A/N: This story is obviously going to contain sequences from the past. I will try to make it as clear as possible. If it's not, please let me know. Even though Steve is telling the story, I have dispensed with the quotation marks and first person narrative during the flash back sections, other than dialog between characters. When you see a date header and Italics, assume it's the past until you get to the 00000. Easy, right?
They settled into a booth at one of Steve's favorite out-of-the-way places in North Beach. Jeannie had suggested Mama's, for old time sake, and was dismayed when Steve told her they'd sold out to one of the chain restaurants that seemed to be everywhere these days.
After some Chianti, bruschetta and small talk, Steve placed a yellowed file folder on the table while they waited for their entrées. Jeannie snickered when he pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his jacket pocket.
"What the hell are you laughing at? I'm 72 years old." he said with humor coloring his voice.
"Nothing Doctor Keller. It makes you look very scholarly!"
"Sure it does. Do you want to know what this is about or not?"
"I'm sorry. Please I'm dying to know, continue."
Steve looked at Jeannie. The glint of excitement in her bright blue eyes was reminiscent of Mike's when he latched onto an interesting case. His voice wavered a little when he began to speak.
"We caught this case a while after Mike and I started working together. I think you were already at college. The murder actually took place a few blocks from here. It's the only one we never solved."
September 11, 1972 8:30am
It was early on Monday morning. Steve was sitting at his desk, typing a report and nursing a cup of terrible coffee. The phone rang on Mike's desk. When the Lieutenant hung up the phone and grabbed his hat and raincoat, Steve knew they had a body.
They walked down to the parking lot in silence. Steve was a little ragged from the weekend and Mike knew it. When he slid behind the wheel, Steve finally spoke.
"Where are we headed?"
"448 Columbus, between Stockton and Green."
"Stella's?" Stella's, an Italian bakery opened during World War II, was a legend in the North Beach area.
"You know, for someone who didn't grow up in San Francisco, you know an awful lot about the city."
"Mike, everybody knows about Stella's. It's not exactly a secret. Best cannoli in the city."
"Ok, I'll, give you that, wise guy."
"Murder?"
"Won't know till Bernie calls it."
"Then why are we already on the way there?"
"Stella's an old friend of the mayor."
"The Stella? There actually is a Stella?"
"Of course, you think they pulled the name out of a hat?"
Steve shook his head, threw the big tan sedan into reverse and headed for the Beach.
A uniformed officer stood outside the bakery, restricting entry to the scene. Mike and Steve unnecessarily produced their ID's and enter the small shop to the sound of a tinkling bell. Bernie was crouched down next to the body of a dark haired young woman in a white uniform.
"What do we got, Bernie?"
Bernie rolled his eyes at Mike, "I've been here 5 minutes. We have a dead girl."
"Murder?"
"Um, the gunshot wound marring her pristine white uniform would seem to indicate that, but I'll know more when I get her on the table."
"ID?"
"Donna Miller." Bernie handed Mike a California driver's license. He squinted at the grainy black and white photo. It really could have been anybody, but he had to assume it did in fact belong to the dead girl.
"Boy, I can't wait till they replace these old style licenses with color pictures, this could be anybody.*
Steve sighed as he took the license from Mike. "17 years old, the ink probably isn't even dry on this thing. Has the notification been made?"
"No. We'll need someone to come in and verify her ID."
Steve copied the family address into his notebook. "Who found the body?"
"You'll have to ask the patrolman who answered the call, but my bet is on the man behind the counter." Bernie inclined his head to the glass case filled with baked goods. A distressed middle-aged man, flanked by a uniformed officer sat behind it with his head in his hands.
Steve wandered over and got the patrolman's attention. The uniformed officer rounded the counter and spoke to Steve in a low voice. "That's Carlos Ramirez. He came in this morning at four to fire up the ovens and start baking for the day. He said the door was open and the lights were on when he got here. He found her on the floor and called the cops."
Steve, anxious to get away from the body of the young girl, went around the counter and gently laid his hand on the baker. Carlos looked up, his distress plainly written in his red rimmed eyes. Steve looked at the door behind the counter that led to the kitchen.
"I'm Inspector Keller. How about if we go in the back, Mr. Ramirez." Steve punctuated the statement by holding his hand up and pointing the way.
Ramirez looked dazed, but stood and walked mutely through the open door. The kitchen was deserted. The lights were on and the strong smell of rising yeast dough permeated the space. Steve led the man to a stool next to a stainless steel work table before getting him a drink of water from the sink. Ramirez took a sip of the water and attempted to collect himself.
"I know you already spoke to the patrolman, but would you mind going over it again with me?" Steve gave him his most compassionate smile and took out his notebook.
"I guess so. Like I said to the officer, I was coming in to start baking. When I pulled up, I was a little surprised that the lights were on. Usually the person who locks up shuts them off, except for the display case lights. Sometimes they forget, but when I got to the door and it was unlocked, I was really concerned."
"Who was supposed to close last night? Donna seems awfully young to have that kind of responsibility."
"I know. I've told Stella a million times it's not right to have a young girl alone in this neighborhood after the sun goes down, but Donna, she was really mature for her age, so level headed. Ramirez spoke with a reverent air. Most of these high school girls, well, let's just say they come and go, but Donna, well, she was different." Ramirez blessed himself and looked heavenward, adding, "God rest her soul, such a waste."
"How long had she worked here?"
"Over a year, started just after her 16th birthday. A real go getter. She came to Stella, asked for a job. She didn't just want to work the counter, she wanted to learn and didn't mind getting her hands dirty. Had a natural talent for baking, really got it. Probably would have given Stella a run for her money after a while. If she had only gotten a chance." Ramirez closed his eyes and looked down at the floor. A single tear trailed down his face.
Steve let him have a moment before he continued. "What did you do when you found the door unlocked?"
"When I came in, I saw her on the floor. I knew she was dead, poor baby. I called the cops and then I called Stella. I guess you know the rest."
"Did you notice if anything was missing?"
"I did check the cash register, but the till was already removed and the safe was locked. I don't have the combination, so I couldn't check to see if the tray was in there."
"Did you touch anything other than the register, the door and the phone?"
"No Sir. As soon as I made the calls, I went out and waited for the cops in my car."
"Do you know if there was anything bothering her lately?"
Ramirez thought it over for a few moments. "Not that she mentioned, but then again, I didn't work with her much, she usually came in after I went home most days. Although come to think of it, she didn't seem to be smiling as much as she used to."
Steve jotted down a few notes and looked at his watch, rubbing his tired eyes. It was well past 9 am, more than 5 hours since the body was found. Something was bugging him about Ramirez, but his sluggish brain was having a hard time pinpointing the cause. Mike had taught him to trust his instincts about people, but his little voice was making no sense right now. He fished a card out of his wallet and handed it to Ramirez. "Here's my card. If you think of anything else, let me know. We'll be in touch."
"Can I go?"
Steve didn't see any reason to keep the man. "Sure, but can you give me a number where we can contact you if we have any more questions?"
Mike walked into the kitchen as Ramirez exited the back door of the bakery. "Anything?"
"Not really." Steve wasn't ready to share his unfounded suspicions with Mike yet. "You?"
"Maybe. Charlie found something caught under her nails."
00000
The waitress came to the table and dropped off Jeannie and Steve's dinners. They ate quietly for a while until Jeannie spoke up.
"Sounds like a perfectly ordinary case. What made it so unsolvable?"
"Funny, that's what Mike and I thought at first. Robbery gone bad, jealous boyfriend, something like that, but it went sideways pretty quickly.
*California had photo driver's licenses as early as 1958. Color licenses were phased in starting in 1972.