Callie awoke, vaguely aware something wasn’t quite right. Rolling over, she saw the empty spot next to her in the bed. Looking at the clock on the nightstand, she saw it was only a little after five in the morning.

"Frank?" she called out softly.

Getting no response, she climbed out of bed and made her way downstairs. She found Frank sitting on the couch, one small lamp lit, staring out into space.

"Frank? Is everything ok?" She asked, concerned.

He looked up at her and she saw the overwhelming sadness on his face. Sitting next to him on the couch, she put an arm around him. He laid his head on her shoulder, remaining silent.

"Is this when I’m supposed to remind you that you will find the evidence?" she asked.

"Joe agreed to try therapy and will probably be released from the hospital in a few days. His trial will resume a day or so after that. Andrew said it would only take two days for him to present the defense. He might be able to stall for one more day - maybe. By then Judge O’Donnell will insist it go to the jury for a verdict." Frank squeezed his eyes shut, tightly. "Callie, I’ve looked everywhere I can think of. I’ve spoken to everyone who might have been able to help. I haven’t found one shred of evidence to prove Joe is innocent. I know that journal is out there somewhere, not to mention a file filled with notes on Joe. God, why can't I find it."

Callie held him a little tighter, when she saw a tear roll down his face.

"I promised him, Cal. I promised I’d find something to prove he didn’t kill Taylor. I let him down." Frank looked at Callie. "If he goes to prison, he’ll die there. He won’t even last one night before they kill him. And it will be all my fault." Leaning forward, he put his head in his hands and cried. "I’m so sorry, Joe." He whispered.

Callie sat next to him, gently rubbing his back, offering comfort through her touch. She sat with him, silently, until he finally sat up.

"How can I face him? How can I face my parents? They were counting on me. I was so sure I would find something. How could I have been so wrong?" he asked, helplessly.

"Was that last one a rhetorical question?" Callie asked.

"Not necessarily."

"Maybe if you talk about everything you’ve done so far, step by step, you might see something you didn’t see before." Callie suggested.

She knew how logical and methodical Frank was, but he had been consumed with worry about Joe, frantically trying to find something to help him, and traveling almost non-stop. It would have been easy for him to miss something that might have jumped out at him had he been searching for evidence to clear anyone other than his own brother.

"It can’t hurt." Frank shrugged his shoulders, willing to try anything at this point.

"Why don’t you start with the most recent things you’ve done and work backwards."

"Angela Taylor." Frank said matter of factly. "I spent all the whole day talking with her. I thought she might have some idea where Chris would keep things that were important to him. You know, papers, documents, that kind of thing."

"What did she say?"

"She said she didn’t know. Once she and her husband found that journal he removed everything that was important to him from the house. And the last few years he lived with her, he thought she was the enemy." Frank shook his head. "That guy really was crazy. He thought his father was a god. Wanted to be just like him. She said it was scary because they really were so much alike."

"Did you ask her about Tilghman at all?"

"Briefly, when she said Taylor tried to emulate his father. She was really uncomfortable talking about him though and dropped it pretty quickly." Frank’s voice trailed off and he stared off into the distance.

Callie smiled to herself, recognizing the look on his face. "As Joe would say, I can practically see the wheels spinning in there." She lightly tapped the side of his head.

Frank suddenly grabbed her and kissed her. "Thank you!" he kissed her again. "Thank you! Thank you!"

"Not that I’m not enjoying this," she giggled, "but what did I do to deserve it?"

"Tilghman may be dead, but he can still talk to me." Frank said, secretively.

"You can talk to the dead now? And here I thought I knew all your hidden talents." She teased.

"Angela Taylor didn’t know where Tilghman kept his files, but the police found them somewhere. They were a huge part of the case against him. He kept such detailed records he practically convicted himself." Frank said excitedly. "If I can get a look at the evidence the police had on him it should say where they found everything."

"And if Taylor wanted to be so much like his father…" Callie caught on to Frank’s train of thought.

"Maybe he kept his records in the same place his father did!" Frank reached for the phone.

"Uh, honey, it’s only five thirty in the morning. Who are you calling?" Callie asked, innocently.

"Dad. I need to start looking through those records as soon as possible. I need him to clear the way for me." Frank replied. "He won’t mind me waking him up for this."

Frank followed the rotund officer into the dank storage room and watched as he tried to match the file number on the paper in his hand to one of the many cards on the shelves. They went up and down several rows and took a few wrong turns before the officer finally stopped.

"Here ya go." He said, congenially.

"All of these?" Frank said, staring up in amazement, at the seemingly endless pile of boxes

"Yup. It was a pretty big case as I recall." The officer scratched his head, eyeing Frank. "Hey, didn’t your Dad help bring Tilghman down?"

"Yes." Frank replied becoming slightly uneasy.

"In fact he pretty much broke that case wide open, single-handedly." The officer continued gazing at Frank, trying to recall the details. Suddenly his eyes lit up. "That’s right! One of his boys was kidnapped…"

"Thanks for your help." Frank cut him off. "I can take it from here."

"Uh-huh." The man said, continuing to look at Frank as he walked away.

"Just my luck." Frank muttered disgustedly as he began pulling boxes off the shelves. "I should have packed a lunch."

He had hoped the Tilghman case had already been entered into the Bayport PD’s evidence database. A simple five-minute search would have given him exactly what he was looking for. However budget cuts had drastically reduced the number of people available for data entry. As a result, evidence for recent arrests and unsolved, open cases received top priority. With Tilghman’s case closed and him dead, his information might never make it into the database.

Frank used one of the boxes as a makeshift seat and methodically began pulling out files, folders, envelopes and plastic bags, carefully scrutinizing everything. Opening a large manila envelope he gasped and felt slightly queasy as the found himself staring at some very graphic 8 x 10 photos. He felt the now familiar rush of hatred for Tilghman, knowing his brother had seen similar things and worse, first hand.

Frank became so engrossed in carefully sorting through the boxes he hadn’t realized how much time had passed until his stomach reminded him how long it had been since he’d eaten breakfast. He was about to take a break to get something to eat when he heard his name echoing down the rows of shelving.

"Frank? Where are you?" a familiar voice called out.

"Back here, Con." Frank replied.

A moment later Con Riley’s head popped up at the end of the aisle Frank was sitting in. He gave a low whistle taking in all the boxes surrounding Frank.

"Wow. I sure don’t envy you." Con said making his way through the maze of boxes and taking a seat on one of them. "Find anything useful?"

"Not yet." Frank replied, a little frustrated. "On the bright side, I still have about twenty more boxes to look through." He said sarcastically.

"Keep digging. It’s gotta be in there somewhere."

"Gee, thanks. So what brings you here? Just come down to watch and see how many paper cuts I can amass in one day?"

"I thought you might want to take a break; grab some lunch."

"You read my mind." Frank smiled.

Con stood and offered a hand, pulling Frank to his feet. Frank’s muscles immediately protested having been in the same, cramped position for so many hours. He stretched a moment and then followed Con out of the windowless room.

"So how’s Joe doing?" Con asked, taking a sip of the iced tea the waitress had set down in front of him.

Frank shrugged. "As well as can be expected."

Con shook his head. "You know I’ve heard that expression all my life and I still don’t have a clue what it means."

"Me neither." Frank smiled ruefully.

"He’s allowed to have visitors, right?"

"Technically, yes." Frank replied hesitating slightly. "But he really doesn’t want any. Half the time I don’t think he wants to see anyone but Vanessa. He’s pretty depressed." Frank finished sadly.

Con pulled an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table to Frank.

"Maybe this will cheer him up a little bit." Con said, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile.

"What is it?" Frank asked warily.

"A report." Con replied simply, sitting back to watch the expression on Frank’s face. Just as Con knew it would, Frank’s face registered first deep concentration, then recognition, shock, surprise and finally elation.

"Who ordered this?" Frank asked excitedly.

"I did."

"Does Collig know?"

"It’s my case. I can order whatever reports I feel are necessary." He smiled conspiratorially.

"But aren’t you supposed to be trying to get Joe convicted?"

"I’m supposed to be trying to get the truth. And I’m just being thorough."

Frank’s eyes shone with gratitude. "Con, I don’t know what to say. This could be enough to clear Joe all by itself."

"Maybe. But keep digging. There’s no such thing as too much evidence."

Frank carefully refolded the paper, put it back in the envelope and placed it in his pocket.

"I’m going to see Joe later today. His first therapy session is this afternoon and I know it’s going to be really rough on him. You have no idea how much this will help."

"Glad to do it, Frank. And tell him I said hello."

The two friends spent the rest of the meal chatting about anything other than Joe’s case and Frank returned to the evidence storage room much more relaxed and eager to continue his search. Several hours later Frank’s concentration was broken by the ringing of his cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it’s me." Callie said sounding rather subdued.

"Hi, hon." Frank replied, concerned by the tone of her voice.

"Vanessa just called me in tears. I’m on my way to the hospital now. Apparently Joe’s first therapy session didn’t go quite as well as everyone had hoped."

"What happened?" Frank asked, slightly alarmed.

"He has refused to see anyone ever since he got back to his room. He’s shutting everyone out. Poor Vanessa is beside herself so I’m going to see if I can calm her down a little. When will you be able to get there?"

"I’ll leave as soon as I finish looking through this file. I should be there in about an hour." Frank replied, realizing there was one stop he wanted to make before heading to the hospital.

"Ok, I’ll see you then. Love you."

"Love you too, Babe. Bye."

Putting his cell phone away, Frank shook his head sadly. "Come on Joe, why won’t you let us help you?" Frank said out loud, looking through the last few pieces of paper in the file he was holding.

His eyes suddenly locked on a faded, yellow receipt. He picked it up to get a better look and then turned his eyes towards the ceiling.

"Thank you!" He said, feeling as if he had just won the lottery.