The Road Divided – Chapter One
"So what you are saying, Inspector Keller, if I may, is that your interest in my client, Mr. Parker, came about because your initial suspect, Roland Palmer, presented you with an airtight alibi that you couldn't shake? Is that what you're inferring?"
"Ah, no, sir, Mr. Parker was always a suspect, and the fact that we eliminated Mr. Palmer by confirming his alibi, doesn't have anything to do with Mr. Parker's guilt, or innocence." The young cop paused, dropped his gaze and with a slight smirk continued softly, "And that would be 'implying', Mr. Donnelly, not 'inferring'." He swallowed a grin when he heard the familiar muffled snort of a aborted laugh reach his ears from the gallery, and he glanced up to see his partner staring at him with wide appreciative eyes, one hand covering his mouth, turning his chortle into a cough.
Donnelly's angry glare snapped from the inspector into the gallery and then to the judge's bench. The jurist, trying to hide his smile as he made a note on the pad before him on the desk, avoided the lawyer's sharp frustrated stare. Taking a deep breath, knowing he had irritated the judge enough for one morning, Donnelly turned back to the young homicide detective and smiled silkily. "Thank you for the … grammar lesson, Inspector," he said easily with a slight smile that failed to erase the rage still visible in his eyes.
Donnelly began to walk toward the defence table then, as if as an afterthought, turned back and seemed to stroll casually towards the witness box. "Tell me, Inspector Keller, you're actually an assistant inspector, are you not? You were promoted, ah, when was it, a little less than eight months ago when you joined the Homicide Division, isn't that right?"
"Yes, sir," Steve answered as he saw Assistant District Attorney Gerald O'Brien get to his feet.
"Objection, Your Honor. Relevance?"
Donnelly glanced quickly from O'Brien to Judge Salewski. "If you will indulge me, Your Honor…"
"I don't mind answering," Steve offered, looking from the judge back to Donnelly, meeting the lawyer's stare evenly.
"Very well. Overruled."
Glancing worriedly at Steve, and with a warning tilt of his head, O'Brien sat back down.
"Yes, sir," Steve began, continuing to meet the defence attorney's steely-eyed glare, "I am an assistant inspector, and I joined Homicide seven months and 23 days ago…exactly."
Sauntering nonchalantly closer to the box, his hands in his pockets, Donnelly glanced over his shoulder towards the gallery. "Your partner is the senior officer in Homicide, right? Lieutenant Mike Stone?"
"Yes, sir." Steve's eyes flicked briefly into the gallery and met Mike's.
"So I'm curious. Why did Lieutenant Stone let you handle this case? You were still 'getting your feet wet', so to speak, weren't you? There must have been several more experienced officers around who could have taken the lead … so, why you?"
Steve shrugged slightly, still meeting Donnelly's cold stare. "I guess you'll have to ask him, but from my understanding, this was the third case we were investigating as partners, and I think he realized I was ready to take the lead."
"Do you think you were ready to head up a murder investigation?"
"Well, I guess I did because, well, Mr. Parker is sitting over there and he is charged with second degree murder, isn't he?"
Donnelly froze slightly as Steve stared at him defiantly, and a low murmur, much of it amusement, rippled through the gallery. O'Brien looked down at the notes in front of him and cleared his throat pointedly. Judge Salewski's brief smile quickly disappeared as he glanced at the clock on his bench.
"Ah, Mr. Donnelly, it's almost one o'clock. Do you have anymore questions for Inspector Keller?"
Tearing his eyes from the passive and unruffled young cop, Donnelly turned to the bench. "Yes, sir, I do. A lot of questions."
"Then I suggest we break for lunch and then you can continue." Picking up his gavel, Salewski faced the rest of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, this court is in recess until 2:30." He slammed the gavel on the sound block.
"All rise," announced the bailiff as he got to his feet and everyone in the courtroom did as instructed. When the judge had made his exit, Steve stepped down from the witness box and started across the well towards the gallery. O'Brien stopped him as he got to the gate. "You're doing great, Steve," he whispered encouragingly and Steve nodded gratefully.
Mike joined his partner in the aisle and they started towards the door. As they followed the other spectators through the large wooden doors into the teaming corridor, Mike put his fedora on, chuckling slightly. Steve looked at him sideways.
"What?"
Grinning, the older man glanced over, shaking his head. "You got balls, I gotta give you that. Taking on Donnelly. Look, Steve, you're doing great and I love it, but watch yourself with him. He is a shark. I've been up against him a number of times over the years and he's not someone to trifle with – or take too lightly."
Mike glanced at his watch. "Say, why don't we head over to Mama's and grab a quick lunch and we can go over your testimony again for this afternoon. You can't be too prepared, especially against Donnelly."
Laughing, Steve nodded. "You got it." He was grateful for the opportunity to review the case once more; he knew he had gotten off easily that morning. His first hour on the stand had been spent answering questions from O'Brien, their side. And though the questions hadn't been softball, it had been an easy start to what he knew was probably going to be a couple of days of intense questioning.
Though the case wasn't major – a john who had killed a prostitute in a drunken rage – the defendant was the middle-aged scion of a once-prominent San Francisco family and it had been a case fraught with social and political overtones, even while being a fairly cut-and-dried whodunit. There had been a tabloid curiosity surrounding it at first, which had petered out when the public titillation turned out to be less than headline-grabbing.
But for Steve, it was the most important case in his life up to that point. It had been six weeks into his new rank and position in a new bureau, and he was still finding his way, both as the legendary Mike Stone's new partner and as a homicide detective. Everything had started wonderfully smoothly, and he felt comfortable almost immediately with the veteran lieutenant, who was turning out to be not just an extraordinary teacher and mentor, but quickly becoming a good friend.
They had butted heads on occasion – Steve's experience in the streets as a patrolman and later in Vice giving him an attitude and confidence that he refused to relinquish without a fight. And the older man, with the uncanny ability to put aside his preconceptions and actually listen to new and seemingly different points of view, would engage with him in debates about the merits of one modus operandi versus another.
The young assistant inspector was dumbstuck then, and delighted, when, arriving at the flophouse backroom where the body of a young Chinese prostitute had been found, Mike had asked if he felt confident enough to take the lead on this particular case. With Mike staying in the background, Steve had taken charge and within a week, they had Robert Daniel Palmer in lock-up, charged with second degree murder.
And now, finally, the case had gone to court, and though Steve had plenty of experience testifying before, they were brief appearances in the capacity of being the first officer on the scene when he was in uniform, or confirming a drug buy or john bust when in Vice. This was different; this was the big leagues.
The babble of voices in the corridor was almost deafening. Two other courtrooms had emptied out at almost the same time, spectators and court personnel scrambling to get out of the building into the fresh air and grab a little lunch. The pair of homicide detectives had gotten to the top of the huge central staircase when the sound of raised and angry voices sliced through the air.
Both men turned quickly in the direction of the commotion. Outside the heavy wooden doors of the closest courtroom, a small crowd had gathered and as the pair started forward, the small group quickly backed away, revealing two men in dark suits grappling with each other. A dark-haired middle-aged man had the other, a blond man of indeterminate age, in a headlock and was bringing him to his knees when Mike and Steve approached on the run.
Almost instinctively, Mike circled to get behind the man on top, reaching around him to grab his arms and try to pull him off. Steve grabbed the same man's arms from in front and between the two they managed to separate them.
With an enraged yell, the dark-haired man threw his arms back and viciously shook off Mike's hold, momentarily stunning the cop with his speed and power. Steve reached for the blond man, who had turned to face his adversary, to pull him away when he turned, right elbow up and caught Steve on the side of the head. The young inspector saw stars as his head suddenly swam and he momentarily lost his balance.
Mike, regaining his composure quickly, slammed both hands down on the dark-haired man's shoulders and began to slide his hands down the mans arms to pin them to his sides. With blinding speed, the other man spun to his right, and before Mike had the chance to react, the man's left fist connected viciously with Mike's
unprotected right rib cage.
With a pain-filled gasp, Mike was slammed back into the marble wall, both arms instinctively crossing his chest as he sank slowly to the floor. From seemingly out of nowhere, two uniformed guards grabbed the dark-haired man by the arms and wrestled him back, dropping him quickly to the floor on his face, forcing his hands behind his back.
Steve, with a quick shake of his throbbing head to clear his vision, tried once more to grab the blond man, who had turned to face him after administering the hard wallop. Still a little stunned, Steve was unprepared for the blow to his jaw that sent him reeling once again. Even as he staggered backward he knew his lip was split and he could taste the blood flowing into his mouth. As he struggled to stay on his feet, two more security guards charged past him and grabbed the blond man, throwing him into the wall then turning him roughly so they could maneuver his hands behind his back to cuff him.
The babble of voices in the corridor had risen to a fever pitch while the scuffle was taking place, and it didn't diminish even though the antagonists were now in handcuffs. Steve, leaning forward, his head pounding and blood dripping slowly from his mouth, was trying to pull himself together when he felt a hand on his back.
"Are you okay, Steve?" he heard a somewhat familiar voice laced with concern and turned his head slowly. Sergeant Al Malone's broad Irish face was hovering mere inches from his own.
Trying to nod without making his head hurt anymore than it did, Steve began to straighten up. He glanced around for Mike, unable to see him, then noticed another uniformed officer crouching near the wall and beyond him he could see the comforting sight of the fedora.
"'m okay," Steve nodded through bloodied lips as he took a step towards his partner. "How's Mike?"
From his position sitting on the floor against the wall, both arms still wrapped around his chest, Mike looked up at his partner, a smile brightening his pained expression. "Wow, what hit you?" he asked with a slight chuckle then winced.
Steve smiled as best he could, the split lip swelling alarmingly. "You okay?"
Nodding, Mike moved to get onto his knees and, with Sergeant Sullivan's help, got slowly to his feet, holding his breath as he did so. "Yeah," he answered finally as he straightened up, pressing his right hand once more against his right ribs, "I think he might have cracked a couple of ribs."
"You better get that looked at, Mike," Carter said with a serious nod. "That's nothing to fool around with." He looked at Steve. "And you might need a stitch in that lip of yours. Not to mention that black eye you're probably going to develop there too," Carter finished, pointing at Steve's right eye.
The two partners looked at each other, worry creasing both faces, then they smiled, the ridiculousness of the situation suddenly hitting home. "Well," said Mike with a slight chuckle, "so much for lunch."
The two sergeants exchanged baffled looks. "Look, ah, I'll drive you over to Franklin –"
"No, it's okay, Al," Steve said slowly, fishing the car key out of his pocket, "I can drive us."
"Steve, you're in no condition –" Mike's hand on his arm stopped him in mid-sentence.
"It's okay, Al, this kid can drive under any circumstance." Mike winked at Steve conspiratorially. "I trust him. We'll be okay on our own. But do me a favor, will ya? Tell Gerry and Judge Salewski that we might not be back on time and they might have to put someone else on the stand."
Malone looked from one partner to another, both of them smiling through their pain. "You sure?"
Mike nodded, then reached out and took Steve's elbow and slowly both battered officers made their way back to the staircase and started down.