He was out of breath as he threw open the Homicide office door and stormed into the familiar cavernous room; it was packed with SFPD personnel, some in uniform, most not. He had been gone almost three years now, and there were a lot of new faces. He looked for one he knew.
Eventually he spotted the easily recognized balding head of a colleague who had long ago transferred to Robbery and was now manning a desk, easing the slide into retirement. Picking his way across the room through the noisy throng, ignoring the glances snapping his way, some in surprise, others in bewilderment, he got close enough to reach out and lay a hand on the older man's arm. "Norm," he said quietly but firmly and the pot-bellied sergeant turned an angry frown in his direction.
Bushy eyebrows rose quickly in surprise. "Steve!" The gravelly voice hadn't changed. "What the hell – We've been trying to get in touch with you since last night -!"
"I know, I know," Steve Keller held up a stalling hand, shaking his head. "I was out of town at a conference, got home in the middle of the night. I didn't check my messages till this morning." His worried green eyes snapped towards the inner office where the glass-paneled door was closed on a room that seemed full to overflowing. He looked back at Haseejian. "Is it true?"
The Armenian detective met his eyes evenly then nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'm afraid so." He swallowed heavily, glancing away briefly. "It's true."
Steve let out a sharp breath and looked down, his hands on his hips. He glanced towards the inner office again. "What's going on in there?"
"Dan's talking to the Chief and the rest of the brass." He glanced at his watch. "They'll be breaking it up soon, I'd think. Everyone's heading over to the, ah… you know…"
Steve nodded. "Yeah. Do you think they'll let me see him?"
Haseejian shrugged and bobbled his head. "I have no idea. Listen, ah, do you want to go over with Healey and me… he's here somewhere…" He raised himself on his tiptoes to look around the room, attempting to locate his former partner.
"I have my car…"
"Leave it here. Parking will be at a premium over there, I'm guessing."
"You're probably right." Steve ran both hands over his face then stared at his former colleague. "What happened?"
Haseejian shook his head slowly. "We're not sure. It happened late last night and nobody's talking and nobody seems to know anything yet. I know the Homicide guys are on it, but if they know anything, they're keeping it close to the vest."
Steve shot another look towards the inner office. "Listen, ah, do you know if Dan called Jeannie?"
The sergeant's eyes shot wide. "Jeez, I have no idea. Listen, ah, I haven't been able to talk to Dan, you know…" He shrugged apologetically.
Steve patted his former colleague's arm. "It's okay, Norm, don't worry about it." He closed his eyes and inhaled loudly. "I can't believe this is happening," he said quietly as he opened his eyes, the words coming out with his breath.
Haseejian smiled mirthlessly. "None of us can. It just doesn't seem possible."
The volume of voices in the room dropped noticeably and both men turned to face the inner office as the door opened. Steve recognized the Chief as he led the way out of the room and headed towards the main office door, the others in a tight group behind him. Dan Robbins was at the centre of the scrum of older men, most of whom Steve knew, one of them with his arm around the young inspector's shoulders as they crossed the room and disappeared out into the corridor.
"That's our cue," Haseejian said grimly as he glanced at Steve and started to follow the others towards the door. He put a hand gently on Steve's back, ushering him ahead, glancing around the room trying to find Dan Healey.
They were close to the door when Healey approached from behind, grabbing Steve by the shoulder to pull him to a quick stop. The younger man turned, surprised, then quickly enveloped his former colleague in a brief but grim hug. "How ya doin'?" the older man asked quietly.
Steve shook his head sharply. "Just, ah… I don't know…"
"Yeah, me too." He patted Steve's back, sharing a bleak look with Haseejian as they made their way out of the Homicide bureau and into the busy, noisy corridor.
# # # # #
Haseejian exhaled loudly as he looked down at his wristwatch. 9:58. His gaze slid slowly to the younger man sitting to his right; Steve's eyes were riveted on the dark brown wooden door midway along the left wall.
They were sitting in the back row against the wall, getting the last seats in the small, and now very crowded, arraignment courtroom. Flanked by the Chief of Detectives and several other members of the top brass, Dan Robbins was in the front row behind the defendant's table. They had been unable to get near the young inspector.
A door at the back of the room opened and the bailiff directed everyone to stand as the Judge entered the chambers and took his seat behind the bench. He nodded at the bailiff, who approached the door on the left wall and opened it. Everyone sat.
As the court clerk began to read from the document on the top of his clipboard, audible gasps could be heard throughout the packed room.
Tieless, in a blue-and-white striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a light blue knit vest, his hands cuffed in front of him, Mike Stone was escorted into the courtroom and towards the defendant's table.
"Docket number CR18853…"
Mike's lawyer, who had remained standing, nodded grimly as he approached, pulling the chair away from the table so his client could stand as the charges were read.
"The State of California vs. Michael George Stone. The defendant is charged with murder in the second degree." The clerk handed the clipboard to the judge, who had stared almost sympathetically at Mike since he'd entered the room.
The jurist glanced at the paper on the clipboard then back up. "Lieutenant," he said quietly in acknowledgement of the man standing in front of him. A few gasps could be heard around the courtroom. The judge nodded towards the bailiff. "Charlie, take the handcuffs off. He doesn't need them."
With a confirming nod, the bailiff crossed to where Mike was standing rigidly, staring expressionlessly at the bench, and swiftly and professionally removed the handcuffs. The detective dropped his hands to his sides, resisting the urge to rub his wrists.
The judge looked back down at the clipboard. "Michael Stone, you have been charged with the murder of a, ah, Leonard Collier Cord. How do you plead?"
Mike raised his head slightly, allowing his gaze to focus, and his blue eyes bored into the judge unflinchingly. "Guilty, Your Honor."
Gasps, this time louder and unrestrained, filled the courtroom.
And the bottom of Steve's world fell away.