DISCLAIMER:  Most of the characters used are the property of David E. Kelley.  They are used without permission and no copyright infringement is intended.  "Friend Like Me" is the property of Walt Disney Productions and is also used without permission.

R.I.P.

By Gail M. Eppers


	Jeffrey Geiger was not dead.  Philip Watters refused to believe it.  Yet his hand shook as he hung up the phone, the receiver rattling in the cradle as it was dropped by suddenly limp fingers.  He paused for a moment, barely breathing.  No.  Not until he'd seen it with his own eyes.  He closed the folder that he'd been working on, and rose from the desk.  Exchanging his lab coat for his dress coat, he stepped out of his office trying to appear casual.  "Barbara," he told the temporary secretary sitting in his outer office, "I have to go out and I don't know when I'll be back.  Can you clear my schedule for the rest of the day?"
	"Yes, sir."  She replied, pulling out his datebook with one hand and reaching for the phone with the other.  
	Philip didn't worry about how easy that had been.  Leaving the hospital with his casual air intact, he got into his car and sat behind the wheel.  His hands were shaking again.  He took some deep breaths, calming himself with a conscious effort, before starting the car.  
	He parked at County and headed for the hospital morgue.  The coroner was the one who had called him.  He was met outside the morgue by the medical examiner, looking very grim.  He was a couple inches taller than Philip, with thick brown hair in a ponytail that was netted close to his head.  His blue eyes seemed friendly enough, but this job had aged him beyond his years.  He was perhaps thirty, but bore none of the twentysomething chained exhuberance.  He was resigned to seeing death everyday.  It was something he did because he was good at it, not because he particularly enjoyed any part of it.  "Philip Watters?"  Philip nodded.  "I didn't want to give you details over the phone.  This isn't going to be pleasant."
	"It never is."
	The coroner lowered his eyes, acknowledging that fact, "Still, I'd better warn you.  Dr. Geiger was walking near a construction site when a cable broke, dropping a three-ton steel beam on top of him."
	Philip closed his eyes, then opened them when it made the visual that much easier.  "How was he identified?"
	"His wallet.  Your name and number were in it as well.  That's why I called you."  After a short pause, he opened the door and Philip followed him into the morgue.  He went to one of the drawers and pulled it out, a sheet covering it's malformed contents.  "Are you sure you want to do this?  It wouldn't be conclusive anyway.  We, uh, couldn't even use dental records for identification."
	Philip took a deep breath and ground his teeth together, nodded.  The coroner pulled back one corner of the sheet and waited.  Philip turned away almost immediately and the coroner tucked in the sheet and pushed the drawer back in.  "That's not him."  He whispered.  He had a gut feeling, but what he'd seen wasn't even recognizable as a human being.  
	"With all due respect, sir, that's what everyone says that in these situations."
	"That's not him!"  Philip said more forcefully.  "Where are the personal effects?  Where's the wallet?"  The drive to answer the questions swimming in his head drove him.
	The coroner led Philip to a storage room where several shelves held neatly organized cardboard boxes.  He pulled down a box and put it on a table, then left the room to give Watters privacy.
	After the door closed behind him, Philip approached the table and slowly opened the box.  It contained very little.  He picked up the wallet, ragged and blood stained, and opened it.  It held seventy-eight dollars.  At least that showed the coroner was honest, he thought.  Flipping through, he found Jeffrey Geiger's driver's license and his stomach solidified.  He also found an "In case of emergency" card with Philip's own name and number at the hospital on it, a Visa card, a membership card for his golf club, and his social security card.  The only other items in the box were a keychain with six keys on it, bent and flattened, and the shattered remnants of a wrist watch.  
	There was a brief knock on the door and the coroner poked his head in.  "Sorry to interrupt, sir.  I need to take, "  he grabbed a plastic bag near the door, "this to the incinerator."
	"Wait!"  Philip said, "may I have these?"  He indicated the wallet and keys.
	"Sure.  I'm really very sorry about your friend, sir."
	"Thank you."  Philip eyed the clear plastic bag.  "Excuse me, is that ....are his clothes in there?"
	"Yes.  What was left of them." With a pained expression on his face, he added, "you want those, too?"
	"Yes, please.  Everything that came in with him." 
	The coroner grabbed a pair of rubber gloves off the shelf near the door and snapped them on.  He opened the bag and began rummaging around.  As he did so, Philip took out his handkerchief and used it to carefully wrap the keys.  As he flipped the wallet to also place it on the handkerchief, the photo section flashed by and he saw a picture of a little girl.  He held it steady and stared.  Damn, she was getting big.  She had to be nearly five now, he thought, then damn, what am I going to tell her?  She'd be at home with her sitter, Lucille, he knew.  
	"Do you have another plastic bag for those?"  He asked the coroner, who quickly abliged.  He grabbed the bag of shredded, bloody clothing and the handkerchief, thanked the coroner for his time and trouble, and went back to his car.  
	In the front seat, he looked over what he had collected.  It did not look good.  That was indeed Jeffrey's wallet, and his keys although they were now too deformed to open anything.  He turned the bag of clothing over and looked at it.  Black, made blacker by the blood stains.  So, this is what was left.  It didn't seem fair.  Then his eyes caught on something that at one time must have been white.  He untied the bag and fished it out.  Holding them up, he almost smiled.  Although tattered, dirty and bloody, they were, very plainly, a pair of men's briefs.  He stuffed it back in the bag and hurried back to the morgue with it.
	"Dr. Watters?"  The coroner asked as he stormed in.
	"That's not him!"
	"Sir?"
	Philip turned the bag so that the briefs could be seen.  "I happen to know he wears boxer shorts, exclusively."  He pointed over to the wall, "the man in that drawer is NOT Jeffrey Geiger!"
	It took a moment for the coroner to absorb this information.  He almost asked how Dr. Watters would know about Dr. Geiger's underwear habits for certain, but decided not to question him.  "Then who is it?"  he asked, the questions of the man's identity and Dr. Geiger's true whereabouts both crossing his mind.   "And why did he have Dr. Geiger's wallet?  And...oh damn."  The coroner got a look of horror on his face.
	"Doctor?"
	"Sir, the police were already here.  I reported the death as Jeffrey Geiger.  By now, they are informing his next of kin."
	Philip bolted.


	A police car sat in the driveway of Jeffrey Geiger's home.  Philip parked parallel to the edge of the lawn and rushed to the door, pounding on it rather than ringing the bell.  After a moment, a woman opened the door.  Her eyes were swollen and red.  She dabbed at them with a tissue.  "Dr. Watters?"  She squinted, trying to see through the blur.  "Come in."  She closed the door as he stepped into the entryway.  "I suppose you've heard."
	"Yes."  He noticed the uniformed officer sitting in the living room solemnly.  He took Lucy by the elbow and guided her back to the couch.  The officer rose to leave, but Philip motioned for him to sit as well.  Once they were all seated, Philip asked, "Where's Alicia?" 
	"Upstairs, in her room.  She's watching TV.  I haven't said anything to her yet."
	"Don't."
	"Excuse me?  Philip, what am I supposed to --"
	"He's not dead."
	There was complete silence for nearly a minute.  Then the officer spoke up.  "What evidence do you have to support that?"
	Philip told them about his visit to the morgue, and what he had found there.  As soon as he mentioned the briefs, Lucy squealed and put her hands over her mouth.  "Lucy, would you care to explain to the officer the significance of the briefs?"
	"He...he wears boxers,"  she said, lowering her hands and grasping one of Philip's.
	The officer pulled out his notepad and began writing.  "Dr. Watters, any idea how Dr. Geiger's wallet and keys came into possession by this unidentified man?"
	"No."  He squeezed Lucy's hand.  "Is this enough to start an investigation?"
	The officer sighed heavily.  "Given what you've told me, I feel there is reason to doubt the identity of the man in the morgue, but I'm not sure if the department will agree with me." He flipped the notebook shut. 
	"I'd be happy to come down and make a statement," Philip offered.  "Lucy, will you be all right here?"
	She looked uncertain, but said, "Sure."  
	"Finding Dr. Geiger would certainly help the case," the officer suggested.  "We can't investigate him as a missing person however.  He was last seen early this morning.  It's only been about six hours.  Unfortunately, the fact that his wallet and keys are not on his person indicates that, well, I don't mean to upset you, but it means that the reports of his death may not be exaggerated."
	Lucy blinked and sucked in a breath.  "I understand."
	As the two men rose and went to the door, Lucy walked with them.  She turned to Philip, "Dr. Watters, thank you.  A few minutes later, and I would have been talking with Alicia.  There's no telling what this sort of thing would do to her, after losing her first adopted father."  Philip gave her a hug.  She turned to the police officer, "Officer, please, find Dr. Geiger....alive."
	"I hope to do that, Ma'am.  Dr. Watters, would you like to ride with me or follow?"
	Lucy watched them leave.  In the quiet, very faintly, she could hear the sound of Alicia's TV coming from upstairs.  She recognized it.   The Genie was singing "You Ain't Never Had a Friend Like Me".


	"I'm telling you, he left!"  Billy Kronk told his wife, formerly known as Dr. Diane Grad.  She was standing at the nurse's station writing on one of her patient's charts.  "He got a mysterious phone call, and left, with no explanation!"
	Diane smirked, "Billy, it was personal.  It's none of our business."  She flipped a page and continued writing.
	Billy paced around her, shaking his head, "something weird is going on, Diane.  Aren't you even curious?  I mean, what could it be?  He doesn't have anything to be personal about.  His wife is dead.  His son is dead.  He's married to this hospital, and if he leaves unexpectedly it means something!"
	"I'll tell you what it means."  Aaron said as he approached them from the corridor.  "It means I have to go to the blasted board meeting.  And I'm late because his temp had trouble finding me in the Psych department."  He turned to Diane, "Are you coming?"
	Diane hit her head with the palm of one hand, causing her shoulder length brown hair to flop gently.  "The meeting!"  Quickly she closed up the chart.  
	"Hey, maybe they'll say something at the meeting about it."  Billy guessed.
	"Maybe."  Aaron agreed, impatient to get moving again.
	Diane shook her head, hair swaying back and forth, having had enough of Billy's insatiable curiosity.  "If he wants any of us to know, he'll tell us."  Diane answered quietly, unperturbed by the days occurence.  She looked up at Billy finally, "You know, he could have friends we don't know about.  Even more family.  You know how he is."  She stood next to Aaron, ready to accompany him.  "Let him be."
	"Easy for you to say.  Some researcher you are.  You have no curiousity!"  He walked off, leaving her grinning to herself as she heard him accost an innocent orderly with his ravings.


	Jeffrey Geiger came to, or rather awoke, somewhere in a grassy field.  "Alicia."  He whispered, then tried to rise too suddenly.  He fell to his knees, clutching an aching head and trying to clear his thoughts.  His body ached and he could feel the bruises on his face.   His left eye refused to open all the way.  And he realized he was dressed only in a pair of dull blue boxer shorts.  Deep in his medical mind, he counted at least two cracked or broken ribs, but all he could think was Home.  Like an insect.  He needed to go home.  Home, to Alicia.  
	Slowly, he eased himself up to a standing position.  If it had been winter, he would have frozen to death out here in the field, somewhere in the outskirts of Chicago.  But, although somewhat chilled in his current apparel, it was safely warm.  He saw what might be a road off in the distance, lit eerily by the setting sun.  But he didn't have the clarity to think of hitchhiking.  He knew where home was, and began moving in that direction, his bare feet stumbling over the rough terrain.  
	He stopped to rest a couple of times, alternating between rubbing his feet and holding his head to prevent it from falling off his shoulders.  It was dusk by the time he reached the first side road.  He didn't follow it, but cut across, keeping a straight line toward his objective.  A car passed him without its lights on.  In the dim light, no one saw Jeffrey continue on.  Over more roads, lawns, even a fence or two, and Jeffrey plodded on determinedly.
	It was the wee hours of the morning when he reached his house.  Out of habit, he stepped up to the front door and tried to open it.  It was locked.  He tried again.  Confused, he reached into non-existant pockets in a futile search for the keys.  He knocked on the door, but when no answer came immediately he moved to the side of the house, looking for an open window.
	Inside the house, Lucille heard the noise and woke with a start.  She stayed motionless for a moment, listening.  Someone was trying to get in.  "Oh my God," she whispered.  She rolled quietly out of bed, resisting the urge to turn on the light, and reached for the phone.  Holding her hand on the receiver but not lifting it, she listened again.  There was a short knock on the door.  Her heart pounding, she lifted the phone and punched 911 by the light of the glow-in-the-dark face.  The 911 operator suggested she stay on the line, so she remained, huddled by the bed with the receiver to one ear.  Her eyes scanning the room, she suddenly realized that her window was open slightly, and the bushes outside were rustling.  "He's coming to my window."  She told the operator in a panicked whisper.  
	"Is there a room you can get to and lock yourself in?  If there's a phone there, call us back right away."
	"Right.  Okay."  She hung up, and crept around the bed and out into the hallway.   Just down the hall, she saw a man and for a split second she panicked, before realizing it was Dr. Watters, who had offered to spend the night. She stood, and mouthed, "I called the police" while miming using a telephone.  
	Philip nodded to show he understood, and stepped closer to her.
	"He's at my bedroom window," she whispered.
	"Get in the bathroom and lock the door," he whispered back.  Once he heard the lock click, Philip proceeded slowly into Lucille's bedroom.  He debated with himself about turning on the light.  He wanted to catch the man, not let him run off.  But as soon as he entered the room he knew he had the advantage.  The man was husky, and still struggling to climb in the window.  He was having a very hard time of it, momentarily going limp from exhaustion, then heaving again in another attempt to drag himself over the windowsill.  
	Philip flipped on the light.  At the same time, he rushed forward and pulled the man in, dropping him on the floor, grabbing the hard cover book from the bedside table and preparing to swing it.  The man was squinting at the light and put up a hand to shade his eyes.
	"Oh my God," Philip said.  Slowly, he lowered the book.
	It was Jeffrey.  Jeffrey Geiger, mostly naked and badly injured.
	Philip knelt by him, "Jeffrey?  Jeffrey, what happened?"
	"Huh?  What?  Where's Alicia?"  Jeffrey was barely conscious.  
	"You're hurt, Jeffrey.  Lie still."  Philip said, but Jeffrey tried to get up anyway.  Philip restrained him.  
	Just then, a silent blue and red flashing light surrounded the house.  He could hear officers taking up a surveillance pattern around the house.  He had to let them in or there might be shooting.  
	Philip grabbed Jeffrey's head, forcing him to look Philip in the eyes.  "Jeffrey!"  He said loudly, "Stay here!"  
	As if following the order, Jeffrey Geiger passed out.
	Philip hurried to the front door and opened it, hands raised.  An officer approached, and Philip quickly explained the situation.  The officer called back to the car, "Fall back!  Call an ambulance!"  and accompanied Philip back into the house.
	After showing the officer Geiger's unconscious form, Philip knocked on the bathroom door and told Lucille it was safe to come out.  She immediately went to check on Alicia, who, through benefit of an upstairs bedroom on the other side of the house, had slept soundly through it all.


	"Yes, thank you.  I'll tell him."  Diane Kronk hung up the phone, her eyes misty with tears.  She swallowed a large lump that had formed in her throat.  She sank to a sitting position on the bed, barely hearing the shower running in the bathroom.  On the floor at her feet stood a left shoe.  Her right shoe was on.  She'd been in the middle of putting them on when the phone rang.  Staring into nothing for several minutes, only her mother's instincts brought her out of her trance when Emily, their infant daughter, began crying.  She moved to the bassinette without conscious thought, tripping a little over the shoe, ignoring the uneven gait produced by the missing footware, and picked up the baby.  She changed the wet diaper, and held her close while the child drifted back to sleep.  The sound of the shower stopped and she gently put the baby back in the bassinette.  
	A moment later, with one towel wrapped around his waist and another busily scrubbing the top of his head, Billy Kronk emerged from a steamy bathroom.  "Did I hear a phone AND a baby?" 
	"Yes.  She's fine.  She was just wet."  She straightened and faced her husband.
	He sensed something was wrong.  "Who was on the phone?" he asked, tossing the towel in his hand to drape over his shoulder.
	"Billy."  She started to talk, but wasn't sure how to say it.  "It was Riverview."
	Riverview was the retirement home they had put his father in over a year ago.  It had simply been too much work to care for him as the Altzheimer's took over.  Billy had been reluctant, even resistant, but finally was able to face the facts.  Now, his face held an awful, shocked expression as the meaning of the call came to him.  "No."  Even fresh out of a hot shower, Billy felt a chill.  "When?"
	"Four twenty-three this afternoon."
	Billy took a shuddering breath, but made no move.  Slowly, Diane moved closer to him, and wrapped her arms around his still damp body.  She held him close, then realized something.  "Damn,"  she whispered, "I'm on --" she almost said graveyard, but stopped herself, "night shift."
	Billy squeezed her tight quickly, then pulled back.  "I'll be all right.  Go."
	"Are you sure?"  She scanned his face, but saw only the emotional strength that was one of the things that had first attracted her to him.  
	"Positive."  He flipped a lock of hair out of her eyes.  "Tomorrow we'll go to Riverview first thing after you get home.  You can let Philip know what's up."
	She squeezed him back, not wanting to leave him now.  "I love you, Billy."  She headed for the door, then remembered her shoe and ran back to the bed to pick it up.  She didn't stop to put it on, though, but grabbed her purse in the same hand and carried them both out the door.


	Dr. Wilkes was tired.  He'd been in the ER for nearly thirty hours, with only a couple of short naps in the oncall room.  Very short naps.  He was glad for the support of the counter as he did his paperwork, leaning over the low shelf used for supplies.  He yawned uncontrollably, almost dozing as he wrote.  Then a commotion behind him got his attention, and, like most doctors learned to do, his exhaustion took its place on the back burner.  He noticed Philip Watters trotting in just ahead of a gurney.  "Whatdya got, Philip?"
	"Outa my way."  Philip wasn't handing this one over.  He pulled the gurney into some open space and started yelling orders.  
	Wilkes looked at the man on the gurney.  He seemed slightly familiar, but with all the bruises on his face he couldn't be sure.  As he stood there in his sleepy haze trying to figure it out, he heard a soft "Oh, dear God," behind him.
	Diane Grad pushed past Wilkes and rushed to assist Watters.  "What happened?"  She asked as they worked.
	"He's the only one that can tell us that, Diane."
	Diane didn't badger him with more questions, but gave him whatever instrument he asked for.  Philip was calling out orders without regard to who took them or how they got done.  Everyone in the ER knew that if they didn't get done, that would be the problem.  A portable X-ray machine was quickly brought in and put to use.  Before he even saw the film, Watters began taping Jeffrey's chest tightly.  The question wasn't whether there were breaks, but only in how many.  
	Minutes later, as they wheeled the gurney out toward a room, Philip called, "Page Dr. Shutt to that room!"  He slipped off his gloves and leaned against the open ER doorway, watching the gurney rolling away.  He sensed Diane come up quietly behind him, place a kind hand on his shoulder.
	"He'll be all right."  Grad's soothing voice said.
	Philip nodded.  "All day," he told her without turning around, "I thought he was dead."
	"What?"  Diane came around to his front.  "What are you talking about?"
	Quickly, Philip told Diane about the phone call, and the harrowing day he had spent.  "We might never know what happened."
	Diane remembered her conversation with Billy and Aaron.  "So that's it.  Why didn't you tell us right away?"
	"Diane...."
	"You don't have to protect me!"  She told him flatly.  "Sure, I would have worried.  So did you.  All of us would have worried.   But I'd rather know what's going on and worry than be kept in the dark like that.  He's our friend, too," she added, referring to Billy, Aaron, and all the other medical personnel still on staff who had worked with Jeffrey Geiger, "and you should have told us.  I told Billy not to be so curious.  Told him that if it was something we needed to know, you'd tell us.  Don't you think that finding out this way is worse?  To just have it all thrown in my lap, when I need to be at my best?"  Her voice was starting to choke, and she took a breath to stop it, "If I...."
	"You were at your best."  Philip said quietly, not escalating his voice to be heard over hers.  "I'm sorry, Diane.  I only meant..."
	"I know what you meant,"  she snapped.  Suddenly, she softened, wiping the outside of her eyes with one hand, "I know what you meant."
	Now it was his kind hand on her shoulder.  "Come on.  Let's go see our friend."
	"Oh, Philip."  Diane suddenly remembered what she needed to tell him.  "Billy's father passed away today.  He won't be in for awhile, and after this shift neither will I."
	"I'm so sorry, Diane."  Philip said sincerely.  "You two take all the time you need.  You don't even have to finish this shift.  Why didn't you just call?"
	"Because I'm a workaholic," she replied with a sad grin.  "Damn good thing, I came in, too.  I wouldn't want to hear about this after the fact."
	"I said I was sorry, all right?  Let's just go up there and pretend we're friends, then, okay?" He winked at her.
	Aaron was examining Jeffrey as they entered.  He turned and straightened when he heard them come in.  "There doesn't appear to be any neurological damage," he said.  "Philip, would you care to explain what's going on?"
	Philip had already done it once, so Diane did the honors this time.  "At least, that's what Philip told me just a few moments ago."
	Aaron's jaw was set, and Philip thought he was in for another lecture.  He decided to nip it in the bud, "Don't say it, Aaron.  I'm sorry for not telling you sooner.  I apologize.  Diane, pass on my apologies to Billy as well.  But I didn't want to tell you speculations, and we still haven't very many facts."  He saw Aaron's jawline relax a little.  "Any idea how long he'll be out?"
	Aaron shrugged.  "Several hours, probably.  I'll stay."
	"It's all right, Aaron.  I'll stay with him."  Philip volunteered.  
	"I'm staying."  Aaron replied flatly.
	"I'd like to stay, but I guess I'd better go talk to Billy,"  Diane said.  "Philip, you'll take care of my cover?"
	With obvious sympathy in his eyes, Philip said, "Sure."  When Aaron looked at him  questioningly, he added, "Billy's father died."
	"Oh, Jesus,"  Aaron said, moving to the doorway to give her a hug.  After they separated, he asked, "Do you need anything?
	Getting teary again, she merely shook her head.  "Just call if there's any news on Jeffrey, okay?"  Aaron nodded in agreement and Diane closed the door behind her.  Taking a deep quivering breath, she thought at least now she could get some sleep before she went to Riverview with Billy.  
	On her way passed the Emergency Room, three gunshot victims were brought in.  She knew she should go home to Billy.  She knew anyone would understand the circumstances.  But Wilkes looked dead tired, and Hancock couldn't do it alone.  She talked them out of paging Philip, or Aaron, for one of them was shot in the head.  She paged Austin instead, and Cacachi.  
	The next few hours were a whirlwind of almost constant activity.  She didn't blame Philip at all for not sending her cover.  It was nice to stop thinking about her personal life for awhile.

	
	"Well, that explains it."  Billy Kronk commented after they had returned home from Riverview.  Diane had made the drive home easier by telling him all she knew about Jeffrey.  Although it was early afternoon, Billy had gone right to the kitchen to fix breakfast.  He took large bites of toast and eggs as they sat across from each other in their small kitchen.
	Diane realized that, mentally anyway, Billy was distracted.  She hoped to take his mind off of things at least for awhile.  "The question now is," she added, "who was the man killed by the beam, and why did he have Jeffrey's things?"
	Billy shrugged.  "A thief."  He could barely get out those two words between bites, even with big slugs of milk to wash it down.
	"Why would a thief bother taking his clothes?"  Grad muttered, mostly to herself.
	"Okay, a naked thief."
	"You're not helping."  She watched him devour the food for a moment, "how can you eat at a time like this?"  She pushed her own plate away.  
	Billy swallowed with difficulty, "The only one who has a clue would be Geiger, right?  He's out cold, right?  So, the show's on pause until he wakes up and can answer some questions, right?  Right."  He went back to eating after answering his own questions.
	"He might not know what hit him, either.  Then what?"
	He leaned in close to her, "Then we get on with things."  He picked up both plates and walked to the sink.  "Life goes on."
	It sounded like a dig to her.  "Are you mad because I went to work last night?"
	His back to her, Billy stood facing the windowless wall behind the sink.  "No.  No, of course not.  I told you to go, didn't I?"
	She stared at him, suddenly realizing how odd it was to see him in a dress shirt and suit pants.  He'd rent a tux for the funeral.  That would be odder still.  Her bottom lip started to quiver and she sighed to stop it.  "I shouldn't have gone."  Emotionally and physically drained, she began to cry uncontrollably.
	He turned and leaned his backside against the sink for a moment, then pushed himself upright and went to her.  "Hey, really, it's all right."  He stroked her hair and wiped her tears.  "You're exhausted.  Why don't you go up and get some sleep?  I'll take baby duty. Come on."
	Billy helped his wife, who was still sniffling, to her feet and helped her to the bedroom.  He put her on the bed, pulled the shades, then lifted Emily to his shoulder and crept out of the room.
	He was a dear, she thought, admitting that most of the tears had come from being overtired.  But something about his attitude still bothered Diane.  There was more to it than that emotional strength she'd thought of before.  It had been different when he'd had the presence of mind to amputate a man's leg with a chainsaw, or the fortitute to cradle a devastated Jeffrey Geiger in his arms after Alan Birch, somewhat affectionately known as 'the eel', had died on his operating table.  Or even the honor to initiate the clap-out that had accompanied Alan's body to the morgue.  
	He was too matter-of-fact now.  It was all business that needed to be done, but shouldn't there be something else? she thought.  It seemed like normal life wasn't allowed anymore for her.  The simple things like eating, sleeping, even breathing, held no real interest for her.  She just did them.  And it was only her father-in-law.  She barely knew the man.  She looked at her husband and wondered if it was simply a "guy thing" that he could just take care of business so easily.	


	Jeffrey Geiger opened his eyes again, both eyes this time, feeling much better than the last time he'd done that, and realized he was in a hospital...as a patient.  He saw Philip Watters slouched in the chair to his right, asleep.  Turning his head quietly, he saw Aaron Shutt in a chair to his left, also asleep.  With a wicked grin, he pushed himself up, "Good thing I didn't go into arrest, or anything.  I'm not even on a monitor, for Christ's sake."
	Both men jerked awake.  "Jeffrey!"  They both said.
	"Yeah, it's me."  He put one hand to his head, "or at least, I think it's me.  Kind of feels like I could be Ichabod Crane's headless horseman, though."  
	Aaron reached in and gently checked Jeffrey's bandages.  "No leakage," he said.  "That's good.  How do you feel?"
	"How's Alicia?"  Jeffrey looked from one to the other hoping one of them would have the answer.
	Philip spoke, "She's fine.  Lucille has her."  He pushed himself out of the chair, massaging a sore neck.  "I'll give her a call and tell her you're awake."  He stepped out of the room.
	Aaron settled himself in his chair again, but sat straight and alert.  "Philip thought you were dead."
	"Dead?  I wasn't gone that long, was I?  I thought that took seven years."
	Aaron shook his head.  "No.  Yesterday morning Philip got a phone call from County Morgue that you'd been killed by a three ton beam at a construction site.  He didn't believe it was you, and got the cops to investigate.  It was some guy with your stuff.  You were robbed, weren't you?"
	Jeffrey's face saddened, "Yeah.  So one of them bought it.  Serves him right, the son of a bitch."
	At that point, Philip poked his head in the door, "Excuse me, Jeffrey, the police are here.  You ready to talk to them?"
	"You bet!"  Anger tinged Jeffrey's voice.  "There's one more son of a bitch out there.  Let's get him."
	Philip opened the door wider and let in two uniformed officers, then closed the door.  "Thank you, Mr. Geiger.  We'll try to be brief.  What can you tell us about the perpetrators?" They stepped to the foot of the bed so they could see him.  One of them flipped out a notebook and pen.
	"Right to the point. I like that."  Jeffrey shifted in the bed to make himself more comfortable.  "Yesterday morning, I left Lucille and Alicia around 7am to go pick up a new car.   I had a $500 cash deposit in my wallet as part of the downpayment."
	The officer with the notebook flipped backwards and interrupted, "Your wallet was found with $78 in it."
	"The other guy must have taken the big stuff.  Anyway, I remember getting to the dealership, and the salesman and another guy come out.  We shake hands.  Next thing I know I got hit over the head with something.  I don't know what it was.  I lost it for a minute, then I was being dragged.  One guy on each arm.  They shoved me into the back seat of the car I was supposed to pick up.  Still had dealer plates and the sticker on the window, even.  A bright red Pontiac Sunfire.  Not practical, I know, but I already got the practical car.  Anyway, one of 'em got in the back with me, the other one started driving.  The one with me started hitting me, trying to get to my wallet.  He,"  Jeffrey paused to mutter under his breath, "goddamn sonofabitch", then continued, "kicked me in the balls with his knee.  While I was dealing with that, he pulled out my wallet.  I spit on him.  I don't remember anything after that until I woke up outside of Chicago.  I walked back home, I think."  He finished, stopping for breath with a confused look on his face.
	The officer with the notebook wrote rapidly, then tapped the pad with the pen.  "What did the men look like, sir?"
	"The salesman was a little taller than me.  About six three.  And pretty heavy.  He had a moustache, but no beard, brown.  And brown hair, cut short.  He liked cigars.  I'd say he's less than a year away from a major heart attack.  The other guy was closer to my height and build.  No facial hair."
	"Must be the one hit by the beam."  Aaron commented.
	"Did they say anything?  Use any names?  What were they wearing?"  The officer without the notebook prompted.
	"The fat guy kept yelling at the other one to get the damn money.  Unless the guy's name was Jackass, there weren't any names used.  The fat guy was in a blue suit.  The other one was in jeans, and a t-shirt that said 'Dial 1-800-WHO GIVES A SHIT?'.  But he's the one that took my clothes.  Now I know why."  
	The officers smiled a little at Jeffrey's joke.  "Thank you, sir."  He handed Jeffrey a slip of paper.  "If you think of any more details, call this number."
	Geiger took the paper and set it on the bedside table.  "I'll do that.  Now go out and get that sonofabitch before I buy myself a Sherlock Holmes hat and do it myself."
	"Yes, sir!" replied the officer as his partner put his notebook away, giving a mock salute.  The officers left the room.


	The house was quiet.  Billy sat at one end of the couch, reading a medical magazine.  Diane sat in the recliner with her feet up, nursing Emily.  From time to time, she would look up, but each time she did Billy seemed entirely engrossed in his magazine.  She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.  It was still an odd feeling, knowing that his father was gone now, but there was something else, too.  The wake and funeral was scheduled for the following day, the burial plot was being prepared, and they expected the stoneworker after dinner to help them choose a headstone.  But Billy was treating it as any other day.  The unusual business was still just business.
	She noticed that Emily had fallen asleep.  Carefully she lowered the leg rest.  Holding the baby against her with one hand, she used her free hand to grab the baby's quilt from the playpen and spread it quickly on the floor.  She laid the sleeping baby on her back on the quilt and went to sit on the couch next to Billy.  "Billy, we need to talk about this, you know."
	He looked up suddenly, surprised to find her so close.  "What?"
	"Your Dad," she said gently. 
	Billy Kronk appreciated his wife's concern.  He put down the magazine on his lap, but didn't close it.  "I'll be all right, Diane."  He patted her leg.  "Really."  The look of disappointment on her face made him fold the magazine backwards and set it on the table, giving her his full attention.  "If you're waiting for me to cry...."
	"Billy," she admonished.  "It's not that, it's just.....I don't know.  It seems like...," she looked out the front window and bit her bottom lip, "It seems like it should make a bigger difference.  I mean, there should be more changes than a few days off work, don't you think?"
	She saw his eyes focus inward, then back again, "Wait until tomorrow."  He took a deep breath, as if he were psyching himself up for it.  "Tomorrow's going to be very difficult, okay?  I'd really like to just...not think about it for awhile."  
	Diane reached across him to the table and retrieved his magazine.  "Okay.  Just promise me you won't try to be Mr. Macho, not while we're alone here,"  she said half-jokingly.
	He gave her one of his little laughs, "Right."


	"Jesus, Jeffrey,"  Aaron said.
	Geiger looked innocent.  "What?"
	"Everything,"  Aaron replied.  After a moment he asked, "You going to be all right?"
	"I thought you were the doctor here."  Jeffrey was smiling, though.  "You know, I guess I'm kind of lucky.  I'm here to tell the tale.  I'm glad I didn't have Alicia with me.  She wanted to come, did I tell you that?"
	"No, you didn't."
	"Yeah, she wanted to.  And I was going to take her, too.  I'm not even quite sure why I decided to go alone.  Just one of those things you do, I guess."  Jeffrey took a deep breath and put one hand on the bandage around his head.  
	"Don't worry,"  Aaron said comfortingly, "they'll catch the guy.  You're just out five hundred bucks is all."
	"Five hundred bucks,"  Jeffrey repeated.  "It's not like I'm worried about the money, you know..."  his voice trailed off as something occurred to him.  "The money!"  He pushed himself up in the bed and reached across to the nightstand, "Where's that paper?  Where's that paper?"  He found it, and grabbed the phone, punching the numbers quickly.
	"Jeffrey, what are you doing?"  Aaron asked.  Geiger ignored him.  He was too impatient to even listen to it ring.  He slammed the phone down and jumped out of bed, the paper flying unseen to the floor.  His legs buckled at first, but before Aaron could help he steadied himself with the edge of the bed.  His feet screamed at him to lie down again, but he ignored them.  He went to the closet and began pulling out his clothes.  "Jeffrey?  Get back in bed."
	"No, Aaron.  The money!  We can get him with the money!"  He threw the shirt around his shoulders and slipped his arms in, grimacing only slightly at the pain in his tightly taped ribs.
	Aaron watched helplessly as his friend continued to dress in a mad rush.  "Jeffrey, I'm not releasing you."
	"I don't care,"  Jeffrey answered quickly.  "You can declare me stark, raving mad for all I care.  But I'm going to find those cops."  He pulled the slacks up, tucking in the shirt, then began to thread the belt through the loops.  
	"You're going," Aaron corrected him, "to explain what's going on or I'll call security."  Aaron grabbed Jeffrey's arm, halting his stumbling attempt to put on a shoe without benefit of sock. 
	"Okay, Aaron, listen up."  He sat on the bed to make putting the shoes on easier but it was still an effort.  The adrenaline rush was catching up to him, but he tried not to let his sudden tiredness show.  "When I got those bills out of the bank, I wanted to make sure I didn't spend them.  So I wrote the name 'Laurie' in the corner of each one."
	"How does that stop you?"
	"Laurie's crazy.  I see the name, I know it's crazy to spend that money.  I've been doing that for years, whenever I need a large amount of cash all at once."  He paused to catch his breath, "We can catch this guy if we do it fast enough."
	"I see," Aaron agreed.  "If they find any bills marked with the name 'Laurie' at the dealership, that implicates him."
	"You got it.  But I need to get there before they leave."  He started to head out the door then stopped abruptly.  "Damn, I don't suppose my car came with me?"
	Aaron was right behind him.  "They haven't found it yet.  We'll take my car."
	"We'll?"  Jeffrey looked over his shoulder at Aaron.
	Aaron simply looked back.  "You're in no condition to drive."
	Jeffrey looked like he was about to challenge that, but decided against it.  He and Aaron rushed down the corridor, down the stairwell, and out into the parking garage, where Jeffrey allowed Aaron to take the point.  He followed his friend to the car, knowing Aaron wouldn't look back to see his running limp, and jumped into the passenger seat.  Jeffrey took the opportunity to rest his head against the back of the seat.
	Climbing behind the wheel, Aaron asked, "You okay, Jeffrey?"
	"Sure.  Sure.  You know where this dealership is?"
	"No, but I'm sure you do."  He started the engine and backed up the car carefully, swinging into the aisle, then shifted gears and left the garage.


	When the doorbell rang, Diane glanced at the clock.  Why did he have to be so prompt?  She dried the last plate and shoved it on the shelf, removing her apron and smoothing her clothing as Billy opened the door.  The stoneworker had a large briefcase with him, which he set carefully on the kitchen table.  Mr. Donnelly, Billy and Diane all sat at the table as he pulled out two large sample books with pictures of gravestones.  All business, Mr. Donnelly explained about the different types of headstones as if they were options on a new car.  Diane almost wished the baby would start crying so she could walk away.  Billy must have sensed her unease, for he reached across to her hand and grasped it in his.
	"Now, this one is very popular," Mr. Donnelly said, pointing to a white marble stone.  "Solid marble.  Small, yet upright so it won't get hidden in the snow in winter."
	"Bigger."  Billy said, barely looking at the picture.
	"Okay,"  Mr. Donnelly turned a couple of pages, "we have this one made from red granite."
	"Bigger.  The biggest you got."
	Mr. Donnelly's eyes moved from Billy to Diane and back again.  Diane was silent.  "Okay,"  he repeated, "we have this monument.  We can sculpt whatever figure you'd like in the top six feet, leaving a full four feet for name and date.  There's even a choice of stone on this one, priced accordingly."
	"Whatever's the best."
	"Excuse us, please,"  Diane pulled Billy to his feet and around the table, walking him to the living room.  "Billy, what are you doing?"
	"Picking a headstone for my father,"  he said.
	"That custom thing has to be $5000.  That's --" she stopped herself from saying "overkill", "too much."
	"He deserves the best."  
	Diane paused, choosing her words, "I'm not denying that he was very important to you and deserves a real memorial.  Look, I didn't say anything when you picked the most expensive casket this morning.  I didn't say anything when you bought him an Armani suit to be buried in.  But, Billy, this is going too far."  She paused again, stroked his face and put a hand on his shoulder, "I know you loved him very much.  But that doesn't mean you have to spend a king's ransom now.  Billy, are you listening to me?"
	His eyes weren't on hers.  They didn't seem to be focused on anything.  And they glistened.
	"Billy?"
	His voice cracked, "Do you know how long it's been since I've seen Dad?"
	Caught off guard, Diane shook her head.
	"Six months."  He replied.  She wasn't sure if he even saw her shake her head.  "Six months," he repeated.  "Almost seven.  And I just kind of forgot he was there."  He bit his bottom lip and took a deep, quivering breath.  "I shoulda...shoulda...."  Then the damn broke and he started to cry, standing in the middle of the living room.  "I shoulda been there."  His voice was thick and throaty.
	Diane pulled his head down to her shoulder.  "Oh, Billy," she whispered in his ear, "Billy, listen to me.  He didn't even know who you were last time.  He wouldn't have known you were there."  She felt him falling and held his arms, maneuvering him to the couch where he fell as if gravity had tripled.  He wrapped his arms around his wife, completely letting go.  "Let it out, Billy,"  she whispered, for once feeling in control.  She understood now what it had been that had been worrying her.  Guilt.  Billy had been feeling guilty for not visiting his aging father who was so far gone he didn't know his own name anymore.  And he'd been holding it all in, mixing and churning with his grief like the agitator in a washing machine.  His body heaved in her arms for awhile longer, then began to calm.  She rubbed his back soothingly, "It's all right."  After she sensed that he had begun gathering himself she lifted his head off of her shoulder and put his face in her hands.  "Billy, I'm sure your father understands that you had responsibilities.  You have a wife, and a daughter to take care of.  And a very important job.  Now I may not have known him as well as you did, but I am sure of that."
	The signs of his crying were disappearing slowly.  "You  --"  he gulped, "you go pick one."  
	She understood that he wanted Mr. Connelly to leave.  He obviously wasn't up to it right now, so he'd asked her to take care of this bit of business.  She rose, placed one reassuring hand on his shoulder, then went back into the kitchen.
	If Mr. Connelly had heard any of their exchange, he didn't show it.  He was exactly as they had left him.  She took a seat and flipped through his book of pictures, pointing to the first one that caught her eye as being sufficiently large but not ostentatious.  She waited quietly while he wrote out the order, then politely showed him to the door.
	She closed the door and leaned against it.  Billy had still sat on the couch in that awkward position, leaning sideways as if she were still there to support him.  He didn't move as she carefully wedged herself back into position next to him.  After a moment, he sighed heavily.  "He's dead.  He's really dead."
	"Yes, Billy.  It's over."  She told him.  
	"I'm going to bury my Dad tomorrow," Billy said.
	"Yes, Billy."
	His head fell onto her shoulder again.  And he sighed.	


	Fifteen minutes after leaving the parking garage, Jeffrey and Aaron were approaching the dealership.  They could see a police car still parked near the showroom.  "There they are," Jeffrey said.  Quietly, Aaron pulled the car in and parked as close to the police car as he could. 
	As Jeffrey started to get out of the car, Aaron pulled him back, "You can't just go running in there, Jeffrey."
	"How 'bout I go walking in?"  Jeffrey asked.
	Aaron's eyes searched his friend's face for a minute, but he let go.  "Be careful."
	Jeffrey got out of the car and approached the showroom, casually looking at the cars as he walked.  Aaron watched the door swallow him up.
	Inside, Jeffrey scanned the showroom.  The fat salesman wasn't in sight, nor were the policemen.  A different salesman, a smart-looking African-American, came up to Jeffrey, "Can I help you, sir?"
	Without even looking at him, Jeffrey replied, "Just browsing.  Thanks."  He continued to wend his way among the cars as he worked himself closer to the offices.  He'd have to wait until the officers came out.  There was no way of knowing which office they were in.  So he concentrated on the closest car, kicking tires and peering at the sticker.  He even glanced out at Aaron once, to find him waiting, impatient and nervous, in his car.
	After a few moments, the door to the rear offices opened and two police officers stepped out.  They recognized Jeffrey immediately.  "Mr. Geiger, what are you doing here?"
	"What happened in there?"  Jeffrey asked.
	One of the officers took Jeffrey's arm.  "Sir, we can't discuss this in here.  Come this way."  They guided Jeffrey outside to their car, but didn't make him get in.  They casually leaned against the hood.  "All right.  We saw the salesman that matched your description.  He said he was here that entire day and he had witnesses to prove it."
	"Look, officer," Jeffrey said, "you need to check his cash.  On him, in the register, where ever he keeps it.  On each hundred dollar bill, I wrote the name 'Laurie' in the corner."
	The officers exchanged a glance, first with each other then with Jeffrey.  "That your friend over there?"  the tallest one asked, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.  Jeffrey nodded.  "Go wait in that car.  Lock the doors."  Jeffrey nodded again and returned to Aaron's car.
	He climbed in and did as the officer instructed.  The two of them both watched the officers re-enter the showroom.  Through the windows, they could see them walk immediately to the back offices.  Then they waited.  And waited.   Jeffrey leaned his head back against the headrest.  Aaron glanced at him, but resisted the urge to take his pulse.  He was thankful when Jeffrey closed his eyes and rested.
	After what seemed like a long time, Aaron gently nudged his friend awake.  The officers were coming out, with the salesman between them, his hands cuffed behind his back.  After securing him in the back seat of the black and white, one officer walked over to the passenger side of Aaron's car.  Jeffrey rolled down his window.  "Thank you, officer."
	The officer held up a small plastic bag containing two hundred dollar bills.  "We found these in his shirt pocket.  Can you identify your mark?"
	Jeffrey manipulated the bills inside the bag to reveal the top left corner of the bills.  "Right there.  Just like I said."  He handed the bag back.
	The officer smiled, "We'll let you know the court date."  He leaned down to really peer at Jeffrey, "In the meantime," and he addressed Aaron, "take your friend back to the hospital."
	Jeffrey needed help once he got out of the car back at the parking garage.  Aaron supported him into the building, then found a wheelchair and rolled him back to his room.  By the time Aaron got him to the bed, Jeffrey was asleep.  
	Aaron returned to his chair as well, nearly as tired.  
	After a few minutes, the door opened and Philip Watters walked into the room.  He saw Jeffrey sleeping and moved quietly to his chair.  "Sleeping again?"  he whispered.  


	The weather was far too good for a funeral, Diane thought.  In movies, it was always raining or storming, or at least threatening to.  But today the sun was shining in a cloudless sky, the air was temperate and humidity was low.  Billy and she dressed quietly, then she put Emily in her best dress and fancy shoes.  Emily didn't like her best dress and fancy shoes.  
	They also drove to the church quietly.  Diane went through four tissues, but Billy simply squeezed her hand.  Not a tear escaped his eyes today.  Attendance was small.  Philip, Aaron, Wilkes, Hancock, even Kate had come from Chicago Hope.  She idly wondered who was running the hospital.  The service was short, the priest was irritating, and the air was stifling.  Diane was thankful when she stepped out of the church and felt the summer breeze.  
	The cemetary wasn't very different except that the air was not stifling.  She held Billy's hand with one of hers, cradled Emily with the other.  They just sat there, even after the ceremony was over.  After the others had said their polite goodbyes and driven away.  They both looked at the fancy casket held aloft over the open ground by a platform.  Then Billy pried his hand apart from Diane's and stood up.  He walked to the casket, while Diane watched from her chair.  He put one hand on top of the casket, placing it flat between the flowers still draped there.  "Bye, Dad," he said.  "I love you."


THE END