Vegas Odyssey

by Sammy Girl

ATF xover "CSI"

Nick snuggled under the comforter, trying to catch a last few minutes in bed before he had to get up. Gil was already in the shower; he'd already pulled up the blackout blinds that cut out the sun, so that the last evening light now flooded in past the light drapes. In the bathroom the water had been turned off. Nick knew he had another fifteen minutes, that was how long it took his lover to dry off and shave.

"Hey! Your turn."

Nick groaned and opened his eyes, silently cursing that he'd fallen asleep again.

"I'm gonna make pancakes, so don't take forever." With that Grisson pulled back the comforter, exposing Nick's naked form.

Tempting, very tempting, be strong Gil, resist or you'll be late.

Nick forked in a second helping of pancakes and syrup. "What do you make of Wilmington?" he asked, mouth half full.

Gil shrugged, sipping on his coffee. "He's still a suspect."

"He was in Denver for the second two murders."

"Denver is only two hours by plane, but worth checking with the ATF, I'll mention it to Brass. What I can't make out is what he wants with his mother’s DNA profile."

"I told you, he doesn’t know who his father is or was."

"Well his mother's DNA profile won't help him find the man."

"True, but does he know that?"

Gil sat back and thought for a moment. "He's a federal agent, which means he's college educated and must have at least a working knowledge of DNA profiling."

"So what does he really want it for?"

"Intriguing, isn't it?"

"Very, but we need to concentrate on the job in hand. I still haven't identified that wood."

"Well let's get to work, maybe we could even call in a wood expert?"

Gil looked up and glared at Nick; he'd had the same thought but hated to admit there was something he couldn't solve on his own.

+ + + + + + +

With the help of Mr Fenton, of 'Fenton's Exotic Woods' the tiny chips of wood were finally identified as Bubinga.

"Do you sell much of this stuff?" Nick asked.

Fenton shrugged. "Some, we don't keep it in stock so we order direct from the importer when we're asked for it. I'm pretty sure we haven't sold any recently."

"Do these chips give you any clue as to what this is being used for?" Gil indicated the wood chips, sealed in the evidence bags.

"All I can say is it's not veneer, and probably not inlay; this chip here is to thick. There isn't much more I can tell you - sorry." He thought a moment. "If it's being used for cabinets or flooring, you're talking a serious money job and a lot of wood, they might well be buying directly from the importer."

"Who would they be importing through?" Nick asked.

"If, only if, it's a big order, then Lorenz and Son in Miami would be the most likely."

"Hard to see that an ATF agent from Denver would be doing with exotic wood?" Brass commented as he was being updated on the new information.

"Depends where he'd been, this whole city is one big building project," Grissom commented.

"That's true - do we know if the Hilton are having any work done? That is where he's staying, right?"

"It is, and no, Catherine already checked, they are having some rooms renovated. None anywhere near Wilmington's room, none using Bublinga."

Brass shrugged. "It was a thought."

Dawn was breaking outside and with it Grissom's phone rang.

"Hold on," he told the caller, placing his hand over the receiver. "It's Wilmington," he explained to Brass and Nick. "He's heading to Louisiana, personal business he says."

Brass shrugged. "We have no reason to hold him or stop him."

"Thanks for letting us know," Gil spoke to Buck again. "Okay I'm ready." He wrote down a number on his note pad. "I will, don't worry." With that he hung up and turned back to face the others. "He wants me to keep him updated."

+ + + + + + +

Buck's birth certificate had been issued in Alexandria, Louisiana, so that was where they headed. Returning the hire car they caught a flight to Houston. From there they hired a SUV and drove into Louisiana. It was hot. When Ezra first moved to Denver he thought he'd never be warm, he didn't understand how anyone could live with the cold and the rain, but he got used to it - mostly. Now he was back in the south and he'd forgotten how unremitting heat could be and how unpleasant it was. True the car had air conditioning, but they couldn't spend all day in the car. Some time they had to get out.

"Do you remember living here?" he asked Buck as they got closer.

Buck, who was driving, shook his head.

Ezra frowned to himself, if they were right, Buck had been here when he was about five, he should have some memory of it.

"You didn't go to school here?"

"Don't know, don't remember school before the second grade."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Since you're asking, I have to assume it's personal."

"Well it would depend on your definition of personal."

"Ask whatever you want."

"Okay, what is your earliest memory?"

Buck glanced over at him for a second, then turned his attention back to the road. "Um, well, I remember a picnic, just me and Ma, we were in some woods and there was a river, as I remember it was a sort of end of summer vacation treat."

"So how old were you?"

Buck shrugged. "Seven, I think, I was about to start second grade, we were living in Texas."

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Texas? You've never told us, or indeed our resident Texan you used to live in Texas."

"No, I haven't and you're not going to either - right?" Buck gave Ezra a quick hard look.

"Everything on this trip will remain between us, you have my word."

"Yeah, I know, sorry. It's just that, well, I don't have too many great memories of Texas."

"Fair enough."

They drove the rest of the way in silence, but for the radio. Since they couldn't agree on music, they were listening to a local station that was broadcasting a baseball game. They arrived in Alexandria just after half past four, and after locating the Rapides Parish Health Unit, where the births were registered, they decided to stay the night and see what they could find out in the morning.

+ + + + + + +

"Hello?" Nick said automatically, picking up the phone. "What?" He looked at the clock, it was at least an hour until the alarm would go off, Gil was behind him, Nick could feel his reassuring weight against his naked back. "Say that again?" he requested, realising he hadn't been listening properly. "Right, got it, we'll be there."

Nick had moved in with Gil after the Nigel Crane case, no one thought anything of it, who would want to continue living alone after that, let alone living in the same house? That a temporary arrangement had become permanent seemed to have gone unnoticed, that they were sharing a bed was known to no one, except possibly Catherine and if she did suspect, she had said nothing.

"Hey, lover!" he gave Gil a shove. Their lovemaking that night/day - it was hard to call it a day when you slept through it - had been very physical. Although the age difference didn't bother him in the least, Nick was aware he did tend to wear his lover out, especially when he was feeling particularly amorous.

"What?" Grisson asked, barely awake.

"There's been another one."

Gil rolled over and frowned up at Nick. "Another what?"

"Murder, another hooker stabbed in the neck."

"Damn!"

The Lucky Chip hotel was located close to several lap dancing and pole dancing clubs, it did little to hide what was going on in its rooms. Lucia Delmarco had been just twenty-two, she died as the others did. The time lag between the killings was getting shorter, their killer was getting more desperate and time was running out. Denver confirmed Buck had a cast iron alibi for the killing of Gail Simmons, he was on a stake out at the time. The autopsy proved that Lucia was a victim of the same killer, though there had been little doubt.

They had tracked down three firms that had Bubinga in stock or were using it. One exotic wood wholesaler had been eliminated, all their Bubinga wood was still in the warehouse, untouched. Another wholesaler and a company fitting out a new casino were still to be checked out.

+ + + + + + +

Buck stood out side the building and took a deep breath.

"Ready?" Ezra asked.

"As I'll ever be," he admitted.

It wasn't the birth certificate they needed - they had that - what they needed was the original hand written 'record of birth', which would tell them who had attended the birth. It turned out the office no longer kept the originals, but they did have microfiche copies. It took some sweet-talking and the flashing of some federal badges to get a look at the vital film without having to make a formal request and pay a fee, but it told them what they needed to know. The attending doctor was one Carl Mitchell. All they could do now was head for Leesville and hope he was still alive.

+ + + + + + +

Leesville owed its existence to the railway and the military base on its doorstep. It was a small, working class town, sweltering under the southern sun, and like any 'army town' it had more than the average number of strip clubs and raunchy bars, mostly on Lake Charles Highway.

"Do you remember living here?" Ezra asked as they pulled up in the centre of town."

Buck shook his head as he looked around. "I should, shouldn't I?" He looked over at his companion. "I mean I was five, I should remember something - right?"

"I don't know, I'm not an expert on child development and it was a long time ago. Maybe we remember things because we remain in the location so we're continually reminded of past events - maybe you weren't here long enough." Ezra remembered things from when he was five, lots of things, and he never stayed in one place long - he didn't tell Buck this.

Buck was looking around the town again. "I guess. Well let's see if we can find this doctor. Looks like that's the courthouse. Wanna try there first?"

"They will have a phone book at the very least. Let’s go."

Doctor Mitchell wasn't hard to find, since he was the only one in the phone book and he was apparently still alive. The lady in the courthouse was happy to tell them what a great doctor he was, thought he was now retired and living out by the golf course.

+ + + + + + +

It was a fine house, fairly new, probably custom built for the doctor, traditional in design, with white weatherboards and a veranda running around the whole building.

"Ez?" Buck asked hesitantly as they exited the car.

"Yes?"

"Mind taking the lead?"

Ezra turned to face him, seeing the fear in the face he loved so much. "Of course not."

"Thanks I…I just don't know how he'll react, if he says something about her, if he…"

Ezra understood and conveyed that with a simple nod of his head, before he turned back to continue up the drive, Buck following him. A lady, her short cut hair clearly dyed to hide the grey answered the door.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"Good day ma'am. We are looking for Doctor Mitchell?" Buck could see and hear Ezra laying on the southern charm an inch deep. "We were told this was his house?"

"Well I'm Angela Mitchell, but did you want my husband, who's retired, or my son, David? He’s also a doctor but he doesn’t live here."

"You must be very proud of him, but I believe it was your husband we wanted, Doctor Carl Mitchell?"

A silver haired man, with a goatee and wire rim spectacles appeared behind her. He was carrying a putter.

"Can I help?" he asked.

"Doctor Mitchell?"

"That's me, what are you selling?"

Ezra smiled sweetly and pulled out his badge. "We aren’t selling anything, we're looking for information."

The doctor peered at the badge. "What in the world do the ATF want with me?"

"Perhaps we could speak privately?" Ezra cast a meaningful glance at Mrs Mitchell.

"Whatever you have to ask you can ask in front of my wife."

Ezra looked doubtful. "Well if you insist. Do you remember a patient of yours named Cynthia or Cindy Wilmington?"

He didn't react, indeed he looked somewhat puzzled. "No I don't think…" he began.

"This would have been more than thirty years ago, this is she." Ezra showed him the picture.

"Wilmington? Wilmington?" the doctor muttered as he studied the picture. Then clearly the penny dropped. "Oh, um, yes I think I do." He looked up. "What has she done?"

"Nothing," Ezra told him.

"So why do you…?"

"She's dead," Buck informed him darkly.

Mitchell's head snapped up, fear flashed across his face, then he glanced back at his wife. "Perhaps it would be best if I speak to these gentlemen alone, dear." With that he stepped out on to the veranda.

"Very well." Mrs Mitchell nodded to the two agents and closed the door.

There were some comfortable wooden chairs on the veranda and the three of them sat down.

"You do remember her, don't you?" Ezra clarified.

"Yes, she was - stunning, quite the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen." He looked up and smiled. "Don't tell my wife that."

Ezra ignored this and continued with his own agenda. "According to the records in Alexandria, you were the attending physician when Miss Wilmington was delivered of a son."

"Um, well yes."

"Our evidence is that that child was five years old when his birth was registered."

"Well then there has been some kind of mix up."

Ezra hadn't been working under cover, playing poker and living with Maude for all these years without knowing a lie when he heard one.

"You are not a suspect, we aren't looking to prosecute you or tarnish your professional reputation, we just need the truth."

"I…"

"If we start asking questions, are we going to find anyone who saw this woman pregnant, who saw or heard this infant?

Mitchell sat back and looked at the neatly dressed, smooth talking agent and his mostly silent and very tall companion. Ezra had removed his designer sunglasses, but Buck's Aviators were still in place, which made him look somewhat threatening.

"No," he finally admitted. "She did have a small boy, I saw him with her in town once, but she was never pregnant, not when I knew her."

"So why did you sign to say she did give birth? You could have lost your licence for that, even been prosecuted?"

The older man sighed, then glanced back at the house. "She . . . she blackmailed me, I had no choice, she had pictures of me and her…"

"Compromising pictures?"

"Very compromising. She was a stripper, she…" he took a deep breath. "She gave me a 'private performance'." He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "Look you have to understand, I was young, the twins were only nine months old, still not sleeping through the night, my wife was pregnant again, I just wanted some…"

"We're not here to judge you, we just want to know what happened." Ezra cut in.

He shrugged. "I told you, she made me fill out that form, told me what name to put on it, birth weight, etc. I simply filled it in.”

"Did you ask why?"

"No."

"What do you remember of the boy?"

"Not much really, you say he was five?"

Ezra nodded.

"Well as I recall he was rather small for a five year old, other than that he had very dark hair and it was somewhat long, I don't remember much."

Ezra turned puzzled eyes on Buck, no one would ever have described him as small, was it possible that the child with Cindy back then wasn't Buck. But then he was only five, a child can do a lot of growing in the next thirteen or so years. He turned his attention back to the doctor.

"This Dogwood Park, that she gave as her address, is it still there?"

"No, no it's gone, it was a trailer park, back then it wasn't too bad, but it became something of a…" he hesitated. "Well lets just say it wasn't somewhere you'd want to raise children. It was bulldozed about six or so years ago, to make way for a strip club and a truck stop - kind of fitting somehow."

Ezra decided not to comment and pressed on with his last question. "Miss Wilmington is listed as having been born in Clay Cross, Mississippi, do you know when she came here?"

The doctor shook his had. "Girls like that, they come, they go, who knows where from or where they go," he admitted.

"Someone should care," Buck commented softly.

Mitchell looked over at the tall man, his expression hidden behind the sunglasses.

"Yes I suppose they should in a perfect world, but the world's not perfect. How did she die?"

"Murdered. Stabbed," Buck informed him.

"Oh." Mitchell looked back at Ezra. "Is there anything else I can help you with Agent…?"

"Standish, and no, I don’t believe so, unless…" He looked over at Buck, who shook his head. "No, that will be all, thank you for your time."

As they stood, he turned to Buck. "I don't believe I caught your name?"

"Buck Wilmington." With that Buck turned and strode off the porch and back towards the car.

"I, err I…" the doctor stammered.

"It's all right sir, it's a complicated situation, and you've actually been very helpful. Answered a lot of questions," Ezra assured.

"Really?"

"Yes, thank you again." Ezra shook his hand and then he too turned to leave.

Part 7

Buck drove. He kept his glasses on and his eyes on the road, and went out of town, heading north.

"Guess we're going to Mississippi?" Ezra asked softly, but he got no response.

Suddenly and without warning the SUV turned sharply to the right and careered off the road heading into the woods onto an unmade track. After a short, bumpy ride a clearing opened up and Buck spun the car to the left and pulled up so fast Ezra was slammed into the seat belt with such force that he was afraid the air bags would deploy. He was still catching his breath and rubbing his chest as Buck exited and strode off into the deep shadowed woodland around them. He sat and watched Buck but when he disappeared from view he thought he ought to follow. Buck wasn't thinking straight and he didn't want him to get lost in the deep woods. Jogging over to the spot where he last saw his tall friend, luckily he could see Buck not too far ahead. He had come to a halt and was just standing, from the way his shoulders were moving Ezra surmised his was crying, possibly even sobbing. So he removed his jacket, placed it on a convenient log and sat himself down with his back to Buck and waited. He had no intention of intruding on what was clearly a very private moment.

The woods were alive with the sound of life – birds and insects and called, hummed and chirped all around him. The undergrowth rustled, but Ezra tried not to think about what that might mean. As time passed he quickly got used to the noises around him, so used to them, that he was easily able to pick up Buck's footsteps as he approached. Not sure how Buck was feeling, he just sat still and waited. He heard rather than saw Buck sit down beside him.

"Sorry," he said softly.

"For what?"

"Throwing the car around. Dragging you all the way out here. All of this."

"There is nothing to apologise for." Ezra risked a sideways glance at Buck, shocked to see how distraught he looked; those normally clear blue eyes red, puffy and cloudy with recently shed tears, the trails of those tears still wet against his cheeks. Ezra wanted to say 'How are you doing?' or 'I understand how you feel.' But he didn't know how he felt and he could see all too well how he was doing.

"It was my fault," Buck said softly, after a long silence.

"Pardon?"

"It was my fault she became a hooker. I’m the reason she ended up in that life, that she was killed."

Ezra turned to face him, though Buck continued to stare at the ground. "What makes you think that?"

"You heard the doc. She was a stripper. Nothing wrong with that, but she sold her body and then blackmailed him for me, to get him to fill out that form." He lifted pain filled eyes to Ezra again. "Why? Why would she do that, for me? I'm not her son, she ruined her life for me - why?"

"How can you even ask that?" Ezra challenged. "Did you love her? No don't answer that, it was a stupid question. I know you did and still do. Anyone who's ever met you knows that, it's evident in every fibre of your being whenever you mention her. Love like that can't be one way, she must have loved you very much, and for love there is no sacrifice too big."

"I saw what it did to her. I saw the pain, the shame, the way it took a little piece of her every time - it wasn't worth it, nothing is worth that."

"Was she happy when she was with you? Did she laugh and sing? Did you two have fun? Did she take pride in your achievements?"

Buck nodded silently.

"Then think about what her life might have been like without you. If she hadn't had you, what would she have spent her money on? Alcohol? Drugs? Even if she stayed as a dancer, she would have been alone. From your descriptions she was blessed with a particularly strong maternal instinct, without you she might never have had the chance to be a mother, a role she was clearly born to fill."

Buck listened, his eyes fixed on the trees ahead of him, but made no comment.

"I just want to know who I am," he admitted. "Why did she need to take me in? Why did she need to sneak about getting illegal papers and altering them?" He looked over at Ezra.

"That's what we're trying to find out isn't it? We are professional investigators after all."

"That leads to another question doesn’t it?"

"It does?"

"Why are you here? This is my problem, my mystery."

Ezra frowned. "Because I'm your friend, because I was worried about you, because I care for you." He hadn't meant to say that, he'd meant to say 'I care about you' not 'I care for you', cursing inwardly, he hoped Buck hadn't noticed. No such luck. He stood up and started walking back to the car.

"You care for me?" Buck called after him.

Ezra kept walking. "Slip of the tongue."

But Buck wasn't so easily convinced. He followed Ezra and, as they approached the car, his longer strides had carried him to within an arm’s reach.

"Ezra?"

Still Ezra didn't stop or look around.

"Come on, talk to me." Buck reached out, placing a hand on Ezra's shoulder and turning him around. Ezra could have resisted, even stopped him, but he didn't. Instead he relished the contact. When they were face to face, and Buck was gazed down into his eyes. "Ezra, I had no idea, I mean, I always knew you were gay, but I didn't know you had feelings for me," he confessed.

"Gay?" Ezra blustered. "Says who?"

Buck raised an eyebrow, "Remember who you're talking to here. I don't know if it's common knowledge, I've never said anything, but to me at least it's blindingly obvious."

"What is so obvious?" Ezra demanded.

"Well the way you watch Vin and Chris' asses as they walk past your desk, for one."

I'm that obvious? Oh shit, I do that, I do, his too.

Buck smiled reassuringly. "Don't look so worried, it's cool, really, it is. I…"

Thunder, so loud and so sudden that it made both of them jump.

Ezra had never openly admitted his sexuality to anyone, at least no one in the 'straight' world. Not his mother, not his friends in Denver, not in Atlanta, though there were rumours and, he suspected, that was the real reason he was hounded out.

"I'm sorry, I should have been honest with you, I should have told you. It wasn't fair." Before Ezra could flounder any more, the heavens opened, drenching them almost instantly. Ezra just turned and made a dash for the car

I was going to say I don't mind, because I think I'm beginning to feel the same, Buck said to himself as jogged after Ezra.

+ + + + + + +

They drove back to town and since it was getting late, found the only motel Ezra considered habitable. What they weren't to know was that their arrival had coincided with the first weekend leave for the new recruits at Fort Polk, which explained why there was only one room left.

Ezra turned away from the reception desk. "Looks like we'll have to head out tonight after all, see what accommodation we can find en route."

"Why? We shared a room in Vegas. It’s got two beds - right?" Buck looked over at the young man behind the desk.

"Oh yes sir, two queen size beds."

"See, no problem."

Ezra looked uncertain. "I thought that now you knew, that you wouldn't want to…"

Buck grinned. "Now Ez, I've near five inches and twenty." He stopped, leaned back a fraction to take in Ezra's muscular physic. "Okay, fifteen pounds on you, what are you going to do? Overpower me and have your wicked way?"

Ezra gulped, Buck had just described one of his best self-pleasuring fantasies.

"Well…" he began as Buck raised an eyebrow. "Nice as that might be, no, no I'm not."

"Well there you go." Buck slapped him on the back. "Come on, hoss, let's get this room and into some dry clothes, then find some food, I'm starving."

Ezra watched Buck stride back out to the car. He wasn't sure if the sudden return to the jovial Buck of old was a good thing or a bad thing. Shaking his head he turned back to the reception desk.

"We'll take the room," he told the young man. Only then did he see that the lad's jaw was hanging down. "Oh for goodness sake, close your mouth, this is the twenty first century."

+ + + + + + +

In Las Vegas, progress had been made, but no suspects identified. One of the bars at a new casino was being fitted out with an African theme, including a Bubinga faced bar. That made not just the carpenters, but everyone who'd been on site a suspect. The other wholesaler had sent out three orders of Bubinga, some of which had been cut before dispatch, which made everyone in their warehouse a suspect. One order had gone to a workshop constructing a custom-made kitchen. One had been sent to a company installing parquet flooring. And, worst of all, some had been sent to a huge craft fair and convention, where it was used in demonstrations and small blocks were given away as free samples. They could reasonably eliminate the woman, since all the victims had had penetrative sex, and men under thirty, since the first killing was fourteen years ago, but that still left thousands of suspects, some of whom would never be identified.

On the bright side, Greg had managed to get a DNA sample from the skin they had found under Lucia's fingernails, so if they ever did find a suspect, at least they would have some way to tie him to at least one killing.

+ + + + + + +

After a quiet and uneventful night Buck and Ezra drove back to Houston, where they caught a flight to Jackson, arriving late in the evening. The next day they would drive to Clay Cross. The long drive and flight had given Buck time to think, not about his mother, or the apparently missing part of his childhood, but about his feelings for Ezra. He'd never had feelings for a man before. He wasn't against it; he didn't dismiss the idea that he could have a homosexual relationship; he'd had offers - plenty of men had made their interest in him clear - but he'd never been that attracted to them to risk it. And a risk it would have been. As a solider it would have been a crime, as a cop it was a career killer. Ezra was a different prospect. It was risk free, and more importantly, he cared for Ezra, he was attracted to him, maybe he could even be falling in love.

Damn it, you're getting way too far head here! he chastised himself. For all you know you're as straight at an arrow and 'Little Buck' has no interest in Ezra.

Except 'Little Buck' seemed to actually be quite interested in the whole idea. There was that pleasurable tingle in his groin whenever he thought of his companion with his beautiful green eyes, soft, smooth southern accent and that wonderfully hard, sculpted body.

+ + + + + + +

Clay Cross was a small town of the mostly one-storey buildings lining wide streets. Leesville had been hot, Clay Cross positively sweltered. The heat radiated off the roads and buildings in shimmering waves. The railroad ran through the town, but hadn't stopped there in over fifty years. It wasn't a one horse town as such, but it wasn't far off. As its name suggested, the town had grown up around a crossroads. Centred around this intersection, which didn't even warrant a stop light, there were two bars, a diner, a grocery store, an outfitters, a store selling all kinds of hunting and fishing supplies and pool hall. Just past this central area to the north was a church and some kind of clinic. There was a second church on the road heading west. Set a little back from this was a small elementary school. On the southern road there was a gas station and auto repair shop, opposite it was small sheriff’s office and firehouse - no doubt manned by volunteers. There didn't seem to be any kind of hotel, motel, guesthouse or even a good old fashioned boarding house. Nor apparently was there any kind of courthouse.

Once their short driving tour of the town was complete, Ezra pulled up in the centre of town.

"And my mother wonders why I left the south," he commented to no-one in particular.

Buck just made a soft snorting sound in response to this. "Well we can look in the phone book I guess?"

"Why not? My I suggest we try the diner, however grim, I am in need of sustenance."

Buck shrugged. "I could eat," he admitted.

+ + + + + + +

The diner was showing its age, but it was clean and apparently well patronised as there were no free tables and only a few stools at the counter. Buck eased himself down and scanned the menu board above them. Southern cuisine had never been his first choice. While he did appreciate a good steak and wouldn't turn down a burger, a hot dog or even some fried chicken, truth be told, his favourite cuisine was Chinese or Italian. There was chicken a-plenty - southern fried, spicy Cajun, smothered in gravy, even Chris' favourite, chicken and dumplings. He just wasn't in the mood for any of it.

"Why did I leave the south?" Ezra asked wistfully, scanning the board. "So much choice."

Buck grinned to himself as he turned his head and looked at Ezra, who, he had to admit, looked positively edible himself, as he sat there gazing at the delights spread before him, dimples showing as he grinned happily.

"So what are you having boys?" the waitress asked.

"Well ma'am," Ezra began. "It all sounds positively divine, but it’s been so long, I’m gonna stick to the classics. I'll have the fried chicken with hush puppies and corn bread and a side order of grits."

Buck lifted an eyebrow. "You're gonna eat all that?"

"Oh you bet, and when I'm done I plan to have some peach cobbler, or maybe even some pecan-raisin bread pudding."

Now Buck was laughing. "What?" Ezra asked indignantly.

"Guess you can take the boy out of the south, but you can't take the south out of the boy."

"True, I never claimed to be anything or anyone I'm not."

Buck raised an eyebrow and gave him a withering look.

"Well, not often, and never to my friends."

Buck slapped him on the back. "I believe you, hoss, though thousands wouldn't!"

The waitress was watching the scene with some amusement. "What about you, sir?" she asked Buck.

"Um, well, much as it pains me to say it, I don't have ol' Ez's appetite, so I'm gonna have a plain old burger and fries."

"Nothing plain about our burgers, honey. You want all the fixin's?"

"Sure, so long as it's not spicy, I ain't in the mood for spicy."

She smiled at him. "Cheese, onions, barbecue relish, lettuce and tomato. That sound okay to you?"

"Sounds perfect darlin'."

"What can I get you two gents to drink?"

Buck shrugged. "Coke."

Ezra thought a moment. "Root beer."

"Coming right up."

As she placed their drinks on the bar, Ezra read her name-tag.

"Shelly?" he asked.

"Something I can get you?"

"Yes, I was wondering if you have a phone book I could look at?"

She gestured to the back of the room. "Pay phone's back there, there's a yellow pages."

"It was the white pages we were interested in."

She frowned, but then seemed to soften to the two men. "Well sure I guess we've got one in the office, I'll get it for you."

It didn't take Ezra long to scan the book and ascertain there were no Wilmingtons living in the town or close by; at least none with a phone listing. He'd just finished when their order arrived. Buck finished his simple, but very tasty, burger relatively fast, Ezra was working his way through the mountain of food in front of him with relish. This was a side of Ezra Buck had never seen - he always went to great lengths to present an image of cultured refinement, so seeing him sucking on a drumstick of fried chicken with undisguised glee was something of a shock. It was also a comfort. If - and only if - he did decide to see if he really did have feelings for Ezra that went beyond friendship, knowing that deep down he and Ezra weren't as poles apart socially as he'd first imagined was going to help him make that decision.

Ezra finished off his grits and turned his attention to dessert. Despite his earlier resolution, Buck joined him, choosing a simple apple pie with ice cream.

"So," Shelly began. "What brings you gentleman to our little town?"

Buck looked up. He was aware they had been, albeit discreetly, the centre of attention as soon as they'd walked in.

"Maybe we're just passing through."

"No one passes through Clay Cross. Not unless they're lost, and you don't ask for the phone book if you're lost."

Buck gave her his best, 'Buck charm' grin. "Anyone ever tell you you'd make a great detective?"

"It's part of my job, so…" She looked over at Ezra. "What are you looking for?"

"We're trying to trace a family called Wilmington," Buck explained, aware he was speaking to the rest of the room.

Shelly thought a moment. "I don't believe I know anyone by that name, why are you looking for them?"

"It's confidential," Ezra explained. "Any information given will be treated with the utmost discretion."

Shelly looked from Buck to Ezra and then looked along the counter toward an older man sitting a couple of seats away.

"There's no one of that name living here now," the man explained.

"But there used to be?" Ezra prompted.

"Sure, Dan Wilmington, he used to be the mechanic down at Harper's garage."

Buck turned to the man. "You remember him?"

The man shrugged. "He used to fix m' car. Can’t say as I knew the man, he's been dead ten years or more."

"And Mrs Wilmington?" Ezra asked.

"She left town, after he died, at least I think she did. You know what, you want t' talk to Windy."

"Windy?" Ezra asked incredulously.

Shelly suppressed a little laugh. "It's not his real name, Tom Miller, he used to work at the garage."

"So why's he called 'Windy'?" Buck asked. "Man eat too many beans?"

"No!" She laughed. "But he surely does like the sound of his own voice. Did you see the pool hall in town?" Buck and Ezra both nodded. "Well you'll find ol' Windy outside, you buy the man a beer and he'll tell you anything you want to know and then some."

Part 8

Windy turned out to be an elderly African American. As predicted he was sitting outside the pool hall, taking in the sun and watching the world go by.

"Mr Tom Miller?" Ezra took off his sunglasses.

"Yes. Can I help you?"

"Do you mind if I join you." Ezra indicated the empty chair beside the old man.

"It's a free county son, you sit if you've a mind to."

"Thank you. It's hot today."

"Hot most days."

"Indeed. My friend has stepped inside to purchase some libations, I hope you'll join us?"

Miller looked at him quizzically. "Libations?"

"Who's for a cold drink?" Buck asked as he came out, three bottles in his hand, two beers, one Coke.

Ezra turned to his new friend. "Care to join me in a beer?"

The old man all but licked his lips. "I call that right neighbourly of you."

Buck settled his hip on the porch rail, and took a pull on his Coke while Ezra started making small talk with the old man; finally he broached the subject of the Wilmingtons.

"So you worked at the garage, Harper's is it?"

"Oh sure I worked there, lot a years."

"You remember Dan Wilmington?"

"Of course, Mrs Harper hired him to fix the cars, after her husband died. It should have been her boy, Ricky, but he got killed in Korea. That's how she lost her husband, old Mr Harper. He saw them two from the army, the chaplain and the other one, saw them pull up and come toward the house, he knew, knew right off his boy was lost and dropped dead right then and there, his heart give out on him, poor man."

"That must have been hard on Mrs Harper."

"It was, but she was a strong woman. There was a daughter, but she'd married some Yankee and moved up north, didn't even come home for the funeral." He shook his head sadly. "Must be a terrible thing to have an ungrateful child."

Buck cast a look at Ezra, knowing Maude had used very similar words to Ezra's face. Who knew what went on behind a family's closed doors.

Oblivious to this interaction, their narrator continued. "So of course then she needed someone to work in the shop. I was pumping gas, washing windscreens and such while Mrs Harper kept the books and ran the shop. Dan Wilmington was fresh out of the army; Korea just like her Ricky. Had him a wife and a little baby."

"So what was he like?" Buck asked.

Miller shrugged. "He was a hard man, a big man. Can't say as I ever liked him much, always figured him for Klan."

Ezra could almost feel Buck flinch. "You sure about that?"

"Got no proof, but you can usually tell. Things were different back then, not like it is now." He shook his head. "I'm not saying it's perfect now, but compared to then …well it's a whole different place. His boy was no better, he was a mean one, but they lost him. Sometimes I think that place was cursed. First young Harper, then the Wilmington boy, he was killed out in Vietnam."

Miller fell silent for a moment.

"What about Mrs Wilmington and the girl?" Ezra prompted.

Tom's face changed, a soft smile crossed his face. "She was a saint, that woman, what she had to put up with." He shook his head. "She wasn't like him, she always treated me decent, polite and respectful. Like I said, he was a hard man. I used to see her with bruises, black eyes, split lips. In them days if a man hit is wife no-one would do nothin'. Sheriff’d say it was a family matter, not for him; 'cause he was Klan too. I asked her one time, when she was so beat up she couldn't even go out, 'why do you stay with him?'."

"What did she say?" Buck asked.

"Said it was her duty, she promised to love, honour and obey until death, so that was what she had to do. Don't reckon woman would do that now."

"You'd be surprised," Buck commented sadly.

"What about the girl, Cynthia was it?" Ezra asked.

"Oh little Cindy, now she was princess, prettiest thing you ever saw. Tell the truth I don't know how that man had a child that pretty. Sometimes I'd wonder if she was his, but there was so much of her momma in her it was hard to tell. Mind you he treated her about at well as he treated his wife. It was crime the way that man treated his children. The boy couldn't do no wrong in his Pa's eyes, poor little Cindy couldn't do anything right, least that's how I saw it."

"Do you think he suspected he wasn't her father?" Ezra asked.

"Reckon he might have."

"What happened to her?"

"She…she got into trouble. That girl grew up fast, real fast and when she did, wow! Only fourteen and she had every man and boy from twelve to eighty following her around with their tongues hanging out, it was only a matter of time before one of them snagged her."

"Do you know who it was?"

The old man looked over at Ezra. "As a matter of fact I do, or at least I had a good notion. His name was Harry Stevens. His daddy owned a factory, just out of town, made tables and chairs and such. Around these parts, that made him a rich boy, a real catch. Course, Harry had two older brothers so he wasn't gonna inherit squat, but he was still better than the losers around here."

There the story seemed to come to an end.

"Do you know what happened to her?" Buck asked.

"Now maybe I do, maybe I don't, but I've said enough."

Ezra could see Buck getting impatient. "Mr Miller, it really was Miss Cindy Wilmington we were interested in, if you know anything more, anything at all, I'd appreciate it."

Tom Miller looked from one man to another. "Now I've told you plenty, probably too much, I talk too much, I know it. Folk around here call me 'Windy' on account of it, but you two haven't told me anything, I don't even know your names. I ain't telling you anything more, not unless I know why you're asking."

With a quick look at Buck, Ezra started to tell him some of it. "My name is Ezra Standish, that is Buck. We're both federal agents." He pulled out his badge for Miller to inspect. "Cindy was murdered, some time ago, the murder was never solved, but now it looks as if her killer is back. We have to investigate every possible line of enquiry." Miller was still listening so Ezra pressed on. "You said she got into trouble, you mean she got pregnant?"

"You say the poor dear is dead?"

Ezra nodded.

"Well I guess it can't hurt no more. Yes she got pregnant. She wasn't much more than a baby, I don't even think she understood how it happened."

"Are you saying she was raped?"

"I was the Negro boy who pumped gas, would she tell me that?"

"Fair enough, do you think this Stevens boy was the father?" Buck asked.

"I always thought so. He was older than her, seventeen or so."

"So what happened? She left? Her dad threw her out? What happened to the baby?" Ezra asked.

Tom Milled looked into Ezra's eyes. "You're both federal agents?"

"Yes."

"And all you're interested in is what happened to Cindy?"

"Yes?"

"So if someone could help you, tell you more information, even if he or she had broken the law a few years ago, you're not interested in them?"

"No," Buck cut in before Ezra could speak; he was beginning to get an inkling as to what Miller was alluding to.

"Your word?"

"Our word."

"Well okay then."

+ + + + + + +

While they were driving to the address Miller had given them; Ezra's cell phone rang. It was the DNA testing lab, confirming what they both now knew, Cindy Wilmington hadn't been Buck's mother, in fact there was less than one chance in several million they were related.

"It's okay, you don't have to say anything, I knew way back in Denver, I just didn't want to admit it," Buck said without taking his eyes off the road ahead.

Miller's directions took them to a nursing home. They were to speak to a woman called Deloris and say to her that Windy sent them to see 'Ma Del'.

Deloris turned out to be a very elderly black lady, who was so slim and frail it looked like one strong gust of wind would blow were away.

"Well my, isn't this nice, I don't get many visitors," she greeted the two tall strangers.

"Ma'am, is there some place we can speak privately?" Buck asked, his voice smooth with Wilmington charm.

"Well sure, you boys look tired, why don't I get young Lucy to bring us out some iced tea?"

"That would be lovely."

Deloris levered herself up, and using a walker, made her slow way out to the front porch. There she settled into the glider, while Buck and Ezra took two of the seats against the wall.

"So what do the ATF want with me?" she asked, eyes bright with inquisitive intelligence.

"Ma'am, we need you to think back a-ways. A man called Windy over at Clay Cross told us to speak to you. He told us to ask for 'Ma Del'." Buck explained.

Deloris frowned. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Yes you do, old man who sits outside the pool hall and talks too much. He sent Cindy Wilmington to you when she was in trouble."

"I told you, I don't know who you're talking about."

Buck pulled out the picture of his mother. "This is Cindy, she was a bit younger when she came to you, and you helped her, didn't you?"

"I don't…"

"Deloris honey, we aren’t gonna cause you any trouble, this will go no further, your name will never be used, but I have to know what happened," Buck insisted softly. "You took care of her problem didn't you? That's what you did, you made the problem go away."

"I…"

"Do you remember her?"

"I don't…" Then she looked up into Buck's pleading blue eyes. "Tell me why you need to know so badly?"

Ezra gave her the same story they gave Miller.

"No, no there's more to it than that, I can see it in your eyes, especially you." She turned back to Buck. "Tell me the truth, I'll know if you're lying."

"She was my mother," Buck admitted, he pulled out his I.D. to prove it to her.

"You may have the same name as her, but you're not her son," she stated firmly.

"Perhaps I could clarify a little, what Buck meant to say was, she was the woman who raised him as her own," Ezra clarified.

Deloris seemed to come to a decision. "Yes, I remember her, I didn't see many white girls, and she was the youngest one that I did see."

"Did she come alone?" Buck asked.

Deloris shook her head. "Her mother came with her."

"Do you know who the father was?"

"No, but I remember she was desperate to get rid of it."

"How did you know Buck wasn't her son?" Ezra asked.

"Because…" She dropped her head. "You have to understand I was doing my best for these girls, some of them were white girls who'd been with black men, do you know what would have happened to them if anyone had found out? Some of them had been raped. What were they meant to do?"

"It's alright," Buck assured. "We aren’t here to judge you, I'm sure you did your best."

She nodded. "Cindy, she was so slight, she was just a girl, and well…"

"Something went wrong?"

She nodded. "I told her mother to take her to the doctor, to get some help, but she said she couldn't. I had a supply of penicillin, not much, I gave her some, but I knew there was no way she would ever carry another baby."

Her little grey head hung in shame and regret. Buck's large hand reached over the rubbed a gentle circle on her bony back.

"It's okay, you did your best, no-one is blaming you," he assured.

"I don't know what happened after she left me. You say she raised you?"

Buck nodded.

"I'm glad she lived." She sat up, looked Buck in the eye, then patted his hand. "Looks to me like she must have been a good mother."

"She was, ma'am, she was."

Just then Lucy came out with their tea and a selection of cookies. They sipped tea and ate cookies in silence for a while.

"It looks like they treat you well here," Ezra commented, by way of polite conversation.

"They do." Deloris turned her head to one side, and looked at the two handsome men before her. "Now I am an old lady, and I've lived right here or in a cabin, not twenty miles from here all my life, but I do own a TV. I like the police shows and in all those shows, if the policeman or federal agent is personally involved in the case his - or her - boss tells them they can't work on the case. Now they don't always do as they're told, but that's TV for you. So what about you two? Are you disobeying orders, or does the boss not know the truth?"

Ezra couldn't help but like the old lady, who's mind was clearly still as sharp as a scalpel.

"We are working on our own time, you might say," he explained.

"I hope you find the answers you're looking for, especially you." She patted Buck's knee.

"Thank you ma'am." He turned to Ezra. "I think we've taken up enough of this young lady’s time."

"I believe so. Good evening, dear lady."

While Buck carried the tray inside, Ezra held the door open for Deloris.

"Does he know?" she whispered.

"Does he know what?"

"How you feel about him."

"How I…feel?" Ezra all but spluttered.

"You love him, I can see it in your eyes. Oh don't look at me like that, I've seen it all, doesn’t bother me. So does he?"

"Um, yes, he knows."

"And do you know how he feels?"

"How he feels?"

"He has feelings for you too."

"He does? How do you know?"

"I'm an old lady, I must be allowed some secrets, but I'm right."

Part 9

Since it was getting late they drove into the centre of the town, a much larger settlement than Clay Cross. This place had a motel. Aware that Ezra had bankrolled the whole trip so far, Buck made sure he was the one who was making the reservations.

"I got us a room," he announced, a single room key hanging from his finger.

Ezra frowned. "We seem to be cursed to book the last room in every inn we visit."

"Weren't the last room." With that Buck picked up his bag. "They've got a laundry room; I'm gonna wash some of my things, you want me do yours?"

Still not sure what was going on, and with Deloris' words still fresh in his mind, Ezra found himself wrong-footed. "Oh, um, yes, that would be a good idea."

Buck unlocked the room, tossed his bag on the first of the two beds, stripped off the shirt he was wearing and wrapped his other soiled clothes in it before pulling on a fresh one. With the bundle under his arm, he turned to face Ezra.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Clothes?"

"Oh, yes. I'll just get them."

"I'll check out the food situation while I'm out, maybe pick up some stuff for the road."

Ezra watched Buck leave, feeling more than a little confused. Happy. But confused, although he couldn't explain why he was happy. Why had Buck booked one room when he could have booked two? Was he just saving money? Or was there more to it? Maybe he just wanted some company?

Or maybe you should stop second guessing the guy, after all he's dealing with a lot right now.

Shaking himself out of the trance-like state he'd fallen into, he pulled out his washbag and headed for the bathroom.

+ + + + + + +

An hour and a half later, when Buck returned with clean laundry, he found Ezra watching the news.

"There's a restaurant at the end of town. It looks okay. Apparently it does great catfish, you like catfish?" he explained, putting Ezra's clean clothes on top of his bag. As he stood up, he suddenly noticed the look on Ezra's face.

"There was another murder in Vegas, another girl was stabbed, just like the last one," he explained quietly. "It was on the news. I called the CSI office, they confirmed it, definitely the same killer."

Buck took a deep breath and sat down on the other bed. "He's escalating."

"Looks that way."

"Damn."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to add to your worries, but I felt I should tell you."

"I appreciate your honesty."

Ezra smiled. "I hope you can always rely on that."

"I know I can."

+ + + + + + +

The restaurant Buck had found turned out to be something of gem, serving excellent traditional southern cuisine with gourmet touches. It was located in an old mill about a mile from the motel. Tired of being cooped up and both in need of a real drink, they decided to walk. Between the two of them they'd drunk a bottle of white wine and a shot of bourbon each, not to mention brandies. Ezra had hoped that this would help Buck to relax. Not surprisingly he'd observed not just sighs of mental tension, but a tight stiffness in his movement that was quite unnatural for Buck, who was normally so loose-limbed and relaxed. Unfortunately, as he watched Buck disappear into the bathroom, saying he was going to take a shower, he looked almost as stiff as he had all day.

When he came out, dressed in the soft, grey, cut-off sweat pants he used as pyjamas, with droplets of water still clinging to the sparse hair on his chest and dropping from the soft curls of hair that hung down behind his ears, Ezra had to force himself not to gasp out loud.

As Buck sat wearily on the end of his bed, Ezra, already dressed for bed, decided to take a risk.

"Buck?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you trust me?"

Buck craned his head around to look quizzically at Ezra. "I think it’d be a bit late if I didn't, don’t you?"

Ezra just smiled and picked up something from his washbag, as he stood up and crossed to Buck. "Stay where you are. You look so tense, I'd like to see if I can help you."

Too tired to care, Buck just nodded. Ezra knelt up on the bed behind his friend and set to work.

"Ah! That's cold," Buck exclaimed. "What is it?"

"All I had. Hand cream."

"Hand cream?"

Ezra stretched out one cream covered hand so that Buck could see it. "One has to maintain a certain tactile sensitivity."

"The better to cheat at cards and pick locks with?"

"I do not cheat. I could, if the need arose, but you have my word I have never cheated a friend."

"So how come you always win?"

"I'm just that good. Now are you going to let me do this?" He went back to trying to work the knots out of Buck's shoulders and neck, using the cream to help his hands to move more smoothly over the skin. He worked steadily and methodically in silence, one by one he kneaded and teased the muscles under his hands into relaxation. Buck seemed to particularly enjoy it when Ezra pressed his thumbs against his spine and ran them down.

"Feels good when you do that," he admitted.

"I'm no expert. I hope I'm doing some good."

"You are."

Ezra worked a little while longer, feeling the muscles finally begin to relax.

"What do I do now?" Buck asked eventually, once the massage and the alcohol finally began to kick in.

"I? Don’t you mean we?"

Buck nodded his head to the side, acknowledging Ezra's continued willingness to participate in this odyssey they were on.

"And to answer your question, we go back to Clay Cross. We need to find out more about this Stevens boy. Then there's Mr Miller."

"Who knows more then he's telling us," Buck added his own thoughts.

"Quite so."

"I need to call Chris, ask for more time off I guess."

"I hope you won't think I was interfering, but I called while you were out doing the washing. I should have told you, but the news item about another killing in Las Vegas put it out of my mind."

"It's okay, what did he have to say?"

"That so long as they don't have a big case, we can take as long as we like, but we're not getting paid."

Buck nodded.

"JD said to tell you…"

"What?"

"That he'd cover your half of the mortgage for as long as you needed him to. Look if you need a loan I can…"

"Ezra, it's only been a few days, JD's worrying over nothing, I got more than enough in the bank to cover the mortgage, not to mention savings. I'm okay, I can pay JD back, if he needs to cover for me."

"Oh, well good to know, I didn't mean to imply that…"

"It's okay, I know what you were doing, and I appreciate it."

Ezra said no more, but went back to massaging Buck's shoulders. Little by little his hands slipped further over the shoulder, working the muscles around the collarbones, every now and again, his fingertips would brush against the soft hairs on Buck's chest. He longed to let his hands drop down, to map the hard pectoral muscles, to feel the tempting dark haloed nipples harden under his touch. Distracted by his erotic daydream his hands began to act without his conscious instruction. Only when he encountered a hard nub under his palm, did he realise what had happened.

"Oh! I'm sorry," he spluttered.

Mortified with embarrassment, he tried to pull his hand back. But he couldn't, Buck's larger hand now covered his. "It's okay, it was…nice." He craned his head back. "Maybe, when all this is settled, we can see what else feels 'nice'?"

Ezra's mouth was suddenly dry; rational thought fled and he actually felt his hands tremble. "You mean that you . . . that you'd . . . with me?"

Buck turned around more. "I'm not promising anything, I'm just saying I'm willing to explore things."

"I hadn't hoped for even that much."

+ + + + + + +

They headed back to Clay Cross the next day. The Stevens' family business was still there and still in business but it no longer made tables and chairs. Unable to compete with mass production and with not enough customers to support a bespoke trade they had diversified into custom-made solid wood kitchens, home offices and display cabinets. They were welcomed into the office of Michael Stevens, a slight man, with long fingers and narrow features.

"My secretary said you're federal agents?" he asked, clearly confused.

"Yes sir, Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives," Ezra confirmed.

"Oh, well I don't know what I can help you with, but if I can I will."

"You have a brother called Harry?" Ezra began.

"Henry, yes, what about him?"

"We would like to speak to him."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. Has he escaped?"

"Escaped?"

Stevens looked from one agent to another. "Well he's been in jail. Isn't that why you're here?"

Ezra shifted uneasily in his seat and glanced at Buck. "I'm sorry, we should have explained, we are actually here seeking information about Cindy Wilmington. We were unaware of your brother's connection to Miss Wilmington until yesterday. Can you tell me why your brother is in jail?"

Stevens sat back and regarded the two men before him. "It's not something my family is exactly proud of."

"I can appreciate that, still it would save us the time of looking it up, one way or another we will find out."

"I guess so. He killed a man. I don't know the full details, there was a fight in a bar. The man died, some sort of internal bleeding, Henry would have been convicted of manslaughter but they found out he'd boxed professionally a few times so…"

"That made it murder."

"Exactly, it was stupid. He only had three fights, lost them all."

"Where is he incarcerated?"

"In caser…? Oh, Arizona, in Florence."

"Arizona is a long ways from Mississippi," Buck commented.

"Henry was what you might call the black sheep of the family. Our father made all three of his sons learn the business from the bottom up. We had to learn every job, until we could make anything in the basic catalogue. We made furniture in those days. I started when I was twelve, sweeping up in the evenings after school. Henry didn’t appreciate it much, seeing as he's the youngest and didn't see any future with the family firm. He was drafted, did some boxing in the army, came back from Nam and tried to be a boxer. When that didn't work out he came back here for a while, but then he took off again. When the court in Phoenix contacted me as his listed next of kin, it was the first I'd heard from him in years."

"A most unfortunate tale. Can I bring you back to the main reason for our visit, Miss Wilmington's relationship with your brother."

"Who?"

Buck pulled out the picture of his mother and showed it to Stevens.

"We believe she and your brother were close, when he was about seventeen?" Ezra asked.

Stevens studied the picture. "Yeah, I remember her some, but this was a very long time ago."

"We appreciate that sir, but anything you can remember would be helpful."

"I remember she was trash," he said with a sneer.

Even without thinking, Ezra's hand shot out and came to rest on Buck's forearm, silently reminding him not to react.

"She was just a kid, but she looked older, led the boys on, teased them. I always thought she was only after Henry for his money."

"I thought you said he wasn't going to be getting any, being the youngest," Buck pointed out, barely keeping the anger out of his voice.

"That's what Henry assumed, but who knows what the old man would have done with his money if he'd stuck around, Henry was always the old man's favourite."

"Do you know why the relationship ended?" Ezra asked.

"I presumed they lost contact when he was drafted. I don't remember her being around when he got back from Nam. Mind you he didn't stick around long, but she was definitely not around by the time he came back the second time, when the boxing thing didn't work out." Stevens looked from one man to anther. "Look I really don’t remember that much about it. Why don’t you go and ask Henry?"

"Yes, we'll do that. Thank you for your time." Ezra rose and turned to leave.

"You knew her well?" Buck asked, without standing up.

"Sorry?" Stevens looked lost.

"Cindy Wilmington, you must have known her very well."

"I hardly knew her at all, I thought I made that clear."

"Yet you knew she was trash?"

"Well, anyone could see that."

Buck shot to his feet, stepping into Stevens' personal space, making the most of his height and weight advantage. "Next time you think about besmirching a lady’s name, you make sure you got the evidence to back it up, you got me?"

"I…I'm sorry."

They were almost back at the car, when Stevens came running after them. "I remembered something," he explained as they turned to meet him.

"What?" Buck demanded.

"My mother told me once, that when he got back, from the war, Henry asked her about Cindy, he wanted to know if she'd heard anything about Cindy having a baby."

"And had she?" Ezra asked.

"I honestly don't know, that really is all I can remember."

+ + + + + + +

"Are you okay?" Ezra asked, as Buck strode back toward the car.

Buck stopped, raising his head and taking a deep breath. "People look at someone and they make a judgement. They assume they know it all, just by looking."

"I know, believe me. My mother relies on it. She says 'appearances are everything'. She exploits it."

"Just because she was pretty, just because she had a good figure, just because men found her attractive, they called her slut and trash and …well you know what. Is it any wonder she ended up doing what she did?"

Ezra could have replied, but he didn't, he pulled out his cell phone.

"Who are you calling?"

"JD, we need to track down Henry Stevens."

While Buck paced, trying to calm himself down, Ezra spoke to JD. Finally he snapped the phone shut and crossed to Buck. "He'll call us back. We need to get back to town."

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