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S&P: Your Papa's a Pig

By: Captain Midnight



A sequel to the story "To Serve and Protect: Back to School" by Linda_s©

Based on the series of stories by patricia51 and Linda_s ©

Although this story is non-erotic, it is definitely not kid stuff. Or maybe it is, if you have teenagers at home and worry about what happens at school. In either case, I hope it's a cautionary tale and a study of characters I admire very much – not to mention their authors, who are among the best women I know.

You'll notice there are many characters I invented for this story (including one who's just a mention in Linda's story; I developed his personality on my own). If you like them, let me know and please also tell Patricia and Linda. 

Patricia is wonderful at writing simple erotica (Linda hasn't tried so far, and neither have I if you don't count my first story). But when she and Linda write these stories, they turn into a whole lot more. They appear to be a lot more personal and human than a lot of bestselling novels (although that may be unfair to the novels, since I haven't read most of them). Sure, the stories are arousing when they're intended to be. But they ALWAYS draw you into the lives of the characters and make them real people (which some of them are). I've told Patricia and Linda that the real reason I wanted to write for S&P is that I wanted to do the best I could. Their "job" was to give me a mark to aim for. I always feel like I am writing for them first and for the rest of you after they've approved. If you approve too, thank them. 

All the best,

Captain Midnight

* * * * *

"Senioritis," according to one high school newspaper, is characterized by laziness, uncertainty about the future, stocking up on Cliff's Notes, and other things associated with finally getting the hell out of public school. 

To look at Carol Gibson, she displayed all of those qualities. As a matter of fact, when she pulled the covers off her head this morning, she was the subject of a joke pulled by her mother Patricia and her younger sister Stephanie. A Dr. Seuss book, entitled I am NOT Going to Get Up Today!, fell off the headboard of her bed and conked Carol on the noggin. It wasn't a heavy book and it didn't hurt much. 

Carol allowed herself to smile while quickly thumbing through the book, full of Seussian rhymes and whimsy about the boy who would not get up for any reason. It was one of the good Doctor's last books, the one he wrote (but didn't illustrate) while preparing Oh, The Places You'll Go! Unlike everything else he wrote in his last 20 years, this book was strictly for fun. Carol had never read it, but with the "Seusscentennial" of his 100th birthday, everything was back in print. The message was clear – Carol needed a whimsical reminder that senioritis was no license to be lazy or indifferent about school.

But Carol wasn't suffering from senioritis.

Two nights ago, she had accessed the family computer. She had read, and almost immediately deleted, a chain E-mail. But she had printed out a copy and kept it in her notebook. The main message was innocuous, but there was an attachment. In its entirety, the attachment read:

Your Papa's a pig,
Your Mama's a sow,
But you must be a mutant,
Since you'd FUCK a cow!

That message had winged its way to a list of E-addresses at least four inches long, consisting of every person Carol knew and quite a few she didn't. She had studied the message all that night and the next. She didn't think she had had three hours sleep over the two nights combined, finally dropping off out of sheer exhaustion.

Mom – Patricia Gibson, technically Carol's stepmother but Mom nonetheless - didn't know about this. Six months pregnant, working as an investigator on child-abuse cases and seeing more horror in the last few months than most cops see in a lifetime, it was the last thing she needed. 

Stephanie, a sophomore at the same school, didn't know either. Stephanie, a warm and sunny young lady by nature, would have totally flipped out had she known of her sister's harassment. Carol thought of telling Dad, SWAT Lieutenant Mike Gibson, but she knew he wouldn't know how to react. 

That just left Aunt Linda and maybe "Cousin" Sue Adams – Carol had bestowed the name on Linda's lover and roommate without telling her. But Aunt Linda would have reacted even more strongly than Stephanie. Carol had fantasized about Linda charging into the school and grabbing every student by the throat until she found the perpetrator of the message. 

Linda wasn't really like that, Carol knew, but she had so much going on in her life, with a rumored promotion to Captain about to become a reality and her life with Sue still a work in progress. Carol had thought of talking to Sue, but she had returned to the Narcotics task force after the bust and was unreachable except through Linda.

The worst part was that the message had been through many hands before reading Carol. Someone had originated the message from an untraceable address and forwarded it on. Many of the people who forwarded it had done so without looking at the attachment. But, Carol knew, some of them had looked.

Carol was a straight-A student, never needing encouragement to study. But this day she could barely retain the information needed for an important test. She kept looking around the classroom, wondering who had read the E-mail and who had sent it. When she turned in her paper, she knew she had missed at least a third of the questions and had had to struggle with half the remaining ones. It didn't help that, all through the test, at least one pair of eyes had been fixed on her. Carol didn't look back.

So it was a surprise when two women, one a student and the other in her late twenties, approached Carol at her locker after class. Carol barely knew them. But the student started making hand motions as the older woman watched. Then it came back to her. 

The student was Samantha Black, a deaf girl who had recently transferred into the school. The woman was Elaine Renfro, an interpreter who worked for the school district and accompanied Samantha everywhere, translating spoken words into sign language to and from Samantha. 

"Are you all right, Carol?" Samantha asked, spelling out Carol's name. Carol thought quickly, trying to discern whether or not Samantha had read the E-message. She must have mouthed the words, because Samantha immediately started signing again.

"What message?" Elaine said. "I'm a very good lip reader. Did you get some kind of hate mail? These damned school cliques. They will dump on anybody."

"It wasn't a clique," Carol managed to get out. Elaine quickly signed to Samantha. Samantha stepped to one side, drawing Elaine with her. They had an animated sign conversation before turning back.

"Carol," Samantha signed. "I know this is private business. I'll butt out if you want me to. But I know what it's like being harassed. Believe me. If you want to talk about it, please ask." Elaine conveyed the words.

"I'll... I'll keep that in mind," Carol managed to get out. She excused herself and hurried to the next class, her mind whirling. Samantha seemed sincere, but... my God, who can I trust?, she thought as the rest of the day went by in a blur.

The next message came through three days later. This time it was much more cunning. A regular message from a friend, containing a hyperlink. Carol almost never opened hyperlinks, but the friend was known for sending animated greetings and funny downloads. She double-clicked on the link...

Stephanie, in her room; Pat, in the living room watching a TV sitcom; and Mike, doing the supper dishes at the sink, all heard the scream simultaneously. Pat was closest, but she had trouble getting off the sofa and it took her over a minute to get to the den. 

What Pat, Stephanie and Mike saw was Carol on her knees under the computer desk. She had ripped the computer mouse clear out of the tower and was frantically trying to repair it. She finally did so, scrolled up to a way to delete the image – and was stopped by her father's strong hands. 

Because on the screen, in living color, was Carol Gibson in the flesh. Literally. Totally nude and spreading her thighs. She had two male sex organs in her two hands and appeared ready to impale herself on a third one. Her face was turned. 

She was sucking the penis of a very aroused donkey.

"Call the Sheriff's Department," Mike said.

"No! Please, Daddy, let me get rid of this! I swear it isn't me! I swear, I swear..."

"Call the Sheriff's Department," Mike said.

* * * * *

The knock on the door came about 20 minutes later. A fresh-faced young man in a patrol officer's uniform was on the outside.

"Mr. Gibson? I'm Patrol Officer Josh Crane. You reported harassment?"

"Actually, I reported it," said Patricia, walking up beside her husband. "And it's Lieutenant and Sergeant Gibson. We're both with the Sheriff's Department. So are you, I understand."

"Oh, yes, sir! Yes, ma'am! Were you the victims of the harassment?"

"Actually, my daughter was. You'd better come in and look at it," said Mike gruffly. "We haven't touched anything. I hope you have a good note pad handy."

Carol was curled up on a chair in the den, weeping her eyes out. Stephanie was beside her. Stephanie looked at Crane like she wanted to kill him just for being alive and male at that point. The screen image did freeze Crane in his tracks for a moment. Then he marched up to the computer, sat down, and wrote down the URL from the screen. He stood again and addressed Carol.

"Miss Gibson, how did you come across this... site?"

Carol barely got it out, but Officer Crane had a sympathetic manner and he sounded like he knew something. "I was opening an E-mail from Cathy... she's a friend from way back. She sends hyperlinks in her messages. Little joke sites, or useless-information sites."

"Would she have any reason to send you this particular link?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Carol almost screamed it.

Crane looked at Carol for a long moment, and then said: "You've been harassed before, haven't you." A statement, not a question.

"Yes. An insult three days ago. Copied to God knows how many people by now."

"I'll need to see it. Lieutenant, Sergeant, do you own this computer yourselves?" Upon receiving an affirmative, Crane continued: "With your permission, I'd like to look at the site. Our computer experts may be able to find ways to identify the... person who designed it. Miss Gibson," this to Carol, "I know I will be accessing your private accounts. You may refuse permission to me at any time."

"Officer Crane, I'm a detective," Pat told him. "I keep a stack of consent forms in my desk. It will save a great deal of trouble later on if we all sign them." Crane said thank you as politely as he could, silently cursing himself for not thinking of the consent form on his own. 

Stephanie left the room with her mother. The people still in the room heard the following discussion rather vividly:

"Stephanie," Pat said, "The law says you are too young to look at stuff like this. The law says your dad and I can forbid you from looking at it. I want you to go to your and Carol's room and wait until the officer leaves."

"Mom, please don't start a fight. One, I saw it when we came running into the room. Two, the kids at school access porn on the Internet all the time. Just because I refuse to do it doesn't mean that I haven't heard about wild sex online. Some of the couples there imitate what they've seen, and then tell all their buddies about it. Girls know about these things, Mom!"

"But you shouldn't have to see this stuff just because we have to, Stephanie. Now go upstairs!"

"Mom, that's just why I have to see it. We are all in this together. What if I'm the star of a sex site next?"

"You're overdramatizing."

"Mom, the only girl I love more than you is Carol. She's been my best friend and protector whenever you or Aunt Linda or Mama Lori weren't around. These last six months, she's kept me from worrying about you on the new assignment and with the baby. You know she's a good woman. I know she's even better than that. It's time for me to stand up for her."

"Stephanie, it's legally and morally wrong for me to give you permission to see a porno site."

"Mom, I understand that. But you can't stop her from telling me what's on there, and she will. She can't even go to you or Dad with how she feels about this."

"She knows."

"I know we saw her reaction. But if we work together, we can find out who did this. You might as well let me find out how the site was put together so my computer class can help track the source."

"Stephanie..." Pat was running out of arguments.

"At least let me stay with her. You can talk to that patrolman and give him the information. I can comfort her and free you up."

A long sigh from Pat. "You go into the kitchen and sit with Carol while the Officer and Dad and I work on it. He'll call Carol in and ask her some questions. You let her go."

"Deal, Mom."

Officer Crane sat down and started noting all the sites. Whenever Carol came into the room, she sat in Mike's easy chair and curled up in a ball. Stephanie kept her promise and didn't follow, but she didn't have to – she could see the monitor from an angle and could hear the discussions between her parents, her sister and Officer Crane about what links were on the site. 

There were a lot of them: a pseudo-biography of Carol, some legitimate photos of her as a kid and at thirteen, and doctored pictures of Carol engaging in every sex act known to humankind. There were links to lesbian, lactation, amateur and even – Mike and Pat shuddered as Crane opened them – child-pornography sites. 

Crane remained professional, but his hand was shaking by the time he wrote down the last link on his fifth sheet of notebook paper and returned to the original message.

"Sergeant Gibson?" Crane inquired of Patricia, who had sat down with her head in her hands. Pat looked up. "I'd like to copy this message to a diskette and take it to Headquarters. Probably you or your C.O. will take it from there."

Stephanie strode into the room, an anger in her eyes that her parents had never seen. "Is that ALL, Officer? Just a clinical put-this-through-channels thing? Did you get horny seeing those pictures? Are you going to pass them on to –". Pat would have been cut her off, but Crane was a split second faster.

"Miss Gibson – I'm not an investigator. But I do know computers. I mean, I really know computers. Whoever created this site took a lot of time to work on it and spent a lot of money, and I mean tens of thousands of dollars. All to make your sister look as bad as the worst pervert in a maximum-security lockup.

"There are ways to tell if a picture has been doctored." Crane summoned the Lieutenant and Sergeant to the monitor. "Take this lead picture, for example, and enlarge it." With some clicks of the mouse, he did so. 

"Notice this straight flesh-colored line here? Your daughter was straddling something. From other clues in the picture, I'd say it's a bench in a locker room. The straight line is the line of the bench pressing against her hips and thighs. It's been edited out. 

"Or, in the same photo –" click – "where her head is turned and her mouth open, like she's performing a sex act on the donkey? That's not a sucking position; she's looking over her shoulder and talking to somebody. Someone accessed a bestiality site and took a real photo of the donkey, then erased the person doing that to him. The donkey's sex organ is sheared off where it entered the mouth of the real person, and the photo of Miss Gibson didn't quite compensate."

Click. "These are her hands. In the main picture, they look like she's gripping male sex organs. In this blowup, you can tell she's holding things between her fingers. Probably her gym clothes. Somebody probably took this picture while she was changing and looking away."

Click. "This one, where she's bent over. That's the old trick of dropping soap in the shower and having your victim bend over to pick it up." Click. "This is her right hand. You can tell it's braced against something, likely the wall of the shower." Click. "Look at her left hand, holding a man's sex organ and guiding it to –" He let that one hang. "The fingers are different in color and in shape. And look at the position of the elbow. If she was reaching backward and upward, to touch herself there, the elbow angle would be much sharper. At this elbow angle, her forearm would have to be a yard long to get her hand to that position."

Carol and Stephanie pushed their way to the monitor. Carol spoke. "So - you're convinced those photos are fakes?"

Crane sighed. "Looks like somebody took real pictures of you in the locker room, using a digital camera. I don't know how, maybe you can tell me if you noticed anything unusual. Then that somebody searched the Web until she or her found these pornographic pictures, downloaded them, and composed new pictures with digital technology. That's why digital cameras are forbidden at concerts these days – people take pictures of singers and sell them to the tabloids after working them over to make the stars look too fat or too thin or pregnant or on drugs. Or all of the above. Every supermarket shopper in America has seen at least 20 doctored photos, and none of them could tell you which were which."

Click. "These other pictures... can you identify them? Have you scanned old family photos onto your hard drive?" There were pictures of Carol as a child at play, but there were also pictures of Carol lying around nude or eating what had actually been a carrot or picking flowers in the garden – and those had been altered as well.

"Yes," Carol said. "The little-girl pictures – my first mom, the one who gave birth to me, took them. She kept them in a scrapbook when she was dying of cancer. The others – a lot of them are with Aunt Linda. She's a family friend, she helped raise me until my dad and my mom got married, and we're all still close. She's a Lieutenant on the Narcotics Task Force."

Oh, my God, thought the senior Gibsons. Linda had had affairs – as close to love affairs as you could get – with both of them. Nobody had ever photographed Linda, Mike or Patricia having sex, and neither Pat nor Mike had told the girls about the affairs. But they knew that the girls knew. And with that kind of digital technology available, any of them could be presented as the Whores of Babylon. 

Crane was thinking along other lines. He had been a finalist for the Narcotics Task Force, with Lieutenant Shannon choosing Officer Adams instead. Since the Lieutenant and the Officer hadn't known each other, barring a nasty encounter at graduation (Crane had witnessed it), their subsequent affair had had nothing to do with Adams being picked over Crane – although Crane had been sweet on Adams. 

The rumor mill had ground quite a bit, talking about the triangle of sentiment among the man and the women, but it had quieted as affairs sorted themselves out. Crane also knew a lot about the threesome's reputation for law enforcement. This factored heavily into Crane's next utterance.

"Lieutenant" - this to Mike – "as much money went into doctoring those photographs and inserting those links, it pales beside how much it cost to pay someone to hack your system. Have you had any visitors to the house lately who could have gotten a look at the computer and reported it? A really sophisticated hacker wouldn't need much, just a domain name."

Carol winced. "My boyfriend has been here. So has Aunt Linda – Lieutenant Shannon – and Officer Sue Adams, who works for her. I don't know anyone else."


S&P: Your Papa's a Pig



Crane thought for a minute. "Miss Gibson, you probably should go to Lieutenant Shannon and tell her about this, if your parents don't do it first. The hacker might have gotten to you through her or Officer Adams."

Josh turned back to Mike. "Lieutenant, I'd like you to sign a consent form for us to pick up the computer and take it in. I don't know anybody without a computer science degree who could have breached your system the way this one did. That means the list of possible hackers may be very short. I have some college buddies who can tell me more about the electronic footprints the Web designer left. If we can find him or her, we may be able to trace the hacker."

"Do whatever it takes," Mike said.

Crane nodded, and then went over to Carol and Stephanie. "Miss Gibson. I don't know what laws this hacker has broken, but it's clear this is an act of sheer malice. This person – or, more likely, these people - may strike at you again. I know I'm just the officer on scene, but if there is any way I can help, please contact me through your parents. 

"And, Miss Gibson –" this to Stephanie – "I understand what you said to me and I know you don't know me. You have every right to suspect everybody – your sister already does. But please, Miss Gibson, don't let your feelings control you. I saw some pretty bad things in high school myself. I saw my friends get victimized by vicious rumors. One of my friends is in his grave – he hung himself in his own closet after rumors spread about his sexuality. 

"I don't want to go to any more student funerals. So keep watch on your sister and let her talk to you, and don't judge the people around you. My friend had a younger sister too, and it affected her so much she's been in rehab for six years. 

"Good night, sir, ma'am. I'll put this in my report and you should hear something from the powers that be as soon as possible. Sooner if I can get this to the right people."

When Crane put the diskette and other information in a zippered sandwich bag, courtesy of Patricia, and stepped outside the door, his shadow remained on the window. The family heard him slowly tear a blank page out of his notebook, crumple it in his fist as tightly as he could, drop it to the concrete and methodically grind it under his heel.

* * * * *

The next big thing occurred three days later. 

After the drug bust at the high school, which left student Zach Williams dead (with Officer Sue Adams' bullet in his ribs and his own bullet in his head) and Lieutenant Linda Shannon seriously wounded by Zach's first bullet, the school board had coughed up the money to install metal detectors at every entrance. They became fully operational that morning. 

If a student walked through a metal detector and triggered it, a high-pitched noise sounded. Security guards escorted the student to a holding area and went through backpacks, pockets, shoes and anything else they could use for smuggling. 

This led to long lines and lots of complaining, since the students had to go through the detectors one by one. 

On this day, Carol and Stephanie arrived together and stood in line a few students behind Samantha Black. She went through the detector and...

Carol, having only recently met Samantha, didn't know if she could talk. But she could certainly scream. The scream was so loud and terrifying that one student behind Carol and Stephanie simply dropped his backpack, spun, shoved his way through the students behind him and bolted, running straight to his car, getting in and burning rubber out of the lot. The school police had to chase him for nearly a half mile. 

Screaming wasn't the only thing Samantha did. She clutched at her ears, pivoted this way and that, and finally fell to the ground, writhing. She vomited (fortunately, she hadn't eaten breakfast yet), she turned sickly white, and sweat poured down her face. Stephanie instinctively rushed through the metal detector to get to Samantha. Huge mistake. Stephanie set off the detector and the screaming started up again.

Elaine Renfro, who had been in the main office complex, raced down the hallway like a linebacker at full throttle. When she got to the officers running the metal detector, she used some words of description which were strange even to Carol's ears. With the obscenities edited out, the gist of what she was saying read:

"You _____! You _______! Turn that ________ thing off RIGHT NOW!!! Get the ________ nurse this instant! Have her bring water and the strongest ______ analgesic she can find, and ______it, get her something for nausea! You ______ _______, why didn't you _______ TELL me about those sounds! She has severe brain damage, you ______! She's got metal plates in her _____ skull. If they ______ vibrate at a high enough pitch, it goes straight to her cochlea. My _____ God, haven't you ever HEARD a ________ dog whistle? Those ______ _______ vibrations are like applying a ______red-hot poker to her cochlear nerve! ______ you, you ___________! I could kick you in the ________ ________ and it wouldn't hurt HALF as much! You want me to _________ demonstrate?"

All this came out in one long exhalation and was said in about half the time most people could say it in normal conversation – seven-syllable curse words and all. Then Elaine spun around, sat on the floor and took Samantha's head in her lap. Stephanie, gasping for breath and crying surrogate tears over Samantha's suffering, had retreated to a doorway. Carol stood transfixed with a gaggle of students around her.

Using sign language and the spoken word simultaneously, Elaine conveyed consolations and comfort to Samantha. Fortunately, the school nurse had a good deal of experience in trauma cases – she had worked with Dr. Sandy Kendall, who had gotten the bullet out of Linda with minimal side effects – and knew what to do in cases of extreme pain. Twenty minutes later Samantha was able to walk, shakily, to the nurse's office and lie down, while Elaine filled out a report. 

During the next passing period, Carol went to the nurse's office and conversed with Samantha through Elaine, apologizing for what Stephanie had done and going into considerable detail about Aunt Linda's injury and how she, Carol, had always felt responsible. She spent the next class period – unexcused absence be damned – holding Samantha's hand as the young lady gradually relaxed. 

When Samantha drifted off to sleep, Elaine took Carol aside and expressed her thanks. So did the nurse, who had contributed stories about her former boss. From that point, the metal detectors were turned on and off, and students – Samantha excluded – were checked at random.

And that random checking would be something Carol would live to regret.

* * * * *

The switch was off on Friday when Carol came in. She tossed her backpack in the locker, pulled out a couple of textbooks, and didn't return for three hours. All in all, she thought as she pressed the numbers for the combination, today had been pretty good. The locker door swung open...

A plastic bag fell from the top of the locker and hit Carol in the chest. Instinctively she grabbed it before it could fall to the floor. Then she looked down at the bag, dropped it, and grabbed the locker door handle. But by then the flood had started. Vials of pills, and more plastic bags filled with ominous-looking white and sick-yellow powder cascaded out. 

Carol let go of the locker handle. She backed up three steps. And she stayed where she stood until the campus police came up to her, handcuffed her and led her away.

* * * * *

Anyone who has watched Hawaii Five-O has felt a chill run down the spine upon hearing the words "Book 'im, Danno." To this day, you can find that phrase (along with recordings of the theme song) as an audio link on a dozen Five-O Websites. 

Actually, the phrase was far from all-pervasive – it was uttered on perhaps maybe one episode in three; most other times, the villain was dead or the action shifted to other characters. But it's indicative that on at least two shows, when the chief villain was killed and his accomplice taken into custody, Steve McGarrett stared at the corpse and said: "Maybe he was the lucky one." Then, "Book 'im, Danno, murder one, two counts." Freeze frame. End of show.

Actually being booked is much more complicated, and far more mundane. The arresting officer escorts the suspect to a desk sergeant who fills out lots of paperwork, makes sure the suspect has been read his or her rights and reads them again if necessary, takes the suspect's personal belongings and tags them, escorts the suspect to the fingerprint room and the photograph room, and passes the suspect along to the guards of a holding cell. 

When the suspect makes his or her famed phone call, the desk sergeant provides the phone. The desk sergeant isn't supposed to listen in, but it's almost impossible not to. Thus, the Jackson County Sheriff's Office desk sergeant knew in advance that his old training partner would be around very shortly. Instead of taking Carol Gibson back to the holding cell, he simply escorted her to an interrogation room and stood by the door. He quietly vanished as the partner entered.

"Aunt Linda..." Carol's voice trailed off.

"Carol, I know all about it. The sergeant and I go way back, long before I met your dad. He told me everything about this – and about what happened before."

"Aunt Linda, I don't want to be beaten up at best, raped or blinded at worst. The prostitutes and shoplifters are going to think I'm the scum of the earth for this. Can you get me some kind of protective custody or something?"

"Your dad's working on that now, Carol." Linda paused and bit her lip. "Carol. Why didn't you tell me? Was it because of me and Sue? Was it because I'm so close to you? I'm not as tough as I look, but I am as professional as I look."

"Oh, Aunt Linda!" Carol burst into tears. "It's all that and so much more. If I hadn't come to you that day with those pills, you wouldn't have gotten shot and that boy wouldn't have been killed."

"I could regret getting shot, and I'm sorry Zach killed himself, but you remember how I met Sue for the first time. I would never have learned what a real person Sue is, and you'll know what that means when you fall in love. And I wouldn't have broken up the drug ring which could have created hundreds of addicts. 

"You did exactly the right thing. Both then and today. Only an innocent person with nothing to hide would have stood there, not trying to hide the drugs and not getting her fingerprints on the bags and vials. 

"Carol, I'm not your mom and I'm not your lover, but I believe in you as much as I believe in Sue or your mom or your dad. This is not going to destroy you. I'm not a religious person, but I swear unto God that I will prove you innocent and catch whoever did this."

Carol's tears, which had started two paragraphs earlier, had slowly dried, but it was still an effort to speak. "Aunt Linda, I've wanted to be a cop ever since I met you. If I can't be a cop, I don't know what I will do."

"Carol, I wanted to be a lot of things. A ballet dancer, a Marine, a wife, a mom, a best friend. Most of those didn't work out, but I'll be your best friend. All I ask is that you be mine for now."

Carol held up her hand and closed all of the fingers except the little one. "You ever hear of a pinkie promise?"

Linda smiled, closed her hand and wrapped her pinkie around that of Carol. "Pinkie promise. Sue taught it to me. Hold up your other hand and I'll give you a surrogate pinkie promise from her as well."

Carol did.

* * * * *

The next ten days were a whirlwind of activity. Pat's obstetrician took one look at her drawn face and ordered her to go into a hospital. It would be much later that she learned of Stephanie's ten-day suspension. 

Frankie Harmon, a guy Stephanie had a crush on, happened to utter, "So what's it like, being the sister of a big time drug"- and that's all he got out before the punch landed. As far as anyone knew, Stephanie had never hit a person except in play. She certainly made up for it. 

The young man's cheekbone, nose and ego went out with a crack. If Stephanie's real friends hadn't grabbed her arms immediately thereafter, the guy would have walked with a horrible lurch, and would have had an artificial face, for the rest of his life. 

Stephanie was spared an aggravated-assault charge only because of intense lobbying by Mike to the boy's parents. And even then they had their own reasons for losing faith in their own son.

Carol's boyfriend broke up with her. It wasn't necessarily the drug charges, though those factored in. He had been pushing her for sex for a long time. Carol had fended off his advances with humor and doing fun things with him, but the fun had all stopped when Carol went into her senioritis days. The boyfriend wasn't yet at the point where he could handle Carol's mood swings, and he had provoked several arguments. 

To be fair to him, he hadn't called her any names. But he wanted someone else, maybe someone as smart and caring as Carol, but he would nonetheless take anyone who would show him a good time in bed. He seemed destined to go through about a dozen girlfriends in his college years.

The Sheriff's Department had passed the hat for Carol's bail money. The District Attorney must have known that, because he asked the judge to set a sum usually reserved for murderers with Lear jets at their disposal. Only when the judge threatened the D.A. with contempt of court did he back off. But he announced he would seek stacked prison sentences which would keep Carol behind bars until her parents died of old age. 

The judge then recused himself from the case and offered to meet the D.A. in a back alley. When that offer was refused, the judge reinstated himself, ordered a new bond hearing and allowed Carol to go for a relatively modest sum – albeit one which would have paid for much of her first year at college.

The charges of "conflict of interest," which could endanger Linda's promotion, were not taken lightly, but Linda let them go. She took a leave of absence and worked independently, while Sue stuck to her regular duties and did the housework. 

After the third day, Linda and Sue moved into the Gibson house, with Sue sleeping on the couch and Linda taking a rollaway bed in Carol and Stephanie's room. Nobody made love to anybody else during this time, but Carol and Sue became extremely close friends.

Linda stopped off at the county lockup one day, and requested permission to see a certain Marie Ault. A large woman in her late forties, Marie had been in and out of county lockups for the last thirty years, usually on drug charges. 

Linda had just taken down Marie with an Aikido hold when a panicky Zach Thurston came onto the scene and instinctively pulled his gun. Ten seconds later, he had panicked even worse when Linda made a sudden move to shield two female students who had walked onto the scene. 

Marie had watched all this from a handcuffed position against a patrol car. So, Marie was even less friendly than usual when Linda met her in the interrogation room, especially since Linda was dressed in civilian clothes. Marie greeted Linda by using various synonyms for "woman," none of them complimentary, in her first few sentences. 

She stopped, puzzled, at Linda's lack of reaction. In fact, Linda leaned back in her own chair and – though she didn't smoke – basically acted like she was lighting up a cigarette.

"And a happy Mother's Day to you too, Marie," Linda said. The shot hit home. Marie, during a sober period, had conceived a son who was now twelve years old and very smart. 

"The word is that you're still running that drug ring via pay phone from right here in the lockup. Of course, we can't listen in on your calls, so I don't know. Seems unlikely, though – the people we bust have reported a profound drug shortage in the various 'houses' we frequent. Some of them beg us to keep them in custody so they can get chemical fixes." 

Linda leaned forward. "And you know something else? From the evidence we have so far, the D.A. is very unlikely to secure an indictment against you for that last bust."

It sounded extremely suspicious to Marie. She was used to plea bargaining rather than getting off outright. "How come?"

"We confiscated some drugs all right, when we were cuffing you and your associates. But we were expecting to pick up a lot more – tens of thousands of dollars worth. And you know what? We figured there'd be Ben Franklins and General Grants and President Jacksons all over the place. We didn't find more than three or four hundred dollars. Not in your bank account and not in your house. Misdemeanor drug possession, a few bucks on the side. We couldn't prove that was drug money even if we wanted to."

"That wasn't drug money."

"You want me to think you're lying. I know better. That's why you're doing time for forgery. You did that to get money for Patrick's summer camp... right?" Marie shot an indignant look of denial. Linda feigned smoking a cigarette. 

"Whatever. Marie, you're practically a welfare mom and I know you never dip into the cash you pay to your suppliers. You've always been very good about that. But isn't it funny how that charge, that one little charge, was the only one that stuck? If we can't find additional drug evidence on you in the next day or two, your jail time will be up and you'll be on probation, as free as you get. Bet the boys in [a really bad neighborhood] will be mighty happy to see you." 

"Lieutenant" – it sounded like an obscenity – "I can talk to you because you're naked as a (blank) jaybird. There was at least fifty grand of shit in that last supply and about a hundred grand in cash. If you stole it –"

"Then I would be in jail with you – for about a day. But the thing is, some other cops found some of the money and most of the drugs in my niece's locker. I could have sold her down the river, but I wouldn't have had any reason to – would I?"

"You bitches are capable of anything."

"We certainly are – we're women, aren't we? But I didn't know where those drugs were when we busted you. And I still don't know where most of the money is."

Marie stared at Linda. Linda let her stare. Then Marie let out a final choice word of description, followed by, "You know what? I believe you."

"I'm glad you do. The District Attorney sure as hell doesn't. He's going to take Carol Gibson down and he'd love to take me, her parents, my undercover operative and any other dirty cops with her. I wouldn't say he'll put you in for the county's thanks, but..."

"HOLD IT, LIEUTENANT!"

"Marie, you've been ripped off. I don't know by whom and neither do your suppliers. You can try to tell them, but..." Linda let this part hang. "You've been away from your turf too long, Marie. Somebody is using all that shit – and all that money – for his or her own purposes. I have an idea why, and it has nothing to do with 'supplying the needs of the students.' It's called a vendetta, and whoever has it doesn't care how many people get hurt. Or worse." 

Again, Linda let this part hang. "Who do you know who is psycho enough to break every rule in your drug dealer's code of conduct?"

"Lieutenant. If I become a jailhouse rat, there's no difference and you know it."

"I know, Marie. That's why this is an unofficial visit. We can have you and Patrick in the Federal Witness Protection Program as quick as –." Linda snapped her fingers. "You're a real piece of work, but so far he's a good kid. Be nice to have him grow up in a safe environment and indulge his taste for rocket science."

"Lieutenant – maybe I can tell you who you didn't catch. And some of them are pure cop haters, that's no secret. But between you and me, they don't have the brains to frame people for possession or post Website information or all that crap. Yes, I heard all about what happened to Carol before that. Some of the stuff she went through even made me sick."




S&P: Your Papa's a Pig



"There's only so much you can do, Marie. Talk to me or to someone official, cover yourself and let me and Officer Adams and the Gibsons deal with the rest."

Marie sighed. "Okay. I'll tell you and you can tell whoever you like. But get me the hell out of here before you start arresting people. And make DAMN sure someone keeps an eye on Patrick at all times."

"Marie... I've never told anyone this, but I'm a mom too. You have my word, mother to mother. I hope my kids are as smart and nice as Patrick is. You keep that secret or all bets are off."

Marie pondered for a long time. "Shit. A narc who's a real human being. Okay, you have a deal, all of it."

Linda leaned very close to Marie. "You can talk to me or to an official detective. Your choice. But anything you say can and will be used in a court of law – the court that's trying Carol. And if you stop talking, you start walking."

"You may be human, Lieutenant – but you're still a bitch."

"Thank you, Marie."

* * * * *

The following night, Linda sat in conference with Sue, Carol and Stephanie. Mike wasn't home – he was at the hospital with Pat, despite fervent pleas from his daughters to switch out with him. 

Just as well, Linda thought. The doctor had warned Mike that his unborn son was in grave danger from Mom's stress, and constant monitoring would be necessary to see if an emergency cesarean was necessary. The strain had already damaged Pat's internal organs so badly that the doctor had said this pregnancy would be her only one. The girls had been spared that news. Linda hadn't.

"I was able to get the names of several people with a bunch of money and a bunch of connections," Linda told the group. "Some of them would have good reason to want me dead. But so far, none of them have seemed clever enough to try to get at me through Carol."

"I've been looking up Zach Thurston," Sue chimed in. "I even interviewed his parents and told them about my part in his death. They took it a lot better than I thought they would. He was a loner, no known girlfriends, hung out with the wrong crowd, very impulsive. His parents tried to get counseling for him, but he wouldn't talk to anybody. The toxicology report said he was so strung out on crack that he was probably totally paranoid." Sue let out a sigh. "He never belonged."

"So, Officer Adams." This from Linda. "Nobody is known to have such strong feelings for Thurston that he or she would try to avenge his death?"

"Nobody will admit to it," Sue replied.

"Keep looking... please," Linda replied. 

Now Carol spoke up. "Aunt Linda... I know I'm not a cop, yet. But I've seen a lot of hate in the last few years. It's no secret who my parents are and who you are. And now they know Cousin Sue. Should I be more worried about you?"

Linda replied, "Carol, Sue and I have spent a lot of sleepless nights thinking about that. I know your dad has too –"

And with that, the doorbell rang. Stephanie went to get it. She paused for a long time looking through the doorway.

"Stephanie, who is it?" Linda asked.

"It's that kid who came by when Carol found the site," Stephanie reported in a tone suited for Antarctica. "He's in civilian clothes."

Linda and Sue looked at each other, and then got up and moved to far corners of the room, getting their automatic pistols ready for action. Linda called out: "Let him in, Stephanie, and bring him in here. If he tries anything, hit the floor as fast as you can." Shit, Linda thought, we really are paranoid – but what in the HELL is he doing here?

Stephanie cracked the door and said hello to Josh Crane. He was dressed in a coat and tie, and looked like he was interviewing for a job. "May I help you?"

"Are Lieutenant and Sergeant Gibson here?"

"My mom's in the hospital, having her baby... or at least I hope she is. My dad's watching over her."

"They told me Lieutenant Shannon and Officer Adams would be here too," Crane said.

"They are." Stephanie looked back for confirmation, swung the door open wide, and stood behind it. Crane came in. Stephanie pointed the way to the family room. Linda and Sue came from their corners and stood in front of Carol.

"Lieutenant... Officer Adams... I'm not very good at making a presentation, but I've been working on Miss Gibson's case and I have several things to offer you."

"Officer Crane," Linda said, "this is highly irregular. You have your own duties and I recommend you stick with them."

"Yes, ma'am, I know. But I want to throw in with you. I told you about the student who got hazed until he hung himself. What I didn't tell you was that the student was my brother."

"I am sorry about your loss, Officer Crane, but we are dealing with one vendetta here. The last thing we need on this investigation is a cop with an ax to grind."

"Lieutenant, I'd like your permission to hear me out. I know you left me off the strike force team because I wasn't a quick thinker. I wanted to thank you for that."

"Thank me, Officer Crane? It wasn't an easy decision. Many commanders would have put you on their teams. And you know damn well that you are never supposed to doubt your ability."

"I have plenty of ability, Lieutenant. One, I can hack any computer system in the country except the Pentagon's, and the Pentagon knows it. Two, I am extremely detail-oriented and know just who else can hack this family's computer system. Three, I know sign language better than most certified interpreters, and I can use it in an undercover operation. And finally," he hesitated as he said this, "I have an inside contact at the school."

Everybody looked puzzled for a minute – and then a light began to dawn for Carol. "Is it Samantha or Elaine?"

"Samantha. She was my next-door neighbor when we were growing up. You know she lost her hearing due to a head injury. What you don't know is how she got it. I was 12 years old and she was six. She adored me. I liked to show off for her. I started popping wheelies on my bike. She wanted to do the same thing. She lost control of the bike and went straight into a busy street."

From behind, Stephanie said: "So, does she hate your guts now?"

Crane waited for a long moment, and then turned to Stephanie. "I honestly don't know. I visited her in the hospital and in rehab every chance I got. I learned sign language to talk to her. She has always been nice to me. Maybe she still has that crush – maybe I was the only person who was really nice to her. But you may be right, Miss Gibson."

Sue stood, walked over to Crane and talked quietly. "Six people have staked their careers on this – the four of us, and Mr. and Mrs. Gibson. There's no telling what will happen if we can't find the person who started this. Are you sure you want to take the risks we're taking?"

Crane was quiet for a long time. "Officer Adams, I did have a crush on you. I'm sorry I did. But I never stopped admiring you – or Lieutenant Shannon, or any of the Gibsons. Please don't take that away from me. You're the best people I know, and I've worked hard to come to that judgment."

Carol said: "But what can you do, Officer?"

"Miss Gibson, I'm absolutely sure Samantha is involved in this. Think about it. Who's always exempt from those security checks? The thing is, Ms. Renfro often takes Samantha's backpack in early, to get the lesson plans from the office. She could just as easily do it, and I don't know her."

Sue looked at Linda. "Makes sense so far."

Crane continued: "The other thing is, I found out about the lockers' combination system. It stays the same from year to year, although you can override it. The person who had Carol Gibson's locker one year ago was Zach Thurston. If I could find that out, so could Samantha or Elaine or some friend of his."

"So noted, Officer Crane," Linda replied. "Thank you for that information. But it doesn't prove anything at all as far as the District Attorney is concerned."

"I know, Lieutenant. But I also know how to change the access codes for the lockers. If the perpetrator has other drugs on campus, we can lock him or her out of the locker. Then the perp would give himself or herself away trying to hack into the system."

"Why would the perp have more drugs?" Sue asked. "The theory is that this person is simply after Carol and not pushing. For all we know, the perp used what he or she needed and flushed the rest down the toilet."

"If the perpetrator is one person, Officer, I believe you're right. But we know other people are involved – the hacker, for one. I traced him to Montreal, Canada, by checking out adult Websites with the features he puts in. I haven't traced the money yet, but I asked the owners of the sites and they all said he charges a fortune. The perp could still be selling, to raise money to keep the Webmaster happy or to pay off accomplices."

Stephanie started to say something, but at that moment Mike Gibson opened the door and walked in. Everyone jumped to their feet. Mike could barely walk, he was so worn out. His daughters escorted him to his favorite easy chair. A long moment passed before Stephanie asked the obvious question.

"Mom's all right, and so is the baby – so far."

Linda got up and gently hugged Mike. "Mike, it'll be okay. He may feel like an only child, but you'll be a big family nonetheless." 

Mike hugged back gently, and turned to the visitor. "I saw your car on the street, Officer Crane – parked illegally, I might say. Do you have anything to tell me before you go move it?"

"Yes sir, Lieutenant. Your..." he hesitated over saying the word, and then went for it, "family can tell you most of it. But I was just getting to how I believe I can talk to Samantha Black. I'm sure she's mixed up in this, but I don't know whether she's running all of it to get at me or if she's somebody's pawn."

"Pretty elaborate scheme, isn't it?" Mike asked. "She didn't know Carol at all, from what I hear. She just recently returned to mainstream schooling after more than a decade, right?"

"Right, sir. I'm sure she didn't know Zach Thurston. The only person she could have a grudge against is me, and I honestly don't know if she does. I'm willing to believe that she doesn't. If she does... I'll get out of all your lives forever."

"So," Linda said, "what are you going to do? Just walk right up to her and ask her if she hates you so bad she'd destroy six other people, maybe more, to get you?"

"Basically, yes."

Carol had been thinking. She unconsciously raised her hand and everyone looked at her, giving her permission to speak. 

"It might work," she said. "If you can talk to her away from Elaine. I've gotten to know them both. Elaine just dominates Samantha. I don't know if it's sexual or if Elaine's just overprotective, or if Elaine has something on her own. 

"But I've talked to Samantha a lot. I can tell when Elaine is signing something different than what I say to her – Elaine hesitates and then exaggerates the signs. And I know Samantha can read my lips. She knows Elaine is lying to her."

"How about it, Officer Crane?" This question came from Sue Adams. "Could you tell when a woman is lying to you? We went through the same training and I know I learned something about suspects' behavior, but that was during interrogation. You're going to talk to her friend to friend. For all you know, she may still have a crush on you like you did on me. It's 10 times easier to lie to a friend when you're telling that friend what he or she wants to hear." 

Sue looked at Linda. "Sorry, Lieutenant, but you and I have both done it. Little stuff mostly, but I think you could lie about something big and I know I could."

Josh Crane took a long time answering. It may have been that this was the first time he had fully grasped the nature of Linda and Sue's relationship. It may have been that he hadn't thought about a possible sexual nature of Samantha's relationship with Elaine. It might have been that he was slow at thinking on his feet. It might have been something else.

"I've still got to try it... Officer. If Samantha cooperates, we could set up a sting operation. If it works..." he didn't finish the sentence.

"And if it doesn't work, Officer Crane, I hope you know the consequences." That came from Linda. She stood up. Crane stood up and unthinkingly saluted the two Lieutenants. Mike then spoke.

"You'll have to clear this with your sergeant, Officer Crane. And you'll have to make contact with Samantha on your own time. And you'll have to tell your sergeant all the results of any contact. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"And go to the Chief of Detectives and give him all the results you have so far on your contacts." Crane nodded. Mike continued, "Stephanie, see him to the door. Good luck, Officer Crane."

There was a long silence while Stephanie escorted Crane to the door, saw him out, and waited until he got in his car and drove off. Then Stephanie turned around, eyes blazing. The first three words she said were extremely blasphemous. Then she got to the point.

"Don't any of you SEE this? He's behind it, all of it! The ______ is SO pissed about being left off the strike force that he's trying to take down Aunt Linda and Cousin Sue and all of us in the bargain! He's got the knowledge, he's got the connections, he's using Samantha to do his dirty work for him, and you just sit there and listen to his CRAP!"

Mike's face had darkened slowly during this tirade. Without a word he went to his desk, pulled out a cell phone, and dialed a pre-programmed number. With an effort, he said: "Romeo One to Bravo Two, do you read me?"

Stephanie stopped, puzzled. Her hand went to her mouth. Mike continued.

"Good. Did you get all of that on tape?" The answer was affirmative. "Well done. No, don't try to judge any of it. Just continue your tail on Officer Crane. Do you think the judge will also authorize a phone tap on Samantha Black?" 

He listened some more. "Excellent, you're ahead of me. The TDD operators can record everything said to and from them. Have they been ordered to do so? Good." He looked around at three questioning faces and one knowing one, and continued. 

"How about E-mail traffic? You heard about the guy in Montreal, has he corresponded with him? Okay, got it. Tell your detectives to keep a 24-hour tail on Josh Crane and institute a secondary tail on Samantha Black. If they meet up, I want to know every word they say. You know the drill a lot better than I do, so I hope you know how to handle them." 

Long pause, and then Mike finished the conversation with a heartfelt thank-you. He looked straight at Stephanie. Linda looked at Sue. The recipients returned the looks. Carol looked at the carpet, with the other two young women wishing they could do the same. Finally Mike spoke.

"Stephanie, I've thought about that from the very beginning. So has Aunt Linda. That's why this house has been bugged since the day after Officer Crane came here the first time. We've recorded everything said in this house, and I do mean everything." Carol looked up and flushed scarlet. Sue went sick white. 

"Yes," Mike continued, "I have connections too. I'm calling in a lot of favors from computer experts, wiretappers, surveillance experts and judges I've known over the years. Everything that boy said has checked out already. I'm betting it will continue to check out. I think he's telling the truth. I don't know why – he could have perfectly honest motives and not have the sense God gave a weasel, or he could be just who you say he is. We can't assume anything at this point."

Linda spoke up. "Your dad and I have been working on this. Stephanie, if you love Carol and Sue and me, you'll let us do it our way. Stay out of it. And I'd recommend you talk to Father Cunningham about what you just said."

"Yes, Aunt Linda," said Stephanie, her eyes filling with tears. Sue's were too. "Aunt Linda, if I've said anything to hurt you –"

"I'll deal with it another time. You too, Sue. You've always said what I wanted to hear. Now you'll have to think about being completely honest with me. That goes for you too, Stephanie and Carol. I've waited a long time to have a true family and I won't let you ruin it."

Carol said, "What happens if this guy is a bad cop?"

"He's out of our lives forever," Mike said grimly.

* * * * *

"I hope this works out," said Deputy Chief Sam Cronin of the police department of a small town in Texas. Cronin and Chief of Detectives Eddie Melville of the Jackson County Sheriff's Office were seated in an unmarked car, in a supermarket parking lot on a Sunday afternoon. "If we get what you want, I'll be a Lieutenant in the Narcotics Task Force next month."

"And if it doesn't work out, you'll be a Captain," replied Cronin's old Marine buddy. "Everything in place?"

Cronin pulled up images on his laptop computer, several angles of the same automobile. Josh Crane sat in the driver's seat, hands on the wheel, looking occasionally at the huge front entrance to the supermarket. Ten minutes earlier, Crane had arrived on the tail of Samantha Black, who lived nearby and had walked. Elaine Renfro had driven in and gone into the store with Samantha. 

Crane had had trouble finding a parking space. And no wonder; besides the car Melville drove, four other unmarked patrol vehicles were squeezing Crane's automobile, each with concealed cameras on their dashboards. Two more cars were equipped with unidirectional microphones, aimed at the driver's and front passenger windows. If Crane started to drive off, other cars were waiting near the exits to the parking lots to shadow him. 

Cronin and Melville were gambling that it wouldn't be necessary. The undercover drivers had all parked and left their vehicles, and there was such a swarm of weekend shoppers that Crane would feel safer here than on the open road, not to mention that he would have both hands free for signing.

The surveillance cars had been carefully placed so Crane had an unobstructed view of the store entrance. Sure enough, Crane saw a supermarket sacker exit the store, pushing a well-loaded cart and heading for Elaine's car. Samantha, carrying her purse, and Elaine were tagging along.

Crane got out of his vehicle and stood by as the supermarket man loaded most of the goods into Elaine's car. Elaine asked Samantha, "Do you want me to give you a ride home?" in sign language. Samantha shook her head, signed back, "I need the exercise," gathered up the few remaining items from the cart, and started walking toward the nearest exit – where Crane had situated himself. 

Elaine got into her car and began to drive off. As soon as he was sure Elaine was busy with her seat belt, Crane hopped up and down and waved to Samantha. She stopped in her tracks.

"Samantha!" Josh signed, spelling out the name. "I haven't seen you since you went back to school. Is everything going okay?"

Samantha hesitated, with both hands occupied by her purse and the bag. Then she turned to the supermarket man and whistled. The supermarket man was maneuvering the cart to take it back into the store, but he obligingly went over to Samantha and helped her put the items in the cart. The two walked over to Crane's car. Samantha took her purse and bag from the cart and climbed into Crane's passenger seat. The supermarket man disappeared around a van.

Six seconds later, the supermarket man – another former Marine, an interpreter from the Signal Corps, and now Detective Lieutenant Dan Palmer of the Washington, D.C. police force - slid into the back seat of Melville and Cronin's vehicle. Cronin passed him the laptop. Watching the images carefully, Palmer simultaneously keyed in the words and spoke into the computer's microphone, recording onto a CD.

"I'm glad I saw you," Samantha signed. "I'm really worried about Carol and Stephanie."




S&P: Your Papa's a Pig



"Why?" the patrol officer signed back.

"You know about Carol. There's a rumor that she's coming back to school tomorrow. And Stephanie – the guy she punched out used to be Callie Collins' boyfriend. Callie is pissed. She told her sister she'd get Stephanie somehow."

"Who's Callie's sister?"

"You mean you don't know? It's Elaine!"

Nobody had been expecting that. Josh Crane signed back the name, letter by letter, with a question mark all over his face. Samantha signed an explanation.

"They are half sisters. Their mom divorced Elaine's dad and took up with this biker dude – he's Callie's father. He's a real" – everybody recognized the universal sign for "flying asshole." "He drinks, does coke, meth, I don't know what else. I think Callie does it with him."

On his note pad, Eddie Melville wrote down the name Callie Collins, followed by "Possible suspect." He double-underlined the word "possible." 

"Do you know Callie very well?" Josh asked.

"I've been over to her house a few times. Once, her dad was showing her how to field-strip an Army assault rifle. I left."

In the other car, Cronin mouthed the word "Shit."

"How do Callie and Elaine get along?"

"Elaine's really protective of Callie. I think Elaine is my interpreter so she can keep an eye on Callie. Elaine's a nice girl, but she's easy to intimidate. One time, I set off a metal detector at school. Elaine freaked – she thought I was dying of pain. I'm used to pain, Josh. You should know that."

A long silence. Then Crane signed back. "Samantha... you never said you blamed me for the accident. Do you really? Please tell me the truth."

Four pairs of eyes, including all three auto detectives, were fixed on Samantha's face and hands, looking for a clue that she was improvising a lie.

"Yes, Josh. I did blame you for the accident. I still do. But I forgave you a long time ago. Now, question. Have you forgiven yourself?"

During the pause, Melville wrote down the word "Truth?" on his note pad. He put a check mark beside it. Cronin took a pencil and added another check mark. Palmer was still watching the screen, but heard the pencil scratches. He gave a thumbs-up and put his fingers back on the home keys.

"Yes, it's true," Josh said. "I've been trying to make up for it all this time. I was crushed when I wasn't good enough to make the Narcotics Task Force."

Samantha shifted in her seat, placed her grocery bag on her lap, and stared Josh Crane straight in the eye. "Were you feeling bad enough to frame Carol Gibson for running drugs?"

Without being asked, Melville had opened his car door and slipped out, gun in hand. Cronin was calling for backup. Melville crept to within three feet of Crane's driver's side window. One false move by Crane, and Melville could spring up and blow his head off. Two other officers were performing similar moves. 

Crane had suppressed the instinctive horrified "NO!", guessing Samantha wouldn't believe it. But the horror was still on his face. Samantha was staring at him.

"Samantha, I swear unto God that I had nothing to do with drug running or porno Web sites or anything else to hurt the Gibsons. I did have it in for high school criminals because of my brother and my sister. I did want to bust them. But I was too hotheaded and slow-thinking." A tear ran down his face. 

"I knew you'd be mainstreamed this year, and I wanted to protect you from being taunted because you're deaf. But deep down, I know you don't need me to protect you. Then I got worried Elaine might be doing something to protect you instead. Something bad. 

"Callie was a complete surprise. But it all makes sense – because Callie was the girl whom Lieutenant Shannon stepped in front of. She came in and gave a statement later on. She was furious! I wondered if she and Zach had something on the side." A second tear went down Crane's face. "I put it in my report, but didn't highlight it. I forgot it until just now."

Again, Cronin scribbled the word "TRUE?" on his notepad. He thought it out for a long time. Then Palmer gave a thumbs-up. Cronin decided to agree.

Samantha waited another second, and then signed: "I believe you. And it's a good thing I do. I bought these a few minutes ago..."

And in one motion, Samantha pulled out a pair of very sharp scissors. Her mouth moved and words came out – somewhat haltingly, but clearly. "And if you had lied, I would have jammed these right in your neck."

Three men and three guns sprang up in one concerted motion. Two of them covered Crane and one covered Samantha. Samantha let go of the scissors and sat frozen. Crane raised his hands above the steering wheel. Cronin and another officer yanked open the car's front doors and stood well back. 

Melville turned to tell Palmer to get over to the car and start signing to Samantha. No need – as silently as he had arrived, Palmer exited the back seat, passing the laptop and the headset back to Cronin. Palmer was over at Crane's car by the time Cronin removed Crane's sidearm, which Palmer took and stuck into his belt. Crane was staring at Samantha in total disbelief. Samantha was mightily scared.

"You can talk?" Crane said aloud. "What about the brain damage from the accident?"

"It wasn't as bad as they thought. The other brain cells took over the function. When I learned to read lips, I remembered how I had spoken. I practiced with an oscilloscope – I could read the printouts of words and sentences, and I practiced until they looked the same when I said them. I probably don't sound the same, but I can say just about anything. I just didn't want to speak."

"If you don't want to speak," Palmer spoke and signed, "you don't have to. But I hope you realize we can arrest you for aggravated assault on a police officer."

"I don't want to press charges!" Crane spoke and signed. "It would have been right for her to kill me if I had been dirty."

"Jee-zus," Palmer replied. "You've got a shitty self-image. Any wonder why we suspected you of all this crap?"

"Who are you?" Samantha asked Palmer.

"Most of them are undercover people from the Sheriff's Office," Palmer replied. "I'm an outside cop on a working vacation. So is this 'bag boy.'" We knew if Crane was dirty, he'd know enough to evade the people he knew from work. I'm sorry we scared you, but we didn't know what to expect."

"Neither did he," Samantha replied. By this time, the Chief of Detectives had joined the conversation, carrying the laptop. He had fixed the microphone so everybody could talk into it.

"Miss Black, I'm the Chief of Detectives. I'm also a friend of Lieutenant Mike Gibson, Carol's dad. These men are also Lieutenant Gibson's friends. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Samantha nodded. Melville continued.

"Miss Black, Officer Crane – we believe you are honest people. But that's not enough to save Carol Gibson. Miss Black, from what you've told us, it's very likely that Callie Collins and Elaine Renfro are behind all this, but we have no way to prove it unless you can help."

"I don't want Elaine to go to prison," Samantha signed back. "I told Josh that she's easily controlled. I think Callie and maybe her dad are making Elaine do anything that's wrong. I don't know how."

"That will be up to the courts to decide, Miss Black. For the record, I think you are right. It would make things a lot easier if Carol Gibson and everybody around her – this guy included – were cleared of all allegations. You can be honest and not know your head from your ass, and it looks like Crane is that kind of person. You want to prove it or not, that's your choice. But they tell me you know and like Carol Gibson, and so does Miss Renfro. Now is the perfect time to do something decent."

"What do I have to do?" Samantha asked.

"Anything you normally do. Don't let on what's happened here. If you're asked to transport something suspicious, do so but make a note of it. Officer Sue Adams is still on duty. We'll put her in the school office and you can go to her. Then you need to stay out of harm's way. Understood?" Upon receiving an acknowledgment, Melville turned to Josh Crane.

"Crane, you are officially on indefinite suspension. With pay. You are to absent yourself from this county until we call you back in. If things go as planned, I expect to reinstate you and give you a commendation for exceptional service. If you butt in and screw things up, nothing will save your ass. Is that as clear as it needs to be?"

"Yes, sir."

"Turn in your badge here and now. You can keep your car once we get the shotgun out of the trunk." 

Crane handed over the keys, and the two detectives confiscated the weapon, along with Samantha's purse, shopping bag and scissors. Cronin came back.

"Go home, pack for a week's vacation and head out. Keep a record of your expenses. Keep them within reason – I shudder to think of the bill we've run up on this investigation already. But if you're clean, I'll cover for you. Miss Black, you planned to walk home?"

"Yes, sir." 

"When you get to your TDD phone, call Miss Renfro and tell her you're okay. I'm sure she really does care for you. Then pray if you believe in praying."

"Yes, sir. You can keep the scissors if you think I'm dangerous." 

"Thank you, Miss Renfro. We'll give them back later. Lieutenant Palmer, will you drive her part of the way and answer any other questions she may have?" Palmer nodded acknowledgment and pointed to his car, taking the grocery bag (sans scissors) and Samantha's purse. 

Crane handed over his Sheriff's Department badge and walked to his car. When Melville indicated it was okay to leave, Crane got in and started up. So did Palmer.

"Good work, men. Go back to the station and file your reports. Eddie, I'm missing a Braves game because of this. I don't propose to drink on duty, but there's a sports bar I know about a mile from here. I propose you, I, and Lieutenant Palmer get some of Atlanta's trademark soft drinks while we watch the late innings."

"I'm an Astros fan, but I'll take you up on that offer. Isn't Clemens starting today? You can root for him and I won't let it out."

"Good man, Lieutenant Cronin."

* * * * *

Nothing unusual happened on Monday, the last day of Stephanie's suspension. Tuesday, Stephanie was to miss the first period of class – her study hall – and check in at the office before going to her next class. Carol was too nervous to drive, so Stephanie dropped her off and then went to a fast-food joint for breakfast. Mike had already gone to the office to clear up some old paperwork. 

The phone call came for Mike at his desk. He didn't recognize the female voice through a lot of coughing. He couldn't tell if the coughing was fake or real. But he knew the name Cathy Silverman – the friend of Carol's who had passed on the fake E-mail to her – and he politely put her on hold for a minute while he got Chief Melville and Lieutenant Shannon on conference.

"Do you know where Stephanie is?" came a scratchy voice. 

"She's on her way to school. Why?"

"Because I'm at home, sick, and I just got an E-mail from her, addressed to a bunch of Carol's friends. It says something about, 'If you don't want to be on the six o'clock news tonight, stay home from school. There's going to be a fireworks show like you won't believe.'"

Mike's face went gray. He asked, "Can you forward that E-mail to the police computer? I'll give you the address." Then he thanked her and got off the line.

Cathy obliged. Within two minutes, Mike, Linda and Eddie Melville were looking at Melville's printer as the sheet rolled out. The word Columbine was on all minds. 

Melville sprang into action on his phone. First he called several detectives, dispatching most of them to the school and reserving two to check out Cathy's house in case she was faking illness. "Get a warrant for her arrest if you find ANYTHING suspicious." Cathy hadn't been high on the list of suspects – she and Carol had been friends since elementary school – but she could still be a pawn of somebody else. 

Meanwhile, Linda was on her cell phone, checking with Sue Adams in the administration office. Stephanie hadn't shown up yet, but Carol was in her first class. Mike, meantime, was gathering his SWAT team in case of armed confrontation. 

Then, abruptly, Melville headed for the door. To Mike and Linda, he said: "If you damned fools are going to get involved now, you might as well have a bigger damned fool with you to take the heat if something goes wrong."

* * * * *

It is not easy to write about menstruation.

That said, I hope viewers understand that worry had played havoc with Carol Gibson's cycle. She had missed two periods and had stopped wearing absorbents. She was sitting in her class when she realized she was starting. She had pads in her purse, but no way to apply them unless she went to the bathroom. Now.

Carol desperately waved her hand, and her teacher stopped talking. After a quick whispered conference, the teacher – who had cyclical problems herself and was sympathetic – excused Carol. A murmur arose as she left the room. 

Carol power-walked to the girls' room, pulling out a packet and tearing it open. Her shoes made no noise on the floor, and it wasn't until she rounded a corner that she saw anyone. 

Carol dropped her purse and everything in it to the floor. She asked the stranger, "What the HELL are you doing in my sister's locker?"

Seconds earlier, Sue Adams had seen the same person on camera at the central office. She had taken off too early to see Carol headed for the same hallway. Sue drew her automatic as she ran. She entered the corridor where Carol and the stranger were standing – and froze.

Callie Collins had already swung around and grabbed something from Samantha Black's backpack. The backpack hadn't been checked into the office, and now Sue knew why. Both young women were staring at a chopped-down assault rifle.

Before Sue could aim and fire, Callie had chambered a bullet and had Sue in her sights. Sue couldn't tell whether or not the weapon was set on fully automatic. If it was, one burst would probably kill both her and Carol.

"Take it easy, young lady," Sue said as calmly as she could. "Don't do anything on impulse." She heard footsteps coming from other corridors, including the boots of the SWAT team and the footsteps of Linda Shannon. She decided to call out. "Officers! Take your positions but don't startle her." Sue looked back at Callie.

"Was this just supposed to be a frame-up of Stephanie, Callie?"

"Yes," replied Callie in a tight voice. 

"I knew it. You could have killed us right away and you didn't. You're full of hate, but you wouldn't pull a trigger unless you were scared." 

By this time, a bunch of officers had joined the gathering. So had Callie's big sister and her charge. Elaine had taken off without realizing Samantha was following her. Samantha had cut a corner and was now where Elaine couldn't see her, but where she was closer to Callie than anyone except Carol and Sue. The next closest person was Linda Shannon, who had her weapon trained directly on Callie's heart.

"Zach could and did, and look what happened to him."

Carol started walking forward. She stopped about six feet from Callie. "Callie, do you want the same thing to happen to you? Suicide by cop? If so, why?"

"I had a crush on Zach. And he knew about my dad and everything my dad did to me. He was the only one who wanted to help. Now he's gone to Hell. I might as well go there with him."

Carol replied: "How do you know he's in Hell?"

That question took Callie totally by surprise. As she started to sputter an answer, Carol cut in again.

"Callie, I'm a Catholic. I know I probably believe a lot differently than you do. But if Zach was trying to make things right for you, God is going to take that into account. I'm sorry Zach killed himself, and I know there's a place in Hell for suicides, but God weighs everything before making a final judgment. If Zach isn't down there burning and you are, how do you think he'll feel?"

Good, thought Linda. Keep her talking. Get her mind off this single purpose. Give her a reason to turn herself in. But Callie still held the rifle tightly. Linda spoke.

"Callie, I've had a lot of run-ins with your dad. You said he did things to you. If you die, we'll never find out what. Don't let him get away with this."

Callie was sobbing now. "Rape, beatings, making me use drugs with him. He raped Elaine whenever he wasn't interested in me. These are his guns." She picked up the bag with her free hand. Everybody's heart sank.

"Callie," Sue said, "did he set up those Websites for you? Did you do them yourself?"

Then Elaine spoke up. "No. I did. And I used Samantha's stuff to carry in the drugs and guns. I was so pissed at people for hurting Samantha that I wanted to shove their metal detectors up their asses." She started forward toward Callie. All of a sudden a steely hand shot out and grabbed her arm. "Don't... get... yourself... killed," came from the side of Mike's mouth.

Linda said: "Why did you go after Carol? I know she reported the drugs to me. But that just meant she was scared of what was going on. I know you don't believe that crap about filling people's needs. You could have gone after me or Officer Adams if you really meant it."

Callie replied: "You're right, I don't. I wanted to steal Daddy's money and drugs and waste them."

Linda: "You'll do better bringing out the truth. The people you had help you, for one thing. We don't want to arrest the wrong people."

Unbeknownst to everyone except Carol, Samantha Black had crept very close to Callie, who had the open locker door blocking her line of sight from Samantha's direction. Then Samantha had backed up. Now she was frantically signing and mouthing words to Carol.

"Fuck it!" Callie shouted. "Pick them up on your own. I'm going down!" She brought the rifle to firing position. 

"Aikido! Take her, Aunt Linda!"

And with that statement, Carol Gibson charged straight up the barrel of Callie Collins' assault rifle. The weapon didn't fire. With a martial-arts move learned from the Lieutenant, Carol went for the bag of weapons in Callie's left hand, knocking them loose. 

Anyone except Linda Shannon would have shot down Callie Collins at that moment. But Linda trusted what Carol had said. She launched herself across the space before Sue could move, and hit Callie from the side. The assault rifle went flying. Everybody who could hit the deck did. The weapon bounced on the floor, miraculously unfired.

A blur of activity followed. Within two seconds, Linda had Callie face down on the floor and was putting her into restraints. At the same moment, Mike Gibson pulled Elaine Renfro around and cuffed her. 

Sue Adams ran to Carol, pulled her aside, and began to tongue-lash her about running at a weapon. Carol managed to maneuver Sue around and point to Samantha. Then she repeated the words Samantha had signed and mouthed to her:

"Bullet... jammed... in... chamber."

A detective retrieved the weapon and examined it. The rifle was indeed jammed. The other guns in the bag were fully operational. Apparently Callie had tried to get the rifle ready for operation too quickly. The Chief of Detectives took the bag and turned to one of his detectives.

"Take this to district court and get a warrant for Charley Collins' arrest, as well as a search warrant for his home, his car, everything." Melville then went over to a stricken-looking Elaine Renfro. "You're under arrest too, Ma'am, on probable cause." Finally, he went over to Linda, who had by now handcuffed Callie and pulled her to her feet. "Read these women their rights and take them in." 

Linda handed over Callie Collins to another detective. She, Carol, Samantha and Sue gathered for a big group hug.




S&P: Your Papa's a Pig



* * * * *

Mike Gibson and Sue Adams, at their own requests, went to Cathy Silverman's house. The front door was open. The screen was latched. Mike drew his weapon, concerned about a burglary, and went in silently. Sue covered him from outside. 

This was no burglary, however. Cathy Silverman came out of her room in short-sleeve and long-leg pajamas, carrying a wet washcloth. Mike watched her go into the kitchen. He moved so he could see her turn on the cold water, wet the cloth, and place it on her head. She also poured herself a glass and took some pills. 

Mike decided Cathy's illness was legitimate enough, but why would she leave the front door open? He was about to leave and knock on the door again when the answer came out of Cathy's bedroom.

Frankie Harmon, his face still bandaged from Stephanie's fist, was wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts – it was a warm day, but he had evidently shed some other clothes a few seconds earlier. He looked very annoyed. He also looked very aroused. The latter was evidently the reason for the former:

"A hand job won't do it," he called out. Mike stayed hidden. Neither Frankie nor Cathy, who was gargling with salt water, noticed him. Cathy spat out the salt water and spoke in a scratchy voice.

"My throat hurts too much to suck you off and I ache all over. Suffer!"

"Just because you're sick doesn't mean you can't put out."

"Just because you broke up with Callie and went out with me a few times means I'm going to put out. You could just be a typical teenage horndog, you know that?"

"And you could just be a frigid bitch." And with that, Frankie turned on his heel and stalked back into Cathy's room. 

Mike was fully prepared to leave, but he wondered about the call Cathy had made. He had a search warrant for the house, but he needed to serve it. He edged along the wall and took a look into the girl's bedroom. 

Frankie was sitting in front of the computer terminal, performing that act for which no man need look his best. He was using the images on the screen to arouse himself. Mike took a look at the images – and retreated. 

Mike signaled Sue to come in. Then Mike and Sue went into the kitchen, also signaling Cathy to remain silent. Mike showed Cathy the paper. Then all three of them walked very quietly into Cathy's room. 

"Surprise, motherfucker."

The image Frankie was using for self-pleasure was an image of Cathy, considerably doctored. He had just loaded it onto the computer – in fact, he had the diskette on the table in front of him and was saving the image in an E-mail by typing with one hand. He released both hands and came up swinging. 

Mike was not an Aikido master, but he knew martial arts. He blocked the blow, took Frankie to the carpet and had cuffs on him in much less time than it takes to write.

Mike told the teenaged boy: "You are under arrest for assault on a police officer. That charge probably won't stand up, because I didn't get to identify myself, but I'd still say you have royally screwed yourself. Book him, Officer Adams." 

That took quite a while. Sue had to have a long talk with Cathy, who was more than eager to expound on that "gift" digital camera and the "arty" locker-room shots – "he said it was for his photography class." Cathy was running a high fever when she finished. They dropped her off at the hospital, where Mike stayed.

* * * * *

Several hours later, two very frightened-looking female suspects sat in an interrogation room waiting for their lawyer to arrive. Linda Shannon sat across the table. She said nothing.

A knock on the door signaled the arrival of the attorney, accompanied by Samantha Black. The attorney, Jack Clinton, was well known (and cordially disliked) by the Sheriff's Department for his skill at getting off some very unsavory clients. Samantha had evidently chased Clinton down the hallway. Finally he took a seat and Samantha caught up with him.

"Here is your retainer fee," Samantha said audibly.

Clinton looked at the check proffered to him. He smiled. Then he carefully folded up the check and handed it back to Samantha. 

"That is a lot of your own money, Miss Black," he said, enunciating very carefully. "The Sheriff's Department tried to hire me to represent Carol Gibson for that kind of money. No disrespect intended, but I'm not going to impoverish them and I won't impoverish you." Four very puzzled female faces looked back at him.

"I would have taken Carol's case pro bono because so many people believed in her. And I'm taking these two ladies' cases pro bono because you believe in them. Besides, the District Attorney is a –" – flying asshole again. "I've won a lot of cases I should have lost. I just got off the phone to him and offered a deal. 

"You," pointing to Elaine – "turn state's evidence against your stepfather and tell the whole truth about how you got involved with this scheme to ruin the Gibsons. In return, I hand you to the Witness Protection Program."

Then Clinton turned to Callie. "No deal can keep you out of prison for a very long time. But from what I've heard, you are very seriously mentally ill. I can have you serve your sentence at a psychiatric facility, with rape counseling and drug counseling and anger-management counseling thrown in. In return, you have to spill everything about your dad and maybe your mom to the Special Prosecutor. You're looking at him. I already prosecuted that child-killer Sergeant Gibson brought in a few months back." 

Clinton leaned back in his chair. "Sometimes justice does mean acquittals. And sometimes it means finding the right people guilty and giving breaks to the others. As bad as you are, I feel you deserve a break. You won't get one with the regular D.A. Think about it."

The two suspects asked permission to confer. Linda nodded, and she and Samantha stepped out into the hallway. After a minute, Clinton stuck his head out the door.

"They're willing to cooperate in every detail. And they're willing to sign statements clearing Carol and Stephanie of everything except Stephanie's punch-out of Frankie Harmon. And I very seriously doubt Stephanie will have any trouble on that score." 

Clinton smiled. "By the way, how is Sergeant Gibson? I haven't heard from her since we locked away the child killer."

Linda said, "I don't know. Will you wait while I check my cell phone messages?"

Linda put the phone to her ear, listened for a few seconds, shut the phone off and started running for the door. Clinton looked at Samantha and said, "Baby?"

Samantha hadn't known about the imminent birth. Her eyes widened. Then she took off down the hall, shouting: "Lieutenant! Please! Let me ride with you!"

* * * * *

It had not been easy for Michael Gibson Junior to come into the world. But there he was, with his dad, mom, Aunt Linda and his much older sisters – they were half sisters in both blood and age, but they were to act like full sisters anyway – all cradling him and cooing over him. Samantha waited out in a hallway. Once in a while, Linda looked out the door to see if Sue was en route. Finally, she arrived, clutching a book bag.

"I am SO sorry I got hung up," Sue announced. "You know this time of year. There's always a run on this book." 

Then Sue passed out copies of Oh! The Places You'll Go! to everyone in the room, including little Mikie. She gave Linda a copy with her own inscription. When she was finished, two books remained in the bag. She left the room and returned triumphant.

In the hallway, Josh Crane and Samantha Black looked over their copies and inscribed them to one another. They were 98¾% guaranteed to marry, have a baby girl, and move to Washington, D.C., where Crane got a Pentagon job as a computer specialist and Samantha entered Gallaudet College's master's in education program.

It took a while for lovemaking to resume among the various couples, with Carol looking for a new boyfriend, Mike and Pat dealing with Mikie's demands, Crane and Samantha cementing their relationship and Linda and Sue having a few chats about what Sue had discussed with Carol. Eventually, they all made up for it. And then it was Stephanie's turn to have sleepless nights...