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Blair parked the Volvo and walked toward Hargrove Hall. He could hear the shouting of the crowd as he rounded the corner to the front steps. He blinked and looked at the crowd, then at the disturbance at the top of the stairs.

Suzanne Tomaki waved to Blair from in front of the Hall's entrance and motioned him to join her. Blair moved through the mass of chanting bodies to stand by the campus security chief.

"What –" began Blair.

"Shh," Suzanne told him. "Listen."

"Look," a small woman was saying to a former student of his, "we should really take this discussion inside."

Harry Payne, his former student, crossed his arms and demanded, "Why? We're doing just fine here, as far as I can see."

"To avoid a riot," the small woman said patiently.

"Riot? What riot?" Harry countered. "I don't see a riot. How about the reason you want to go inside is to hide the fact that you can't really do much for us?"

"Look –" the woman began again.

"Or," Blair walked toward the group and stood by her side, "we could be doing it to hide the fact that you're still the same crazy redskin you were in Anthro 101."

Harry turned to Blair and shook his head. "Nah. You know you can never hide true genius. Now a crazy kike who still looks and dresses like he's from the sixties – that we might have to hide."

Blair looked up at the taller man, seeing a myriad of emotions flashing in his dark eyes. Blair moved toward Harry as Harry moved toward him, stopping just inches from each other. Then Blair's arms wrapped around the former student pulling him in for a hug that was, from the squeezing he was getting from Harry, reciprocated. Blair felt the brotherly slap on his back from the student just before he and the man broke their embrace.

"So, what is it this time, Harry?" Blair stood back and looked at him.

Harry shook his head. "You haven't been following campus politics lately, have you?"

"Well, I've been a little busy lately," Blair confessed.

"So I've heard," Harry nodded and shrugged. "So, is everything okay now?"

"With me?" Blair asked. Harry nodded. "Yeah, everything's back on course with me. But what about you? What is all this?" He waved a hand at the crowd.

"It's nothing new, Blair," Harry said, pacing in a tight circle. "It's still the same thing. This is Indian land."

"Harry," Blair tried to reason with the grad student, "the entire continent was once Indian land. That's no longer true. I can't change that for you, much as I'd like to."

"I know, Blair," Harry told him. "And I know that if things could be changed back, you'd find a way to do that. But, this is a special place," Harry went on. "I can feel it. I know it is."

"But knowing and proving are two different things," Blair reminded him. "If we can't prove it, there's nothing more we can do."

"But if we could prove it –"

"Only we can't," Blair reiterated.

"But if we could," Harry pushed on, "we could make the university pay the tribe for using the land. Or," he looked at the chanting students, "we could get the university to waive tuition for the Indian students."

"What the –?" The woman moved to step between the grad students.

"Oh, hi," Blair turned and flashed his brightest smile at the unknown woman. "Blair Sandburg. And this is Harry Payne. He's trying to prove that Rainier University is built on Indian land so that he can get reparations for his people … when he isn't trying to get the contract for the Indian relics renegotiated ahead of time. Now, I would love to prove the former true, because God knows the Indians deserve to get something back from the white man but –"

"But," the older man who'd been standing in the background moved in, "no one has been able to prove it conclusively."

Blair looked over at the man, recognizing the professor of North American Studies. Joshua Grant had been butting heads with Harry ever since the student had started classes at the university. Harry wanted the university to admit it was built on Indian land, and Grant had been forced to prove time and again there was no proof to support Harry's claim.

"Because no one will investigate anything that even hints at the possibility, Prof," Harry completed.

"We have, Harry," Grant countered. "There's never been any proof of this being Quileute land. Or any other Northwestern tribe."

"I repeat, we need to take this inside," the small woman pointed out.

"She's right, Harry," Blair told him. "We need to take this inside."

"Damn it, the student body has a right –"

"Yes, Harry, they do have a right," Blair agreed. "But they deserve more than just a free-for-all, which is about all they're getting right now. They can get that on reality TV and probably a whole lot better than what they're getting here."

"Just who the –" the woman began.

"Dr. Blair Sandburg," Suzanne replied. "I asked him to join us. Dr. Sandburg, Sharon Hawks."

"You asked for him to join us?" Sharon demanded. "Why? Why didn't you go through me?"

Suzanne straightened up and crossed her arms. "My campus, my call. Not yours."

"Look, Harry," Blair said, "right now, the only thing this crowd is hearing is a lot of arguing. Nothing more, especially as long as neither side is agreeing to anything. It's not helping them and it could incite a riot. Besides, Josh Grant won't get a fair shake and you know that."

"Really?" Sharon stared at Blair.

"So what?" Harry asked belligerently. "The Indians haven't been getting a fair shake for a long time."

"Whatever else you might think," Blair replied soberly, "Josh Grant has been helping your people. He doesn't deserve to get shafted, any more than your people do."

"So," Sharon continued, "what do you say to taking this to the room that Professor Grant reserved? Then, once we have a tentative agreement hammered out, we can talk to the students and maybe get some more input?"

Mike moved up and looked at the group. "The student body deserves to hear everything. Let's bring them all in!"

"Mike, the room's not big enough for everyone and you know it," Blair glared at the student. "However, perhaps a few representatives would work. What about that?"

"It could work," Jack spoke up. "I know you do your best with a large crowd, but this could work."

"Quit trying to sound like your grandfather, Jack," Harry growled. "He grates on my nerves. When you sound like him, you grate on my nerves."

Jack hung his head. "Sorry. Just trying to help."

"Why not choose a couple of your friends? That would make your group three to our three." Blair stopped and shook his head. "Which is still really three to one since Sharon and I are just here to mediate. You'd still have a majority."

Harry looked at Blair and then at the now silent protest group. "Damn you! You're good. Damned good." He laughed. "What did you say your minor was, Sandburg?"

"Don't think I mentioned it," Blair grinned back. "But, it's Psych."

"Not bad, Sandburg," Harry chuckled. He sobered. "Okay, we'll do it your way. Mike and Jack, you're with me. Come on. We're gonna make these white folks pay out some bucks."

He led the two students into the building, Grant following them. Blair watched as they disappeared and turned to look at the crowd. He was pleased to see the majority of the crowd start to wander off. The core group would remain, he knew, but they were peaceful. And they were small enough for the campus security to handle.

Sharon turned to Blair, anger in her dark eyes. "Just who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing here?"

"I told you," Suzanne stepped between the anthropologist and the police officer, "this is Dr. Blair Sandburg."

"You work in Community Relations down at the station, right?" Blair held out a hand to shake hers.

"So you said," Sharon glared at the security chief. "Why did you call him here?"

"Because, he's an anthropologist, like Harry, Mike and Jack and he can help you when they start to throw out anthropological terms."

"I'm sure Professor Grant would have kept me informed." Sharon's jaw jutted up proudly.

"Besides, he's a police consultant and I thought you could use his expertise."

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't need any help," Sharon continued to glare at Suzanne. "If I need help, I'll ask for it."

"You're going to need backup in there with those three," Suzanne warned her.

"And if I need it, I'll call for it," Sharon said coldly.

"Oh really?"

"I know you thought things were getting out of hand earlier, but…"

"No buts about it," Suzanne cut Sharon off. "I saw a situation getting ready to become a riot. I saw a mediator/negotiator not doing much of either, and the situation getting worse." Suzanne shook her head. "Now, it was call in Dr. Sandburg or a riot squad. Which one will look better for both of us, Ms. Hawks?"

Sharon pressed her lips together and glared at Suzanne, then at Blair. Blair felt sorry for her. He knew about her boss and about the rash of transfers from Community Relations to other departments. That she was still there said something about her fortitude and her talent. He couldn't blame her for being upset; he'd have been upset if he'd been in her position.

"I don't have to like it," she told Suzanne.

"I'm not asking you to," Suzanne told her. "I'm telling you to use his expertise and get this settled."

Brian Rafe followed his partner through the manicured lawn to the pristine cemetery. The curator of Olde Towne had told them to just go and see for themselves. He was too upset at the destruction that had been done to view it again. That made both partners happy; the less the scene was trampled underfoot by civilians, the better for police.

Once they reached the graveyard, they followed the path to the back of the yard where the graves had been dug up.

"Whoever did this wasn't too particular about how they dug up the bodies," Henri noted.

"No, they weren't."

Rafe continued to walk around and look over the entire cemetery. He paused to read a few of the tombstones, noting a couple of names that were familiar to the local population. He made another circuit, and then joined Henri at the back of the cemetery.

"Notice anything funny about the graves that were disturbed?" he asked Henri.

"Yeah," Henri nodded. "They're all at the back of the graveyard."

"Note the names on the headstones?"

"What names?" Henri snorted. "The stones are pretty badly worn."

"But look around," Rafe pointed out.

"You mean the well-kept graves and stones at the front of the yard and in the center, which probably have been replaced?" Henri snorted. "Yeah, I've noticed." He walked around.

"Yes. I've even recognized a few of the names."

"So that would mean that probably the commoners were in the back of the yard, right?" Henri mused.

"That's the way that I see it. Makes you wonder what the robber was really after, doesn't it?"

"Rather doubt if it was jewelry," Henri said.

"Doubt it myself. I mean, why steal the bodies if one had the jewels?"

"So what were they after?" Henri looked at his partner.

"We discover that, we'll discover the guy – or guys – that dug up these poor souls."

"I don't think we'll find anything here," Henri sighed. "How about we go and see what Forensics has discovered about the evidence they found around the disturbed graves?"

"Sounds good to me, partner."

Megan leaned forward and took the folder from the desk.

"Someone has been trying to kidnap AKC dogs?" Jim shook his head.

"Kidnap or steal, one of the two," Simon nodded. "Apparently someone has been trying to get a dog at the Cascade Sports Center. They were stopped every time by the security firm. So they apparently decided to try elsewhere." Simon put his glasses on the desk. "They succeeded at the park today."

"The park? Today?" Jim stared at his captain.

"The park, and today," Simon confirmed. "It seems the owner, Andrew MacDee, likes to walk in the park with his dogs."

"He took a show dog to the park?" Jim's tone was incredulous.

"Yes, he did." Simon huffed. "So what?"

"Most show dogs don't get walked in a regular park, especially before a show," Jim frowned. "It messes up the coats and pads, and costs the dog points."

"You seem to know something about show dogs."

Jimmy sighed silently as his father continued to talk to his associate after dinner. He didn't really enjoy these get-togethers; there were other things that a teenager his age wanted to do on a Saturday afternoon than go to a dinner dressed up in his best clothes. The only thing that was saving this afternoon was that the man had brought out some pups that his prize Chesapeake Bay Retriever bitch had recently had, and the pups were enjoying investigating every inch of the Ellison boys when they weren't wrestling amongst themselves.

At first Jimmy hadn't been too interested in the pups; watching pups playing together was not exactly entertaining to any teenager. Then one pup wandered away from the litter and started sniffing Jimmy's dress shoes. After the sniffing, the small teeth started to gnaw on the toe of the shoe. From the toe the energetic pup moved onto the shoestrings. Of course, Jimmy wasn't just sitting there; he was moving the shoe away from the pup only to have the pup pounce on the shoe and attack it with fresh vigor. Soon the two were playing together as a shy grin crossed Jimmy's face.

William and the man walked onto the terrace where the dogs and the boys were playing. He noted with a secret pleasure that Jimmy was actively playing with, and enjoying playing with, the animals. Actually one animal, William mentally corrected, but this was the most animated Jimmy had been since Bud Heydash's death. Since, William added to himself, he'd told his son to quit pretending things or people would call him a freak. Since then, he couldn't ever recall that Jimmy had been – alive, unless it was during a sporting event.

William looked at his friend and pointed to the pup. "Is it for sale?"

"Next week," his friend said. "They're not quite weaned yet."

"I want it," William said.

"You want the papers?"

"Of course," William nodded.

Jimmy stood up guiltily and tried to disengage the pup from his shoe, unsuccessfully. The shoe was probably ruined, which would mean he'd have to buy a new pair, and it would probably come out of his allowance as well.

"Having fun?" William repeated.

"Yeah, sort of," Jimmy admitted carefully.

"Think you can take care of it?"

"Sir?" Jimmy stared at his father, not daring to hope.

"Well, a dog is a responsibility, you know," William continued. "He's a little young to leave his mother, but as soon as he's weaned, he's yours."

"Sir?" Jimmy held his breath.

"He'll be your responsibility," William continued. "I don't expect to find him piddling in the house, or chewing on the furniture, or any other shoes," he looked at the scratched dress shoes on his son's feet, "or getting out of control. If you can't control him –"

Jimmy dropped down to the ground and picked the pup up, hugging it to his chest. He was rewarded with a wet rough tongue cleaning his face.

"Just remember," William's voice broke in, "if you don't control him, I'm selling him. Do you hear me? Jimmy? Jim?"

"Jim?" Simon's voice broke through Jim's unsettling reverie.

"Sorry, sir," Jim answered shaking his head. "Just – remembering something."

"Anything important?"

"No sir." Jim cleared his throat. "Now, about the case?"

Jim caught Simon looking at the sentinel, frowning momentarily. "According to Burglary, two folks tried to steal a dog from the Cascade Sports Center between the shows for the Toy dog division."

"Toy Division?" Megan's eyebrows raised slightly.

"Toy Division," Jim supplied. "The smaller dogs. You know; those cute yappie ones that most women like?"

"Oh, and I suppose someone like you would prefer the big hunting dogs, right?" Megan snorted.

"That would be Sporting Dogs, not 'big hunting dogs'," Jim grinned at her. "And yes, those are my favorite. Although I do have a soft spot for the Terrier group as well, probably because some of the terriers were first grouped with the Sporting Division."

"What else do you know, that I don't, about show dogs and the shows?" Simon demanded.

"I know a little about them," Jim admitted, a ruddy color crawling up his neck.

"I'd say you know more than a little bit." Jim got redder as Megan looked keenly at him, and dropped his eyes. "What? Did your father show dogs when you were a lad or something?"

"Or something," Jim said darkly.

Jimmy was in the kitchen trying to get a taste of his birthday cake which Sally was staunchly defending.

"Not until dinner tonight," she told him, tapping his hand with the spoon. It wasn't an accident that some of the frosting landed on his hand as well. "Now go on, you and that mutt of yours, outside. It's too nice a day to be in here bothering me."

"You like Champ as much as I do." Jimmy licked the chocolate from his hand and found a scrap of meat to toss to his gangly pup.

Right now the poor thing was much as Jimmy had been a year or two ago: all feet and stomach and not terribly coordinated. The pup grabbed the meat and swallowed it, then looked up at both the humans, eagerly awaiting more. Sally turned her back as Jimmy found another piece to toss to the pup, slightly missing the dog's mouth, sending the pup scampering around to find it and inhale it much the same way that he had the first morsel.

The pup was returning eagerly, which meant at a lope, to Jimmy's side as William walked into the kitchen. The result was a collision of man and beast, with the beast yelping as William's foot landed on Champ's paw.

"I thought I told you to keep that dog under control!" William roared.

"Sorry, Pops."

Jimmy grabbed the leash from the table and whistled softly to the pup. Instantly the dog was sitting at his side, waiting to be leashed. He walked with the dog out to the backyard and tethered the pet to the long line.

"Do you know where I've been for the last hour, Jimmy?" William tore into his eldest son as soon as Jimmy re-entered the kitchen. "I've been with your principal. Again."

"Pops, I didn't start –"

"You were fighting!" William snapped. "Brawling! Like a common hooligan!"

"There were three guys bigger than me beating up a kid younger and smaller than Stevie," Jimmy protested hotly.

"You. Were. Fighting." William repeated. "You were called into the principal's office. Damn it, Jimmy; don't you understand that you have a reputation to maintain?"

"I only know I saw a kid getting the snot beaten out of him just because he wouldn't fork over his lunch or his money to a group of thugs and bullies."

"Jimmy, I do understand you wanting to stand up for your younger classmates, but you have to find a better way than fighting. It doesn't become you."

"Or you," Jimmy muttered.

"No, it doesn't become me either," William agreed. "You need to learn a better way. One that becomes both of us."

Jimmy straightened and braced himself for whatever punishment that his father was going to mete out for his latest infraction.

William looked out the window, bringing Jimmy's attention to the pup racing around the yard, having managed to slip off the tether. "You and that dog need some strict disciple, I see."

There was a slap as William's hand came down hard on the counter, and papers were left behind. "That is an AKC registered dog, not a pound mutt. It's about time he started acting like one. And about time you started acting like an Ellison." Pointing to the papers, he added, "It's about time he started to prove he's worth the money I paid for him. You and he will be joining the Greater Cascade Dog Club. They hold shows every six months. Be prepared. I want blue ribbons and trophies."

Jimmy glared at his father but bit his tongue. As far as punishments went, this wasn't so bad. Not as bad as being denied going to a Jags game with his dad. At least he wasn't going to be vying against his brother for anything.

He took Champ to the club, and together they trained for Obedience class. It seemed that Champ was a shade small for Conformation, something that hadn't set well with William at first, until a judge told him that neither was considered more important than the other.

While he and Champ had been training, he learned that his father had signed the two of them up for several other shows in surrounding towns. Looked like the punishment part of all this was finally rearing its ugly head. No more free weekends for a while. As long as it didn't interfere with his games, though, Jimmy didn't mind. He was enjoying working with Champ.

Now, though, it was time to see if that training had paid off. This was his first show. Fortunately his father was out of town and therefore not going to be in the audience. Actually it would have surprised him to see his father at this event; he rarely if ever was there for any other event he was involved in.

It was therefore a shock to see his father in the front row. For a second he froze. It was one second too many, and he faltered with his dog. As a result of the falter, he found himself being waved to the second-place position. From his position in the ring, he could see the glare his father was throwing at him. There would be hell to pay when they got home.

Jimmy exited the ring with the others in his class and was met by one irate William Ellison.

"I said blue ribbons, Jimmy," he snapped.

"Pops –"

"Congratulations, Jimmy," a second man stepped up, slapping Jimmy on the back. "I knew you could do it! Bill, I'm surprised to see you here. Thought you had a business meeting out of town."

"We finished early," William supplied. "Thought I'd watch my son in action."

"Second place in a group this size is no mean feat, Bill." The man beamed at the boy and pup. "Especially for a first time out. Keep up the good work, Jimmy; you and the dog will be champions in no time."

"As I said, I know a bit about the dog shows," Jim continued, his expression still forbidding. "I know more about them than I care to remember."

"I – see."

Simon studied the hooded expression on the detective's face. He hadn't seen such expressions since the time Jim had had to interact with his brother and again with his father. Both times had been extremely emotional for the man. At least then, he'd had Blair to help him through the emotional crises. Now, he was going to have to share with someone else, if the man would, that is.

"Here's what we have on Andrew MacDee, the dog's, er, bitch's owner and on Medea's Pride of Sorcery," Simon handed another file to Jim.

Jim scanned it, then handed it to Megan. "Thanks. I'll hit the streets and see what I can find out. See what kind of bets are being made now on the outcome of the competition. I might be able to find out something about the two men since I actually seemed to have caught a portion of the snatch. Megan," he turned to the woman, "you go talk to the man, see if you can find out something that's missing from this report."

Megan closed the file and looked back at Jim. "You out on the streets by yourself and me interviewing a man in a hotel room is hardly watching your back."

"I can do this by myself."

"I'll go with you to the site and you can tell me about these dog shows," Megan continued, seeming to ignore his comment.

"It will take twice as long," Jim ground out.

"I am not about to get Sandy ticked off at me, thank you very much," Megan responded primly. "So it takes a little longer. At least you'll be safe and the captain and I will be whole and hearty."

"Look, I'm the lead in this case –" Jim started to argue.

"So lead." Megan smiled. "I'll follow.

"Just not too close, if you don't mind," Jim growled.

"Close enough to keep you out of trouble, Jimbo." Megan continued to smile at him.

"Sir," Jim turned to his captain, seeking help.

"Detectives," Simon put his glasses back on and glared at them, "you are not paid to argue among yourselves. You are paid to detect. So detect."

Sighing, Jim stood up and saluted the man with his index finger. "Yes sir." His tone was one of resigned defeat. "Come on, Connor, we've got a bitch of a case to solve."

"Funny Ellison," Megan smirked at the detective. "But don't give up your day job yet." 

The meeting in the conference room was less than pleasant, Blair noted somberly. Harry and Grant had been at each other's throats ever since the door closed. Mike and Jack had tried to get words in, but were quickly drown out by Harry's snarl. Sharon Hawks had been taking in everything the two had been saying. Blair could tell there were times when the terms were more than a bit foreign to her. Ever since they'd moved inside, the argument had moved to the contract concerning the relics that the tribe had put on exhibition with the university.

"It is not a given that the University is going to get to pay the same amount for the next two years," Harry insisted adamantly.

"Why not?" Sharon finally was able to ask. "That contract was signed in good faith by both parties eighteen years ago, and the term of the contract was for twenty years."

"Yeah, well," Mike smirked. " Perhaps one of these fine professors could tell you about contracts between the white man and the American Indian. Every damned treaty has been broken."

"That's past history," Sharon tossed back at him. "As far as I can see, the University has never broken a contract made with the Quileute."

"So far," Jack qualified.

"Never," Blair frowned at the younger Indian. "And you know that, Jack."

"So, quit borrowing trouble," Sharon concluded.

"Look," Harry stared at the police mediator, "the Indian never had to borrow trouble. It was brought to us all the time."

"That's the past, Harry," Blair glared at his former pupil. "I know you know that. Ms. Hawks and Josh are here in the present. And they aren't bringing the trouble here."

Harry glared back at Blair, then raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. "I know they aren't. But the university governors are a different story."

Josh pulled out a set of papers and placed it in the center of the table. "This is the original agreement with the Quileute to be allowed to show the relics. And here are the two renewals." He flipped to one page. "This shows that there was no increase in yearly rental price to the tribe, yet I can show you where the university did increase the money paid to the tribe, and they have paid more than what was originally agreed to."

Mike snorted. "The University showed the pieces to the public and charged admission fees for them. It was due us."

"The extra money was in addition to those times," Josh countered.

"It would seem the university has been thinking of your tribe," Sharon pointed out.

"Except they haven't had too many shows this year," Jack pointed out.

"In fact there's been one and only one show early this year," Mike added.

"Public taste has drifted from Native American to Egyptian again," Blair reminded them. "The museum and the university have done what they could to get public interest back to the artifacts."

"Yeah right," Harry barked out a harsh laugh. "They haven't worked that hard otherwise there'd have been more shows. But more shows means more money they'd have to pay the tribe."

"Putting on a show that no one will see is irresponsible, and might have cost the tribe even more monetary loss," Sharon argued. "You can't force the public to see stuff they don't want to see."

"She's right," Jack grumbled. "Unfortunately. Hell, not even the reservation kids want to see the artifacts again."

"All right!" Harry exploded. "Let's take a break from that for now."

Blair started to breathe a sigh of relief and hope he could get out of the room and get to the stacks.

"What about the bones?" Harry demanded hotly.

"Bones?" Blair raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"The bones found at the construction site?" Grant groaned.

Sharon muttered just loud enough for Blair to hear, "The construction crew found some bones and possible artifacts at the construction site this morning."

"Really?" Blair turned to Josh, tempering his excitement. "What do you know about them?"

"Dr. Wolfe took the bones to the morgue to try and date them, then find out if they are Native American or not," Sharon supplied.

"Those bones and the mask artifacts will show that the University was built on Indian land without permission," Harry put it. "I'll bet we'll be able to show this is part of some religious meeting area for the tribe. Did you see the mask pieces?"

"No," Blair shook his head, "I haven't. Josh? Anything to this?"

"Maybe," Josh shrugged. "Maybe not. I haven't been able to study them yet."

"You just don't want to admit –"

"This is an old topic with you, Harry," Josh cut him off. "As I recall, it got you into trouble as an undergrad. Haven't you learned anything at all in all this time?"

"Yeah," Mike cut in. "That you Whites will do everything to keep us Indians from what is rightfully ours."

"Has there been anything to support this claim?" Sharon looked at Josh, then at Blair.

"Absolutely nothing," Josh shook his head. "There have been no finds, no treaties, no nothing. Indians were here, of course, before the Europeans and Americans came, but nothing that indicates any kind of continuous activity here. Or that there had been any kind of treaty with the government and the local tribes. Nothing to show it was a religious area either. Nothing."

"Well, until now," Jack suggested.

"But we don't know that for sure, do we?" Blair questioned.

"We will when the bones and masks show this was an Indian settlement," Harry insisted.

"If that is proven," Josh maintained, "it will be discussed between the tribal council and Rainier as well as State officials. Probably even some federal representatives. "

"So no one's been able to study the masks yet?" Blair asked.

"Professor Grant hasn't deemed it necessary to study the masks until he gets word from the medical examiner about the bones," Harry said sarcastically.

"Well, I can't very well be here and in the lab studying the masks at the same time," Josh snapped back. "And my assistant is out sick this week. You know that. The ceremonial masks of the local tribes are her area of expertise."

"And that's my fault?" Harry tried to sound innocent.

"I didn't say that," Josh began.

"You might as well have said that!" Harry protested, getting up to pace around the room. "Because the truth of the matter is I do want to know about the masks and the bones. I want to know now! And I want a new treaty for the tribe!"

"Well what you want and what you can get are two totally different things," Sharon sighed.

"It's an old line," Jack looked at Sharon. "But that's okay; we're used to those old platitudes being tossed at us."

"And they get the same thing that they've always gotten us," Harry added. "Which is nothing."

"So," Blair said thoughtfully, "you'd rather have the masks checked out right now than continue this meeting?"

Harry stopped his pacing and stared at Blair. The internal battle over which crusade to pursue was evident in his dark eyes. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at Blair and Josh.

"Yes," he said with finality. "I'd rather have the masks studied and prove that this is Indian land. Once that happens, it will lead to a renegotiation of the contract. Maybe it will light a fire under that old man in the ME's office to get the bones dated and authenticated as Native American and returned to their burial site."

Blair sighed and shook his head. "Dr. Wolfe is the medical examiner of the city. That means he takes care of all bodies, but crime victims come first."

"Unless," Harry pointed to Blair, "someone with a lot of clout, political clout, tells him to do otherwise. If those masks prove to be authentic, which could indicate that Rainier is the site of a transient camp, I'll bet that he'll get the word to find out about those bones."

Blair turned to Josh and rubbed his forehead. "You know, there are times when I wish his minor had been something other than Politics."

"Hey," Harry shrugged with a grin, "you have your goals, I have mine."

"Point," Blair conceded. "Look, Harry, for the most part, Dr. Wolfe ignores the political crap and does what he can to get the evidence to the police and the DA so they can prosecute criminals. That's his job. That's what he cares about: getting justice for people who can no longer get it for themselves."

"Then this should matter to him the way crimes do," Harry leaned over the table, eyes sparkling with intensity.


"Exactly, why?" Sharon aped. "Right now I don't see that it matters to anyone but you three."

"Why?" Harry stood up and raised his hands in exasperation. "Because he's an Indian that's why. He may not be Quileute, but he's from around here. Those bones are screaming for justice as much as crime victims do. If that doesn't matter to him, it makes him as much of an Apple as you are."

Blair caught the faint flush on Sharon's neck. He turned to Harry and snapped, "That's enough!"

"Now you see here," Sharon retorted at the same time.

"Back off you –" Harry countered, pointing a finger first at Blair, then at Sharon.

"I said enough and I damn well meant it!" Blair stood up and aimed his finger at Harry. "There will be no name calling or this meeting is over. Period!"

Continue on to Act 4

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