. He had no idea how alone he was until there was no wolf to greet him, to lie beside him as he read a book, or complain when denied chocolate ice cream.

Fraser put the book aside, then turned off the light.

~~~~~~~~~~
THE SMOKE WAS thick and black, curling out and fanning across the ceiling with lethal tendrils that greedily blotted out all light.

Fraser coughed, trying to avoid sucking in the scorching air. He crawled across the floor until he found the two children hiding under a bed in the flaming apartment. He yanked them out of their hiding place, ignoring their cries of panic at going out into the dense smoke.

He ran, crouched low to the floor, both children in his grasp as the smoke billowed down the hall, blinding him, choking him.

An appalling cry cut through the air.

Fraser stopped, turning as another wail assaulted his ears.

Dief!

Through the dense smoke he could see the wolf struggling, its hindquarters pinned under a fallen beam. Flames licked greedily from an adjacent door and the wolf howled in terror. Fraser hesitated, fully aware that getting the children out of the building was his top priority.

An explosion tore through the far wall. Flames blew through with a terrifying rush, consuming all around. Diefenbaker was enveloped by flames, his fur catching fire like fragile tinder as he erupted into a living fireball. The howls of terror turned into inhuman, high-pitched shrieks of agony.

"DIEFENBAKER!!!"

Fraser bolted up in bed, his heart pounding in his chest, eyes blinking as the hellish vision slowly vanished from his mind. He caught his breath, then ran shaky hands down his sweat-drenched face. Just a nightmare, nothing more. Dief was fine. Fraser scanned the darkened room, but apprehension gripped his being when his eyes locked on the manila envelope still atop the kitchen table.

Diefenbaker was dead.

It hadn't happened as he'd dreamt it. Yes, he'd found the children like that, but he'd never seen fire consume the wolf. It was only when he'd brought the children outside on to the street, when the fire trucks had roared up to the scene, that he'd realized Dief was nowhere to be seen. He questioned everyone he could, panic setting in when he'd realized that Dief hadn't followed him out of the building. He'd charged forward to re-enter the building, only to be restrained by two firemen. Seconds later, the entrance collapsed, a wave of brilliant fire devouring the front. The firemen needed to know who Fraser was trying to rescue. He told them. A loud explosion claimed several third floor windows, and he heard a fireman utter in relief, 'at least no people were caught.'

An overwhelming wave of sadness swept over Fraser. The gentle patter of a midnight rain against the window broke the stark silence. Fraser's vision blurred as unbidden tears slowly streamed down his cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~

RAY MADE IT OVER to his desk and sat down, sighing in relief as he took the pressure off his foot. It still hurt like hell, but his doctor had told him it was just badly bruised, and that Ray should really be more careful if he went bowling again. At least he could walk on it.

"Well, well, this is new."

He looked up, scowling into Elaine's pretty face. "What? You've never seen sneakers before?"

"Not on you. What gives?"

Ray lowered his voice. "I accidentally dropped a bowling ball on it."

"What?"

"I am not repeating it," hissed Ray, glancing around to make sure no one overheard. "Can we drop the subject?"

"You went bowling?" Elaine was visibly surprised.

"I took Fraser."

"And he beat you," she deduced.

"Why would you think that?" Ray looked at his watch. Nine o'clock. He wouldn't be surprised that Fraser had already been at work for two hours.

"Because if you'd won, no matter how mangled your foot was, you'd be gloating about it." Elaine arched an eyebrow. "How's Fraser doing?"

Ray meaninglessly rearranged some items on his desk. "He's being Fraser."

Elaine sighed. They both knew what that meant. The Mountie was dealing with it alone, in silence.

"Vecchio!"

Welsh stood in his doorway, a folder in hand. "That case you wanted? It's here."

Ray felt like crawling into a deep hole and shriveling up. All eyes in the bullpen had swiveled around and were staring directly at him. The case he wanted? Preferential treatment? Teacher's pet. He was dead. He claimed the folder from the lieutenant, then limped back to his desk. Elaine went back to her terminal, watching him curiously out of the corner of her eyes.

Thirty seconds after perusing the file, he groaned aloud. Good grief, what had he gotten himself into?

~~~~~~~~~~
"ARE YOU SURE I'm needed on this case?"

"Of course, otherwise you wouldn't be here," groused Ray.

"You're not just inviting me along to give me something to do?"

"Look, it was really great that you were free."

"Yes, it was quite a coincidence that Inspector Thatcher said the project was being temporarily delayed," said Fraser flatly.

"Geez, Benny, what do you think this is? A conspiracy?" retorted Ray. "You don't even have a TV but you're talking like you've been glued to The X-Files."

"That series about two FBI agents investigating paranormal cases involving mutated flukeworm men and aliens from outer space?"

"You mean you've seen it?" Ray asked incredulously, steering the car into traffic.

"No."

Ray hit the gas, relieved that at least it hadn't been his right foot that had been mashed.

Fraser studied the folder and Ray drove in stony silence, partly regretting his emotional request. Now he was stuck with the infamous 'pet store perp'. He'd endured a variety of derisive snickers before leaving the station. He had to solve the case quickly just to salvage his reputation.

The Buick yanked swiftly into a parking space, screeching to a halt in front of a series of stores in a tiny strip mall. Fraser caught a piece of paper that nearly went flying. He neatly put it back in the folder and closed it.

Light rain began falling from the dark clouds above. Ray cursed under his breath. He was saddled with the case of some whacko who held up pet stores by threatening to kill some animal in the store. Couldn't just walk in, wave a gun and demand all the cash in the register? No, this guy was just plain weird.

But at least there were no murders associated with this case, so the specter of death wouldn't override the investigation. For all he knew, Fraser's eclectic knowledge might well aid in catching the criminal before he vanished into the woodwork, leaving Ray the laughing stock of the 27th Precinct.

Ray hit the wiper blades, studying the front of the pet store before shutting off the blades. Was it really the best place to bring Fraser? A pet store? Birds occupied the front of one window, while on the other side, what looked a lot like two cats were huddled in one corner. Ray just sucked in a deep breath, and stepped outside.

The store owner smiled in gratitude when Ray identified himself as a police detective. The older man was beside himself in worry. The pet store perp - or PSP as Ray called him - had come in first thing in the morning and threatened to snip the head off of a parrot with a pair of garden shears. Mr. Rhodes didn't doubt that the man would carry out his threat, and besides the loss of the value of the bird if he did not cooperate, Mr. Rhodes just could not contemplate the cold-blooded murder of an animal.

The store owner excused himself for a moment and Ray waited. A boy, no older than eight, with thick, dark brown hair and eyes to match, came up with an armload of dog food cans.

"He's gotta have the best," the boy explained.

Mr. Rhodes smiled, adding up the costs on the cash register. "Big dog, is he?"

The boy frowned. "Sorta." He raised his hand up to his chest height. Ray watched, whimsically thinking that the boy's dog was about Dief's height. He glanced to the side, grateful that Fraser had wandered to the front of the store, studying the parakeets in the window.

"That'll be eight fifty," said Mr. Rhodes.

The boy searched through his pockets, emptying them of all his spare change.

"Hmm, you're $1.20 short."

The boy's face was dejected. "It's all I got."

Mr. Rhodes shook his head regretfully. "We'll have to take a can out then."

The boy moaned.

Ray slapped some dollar bills on the counter. The boy's face lit up at what he considered to be a very generous offer. Ray just grinned. "Mutt's gotta eat, right?"

The boy thanked him, grabbed the plastic bag full of large cans. "Thanks, Mister!"

He scampered off, the door's tiny bell tinkling as he ran outside into the rain.

Ray turned back to Rhodes, figuring he could slowly bring Fraser into the discussion in a few minutes.

~~~~~~~~~~
THE TINY PARKEET flitted from one branch to another of the tiny fake tree in the screened-off display. It preened its bright yellow and green feathers, obsessively rearranging two unruly feathers until it was satisfied. It then abandoned its perch, joining several others on another branch of the display.

Fraser smiled. He had never seen any tropical animals as a child. The only ones had been in books, and photographs and detailed drawings could never bring to life the marvel of God's creatures. He was accustomed to seals and otters, polar bears who boasted deep black skin under their thick white fur, Arctic hares and foxes.

A tiny growl caught his attention and he moved to the other front display case. A two-foot high rim of solid wood kept its occupants contained in a mass of shredded newspaper. The tiny puppy ran around in circles, chasing its sibling. The black puppy rolled over on its back while the white one jumped on it, nipping playfully at its big paws. Fraser studied the pup, remembering how he'd first dealt with the tiny Diefenbaker when he'd brought him home that fateful day.

At one point he'd considered letting the pup loose in the wild to rejoin its own kind, but there were none that would have the tiny animal after it had been stained by human contact. The Inuit elder in a village he occasionally patrolled just nodded cryptically when Fraser arrived one day, the pup secured to the dog sled. He couldn't leave it behind in his cabin. The ball of lively fur had just ruined so much. The tiny teeth must have chewed non-stop for hours on end to destroy that pair of boots - boots he had to replace within a week as an inspector was dropping by his post.

The pup had quickly grown into an adult, and despite the bond that had formed between the two, and the time Dief had saved Fraser from drowning, Fraser was sure the wolf would one day answer the call of the wild. But he hadn't. He'd stayed by Fraser's side, through thick and thin, avalanche and blizzard, and much more.

Fraser's vision blurred and he realized tears were brimming in his eyes.

Ray's voice intruded in the background. He was still questioning the store owner, who was talking quite a bit but not offering much useful information.

A deep pain tore through Fraser, akin to the misery that had stolen several hours of sleep from him less than twelve hours ago. The puppy stretched its front paws up against the wood and yipped, wagging its tail. Fraser wiped a hand across his eyes and went outside.

~~~~~~~~~~
RAY HEARD THE bell chime and in an automatic response, glanced over. A blur of brown disappeared from view around the corner. Where the hell was Fraser going? It was pouring outside and he didn't have an umbrella. Ray decided that Rhodes could offer no more useful information, and quickly concluded their conversation. As he approached the front door, a scraping sound of nails against wood drew him to the display.

A tiny white puppy panted happily, commanding attention and affection from the human who peered down at him.

Ray felt like kicking himself in the head. Great, just great, Vecchio! Bring Fraser into a pet store where the first thing he sees is a miniature version of the wolf.

Coming outside, Ray found the Mountie standing several yards away. Fraser was under the protective cover of an awning, but the rain swept under it, dampening the brown uniform.

Ray ignored the rivulets of warm summer rain that ran down his face. "You okay?"

Fraser seemed to compose himself. "Just got a little tight in there."

The detective glanced at the traffic that sped by. "I'm sorry, Benny. I should've known better. I mean, a pet store..."

"It's not your fault." Fraser blinked, following his friend's gaze. "I think it really hit me last night that Dief's gone. Having his... what's left... in my hands." Fraser sighed, then looked at Ray. "If you don't mind, I'd rather just go back to the Consulate."

Ray found the Riv's keys in his coat pocket. "It's no problem."

Both men went back to the car, and Ray didn't even care if either of them dripped water all over the Riv's pristine interior.

~~~~~~~~~~
"JANET'S FRIEND MARIE has a friend in Des Moines who breeds Huskies. Maybe we could get Fraser a puppy?"

"No." Ray slid his plate on to the kitchen table. It rattled noisily as he went to a drawer and withdrew some eating utensils. He sat down, then began poking lamely at the re-heated cannoli. "The last thing Fraser needs is to be reminded of Dief. You should have seen him in the pet store, Frannie. Biggest mistake I've ever made in my life."

Francesca twirled a spoon on the red tablecloth. "He's so alone."

"Yeah, and now it's worse." Ray dropped the fork on his plate, his appetite gone. "When he had Dief, he had somebody." He stared at the cooling food. "I don't even know if I should take him back on the case."

"Why not?" asked Francesca. "If this guy was just-"

"Pet stores, Frannie," interrupted Ray drearily. "He only robs pet stores. Couldn't be a normal thief and knock over liquor stores or gas stations. No, he's gotta hit places with cute little puppies." Ray sighed. "I can't believe I did that."

Francesca took the spoon off the table and hit Ray on the head.

"Ow! What'd you do that for?" he snapped, rubbing the sore spot.

She dropped the utensil to the tablecloth. "Because you were about ready to smack your head on the table anyway, and this saves you from damaging the wood."

"Well, thank you for thinking so highly of my skull," snorted Ray.

"Most of the time, it's pretty thick anyway." Francesca grabbed a breadstick from the basket and began picking it apart.. "Do you think Fraser's going back to that filing case?"

Ray shrugged. "Depends on the Inspector. I don't see how he can. Otherwise it would be so obvious that she'd lied to him in the first place to pull him off it. He'll probably just go to his office and rearrange all those files."

"It will take time for him to get over Diefenbaker. I know."

Ray glanced at this sister.

"After all," she continued. "It took me a month to get over Howie's death."

"He was a stupid hamster," said Ray.

"Whom you killed," she reminded him caustically.

"Not again," moaned Ray. "Look, I've said I'm sorry I don't know how many times. It was a stupid accident and you really can't compare some rodent to a wolf."

Francesca glared at him, an acid reply on her lips but she held it back. "I suppose. But when I was six years old and my favorite - my only - pet, was killed. It hurt. I still remember it, but it's not so bad now. Do you understand what I mean?"

Ray reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, I get your point."

"Do you think, um..." Francesca was hesitant. "Fraser will have a burial, or service of some kind?"

Ray nearly retorted 'what? a memorial service for a wolf?' but mentally chastised himself for even thinking such a callous thought. The ashes gathered by the fireman were insubstantial at best, perhaps enough to fit in a jelly jar. Ray shook his head. "Do you have any ideas?"

For once, his sister was silent. Neither of them could come up with a solution to cheer up the Mountie. Meals and impromptu bowling were only stop-gap measures. Unfortunately, the only one who would heal the wounds was Fraser himself.

~~~~~~~~~~

RAY RAPPED HIS knuckles against the door. The paint job wasn't the best, but at least the wood was of a better quality than the original door. He still remembered how shocked he'd been to see the smashed-in door after Fraser had fought it out with some of John Taylor's hired goons when the real estate wheeler dealer had tried to evict all the tenants by less than ethical methods.

Part of Ray hoped that Fraser wasn't in. He wasn't sure what he was going to say. The pet shop incident weighed heavily in his mind. Guilt chewed at him, and Ray wondered just how far back he'd set Fraser's healing process. How long did it take to get over the loss of a pet? Dief had been more than a pet though. He'd been a friend.

The door opened. "Ray?"

Fraser seemed surprised as he stood there in his brown uniform. Ray could see the jacket tossed over a chair in the kitchenette area.

"Just wanted to see how you were doing." Ray noticed Dief's water bowl in one of Fraser's hands. Fraser followed his friend's curious gaze, then went back into the apartment. He filled the water bowl and set it down on the floor next to the empty food dish.

"How long are you going to do that?" asked Ray.

Fraser grabbed his jacket off the chair, put it on and began buttoning it. He stared mutely at the bowl for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe a few more days, a week."

Ray kept his mouth shut. If this was his friend's way of dealing with the loss, then so be it. It wasn't as though he were expecting the wolf to come strolling down the corridor and into the apartment.

Fraser went out into the narrow hall. Ray shut the door behind them, then fell in step behind his friend.

"Gonna do some more legwork, just questioning some other neighborhood store owners." Ray hoped Fraser caught the hint that no pet stores were mentioned.

Fraser paused briefly at the stairs landing. "Oh, I'm going to work today."

"You are?" Ray was surprised. Thatcher hadn't told him anything. But then again, after yesterday, why would Fraser want back on the case?

"I talked with Turnbull this morning."

Ray frowned in confusion.

"I called from the pay phone around the corner," explained Fraser. "Apparently Inspector Thatcher was unexpectedly called out of town for a few days. Being the senior Constable on staff, I feel it's my duty to be at the Consulate."

Fortunately, Ray was following behind, so the Mountie didn't see the disappointment that clouded Ray's eyes. "Um, how about lunch later?"

"If there's nothing pressing at the Consulate, I'd be glad to join you."

Ray wondered if Fraser would make that damn project a 'pressing issue.' "Okay, I'll give you a call around noon."

The two men descended the stairs in total silence.

~~~~~~~~~~
"RICKY!"

The young boy with deep brown eyes and a head of thick, unruly dark hair looked up from the duffel bag in his hands. He quickly stuffed some material in it, then zipped it shut as his mother came around the corner of the living room.

Her eyes bespoke of a stern lecturing, but then the skin around her eyes crinkled up in what he'd heard called 'crow's feet' when she smiled. "I want you home before dark, young man. None of this running off to visit Roberto at the last minute."

"Yes, Mom," replied the boy.

She scrutinized the dark green duffel in the boy's hands, then dramatically arched her thin eyebrows.

"I'm gonna play with Roberto. I'm just taking some toys."

"Well, you just behave yourself and don't get into any trouble."

The boy nodded, then ran out the front door of their apartment. The elevator took too long, and he didn't like the smells ingrained in the old carpet. They smelled like Mr. Loomis in apartment 7B. He always smoked cigars and you could practically track the man by the smoke that hovered around his head like some low-lying cloud.

Ricardo Pasquez, Ricky to his friends and family, flew down the stairs at a breakneck speed, his mother's lectures flying equally as fast through his mind. Don't talk to strangers. Stay away from those older boys near the corner convenience store. They're bad news. Ricky knew all about drugs; what kid didn't? But running off to play on the streets was the furthest thing on his mind. He had important business and a new friend to meet.

It took him several minutes to arrive at an old warehouse down the street. Workers went in and out on their daily business and Ricky easily dodged them as he took a circuitous route which led to a long-forgotten entrance to the basement. The security guards were good, but they weren't paid enough to check every single lock and window. Ricky knew that much, and he also knew of another back entrance just in case this one should be found out.

The basement room he was headed for was cool and dry. That was a benefit of the huge boilers on the other side of the thick concrete walls. He and Roberto had set up their own little home away from home in there. A place where parents couldn't nag them, nor a place that junkies or low-lifes knew about.

Ricky crawled through a narrow tunnel, one which would give adults claustrophobia but which he found daring, and dodged down another side corridor. He knocked three times, sharply, on the wooden door. It opened. Roberto's cautious face greeted him. "Did you get the stuff?"

Ricky victoriously held up the duffel. "I just hope Mom doesn't find out!"

He laid the duffel down on the floor and then sat on the old exercise mat that Mrs. Collins had thrown out last week. What luck they had saved it from the dumpster.

"I think he's better," said Roberto, sitting down next to his friend.

Ricky ran his hand over the thick ruff of white fur. "Hey, Buddy. You up?" he asked.

The animal's eyes opened at his touch. The head lifted and the tongue slurped over the boy's wrist. The dog paused, then slowly sat up on its hind haunches, still favoring one leg.

"See, told you he was better!" crowed the other boy.

Ricky hugged the large animal, then looked at the lump on the animal's head. He'd found the dog wandering around one morning nearly a week ago. It was covered in dirt and blood, like someone had beaten it, and part of its fur was singed. Ricky had wondered if those older kids that hung near the store had done it; he'd heard rumors about what they'd done to a stray cat. The dog had no collar, no license, but something in its eyes just spoke to Ricky. He couldn't bring the animal home; his father had forbade pets. "Too much work."

In an act of defiance, he and Roberto had smuggled the animal into their secret lair and tended to its injuries. The animal had been too weak at first to go out for walks, so the boys had ended up constantly cleaning up after it. Maybe that's what his father had meant by too much work, but the animal had never complained, never snapped at him, so Ricky was going to keep him. However, he wasn't sure what he was going to do when he ran out of money for dog food. He'd already sold his prized trading card collection. Maybe he could get a job working for Mr. Salvatore down at the bakery. His mother said he was too young to work, but if he could take care of such a large animal, then surely he could do light work at a store.

Ricky pulled a can of dog food out of the duffel, then snapped the can opener into it. The animal's eyes came alive when the dish of food was placed in front of him.

The boys gently petted the animal as it wolfed down the food.

~~~~~~~~~~
FRASER STARED AT the page in his hand. The faint purple letters blurred into a singular mass and he squeezed his eyes shut. After a moment, he glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly two in the afternoon. Hunger pangs hadn't hit him yet. Fortunately, no one had come down to bother him, so he'd spent the morning absorbed in work. Ray had called about lunch, but Fraser just didn't feel up to it, so he passed on it, despite the disappointment he'd heard in his friend's voice. He convinced himself that Ray shouldn't be doing too much walking anyway, what with his injured foot.

Although Thatcher had not revived the Windygates project, Fraser saw no harm in working on it. There was absolutely nothing else to do. If Thatcher had to attend a meeting back in Ottawa, they picked the perfect days. Not a single tourist had dropped by, nor any Canadian citizens with passport questions.

It gave him all the time in the world to do what he wanted.

However, that wasn't filing. The project was coming along rather well. He'd discovered just where all the information was buried in each file, and was now an expert at deciphering what anyone else would call chicken scratch.

There was satisfaction in a job well done, but part of him felt remiss for pursuing a project from which he'd been removed. Yet he knew that Thatcher had pulled him off it, in her estimation, for his own good.

He wasn't sure what was for his own good right now.

The only thing he knew was that he wasn't going to keep Diefenbaker in some jar or tin on top of the fireplace mantel. Although he'd talked it over with Dief, and knew that the wolf had come with him to Chicago of his own accord, part of him couldn't help feel that somehow, he was responsible for the wolf's death. Perhaps if he'd left Dief back in the Yukon... but then his words came back to him, those he spoke to Ray after Irene's death, of how one couldn't live with regrets of the past. He'd learned that all too painfully with Victoria.

Part of him wanted to keep Dief. Another part knew he had to release the animal's spirit back to the wild. Fraser spied the phone book on top of one of the many file cabinets. He pulled it down, then began looking up airlines.

~~~~~~~~~~
ELAINE LOOKED AT the information that came in over the computer, then glanced sideways at Ray. The Italian was sequestered back in his corner of the bullpen, talking with someone on the phone. Perhaps it was his doctor. Maybe he was second-guessing his doctor's expert opinion and the X-ray of his foot. Ray had spent all morning and part of the afternoon out questioning potential witnesses and she could tell when he limped back into the bullpen that his foot was hurting something fierce.

He wasn't going to want to hear what she had to tell him.

The 'pet store perp' had already hit five shops in Chicago. They were scattered far and wide. It was impossible to stake out each store in the hopes that the robber would hit. One more store and he would be gone, just as he had done previously in Cincinnati and six other cities. No one could fathom his reasoning for traveling from city to city, and she knew that Ray was under the gun to catch the thief before he became another victim. He'd already endured countless ribbings from fellow detectives since receiving the case. Plus it never helped a detective to have an unsolved case on his record.

Well, she couldn't delay it. He'd just yell at her anyway.

She sat down in the chair in front of Ray's metal desk and waited. Ray was still on the phone.

"So, what time was that?" he asked, doodling a stick figure with a noose around its neck. "Uh huh. Hmm. So, seven o'clock was it? All right. Thanks. I really appreciate the info. Bye."

Elaine cocked an eyebrow.

"Constable Turnbull," said Ray, finishing up his doodle and drawing a little dagger through its heart.

"Ah, our friendly pet store thief?" she guessed.

"I swear, if someone comes up to me and tells me he's hit his sixth store and is outta town, I'll kill 'em," muttered Ray.

Elaine looked at the tiny piece of paper in her hand. Maybe not yet. "So, what were you and Turnbull discussing?"

"What else?"

"Fraser?"

Ray nodded. "Got in early, skipped lunch, and will probably work till the cows come home or whatever," he sighed.

"I thought you two were going to do lunch?"

"Don't think I didn't try." Ray started sketching a pile of kindling underneath his primitive drawing. "I figure I can snare him for dinner and a movie though. I'm going to drop by before the Consulate shuts and Turnbull's gonna let me in."

"That's very accommodating, for Turnbull." Elaine had heard about all the frustration the young Mountie had caused Welsh and half of the FBI during a couple of investigations.

"But if Turnbull's turning evidence against Fraser, he's got to be worried as well," said Ray. "It's not as though Fraser will starve to death if he skips a meal. I mean, geez, during his convalescence after Victoria, well, he packed on a little weight. What else is there to do but eat and stare out the window when you're stuck in bed? Of course, he hadn't gotten rid of that weight when the plane crashed. Might as well have been dragging around a few sacks of concrete. I mean-"

"Um, Ray?"

"What?" The detective looked up.

"Before you totally leave this plane of existence." She handed him the tiny note. "Sorry."

Ray stared at it, groaned, then stabbed the pencil into the stick figure. The tip broke off in the desk pad. "It's going to take weeks for anybody to forget about this."

"Sorry, Ray."

The detective just moaned and covered his face with his hands. It was going to be a long, long day.

~~~~~~~~~~
RAY DUMPED THE bowl of microwave popcorn on the coffee table, then popped the videocassette into the VCR across the room.

"You know, they tell people to rewind tapes, but does anybody listen?" Ray groused, sitting down on the couch beside Fraser. Ray hit the rewind button. "It's just like those people who don't use their turn signals."

Ray suddenly thought about his own statement, then glanced at Fraser, who arched one eyebrow in a non-verbal reply. He knew what Fraser was thinking: all those times Ray himself had transgressed traffic laws. A sarcastic remark nearly flew from Ray's tongue, but decided not to resurrect that old conversation.

The TV Guide in one hand, remote in the other, Ray began surfing for something decent to watch until the tape rewound. Something looked good in the magazine, so Ray stopped, surveying the tiny print. An evening of mindless TV just might be what they both needed. He knew Fraser needed something. All he would do otherwise was sit in his apartment and read. He'd been lucky to have persuaded Fraser to finally bail out of his self-imposed exile at the Consulate. He'd then hit the video store and grabbed a couple of movies. The take-out pizza was all but gone, the box precariously balanced on the end table.

A high-pitched bark pierced the air and Ray instantly looked up at the TV. A collie was swept away in a raging river, down into the turbulent rapids where he disappeared from view. A young boy cried out after him as another boy pulled him back from certain death.

Ray quickly changed the channel. It landed on an inane sitcom. "Sorry."

"It's okay," said Fraser softly. "I've seen it before."

Ray wasn't worried about that, just about how much the animal's supposed death might make him think of Dief. The tape clicked in the VCR. Ray hit the play button and the FBI copyright warnings popped on the screen. He sped through the tape until the trailers started. It was a mindless comedy with no death, no destruction, and best of all, no wolves.

"I'm going up to the Yukon."

Ray swallowed nervously at the unexpected announcement.

"To scatter Dief's ashes."

An uneasy feeling crept into Ray. "Are you coming back?"

Fraser was silent, eyes riveted blankly on the TV set as a car sped down a street, pursued eagerly by several others while the announcer described just enough plot to entice the viewer to rent that tape as well.

"You can't run away from it."

"I'm not," replied Fraser.

"He's gone," said Ray. "You have to move on."

Fraser's gaze lost focus. "That's all I seem to do."

Ray couldn't deny the truthfulness of that single sentence. "You haven't put in for a transfer?"

"No."

"Will you?"

Fraser seemed to be thinking over the decision. Ray laid the remote on the couch arm. "How long do you plan on being up there?"

"A week," said Fraser. "There's an area Dief really liked. It will take two days to get there, another two days to get back."

"Isn't it getting cold up there now? Snowing?" pointed out the detective hopefully.

"Yes, Ray," sighed Fraser. "It's not as though I haven't been there before."

"You want company?"

Fraser smiled after a moment. "No, but I appreciate the offer."

Ray was almost thankful at the turn-down. His last foray into the great Canadian wilderness had put both men precariously close to death. "Uh, you want something more to drink, eat?"

Fraser folded his hands in his laps and looked over. "In the last few days, that's all everybody's done. Dragged me off to movies, invited me bowling and to every conceivable meal possible. It's becoming a bit overwhelming, even if it's all well-intentioned."

"We're just trying to help," said Ray, wondering if perhaps they'd gone overboard.

Fraser plucked absently at some lint on a throw pillow beside him. "I've lost others before - my parents, grandparents, even friends. But Dief, it's just different... there's nobody left."

"You're not alone," corrected Ray.

There was no reply.

"I'm here, Fraser." Ray finally caught the other man's eyes. "I know you can never replace Dief, but, um, uh, I suppose I could learn to steal donuts off desks."

"Hmm," muttered Fraser after a minute. "I don't think you could reach your leg up to scratch behind your ears though."

Both men sat there, staring vacantly at the TV as the statement sunk in. Fraser started first, and within seconds both men were laughing over how ridiculous the remark had been. It was minutes before either man could even utter a word without cracking up again.

"Oh God." Fraser wiped the tears from his eyes. "I needed that."

Ray grabbed the remote, turning off the tape and hitting rewind. "Don't ever mention it again. I started visualizing it."

"It's a frightening thought," agreed Fraser. He started laughing again.

Ray stared at him, perplexed. "What??"

"I just-" The Mountie looked over at the detective and crumbled into laughter.

"WHAT?" demanded Ray.

"At least you've got his whining down pat."

He'd been insulted. He couldn't believe it! "I do not whine," Ray insisted. "That wolf would sit there and just whine non-stop, begging for my breakfast when you guys came to the station. Did you ever see me begging for his food? No!"

Fraser couldn't stop laughing. He fell over to the side of the couch, clutching a throw pillow to his chest. Francesca came into the living room, then stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Fraser.

"What's going on?"

"I don't whine. I've never whined. Whining is something animals do," said Ray, challenging his sister to dare say anything to contradict him. Francesca put her hands on hips and met his eyes.

"Ray, sometimes all you do is whine!"

"Since when?!"

"Since you were five years old, or maybe even before that," she answered, grinning sadistically. She pointed at Fraser, whose laughs were descending into nearly high-pitched giggles. "Is he dying or something?"

"I hope not. That's more paperwork I don't need," replied Ray sarcastically.

"Just what is so funny?" she demanded.

Fraser scratched behind his ear, then pointed weakly at Ray before succumbing to more laughter.

"Scratching," said Ray.

Francesca stared at him as though the reply had translated into a foreign tongue. "Men are so weird." She turned and left, but not before a smile touched her face.

The Mountie's fit of laughter was finally dying down. It had to or else he might just have passed out from lack of oxygen. At least he'd gotten a good laugh out of the situation. Lord knew he needed it.

~~~~~~~~~~
THE CEILING WASN'T very intriguing, even less so in the dark. Fraser blinked, rubbing his fingers across tired eyes. Sleep had been elusive, just as when Dief had been kept at Animal Control a couple of years ago, accused of biting a city employee. It was worse now, especially because now there was no chance of a reprieve. The wolf was gone. Mere ashes. Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes.

Dief had been a very good friend, one who could never be replaced. There were times when Dief was able to say more with his eyes than a person could say with half an hour of talking. He wasn't a pet to be replaced. Fraser doubted he would ever get another animal. Dief had come into his life and chosen him, not the other way around. Over the years they had become family.

Fraser rolled over in bed, his eyes falling to the corner of the room illuminated softly by the streetlight outside. Dief had liked to sleep on that braided rug. On the occasions that sleep was transitory, Fraser had always been reassured to see the animal lying there, its chest slowly rising and falling with each breath, interrupted sporadically by a snorting noise when the pollen count became too high.

You're not alone.

Ray's honest words gently touched his mind. No, he wasn't. For a long time he had simply adapted to the solitary existence. It had been so easy in the Canadian wilderness. He could go for weeks without seeing another living person. In the city it was strangely similar. People minded their own business and even though millions of people dwelled within the city's confines, it was easy to remain a stranger. Oh, he knew a great deal of people, yet few had become close friends. Only Ray truly fit that category. Over the years the detective had been willing to sacrifice much: his time, his house, even his life. He'd gone up to the Yukon for Fraser, even if he had whined and complained for almost the entire aborted trip to the cabin.

The cabin. The plane crash had torn the chance from him to rebuild the structure and thus, reclaim his father's memory. To somehow put right what went wrong with Victoria. The desire to go back had not been as great after the crash. There were still parts of that crash and what followed on which he wasn't too clear.

Even months after, every once in a while when he said something that annoyed Ray, the detective would make a remark about "Steve." Fraser still had no idea what Ray was talking about and soon learned not to question it as then the detective would launch on a detailed story about Fraser tripping into the campfire and forcing him to eat grubs.

The only 'Steve' Fraser could ever recall knowing, and he'd never actually met the individual but had seen him at a distance, had been a penguin up in Tuktoyaktuk. An odd site, considering they were not native to that region. Some of the locals talked about this substantially large penguin that, if you tossed it a bottle of liquor, would actually try to drink it. Of course, liquor was forbidden in the town so the chance didn't happen all that often. Once in a while some two-day brew would slip past the authorities. Only once did he see the penguin staggering around on an ice floe. It was remarkable that no predators had devoured it.

Fraser smiled in the darkness. When he'd finally told Ray about that eccentric animal, the detective had looked at him, just shook his head in exasperation, and declined to ever mention the name again. Yet when he'd told that story to a fellow Mountie several years back, it had not taken long for everybody else to start looking at him strangely. Ray just accepted it.

Ray was perhaps the best friend he'd ever had - no, he was the best friend - and all he'd done since Diefenbaker had died was shove him away. Everybody had tried to do so much to cheer him up that he'd just felt like crawling into a hole and forgetting, but they'd meant well.

The loss would always be there, as it was with all the others who had died, but he would move on.

But not back to the Yukon, not yet. He hadn't had to look at Ray when the detective had asked if he was coming back from his trip to detect the worry - maybe even the fear - that he would not return.

A part of him yearned for the calm, vast wilderness. Even if he didn't stay there year round, his father's cabin, the land, it did belong to him. A place where, if he needed to, he could go to relax and enjoy nature. It was difficult to do that in Chicago, except at the museums, and in those the 'do not touch' signs were as prolific as ants at a picnic.

Fraser shut his eyes, willing himself to go to sleep. It would take time, but eventually he would succumb to the drowsiness. When morning came, he was determined to get out of his funk. He'd seen posters for various street fairs around the city. Perhaps he'd partake of their festivities. If Ray wasn't busy, perhaps he might come along.

~~~~~~~~~~

FRASER HAD LEFT home early, but instead of going to work, he set off toward the precinct. He had a little time before he was to report to duty, and he wondered if Turnbull would become worried because he wasn't at the Consulate at some unearthly hour, as had been his practice of late.

He felt he'd taken a tremendous step in dealing with Diefenbaker's death. He'd put the bowls away. It wasn't so much 'out of sight, out of mind,' as it was a means of letting the grieving process proceed. He'd searched through the cupboards under the sink until he found what he was seeking. An ornate cookie tin. He still recalled the day that Mrs. Garcia had baked him a whole batch of homemade cookies as thanks for helping her out with moving into her apartment. He also remembered how careless he'd been in leaving the tin atop the kitchen table while he'd gone to work and left Dief alone. When he'd arrived at lunch time, the wolf hadn't needed any food. He'd devoured every last morsel and was lying on the floor, totally gorged. Fraser had been unable to tell even the ingredients of the missing treats as the wolf had licked the round tin clean.

It seemed only fitting that Dief's remains rest, if only temporarily, in something that had given him such happiness. Fraser had sealed the ashes and collar in the tin, and put it atop his father's trunk.

Ray looked up, a tired expression etched into his face, as Fraser approached and set a white box down on his desk. "Please tell me it's the thief and that he got run over by a street sweeper and that's all that's left of him."

"Sorry to disappoint you," said Fraser.

Ray pried open the box and his eyes lit up. "What? You decided to pay me back for all the food your wolf stole?"

"I believe I would have to take out a small bank loan if my calculations on that are correct," surmised Fraser.

Ray just shook his head, then yanked out a large cinnamon cruller. He bit out a chunk, then mumbled something while pointing at a case file.

Fraser sat down.

"Problem?"

Ray swallowed. "Yeah, the perp's moved on to new territory. Made his sixth hit yesterday."

"Oh." Fraser could well imagine what that meant. "Is there anything I can do to be of assistance?"

The detective looked surprised and had to wait till he finished his second bite before he spoke. "Yeah, not that it matters now, but if you want to look over the case file, go ahead." He shoved the thick folder toward the Mountie, who opened it up. "It's probably outta my jurisdiction now."

Fraser thumbed through the thick quantity of sheets. There was a lot of information, but none of it useful, at least nothing he could see at the moment. The man had started his crime spree eight months ago and there seemed to be no logic, or cessation, to his activities.

"So, why do you think he does it?" asked Ray.

"Well, I wouldn't say it's for any monetary gain," replied Fraser. "He never nets much money."

"Think it's some childhood psychological thing?"

"I have no idea." Fraser closed the folder. "I hate to say this, but I should get back to work."

"That dumb Windygates thing?" remarked Ray.

"Well, not so much that as, well, I am the senior staff member and..."

"While the cat's away, the mice can't play," finished Ray, twisting the old rhyme around. "Well, I'm sure Welsh will find something for me to do. See you later?" he added hopefully.

Fraser nodded, then left.

~~~~~~~~~~

"MAYBE WE OUGHTA take him out for a walk?"

Ricky sat back on the bright red mat, his face furrowing into an exact replica of his father's when he worked on the bills. Buddy did seem to be his old self, well, what Ricky thought was his old self. The animal was improving daily and now spent a lot of time pacing about the small concrete room that was illuminated by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. He still limped a little on the rear hindquarter, which was understandable due to a massive bruise. It looked like someone had hit him with a board or kicked him.

"Maybe tomorrow," said Ricky.

"What are we gonna do with him when school comes?" asked Roberto, his thin face looking very serious.

Ricky didn't want to think of that. He couldn't leave Buddy down here for an entire day. Ever since he'd found the animal, they'd been virtually inseparable except for the time he had to spend at home at night. Fortunately Roberto's parents weren't as strict so he could stay out later and take care of the dog.

"You think somebody owns him?" whispered Roberto.

Ricky dreaded the prospect. He'd thought about it for a few days after he'd found the large dog. He'd seen street dogs, and they were never this well cared for. The dog's ribs didn't stick out, nor was it infested with fleas or mites. Buddy did have a few scars, one on his side and one on his neck.

The dog trotted up to him, then licked him all over the face. Ricky hugged the animal tightly.

He'd even looked in the classifieds after his father discarded the paper, but nobody was looking for a lost white dog. He'd thought about that fire on Rosemont, but the firemen and everybody else said the dog in that fire had died. They'd even found charred remains, so the papers said. Sure, Buddy had some scorch marks, but all that meant is that he ran into Julio and his gang and had been beaten. Roberto had been sure of that.

No. Buddy was his dog.

The animal curled up on the blanket atop the mat, his moist brown eyes looking beseechingly at the closed door.

"Thursday," announced Ricky. "Mom's going over to Aunt Ellen's."

Roberto nodded vigorously, no doubt excited at the prospect.

Ricky stared at him suddenly. "Do we have a leash?"

~~~~~~~~~~
RAY GLARED AT the cathode tube in front of him. "Come on, can't it work any faster than that?"

Elaine knocked his finger off the glass screen. "You're smudging it. And no, you just don't snap your fingers and get an instant response. Ah, but this time..."

The screen flickered, then a scroll of numbers and letters filled the screen.

"Aw..." Ray clunked his head against the table. "Des Moines."

"Sorry, Ray," said Elaine. "It definitely looks like he left town."

"Did somebody leave town?" repeated a mocking voice.

Ray sat up, then looked straight into Detective Jack Huey's grinning face. "No."

"Ah, the pet store perp has foiled you, has he?" Huey grinned. "Don't worry, Ray. You're in the same company as seven other detectives." Huey went to his desk, snickering behind his back.

Ray glared after the black man.

"Is something wrong?"

He twisted around and looked up into Fraser's friendly face. At any other time, he would have snapped at the Mountie, but he just didn't have the heart. He was too discouraged.

"His name's mud," supplied Elaine.

"Oh, I thought it was Vecchio," replied Fraser.

"Are you all right?" asked Ray.

"I was making a joke, Ray," said Fraser, smiling. "You seem to be, well, depressed. Unfortunately, I've recently gone through a bit of that myself. Perhaps I can help."

"Well, I'm hungry," decided Ray. "Let's do lunch."

~~~~~~~~~~
"AH HAH."

Ray perked up immediately.

"What?"

"I've detected a pattern."

Ray grabbed the paper out of Fraser's hand. "Well, of course, the man hits pet stores!"

Fraser shook his head in that annoying manner which Ray had only gotten used to after two years. "No, no, it's the amount of money he steals."

Ray resisted the urge to throttle the Italian submarine he held in his hands. The two men had taken their lunch into the interrogation room where Fraser could spread out the various paperwork on the pet store perp and not be disturbed. Fraser had been mostly silent while Ray ate his meal and thought of ways to bury this nasty little incident; however, now the Mountie was stating the terribly obvious.

"I've got some news for you, Benny," said Ray testily. "We already know he takes under $200 in each hit. Get with the program."

"Ah, but you see, he takes $196.80 in each robbery."

"Huh?"

Fraser politely took back the paper, then laid it flat on the interrogation room table, gently nudging aside his half-eaten submarine sandwich. "In every instance, that was exactly the amount of money taken."

Ray swallowed a mouthful of Coca Cola and peered at the upside-down sheets. "I know you've been doing a lot of numbers work lately, but I don't need glasses, and see-" Ray jabbed his straw at the number on the sheet. "That's $198.42."

"Yes, precisely."

Ray plopped down in his seat and tore open the bag of potato chips. "This oughta be good."

"Now, in this robbery, as well as, well, virtually all of them, the exact same amount was stolen." Fraser quickly held up his finger. "In every instance, the robber seemed to carelessly discard money at the scene, dollar bills, nickels and dimes. Now, if you count up the money reclaimed from the floor and/or sidewalk, he's been stealing $196.80 in each instance."

Ray frowned. "How much did he get in my robbery?"

"Exactly $195.23."

The numbers tried to add in Ray's head, but the whole dumb idea just gave him a headache. Fraser seemed to realize this.

"He's short by $1.57."

Ray laughed. "You're joking! You're trying to tell me that he's going to come back and rob that store again just to get his $1.57 back?"

Fraser leaned over in his seat, then said very seriously, "Ray, the man robs pet stores. What he does is not logical, at least not in our viewpoint. However, it does pose some sort of logic for the thief, therefore it is quite probable that he would not wish to break his pattern."

"But he's already hit a store in Des Moines!"

Fraser ignored him. "He has struck each store in a three to six day pattern, except for when a full moon is in the sky, then it's on the seventh. If I have calculated this correctly, he has precisely either two to four days in which to return to Chicago to reclaim the lost amount."

Ray pointed at the wooden chair next to Fraser. "Can you hand that to me?"

"Oh, is yours wobbly?" asked Fraser.

"No, I want to hit you over the head with it!" yelled Ray, waving his arms. "Do you know how stupid this sounds? $1.57? Full moons? Do you honestly think Welsh is gonna let me stake out a store for a measly $1.57!? I'd have to be insane to even mention it!"

~~~~~~~~~~

"THE COAST IS CLEAR."

Ricky took a quick glance around, past the weeds and barrels discarded out back behind the warehouse, just to make sure that Roberto had covered all bases. He crept quietly through the door, Buddy in tow. The dog had been anxious to leave its secret basement confines where he'd been stuck for over a week. But in that time Buddy had regained his strength. The lump on his head was all but gone and the wound was healing nicely. The limp had vanished. Ricky didn't know how long it would take for the patches of singed fur to grow back, but after he'd trimmed it all carefully with scissors, it didn't look half as bad as when he'd first found the animal.

Buddy yanked hard on the leash and both boys found themselves digging their feet into the ground.

"Hey!"

Ricky pulled back and Buddy turned to look at them.

"I'm in charge," said the boy sternly.

The dog seemed to consider this statement, its keen brown eyes studying them both, then waited for the boys to come up on either side.

"You don't want to run into traffic and get squashed, do you?" cautioned the boy, repeating nearly word for word his own mother's warnings. The dog whined.

The boys moved forward and the dog trotted beside them. Ricky was proud of what he'd accomplished in the past week. They'd take the long way, skirting Julio's territory, and show off Buddy to Mr. Rhodes at the pet store while they got more food.

~~~~~~~~~~
RAY SHIFTED IN his car. Stakeouts were never comfortable. Well, the one with the mini-bar bill that had nearly given Welsh a coronary a few years ago had been fun. But that had been it. Otherwise it was sitting around in dreary places waiting for someone to show up. Being stuck in a car was the worst, although at least the Riv was roomy and comfortable. Several coffee cup lids were cluttered on the dashboard. Ray had been guzzling the brew all day just to keep awake. Of course it meant he kept dashing back to the Dunkin' Donuts to use their restroom, but the owner didn't mind as he found it all terribly exciting. Ray studied the lids, then swept them off the dash into an empty bag on the floor. For some reason, an old episode of that TV show Wiseguy came to mind, where the undercover cop had nearly been made because of his habit of tossing coffee cup lids on the dashboard.

Why was he thinking of inane stuff like that at a time like this?

Perhaps because it was better than thinking of the events of yesterday afternoon.

He still couldn't believe that he'd actually gone to Welsh with Fraser's insane theory.

Perhaps he'd been so desperate to have one last crack at the case that he would grasp at any straw to avoid the ridicule of his fellow detectives. He knew that their snide laughter and deriding comments would last for weeks, if not months. The worst part of it was that he'd asked for the case. Why had he been so foolish?

Fraser.

If Fraser hadn't stood by him in the lieutenant's office, detailing the spare change theory, Ray would have backed out then and there. Yet Welsh had seemed so absorbed in the Mountie's explanation as to where the spare change that was unaccounted for had gone (apparently Fraser had done some further research into each of the neighborhoods involved). The man's face had gone totally blank when Fraser so earnestly explained the lunar cycle and how it affected some people, which is why emergency rooms sometimes had a greater influx of patients during certain times of the months.

Ray was certain Welsh was going to toss them both out on their butts at that point, but the lieutenant smiled and very calmly okayed Ray for one day of stakeout.

Maybe he'd been humoring the Mountie. Ray wasn't sure.

The only thing he was sure of was that he was having second thoughts about the entire mess. Too bad Fraser wasn't here sharing this huge stretch of boredom, but the Mountie had been adamant about manning the Consulate. Thatcher would arrive later in the day. Ray snorted. Yeah, as if someone were going to launch a full-scale siege of the Canadian Consulate while she was away! But at least Fraser was getting back to his old self, in some respects. Ray could still see the pain in his friend's eyes, but it was tempered more and more by acceptance.

There was no way Ray was going to drag the poor guy back to the pet store. That adorable little white puppy was still in the window. He was sure it kept staring at him, even though he was parked down the street.

Ray looked at his watch, then groaned. Ten after five. The pet store would shut in twenty minutes. Was the perp gonna wait till the last minute to get his stupid spare change?

At least no people had ever been hurt in the robberies. Just birds threatened with garden tools, exotic expensive fish threatened to be swimming in Drano if the owner didn't empty the cash register, bizarre stuff like that. It suddenly made perfect, undeniable sense that Fraser had to be involved in the case. He was always involved with weird stuff.

Nobody had gone into the store for half an hour, so decided to give his eyes a break from staring at the bland storefront. He picked up the computer generated mugshot of the perp. 5'8"or so, lanky build, dark, thinning hair, wears a baseball cap. No distinguishable features. Great, that fit half the midwest. He put the paper back on the passenger seat, then rummaged through the glove compartment. Seconds later, he found the aspirin bottle. Maybe it was all the caffeine from the coffee, or the sun beating down on him all day, or just the dread of going back to the bullpen empty-handed, but he had a headache.

The childproof cap resisted and Ray swore under his breath when the pills scattered all the Riv's interior as the bottle suddenly popped open.

"Oh, please, rob the store now!" he muttered under his breath.

As if some deity above had heard his heartfelt plea, a man who bore a suspicious resemblance to the perp entered the pet store. No, it would be way too good to be true.

A moment later, the man left with a small paper bag, and walked quickly down the street. Ray carefully thought about the situation, wondering if he should check it out. A second later his decision was made for him when that man suddenly rabbited down a side street.

"Son of a-!" Ray quickly called for backup, then abandoned the vehicle for a foot pursuit when he realized his prey had gone down a side alley he couldn't possibly follow by car.

~~~~~~~~~~
FRASER NEATLY SHUFFLED the file folders, then put them back in their proper slot in the file cabinet. Although the Windygates Project was extremely boring, there had been some interesting aspects to it. No one had poked into some of the files for at least a decade. Some papers had been practically glued together by sheer compression of being squashed into the cabinets. The most fascinating item he'd found had been a folder on Committee Meetings. There'd been two ancient memorandums in it, as well as an old Playboy magazine from the sixties. Fraser had opened it up out of curiosity just as the phone's shrill ring pierced the air. The magazine had practically shot out of his hands and it had taken a few seconds for him to catch his breath.

It was Ray, calling to complain about the stakeout and Fraser's'idiotic theory.' He wanted to know if the Mountie was having a more exciting day than him. Fraser's blue eyes had fixated on a very nubile Miss January that teased him from the floor, but he'd managed to regain his senses and tell the detective that he was 'just filing, of course.'

After Ray decided that they wouldn't do dinner that evening because he'd just be too worn out from staring at storefronts, he hung up.

Fraser had stuffed the magazine back into the folder, then discarded both into the trash can. He didn't even want to think what would have happened if someone, even Turnbull, had walked in and found Fraser with the periodical in his hands.

That had been hours ago. It was now a little after five and Fraser had decided to call it quits. The Inspector would be in the next day and the office would flow back to its normal routine. Except for Dief. Fraser felt the airline tickets in his coat pocket as he slid the brown serge over his shoulders. Only ten days till he went back to the Yukon. Thatcher had made no remark when he'd put in for the sudden vacation time. He hadn't felt it right to put it down under personal time, those days reserved for family problems. Part of his mind wouldn't let him forget the regulations, yet Thatcher told him to take as much time as he needed. She'd take care of the paperwork. Her only concern was that he come back. And he knew from the look in her eyes that her concern had not been just as a superior trying to avoid paperwork in replacing a subordinate, but as a friend who didn't want him to leave.

Fraser smiled. Yes, he had friends in Chicago, more than he'd realized.

He bid farewell to Turnbull, who was busy reading junk mail, then headed out. He thought about going home, but then remembered a street fair taking place that evening. He had told himself that he would spend some time away from home and the Consulate, so he might as well start now.

~~~~~~~~~~
THE WAILING SIRENS of an approaching police car filled the air, but as far as Ray was concerned, his backup might as well be in Outer Mongolia. Ray came to a halt at another intersection of alleys and avenues, catching his breath, then spotted his prey running down Canal Street. Oh great, the guy was going for the docks. What? Did he have a cigarette boat stashed there? Ray picked up his pace, wishing he had a Mountie and a wolf by his side. Fraser could just throw himself on the suspect and the wolf could've chewed the guy's feet off.

He dodged several pedestrians who gave him odd looks, then shot down a side alley. The perp was headed for the water, into a maze of old docks, boats, warehouses and rats as big as housecats. Ray did not want to be in this area, not at all. A noisy seagull swooped overhead, startling Ray, but when he looked back towards the ground, he caught a flash of the washed denim jacket the perp was wearing disappear around a corner. Ray knew that the perp had just dead-ended himself on that dock. He pulled out his cell phone, telling Elaine where to direct the backup. The siren was headed toward the pet store, away from where he needed help.

Ray pulled his gun, stealthily approaching the old dock. The scent of rotting wood and diesel fuel assaulted his nostrils. Street noise echoed down toward the docks, but he concentrated his hearing for the gentle sound of gravel crunching underfoot, anything that would give his prey away.

The soft noise of something moving around the corner of the old wooden building caught his attention. He crept forward, then swung around the corner, gun out. The perp whirled, panic in his eyes.

"I'm not going to jail!"

"Well, you should have thought of that before you began your crime spree," retorted Ray. "Drop the..." What? A lunch bag with a $1.57 in it and in the other hand, a canister of ... salt? What was he threatening in the store this time? Slugs? "Drop everything," ordered Ray again.

The perp's glassy blue eyes glittered as they swung away from Ray and focused on the murky brown water several feet away on the dock. Ray's eyes darted in that direction. Rotting beams and old beer cans riddled the water.

The perp's feet moved in that direction, scuttling along like some frightened rabbit.

No way was this guy diving into the water and escaping! Ray approached carefully, gun in hand. The perp abruptly turned for the water and Ray charged, only to get hit full in the face by a shower of white granules. He screamed, dropping his gun, as the salt stung his eyes. A body smashed into him and Ray grabbed on to the man, any pain overridden by his desire to lock the perp in a jail cell forever. The man struck at him with the empty salt container but Ray fought back, grabbing the man's jacket. Suddenly the man fell back, and fear enveloped the detective as he found himself in a dark freefall. He smashed into a piling and was then sucked into the murky waters.

~~~~~~~~~~
"MY ARMS ARE killing me!" moaned Roberto.

Ricky held on to the strong nylon leash. Buddy had been straining to go in the wrong direction ever since they'd left the warehouse. It was as if he had his own agenda. The only time the white dog had stopped was when he'd caught a whiff of food from Pastora's Bakery, but then his eyes had taken on a determined gleam and the boys had had to fight to drag the animal where they wanted him to go.

It was only when they arrived at the pet store that he'd given him a reprieve. Roberto was rubbing his arms but Ricky held steadfast to the leash, worried when the dog's eyes riveted on an old green Buick across the street. The animal's mouth opened and its sharp teeth were bared as the nose sniffed the air. Ricky had never seen Buddy act this way before. The animal growled suddenly, then broke loose. Ricky tumbled to the sidewalk, watching the dog gallop down the street, trailing the red leash, toward an alley.

Both boys pursued their pet toward unfamiliar territory, going deeper into an area where they knew they shouldn't be, but they couldn't stop.

Buddy ran toward a dock, and in the distance, Ricky could see two men fighting near the dock's edge. One of them screamed when the other threw something in his face, and within seconds, the two locked together in mortal combat, then tumbled off the dock into the water below.

Ricky watched in horror as Buddy leapt right in after them.

~~~~~~~~~~
TERROR SWEPT OVER Ray like nothing he'd ever experienced before. He had no idea which way was up or down in the dark waters. Pain tore through his arm but he couldn't pull lose. Something rough and unyielding held him trapped in the water. This wasn't how he was going to die, not like this! His head nearly whiplashed when something, someone, grabbed him by the back of his coat, yanking so hard that his shoulders hurt. He was torn lose from the object determined to hold him under water, and found himself being dragged to the surface.

Ray sputtered and coughed as precious air greeted his lungs. He didn't care if he'd swallowed half of Lake Michigan. It was better to be sick than dead. He felt himself being pulled toward shore but couldn't turn to face his savior. All he could tell is that it was animal, a dog of some sort.

A police siren echoed nearby. Of course, they'd brought along one of the K-9 dogs. Ray treaded water until the animal dragged him to the muddy, filthy bank, where they both had to struggle to dry land. A uniformed officer yanked him up. "You okay?"

Ray nodded, leaning forward as he coughed the remains of the stagnant waters from his system. He patted the muddy dog on the head, then stood. "You caught the perp, right?" he asked, dragging out his detective shield to wave to the cop. "Please tell me you nailed that SOB."

The blond officer pointed in the distance to where his partner was cuffing a soggy man further down the embankment. Ray staggered over to where the perp was also hacking out his lungs.

"Why?" demanded Ray. "Why $196.80?!"

The man looked at him, shaking water from his hair like some soggy terrier. "Because it was a good year."

"What?!"

"1968 was a really good year!" the man insisted, a glazed expression in his eyes.

Ray threw his arms up in the air. "Fraser was right. You're loony!" Ray pivoted around to face the cop. "Robbery. At least 48 counts. Engaging an officer in pursuit, and assaulting an officer!"

"We'll take you to the hospital, okay?" said the cop.

"Huh?" asked Ray.

The uniformed officer gestured at Ray's arm. The soaked detective looked down, then realized why he felt so odd. His coat and shirt were torn, as well as the flesh underneath, and blood stained his sleeve where he wasn't covered with thick, black mud. Strangely, he felt no pain.

"Oh, geez," he murmured under his breath. Something suddenly touched his other hand, something cold and wet. He turned and looked down. A mud-encased dog was looking up at him. Ray knelt beside the large animal and hugged it. "Thanks, boy, uh, girl..." He glanced underneath. "Boy," he corrected. The animal slurped all over his face and whined.

A shiver ran through Ray. The whine was so familiar. No. All dogs and wolves sounded alike. Dief was dead.

A small boy suddenly ran up, reclaiming ownership of the end of the dirty leash attached to the animal. "Come on, Buddy, we gotta go," he insisted, tugging on the leash.

The animal held its ground, then nuzzled Ray.

The detective looked into the beseeching brown eyes. They were familiar, too familiar. Memories of Diefenbaker in the rear seat of the Riv, trying to cajole potato chips out of Ray during stakeouts, of the animal lying on the braided rug in Fraser's apartment, sleeping contentedly after eating the last piece of pizza, all tumbled haphazardly through the detective's mind. It couldn't be.

Desperation seized Ray and he began parting the fur on the animal's neck. He had to know.

"Hey, what are you doing to my dog?" demanded the boy.

Ray's stomach flip-flopped in excitement as his hands then explored the animal's side. Both scars were there! From being shot by Victoria in Fraser's apartment to Gerard's rifle shot up in the Yukon so many years ago. Ray frantically held the animal's muzzle in his hands. "Dief?"

The wolf barked, jumping up on the detective.

"Oh my God..." Ray hugged the animal, then felt a tug when the boy pulled on the leash.

"Where did you get him?" Ray demanded.

"He's mine," insisted the boy.

Ray yanked out his badge, wiping the mud off on his once clean silk shirt. "Police. Where did you get him?"

The boy backed away, fear glowing in his eyes. "I found him."

"Where? When?"

"Down on Tremont." The boy's voice was nearly a whisper. "Last week."

"Monday night?" questioned Ray.

The boy shook his head. "Tuesday morning."

The wolf barked agreement.

Ray still couldn't believe it, but the irrefutable, live evidence was sitting right in front of him. Dief was even nosing his pocket, attracted to the scent of a now soggy half-cruller he'd jammed in his coat pocket earlier. Forever eating. That was Dief.

"You can't keep him," said Ray.

"He's mine," protested the boy, tears brimming in his eyes.

Ray petted the wolf, smoothing a patch of gloppy mud off the animal's head. He felt, then saw, an absence of fur and a large scab that was healing. "He belongs to someone else," said Ray softly. "His owner is sick with worry."

"I checked all the lost and founds," countered the boy, his voice catching.

Ray's heart went out to the kid. He'd found a stray on the street and had taken him in, and now some total stranger was taking him away. It all made sense, in a bizarre way. Dief had no collar, no tags to trace. The wolf had probably squirmed out of the collar to save his life. But how could the kid ignore the fire when there was so much evidence right in front of him?

"Didn't you wonder?" he asked, feeling the shortened, wiry fur over the backside where fire had no doubt singed Dief. "About the fur? That fire on Rosemont?"

"The papers said it was really bad, and everybody said anybody in it got burnt to a crisp," replied the boy. "After what Julio did to that cat, I just thought..."

Ray made a mental note to check into this Julio character later. He gestured the boy to come closer, then noticed another boy on the bank further away. He was watching, no doubt worried for his friend. "Um, what's your name?"

"Ricky- Ricardo Pasquez," the boy admitted quietly.

"Listen, Ricky." Ray pulled the boy closer to him, noticing how the child's hands tightened on the leash. "Do you know how your parents would feel if you were to disappear?"

Ricky nodded and Ray saw the understanding in the child's eyes.

"That's exactly how my friend felt when he thought Diefenbaker here had died," explained Ray quietly. "Dief is the only family he has left, and it tore him apart when he thought Dief was gone. Do you understand why you can't keep him?"

Ricky nodded, but he couldn't contain the tears that spilled from his eyes.

Ray wanted to hug the boy, but mindful of his muddy status, instead offered a reassuring grasp on the boy's shoulders.

The child suddenly threw himself on Dief, latching on to the dirty animal and squeezing with all his might. "Goodbye, Buddy," he sniffled.

Ray felt absolutely rotten.

~~~~~~~~~~
"YOU CAN'T BRING that in here."

Ray flashed his badge at the admitting nurse. "He's part of an important investigation. I can't let him out of my sight and I want a doctor to check him over to make sure he's okay."

The well-plucked eyebrows of the fortyish nurse arched in dismay, and she huffed in audible tones. "I'll ask the doctor." Her voice reeked of authority.

Ray just snorted, then sat down in the orange plastic seat in the E.R. waiting room. Diefenbaker sat on the floor beside him. Both looked an utter mess even though he'd wiped off as much as possible of the filthy mud with a disposable blanket one of the officers had given him.

Grabbing some spare change out of his pants pocket, Ray went to the pay phone and began dialing. Diefenbaker followed him. The phone rang and rang until a man's voice answered. "Hey, Mr. Mustafi. Is Fraser home? ... Yeah, it's Detective Vecchio. Look, it's really important. Can you just check. Please..." Fraser's neighbor finally agreed, and came back two minutes later. "Not there, huh? Well, thanks."

Ray hung up the receiver. Fraser wasn't at the Consulate. He'd already tried there, nor was he at home. He picked a fine time to finally get out and start socializing! Ray thumbed through his now soggy address book - he'd definitely need a new one - and found another. An answering machine kicked in so he hung up and dialed again. He repeated this action four more times until finally an extremely irate voice answered.

"Is Fraser with you?"

Complete silence greeted him, followed by a tiny cough. "What?" replied Thatcher.

"Is he there? Come on, I don't care if he is and the two of you are swapping stories about how to make beaver quiches or something. Is he there?"

"No, he's not," responded Thatcher tersely. Ray detected that he'd struck a nerve, reaffirming his suspicions that the two Mounties were definitely attracted to each other.

"Do you know where he might be?"

"I have no idea. Have you tried his apartment or the Consulate?" she suggested.

"Of course," snapped Ray. "Listen, it's urgent that I find him. Is there any place you can think of where he might be."

"You know him better than me," replied Thatcher. "Is something wrong?"

"Dief's alive." Ray grinned.

"What??"

"You heard me." Ray quickly told Thatcher all he knew about Diefenbaker's miraculous resurrection.

"Good Lord," came Thatcher's quiet voice.

"Yeah, you can say that again."

"I, uh, I honestly don't know where Fraser could be," said Thatcher. "I could go out and look for him."

"No, no, don't bother," said Ray. "As soon as I get out of the E.R., I'll take him over to Fraser's. He's gotta come home sooner or later."

"E.R.? Are you all right?"

Ray definitely heard concern in her voice. It was odd, yet reassuring. "Yeah, I just had an argument with a nail or something. Nothing serious." Ray spied the stern nurse and a doctor staring at him from afar. "Listen, I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"I look forward to it," said Thatcher.

The doctor approached as Ray hung the phone. His lined face spoke of years of experience. "We don't treat animals here."

Ray frowned, waving his badge in the doctor's bespectacled face. "Listen, there's you, me, Nurse Attila-the-Hun and my little pal here. I don't see anybody else. It looks like a real slow evening in the E.R. My friend here is an important part of a vital investigation into a series of Lord knows how many robberies. It's imperative we make sure he's healthy."

The doctor stared at the badge, his face totally apathetic at the sign of authority, then he looked down at the wolf. His eyes brightened just a tiny bit as the wolf gazed back in a sympathetic gaze. "Why don't you just say he's a pet and you're worried sick about him?" suggested the doctor.

Ray looked down at the floor. "Well, he's a friend's pet and he's worried sick about him."

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Okay."

"You'll do it?" asked Ray in surprise.

"I have a soft spot for animals," the doctor admitted.

Ray proceeded to detail the wolf's medical history and the events leading up to his unusual visit to the E.R. The doctor just nodded, then passed Ray off to another doctor and the nurse.

Dief was on the cot just across the way from Ray, and the detective was amazed that the animal let the physician poke and prod him.

Another doctor was examining Ray's injured arm. "Hmm, looks like we'll have to do a little debridement here. You've got splinters and mud in there." The sandy-haired young man peered closer. "Had a tetanus shot lately?"

"Um, uh, a few years back..."

"Well, considering this mess and the fact that you're going to need a bunch of stitches, we're going to give you another one to be on the safe side."

Ray suddenly whirled around, his eyes following the doctor's gaze. Nurse Attila-the-Hun stood beside him, with what looked like a huge needle in her hand. "Have you been sick lately?" she asked sweetly.

The detective cringed.

~~~~~~~~~~
RAY PAUSED AT the top of the third floor landing. He was beat. Maybe all those needles they'd stuck in him at the hospital were having some effect, but at least the painkiller he'd been given him had numbed his aching foot.

Despite the fact that the wolf could have been immolated and looked like some patchwork quilt with all the fur that had to grow back, his energy seemed boundless. Ray was sure it was partially due to being back on familiar territory. Animals were really sticklers for that sort of stuff. Come to think of it, so were some people.

He was actually grateful that Mr. Mustafi had finally called to say Fraser had returned home. He was beginning to think Fraser had decided to go on some hours-long walk and wouldn't get home till two in the morning. Ray would have then ended up camping on Fraser's doorstep if that had been the case, but the few hours in between going home and arriving at Fraser's apartment had been well spent. It gave him time to clean up, and to de-mud the wolf. The bathtub drain would clog up after the two of them, but it was a small price to pay to see the happiness he knew he'd see on Fraser's face.

Ray knocked on the door. "Hey, Benny."

"Come in."

Not even coming to the door? Ray wondered if Fraser was sinking back into another melancholic state, then brushed the thought aside. He knew Ray was coming over - Mustafi had told him - so why should he bother to get up and answer the door, which was usually unlocked anyway?

Ray stepped into the apartment, motioning with a finger to lips for Dief to be quiet. He pointed at the interior wall and mouthed to the dog that he would know when to make his entrance. The clue would be unmistakable. The wolf's eyes just glittered hungrily at the bag in Ray's hand, but the detective sternly shook his head.

Fraser was lying on his bed. He was still in his street clothes, blue jeans and a blue plaid shirt of which he seemed inordinately fond. The hiking boots were on the floor to the side of the bed. Fraser had a hardback book in his hands and was reading.

Ray glanced behind quickly. The wolf was staying put. A miracle. Ray walked over to the side of the bed and looked down.

"Good book?"

"It's ... all right," replied Fraser. "I decided to see what the best sellers were all about."

Ray wasn't sure a horror novel was good reading material for the Mountie, considering the cover portrayed a dilapidated building that eerily resembled the apartment building they were presently in. He shook his head, then dumped a large white paper bag right on top of Fraser's chest.

The Mountie's eyes refocused on the item and his nose twitched slightly, almost like a rabbit's. "Donuts?" He looked up for a response, and concern filled those eyes when they saw Ray's arm in the sling. "Are you all right?"

Ray looked down at the blue sling, almost as if he'd just noticed it himself. "Oh, this? It's nothing. Fifteen stitches. Took a tumble off the dock with our pet store perp and hit a nail or something on the way down."

"Does it hurt?"

"They gave me a tetanus shot," recalled Ray irritably. "I think she really liked stabbing me with that needle."

"The nurse?"

"Of course the nurse." Ray rubbed his uninjured arm. If it hurt now, it would hurt like the devil tomorrow and then both arms would be out of commission. "Is it true what you once told me? That if a wolf saves your life, you're indebted to him forever?"

Fraser stared at the wax bag, his mind going back to the past. "Not quite. In a way, yes, but Dief just made me pay and pay and..."

"Yeah, I get the point." Ray opened the bag and the smell of a mixture of fattening donuts filled the air. Fraser looked puzzled, no doubt wondering how he'd become a makeshift dinner table at such an odd hour of the evening. Ray plucked out a fat donut. A tiny shower of powdered sugar fell to Fraser's blue jean-clad legs. "Do you think that if you'd bribed him immediately afterwards, he would have just considered it an even swap and you would've been okay?"

Fraser stared at the ceiling. "We'd been on an ice floe. I'm afraid what I had to offer for food was meager sustenance at best. Pemmican."

"So you think a steak followed by a donut chaser would have sealed the deal?"

A hand moved the bag slightly to the side and Fraser stared at the book again. "It might have been possible."

"Ah," said Ray.

A tiny whimper cut through the air. Ray's eyes darted toward the interior wall which blocked the view to the door. When he looked back, Fraser was staring at him. He didn't look happy.

"Ray, I told you. I don't want a puppy. I'm not replacing Dief."

Ray put on his best pitiful expression. "Come on, Benny." Fraser shut his eyes and dropped the book on his chest. "He needs a good home. He's only got a few bad habits but he is housebroken."

"I appreciate the thought." Fraser looked wearily into Ray's eyes. "But I can't. I don't know if I'll ever..."

Ray's mouth quirked in an odd smile. "Okay." He tossed the donut over his shoulder and it hit the floor with a soft plop.

"Are you sure it was a tetanus shot they gave you?" Fraser asked uneasily.

The Mountie suddenly froze, his eyes glued to the floor behind Ray. He slowly sat up, the book falling to the side and the donut bag spilling out over the dark blue comforter. Ray turned. Diefenbaker had forsaken his hiding space behind the wall and was busily devouring the sacrificial offering. Within seconds it was impossible to tell that any food had been on the wooden floor. The wolf's rough tongue had lapped up every last morsel.

Fraser rolled off the bed, donuts spilling everywhere, and knelt next to the wolf. He ran his hand through the thick fur, studying the animal's face intently. The pink tongue slurped all over his face. Fraser enveloped the animal in a bone-breaking hug.

"How? Where?"

Ray sat down on the bed after dusting some of the sugar aside. "Some kid found him dazed, wandering around. Took him in. Didn't tell his parents because he thought they wouldn't let him have a pet. Kept him hidden."

The Mountie's hands tenderly ran over the patches of short, singed fur along the one hind quarter.

"Doc thinks he got knocked around, like a few blows, maybe one crack to the skull, a little traumatized, but they can't find anything wrong," said Ray. "I had them check him over at the emergency room."

Fraser blinked in astonishment, then looked over at Ray.

"The E.R.? They don't allow animals."

"It was a slow night and I, uh, begged," admitted Ray sheepishly. "They say the kid took really good care of him."

Tears were brimming in the Mountie's eyes. "I- I don't know what to say," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Ray grinned, then switched his gaze to the floor. The one thing he was not used to seeing was the Mountie cry, but under the circumstances, his own eyes were misting up a bit as well. He couldn't believe that he'd missed an animal that stole his food and shed fur all over his car.

Fraser wiped a sleeve across his eyes. "Um, do you have the boy's name?"

"Oh yeah," replied Ray. "I gotta talk to him tomorrow. He's a witness of sorts in the case, so if you want to come along with me in the morning..."

The man nodded, hugging the animal again. Dief didn't seem to mind the reunion but was vastly more interested in the jelly donut Fraser didn't know he was kneeling on. A splatter of delectable grape jelly was just out of his reach.

Ray tried not to laugh as the wolf broke his master's grasp, knocking him over, and then proceeded to maul the Mountie's knee.

~~~~~~~~~~
"OW-OW-OW."

"Ray, let me drive."

"No, no, it doesn't hurt that much," insisted Ray, parking the car at a bad angle in front of the large building.

"Then perhaps you could stop grimacing as though you're in agony." Fraser grabbed his hat off the Buick's dashboard. "It's rather distracting when you're speeding down the street."

"Oh, yeah, great white Mountie of the North," muttered Ray under his breath. "You don't have over a dozen stitches in your left arm and a welt the size of Mt. St. Helen's on your right arm."

"It's better than tetanus," reminded Fraser.

The wolf barked.

Ray turned around in the driver's seat to face the animal who was perched in his favorite spot in the back seat. "Oh yeah, you're a fine one to talk. I gave you a steak last night. I gave you donuts. Yeah, I gave junk to a junkie! All right, you saved my life, but I'm sure I wouldn't have drowned even if you hadn't jumped in and hauled me to shore. And let me remind you, you have sharp teeth!"

Fraser smiled broadly as the wolf shot the irritated detective a totally thankless look. Ray snorted derisively.

Everything was back to normal, for the most part. As soon as Ray had picked up both himself and Dief to go visit Ricky and his family, the bickering had started. Dief instantly felt Ray was a pushover for better food than he was getting at home. Fraser also knew without a doubt that the wolf was going to get as much sympathy - and handouts - as he possibly could. Knowing the wolf, Fraser figured he could make it last two weeks before he wore out the welcome mat.

Ray polished up a few items on the boy's statement, while Fraser had the chance to thank Ricky in person for taking care of Dief. He'd done an excellent job - even the doctors had confirmed that - and Ricky's parents, although understandably upset that their son had kept this secret from them, had mellowed considerably. By the time Fraser and Ray had to leave, the parents were reconsidering their 'no pets' policy and Ricky was thinking of becoming a veterinarian. Diefenbaker managed to wheedle a pastry out of the mother before departing. Fraser had also promised to visit so Ricky could see Dief again, as well as to reimburse the boy for any expenses incurred for the wolf's care.

On the trip back to the Consulate, Fraser listened to Ray run down the list of everything he'd done for the wolf: medical care, a bath - and he'd saved the wolf from being bubble-bathed by Francesca - and food, really good food. Fraser was trying to think how he would kick Dief of the steak habit. When he'd fed the wolf food that morning, the animal had whined inconsolably and rolled over on the floor as though poisoned.

But none of that seemed very important. What counted was that Dief was alive and well. Fraser had barely gotten any sleep, his mind refusing to believe the miracle that had occurred. He knew Dief had missed him too, for the wolf had jumped into bed to sleep beside him, and he'd awoken groggily in the morning to a wet tongue slurping all over one ear.

"Well, I'm going to work, then home," announced Ray.

"Oh?" Fraser broke his gaze from the wolf, but petted the thick fur once more, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"Yeah, look at me. I'm in agony."

"I see that the tetanus shot hasn't prevented you from making three-point turns," pointed out Fraser.

Ray glared at him. "You wanna get shot?"

Fraser just grinned. "I think it's time I get to work." He opened the car door, then let Dief out. He'd only taken two steps when Ray suddenly called him back.

Ray was on the cell phone. "Come 'ere!" he whispered, hand over the phone. "It's Turnbull."

"Oh." Fraser reached for the phone but Ray shook his head.

"Oh, really? Fraser, um, yeah, he's around here somewhere." A silly grin was plastered on Ray's face. "Hold on a sec."

Fraser gestured toward the building only a few yards away. "I'll just go in and-"

"No, no," insisted Ray. He reached over and yanked the Mountie back into the car. Fraser sat down, wondering what was going on. Ray motioned for Fraser to remain silent.

"The Inspector's looking for him?"

Fraser thought he really should go but Ray mouthed 'no.'

"Oh, and- Inspector, good morning to you, too," said Ray cheerfully.

Fraser resisted the urge to cover his eyes with his hands. Ray was enjoying this conversation far too much. "What was that?" asked Ray. He indicated for Fraser to listen in as he positioned the phone between them.

"I said it's rather imperative you get him over here as soon as possible," repeated Thatcher's irritated voice.

"Got an emergency, huh?" asked Ray.

Fraser thought he actually heard her huff, but it didn't seem like the Inspector at all. "They want the spreadsheet," she continued.

"They?" posed Ray.

"Those idiots."

"Your bosses?" continued Ray, who then quickly gestured for Fraser not to say a word.

"Yes, them. Someone got it in their head to revive that stupid Windygates project and I took Fraser off it," echoed her voice dismally. "There's no way on earth it can be finished by the weekend. Oh, no."

"Something wrong?"

"I can't have Fraser come in today. He's probably taken Dief to the vet to have him checked out." She hesitated briefly. "He is all right? Diefenbaker, I mean? When you called last night, I was so relieved to hear Dief wasn't dead, for Fraser's sake. He'd taken it so hard and I just didn't know what..." She paused briefly. "Don't ever tell Fraser this, but I actually like having that wolf around the Consulate, despite what I sometimes tell Fraser."

Ray grinned in delight. Fraser felt uncomfortable at listening in on what he perceived was a private conversation.

"Yeah, he's fine. You know, I bet you even sneak him treats once in a while," prodded Ray.

Fraser could visualize the defensive expression on her face when she admitted to that slight infraction.

"Well, if I see Fraser, I'll let him know you're looking for him," concluded Ray. Thatcher didn't sound too excited and the last thing both men heard before she hung up was her voice shouting for Turnbull to come into her office.

"So, she likes the wolf after all," remarked Ray. He studied the animal sitting on the concrete sidewalk. Dief was patiently waiting for his master. "You know, he's looking a little thin. Maybe you oughta to leave him alone with Thatcher for a while."

"Ray," warned Fraser. He turned and studied his furry companion, who looked totally innocent. "And I suppose you expected this to continue? What was she feeding you?" His eyebrows arched. "Croissants?"

The wolf's pink tongue ran hungrily over its nose in anticipation.

"Just as I thought."

"Well, have fun with your Windygates mess," said Ray, turning the ignition. Fraser leaned against the vehicle and looked in.

"I could actually have it completed by this evening if Dief doesn't mind staying late." He looked down at the wolf. "We could do take-out?" The wolf barked in agreement.

"No, no, no," said Ray quickly. "Milk it up until the last minute."

"Pardon?"

"Make it look like you finished it just in the nick of time," said Ray.

"Why on earth would I do that?"

Ray closed his eyes and hit his head on the steering wheel. He sat back, then scowled at the Mountie. "Because if you get it done tomorrow, she'll just think you're plain old ordinary Superman Fraser, that's why. If you get it done at the last moment, you'll have her undying gratitude. She has no idea how much time you spent at the Consulate working on it when you weren't supposed to be doing it."

"Ah, I see your point," agreed Fraser. "She would of course realize I disobeyed her direct order."

"Ah sheesh," grumbled Ray. "It's like talking to a brick wall sometimes. Do whatever you want. I'll see you later." He grimaced when he grabbed the steering wheel.

"Are you all right?" Fraser asked in concern.

"Did I look miserable enough?" An unexpected smile graced Ray's face. "I'm gonna try to eek some sympathy out of Louise."

Fraser pursed his lips. "You looked like you were trying to pass a kidney stone."

"Too much, huh?"

Fraser nodded in agreement.

"I'll work on it," said Ray. The Riv tore into traffic and sped off down the street. Fraser sucked in a deep breath of morning air. It would probably be the last fresh air he'd see until late evening. He paused at the front door when he realized Dief was still sitting on the sidewalk.

"You are in incredibly good health considering all you've been through," he told the wolf, who stared at him with pathetic eyes. "You look worse than you actually are." The wolf whined. "All right. We'll do Chinese take-out tonight and I'll get you your own serving of sweet-and-sour chicken. And some ice cream."

The wolf galloped by him, ascending the stairs quickly.

Fraser watched as the wolf slowed at the top, assuming a more piteous walk as he came into view of Turnbull's desk.

"Good morning, Diefenbaker. Welcome back," echoed Turnbull's cheerful voice. "I'm sure the Inspector will be glad to see you."

Fraser frowned. Perhaps the ice cream could wait for another time, but then again, what would it hurt?

THE END

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