True to his word, Captain Greer had greased the skids for entry into the building and the evidence room. Signing in, Steve was given a temporary ID by an officer who didn't even look old enough to shave, let alone carry a gun. It was hard for him to remember ever being that young.
Over the past 48 hours, an old feeling had re-awoken in him. Steve had almost forgotten the sensation, but there it was, as if he had only left the streets a few days ago. The thrill of the chase, when pieces of the puzzle started to drop into place, made him feel more alive than he had in quite a while. Along with that feeling came a strong dose of melancholy, knowing he wasn't sharing it with Mike.
The corridors of Bryant Street were thick with memories, despite multiple renovations. Steve could never enter the building without being accompanied by the ghosts of his best friend. As he walked down the hall towards the elevator, he was greeted by more than a few officers, mostly former students. He was relieved that many were wearing name tags, as their names had slipped into the either over the years. When he reached the elevator lobby, he was greeted by a 30 something officer in khakis and a polo shirt. This one, at least, he remembered as being one of the best and brightest to come through the criminology program at Berkeley.
"Dr. Keller, it's great to see you. How long has it been?"
"At least 10 years, Paul. Looks like the job is treating you right. Congrats on your promotion, Homicide is the big leagues."
"Thanks, Doc. It's been my goal since I sat in your intro class all those years ago."
Steve was flattered. Helping people find their path was one of the best things about teaching, and the part he would miss the most after he retired.
When Steve said nothing Paul spoke again, "Captain Greer didn't give me much info, so tell me why we are going into the dungeon."
Steve gave him the Sparknotes version of the cold case.
"Primarily, we are looking for a locket. There is a hair sample we think is Jane Doe's daughter. I also want to see if the trace from under her nails and her uniform have been maintained properly. The expert we contacted at the FBI thinks he might be able to get something from those samples if they were dried before they were stored."
Paul was skeptical, "If you have nothing to compare it to, why bother?"
"We are hoping for a familial match, Blood from the uniform to the hair in the locket, so that we can, at the very least, ID the victim."
Steve shared how Catherine had tracked down Dr. Lewis, who surprisingly enough, was still at the FBI lab in Quantico. The Dr. didn't recall ever being contacted by Mike Stone, but that didn't dampen his enthusiasm for the challenge. After a quick case brief, he suggested testing the samples from under the victims nails and the blood on the uniform, as well as the locket, even though there were no databases from the era. You never knew which sample might yield results or where it might lead.
"That's a long shot. Why don't you just give it to our lab?"
"With as backed up as I assume they are, do you think they would give much priority to this case? I'd kinda like to finish this before I'm, uh dead."
"Fair point," Paul said with a chuckle, "but why all the interest after so much time has passed?"
The question gave Steve pause. "That's a really good question, and I wish I could give you a really good answer, but honestly, I don't even know why. I'd pretty much forgotten about the case until I found out my old partner perseverated on it long after he retired. I guess it just lets me feel close to him again."
They reached the evidence lock up and were given directions to the oldest section of the archive. Splitting up, it was several minutes before Steve found the correct box.
"Paul, I got it." Steve called as he pulled the dusty box from the shelf.
"Good, let's sign for it and get the hell out of here. This place give me the creeps and I'm sure the mold down here isn't doing my sinuses any good."
Steve knew he shouldn't be the one to handle the evidence, so he passed the box to Paul as they reached the outside door. Once it was properly signed out, they went back to Paul's Office.
It was a far cry from the cramped, antiquated space that he and Mike had occupied back in the day. Laptops on every desk and not a typewriter or landline in sight.
An older man emerged from the office and caught Paul's attention.
"Inspector Farrell, we in the Michelin Guide now? Who the hell is that? You know I don't like tourists in my squadroom."
Paul put the box on the desk and urged Steve forward.
"Sir, this Dr. Steven Keller, chair of the Criminology Department at Berkeley. He also used to work here back in the day. He was one of Mike Stone's partners."
"The Mike Stone?"
"Yes Sir. Glad to see that name still has a little cachet around here." Steve extended his hand to the Lieutenant. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"I'm sorry Dr. Keller, but you know how it is."
"Please call me Steve. Yes I understand. I remember how Mike used to feel about his bullpen and that was way, way, way before 9/11."
"To what do we owe the visit?"
Paul pointed to the evidence box and gave the Lieutenant a quick lowdown on the case. While intrigued at the possibility of solving a forty year old case, he was blunt with his inspector.
"Farrell, don't get caught up in this, we need you in the here and now. Professor Keller, I appreciate your interest but this would be better handled by the Cold Case Squad, don't you think?"
"Sir, I promise not to take too much of his time, I was just making sure we didn't have any issues with the chain of evidence. Capt. Greer though Paul here was a good choice to help me send this off for testing. I'll be out of his hair in an hour."
The mention of the Captain's involvement seemed to soften the Lieutenant's attitude.
"Again I'm sorry Steve, but you know how overworked these guys are. I hope this all works out. It's always good PR when we get one of these old mysteries cleared up. Paul, if the testing yields anything useful, this one will be yours.*"
The Lieutenant turned to leave and added, "Keller, I would love to sit down over a beer one day and hear some tales from the old days."
"I'd like that Lieutenant." Steve said politely, not sure he liked to think of his time on the forces as the old days.
Paul broke the seal on the box and opened the lid. Steve was careful to look, but not touch, as the inspector pulled the evidence bags from the container. After locating the locket, scrapings and uniform, he filled out a card inventorying what had been taken and put it in the box.
"We'll keep this in our evidence locker until we get results," He said as he resealed the box.
Steve produces a mylar Fed-X sleeve, pre-addressed and flagged as "Biological Samples" by Catherine. Paul slipped the evidence bags inside and sealed the envelope. Neither liked the idea of trusting the samples to a courier, but it was their only option.**
00000
Catherine jumped up as soon as Steve came into the common area of the department, a look of excitement plain on her face.
"Don't get too comfortable, Doc. We have an appointment."
"We do?"
"Yup, Do you want to drive or shall I."
"I'll drive, where are we going?"
"San Leandro, I'll give you directions on the way."
"You contacted Miller?"
"Not, Miller, but his associate. He told me Cameron would be in the studio this afternoon and would love to talk to us."
"He would love to talk about a 40 year old homicide?"
"Not exactly…" Catherine paused dramatically. "Happy to talk to a wealthy couple about the money we want to spend on a large commission."
"Sneaky, but effective. You sure you want to waste your time driving over there. He may take one look at us and refuse to talk. We probably should kick this over to the cops."
"You said it yourself, they won't look at it until the DNA results come back."
"True. But I was gonna finish up with my office today." He tried to put her off, but her excitement about interviewing the artist was palpable, and contagious. She really would have been a great cop.
"Come on Dr. K, you know you want to talk to him."
"Yeah I do, but you should have waited till we got the DNA back, he could be our killer."
"Do you really believe that?"
"Well no…"
"Just think, I get to tag along on a real live witness interview by a crack detective, I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Yeah, about that, you do remember that was forty years ago."
"I'm sure you haven't lost a step."
"Ok, ok, you've convinced me, but do me a favor, let me do the talking. We are treading on some very shaky ground."
Her pout at his response was adorable. "Anything you say, Doc."
As much as he wanted to figure this case out, it had been a long time since he interviewed a witness or suspect in anything but an academic setting. He had a really bad feeling about this.
00000
Steve cut down MLK Way to the MacArthur Freeway. In another couple of hours, this route would be a nightmare but in the middle of the day, the 15 mile trip to San Leandro took a shade less than 30 minutes.
As they drove to the studio, Steve and Catherine discussed what approach he would take with Cameron Miller. He was convinced this was a bad idea, but he didn't have the heart to dampen Catherine's enthusiasm.
"You know, all bets are off if he recognized me. Even after 40 years, that's a possibility. People tend to remember traumatic events more vividly. So we aren't going to push him. Understand?"
"Got it. So how are you going to play it."
"I think I'll run with the interested art patron to start and see what happens."
Catherine thought about it for a moment before replying. "You really think he might recognize you?"
"Hey anything is possible, and like I say, some parts of life tend to imprint more indelibly than others, even if I now look more like the 'Cryptkeeper' than a SFPD Inspector."
She laughed out loud. "Again with the self deprecation. Why do you do that? You know there are plenty of women who would jump if you looked their way…" she paused for a what the hell decision, "including me."
Steve was stunned. When he had first started teaching at Berkeley, he had been as Mike put it, quite the ladies' man. He had taken full advantage of the target rich environment. Even during his marriage, there were always plenty of opportunities. It was one of the things that doomed the relationship from the start and one of his greatest regrets. As the years went on, however, that part of his life had settled down considerably.
At 72, it really did come as a surprise that women still thought about him in that way. And that Catherine did, too. Now what?
He was formulating a response to her revelation when the conversation was shelved by their arrival at 2100 Merced, just off Marina Boulevard. It was an old, single level, brick industrial building that had been subdivided into studio spaces.
They got out of the car in silence and walked the length of the building until they found the door marked "Wasted Youth Studios." Upon entering, any question about Miller's recollection of the events forty years ago was instantly answered. An oversized oil painting graced the foyer. Steve had no trouble recognizing the face as their Jane Doe.
Catherine nearly ran into Steve's back when he came to an abrupt stop, staring intently at the artwork.
"What is it, Doc?"
"It's her."
"Her who?"
"Donna or Irina or Jane or whoever, It's our victim."
A young man entered the foyer area. From his age and Steve's foray on Facebook, he knew this was not Cameron MIller.
"Can I help you?"
Steve was momentarily tongue tied. He wasn't sure if it was from the portrait or Catherine's revelation in the car. Catherine picked up the slack.
"Yes you can, I think I spoke to you yesterday. Jerry, Right?"
"That's me, You must be Mr. and Mrs. Keller."
When Steve turned toward Catherine and raised an eyebrow, she grabbed his hand and continued," Yes. We saw some of Cameron's work in the Chronicle last month. We just had to come and take a look, didn't we honey?"
Steve had to admire the initiative she had taken when researching MIller, but this was not going at all the way he had planned. He felt heat rise in his face.
He turned and patted her hand, giving what he hoped was a convincing smile.
"Absolutely, babe." He was going to speak again but she continued.
"Like how about this one, as you can see, Steve can't take his eyes off it."
At least that was true enough, Steve thought. He tried, but was unable to give her a take it slow and easy look..
"No can do, this one is not for sale. Dad would never let that one go."
"Cameron Miller is your father?" Catherine asked surprised.
Yep. Why don't you come in and have a seat and a cup of coffee, Dad's not back from lunch yet, but there are a few pieces in the lounge you can look at. I'll give you a yell when he comes in."
He led them to a small waiting area with a battered couch and a coffee pot on a counter. There were several large canvases on the walls and what looked like shrink-wrapped prints in a rack near the corner..
When Jerry Miller was out of earshot, Steve turned to Catherine, "What the hell was that?"
Catherine wasn't sure what he was talking about, the interview or her comment in the car, which she now regretted. Why did I just blurt that out? She went for innocent.
"Well you weren't saying anything to Jerry, so somebody had to."
"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it."
"Yeah I know. I don't know what I was thinking, but now that I've said it, where do we go from here. In a short while, you're not my boss anymore and I haven't been a coed for a lot of years. Steve, I don't think I want to lose this."
"This?"
"Yeah, this. We have spent 15 years together. Hell, half the time I finish your sentences for you and you know what, I think I want more. And in the past couple of days, I get the feeling that you do to. So go ahead and tell me I'm wrong."
A week ago, Steve was in the final countdown of his academic career, riding his bachelorhood into a comfortable retirement. The recent walk down memory lane and the time spent with Catherine, although totally chaste, had stood that path on its ear.
"Are you going to say anything? You aren't usually at a loss for words." Catherine was worried she had stepped beyond the point of no return. Had she read the situation so wrong?
"I'm trying to figure out what to say. I'm flattered, but you know I'm old enough to be you father. I have grandkids, for Christ sake."
Now Catherine was really nervous, but the door had been opened and there was no going back,
"Your point? Age is just a number. Just be honest with me, I'm a big girl, I can take it. Tell me you've never thought of me as anything other than a admin assistant or a coed and we'll move on. Uncomfortable as hell, but we'll move on."
The silence was excruciating.
*If new evidence presents itself in a cold case in San Francisco, it can be reopened at the discretion of the officer in charge.
** It is permissible to send samples by FED-X of US Mail as long as the package is sealed and requires a signature upon delivery.
