They exchanged a look across the room, both faces registering the disturbing realization of what they were standing over. Mike briefly closed his eyes and sighed, then nodded at the stairs on his left that led to the second floor.
With a confirming nod, Steve started towards them as the older man turned and disappeared through the door behind him, presumably the kitchen.
There were two small bedrooms and a bathroom on the upper floor, all of them empty. Steve turned on the tap in the bathroom; there was no running water. He returned to the first floor to find his partner once more standing over the gruesome scene in the main room.
"Nothing," Steve shook his head, holstering his .38 as Mike's eyes turned towards him.
"Same in there," Mike gestured with his head over his shoulder as he tossed the right side of his topcoat back and put his own gun away. He stared at the floor again and sighed heavily. "Well, I guess we found what we were looking for…"
"Yeah. So, ah, so what do you want to do?"
Mike looked at him and raised his eyebrows. "Well, we did tell Powell we'd let them know if we found anything, and I still think we should do that. But I don't want anybody in here until Forensics go over this entire place from top to bottom."
"Sounds good. So, shall we shut the place up and radio Powell and let him know what we found?"
"Yeah, I guess," Mike agreed as he started towards the door. "But I don't want to have to make this trip up here again. I want to find that third place… today. God knows what we'll find there… maybe the money."
Steve had followed his partner to the entrance and they stepped out onto the porch, firmly closing the door behind them. They both stood for a moment looking at the sky; it was definitely getting darker and colder.
"You know what that is, right?" Steve asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his raincoat as he nodded towards the sky.
"I know, I know," Mike growled as he stepped off the porch towards the car. "But I still want to find that third property. I got a feeling about it…"
Steve jogged back to the sedan and slipped behind the wheel, turning the engine over and setting the heater on full as Mike got in. The older man reached for the mic and slipped it off the hook. "He said Channel 4, right?" he asked, flipping the dial as Steve nodded. "Inspectors 8-1 to VPD Dispatch, come in please," he barked into the mic.
There was no response. He repeated the call, looking at the younger man with raised eyebrows. There was still no response. He snapped the dial on the radio back to Channel 2 and tried again. Still nothing.
"We too far out of range, do you think?"
Steve shrugged, frowning. "Either that or this cloud cover is interfering."
"Son-of-a-bitch," Mike growled, looking at the radio as if it could tell him. With a frustrated exhale, he slammed the mic back on the hook and sat back. "Well, I still want to check out that third place, so let's try to find it and then head back to Vacaville and tell Powell what we found." He picked up the property map.
Steve was looking at the sky through the windshield. "This is starting to get bad, Mike. You ever been in a tule fog?"
"Tool fog? Like a hammer?"
The younger man chuckled. "Tee-you-ell-eee. It's a specific kind of Central Valley fog. If you think what we get in The City is thick, you ain't never seen a tule fog. Everything comes to a standstill in a tule fog, and it can get really cold."
"Great. How long do they usually last?"
"Several hours at least, sometimes all night." Steve was studying the thick mist that was already tickling the tops of the tallest trees.
Mike followed his gaze. "How long do you think we have?"
The younger man tilted his head and shrugged. "Well, I haven't lived in the Valley in a long time, but I think we still have a couple of hours till we really have to worry. But…" he raised a forefinger, "I could be wrong."
Mike glanced at him and smiled. "Let's just hope you aren't." He looked at the property map again. "Okay, ah, let's get out of here and back on the road… and I think we need to turn right."
Steve shifted into Reverse and twisted in the seat, his right hand on the back of Mike's headrest as he stared through the rear window and guided the LTD backwards down the narrow lane.
# # # # #
The fog was getting denser as they slowly approached an overgrown track that seemed to be the entrance to the third property and turned in. They had driven past it twice before they even noticed it. The headlights did little to cut through the thickening mist as Steve struggled to keep the large sedan between the bushes that encroached on either side.
The path was surprisingly straight, though it was rough and slow going. Eventually they started to make out a large single-storey farmhouse up ahead. It looked even more dilapidated than the first two.
Mike exhaled loudly. "I guess this is it," he said under his breath as Steve began to bring the LTD to a stop. Suddenly the sedan lurched forward and down, as if the front wheels had dropped into a small ditch; both men pitched forward slightly, Mike bracing himself against the dash and Steve tightening his grip on the steering wheel.
"I'll just back up a little," Steve said with a soft chuckle as he shifted into Reverse and started to turn in the seat.
Without warning, the windshield exploded. Steve heard Mike cry out in pain and surprise as glass shards filled the inside of the car, then his right arm erupted in agony as he was thrown hard against the seat. Instinctively knowing they were under fire, he slammed his foot down on the gas and the sedan shot backwards.
Almost blinded by the pain that was pulsing through his right arm, now lying limply at his side, he struggled to keep the car straight and between the bushes. From the corner of his eye he could see Mike's right hand snaking up towards the roof, and he allowed himself the briefest flicker of relief – his partner was still alive and conscious.
The lane seemed endless as the car crashed through the tall grass. Gritting his teeth against the pain, his left hand wobbled on the steering wheel and the tail end of the car spun wildly. A large tree branch slammed into the right rear side window and it shattered before he could jam on the brakes and get the car back under control.
"Headlights!" he heard Mike gasp, voice laced with pain.
Knowing that his partner meant they were being pursued, Steve slammed his foot down on the accelerator once more and the car shot backwards again. He heard Mike's sudden sharp inhale but didn't dare take his eyes from the rear window.
Mike was trying to brace himself against the ceiling and the dash. He had no feeling in his left arm, his shoulder burning with a pain so intense he could barely move. He knew he had been hit at least once and possibly twice. Every bounce of the car drove a spear of agony through his shoulder and he was having trouble catching his breath.
The rear end of the car finally broke through the bushes onto the road and, slamming on the brakes again, Steve spun the wheel with his left arm and the LTD slewed into a tight turn. It rocked to a stop, the headlight beams piercing the fog and illuminating the wide asphalt county road.
With a moan, trying to drag air deeper into his lungs, Steve reached through the steering wheel with his left hand and tried awkwardly to pull the column shifter into Drive. Gasping from the pain the effort was costing him, his hand slipped and he tried again. He could sense Mike turn slowly towards him and suddenly the older man's right hand was over his, pulling the shifter forward and down into Drive.
As Steve got his left hand on the wheel again, Mike fell back against the seat, his head lolling back and his right hand pressed against his left shoulder. He yelped in pain as the car jumped forward.
Breathing heavily through his mouth, trying to ignore the agony radiating the length of his right arm, Steve blinked rapidly, trying to concentrate on the road that was disappearing ever faster in the thickening fog. The windshield, peppered with six two-inch holes bunched at the centre, was a spider web of cracks that ran all the way to the sides. Cold air was streaming through the holes, quickly overwhelming the warmth inside.
He could feel the rapidly cooling blood on his right hand, still lying uselessly on the seat beside him. His heart was pounding and his chest heaving with both pain and fear. He glanced in the rear view mirror; two of the bullets had punched holes in the glass of the rear window but it hadn't cracked.
"We gotta get off this road," Mike's shaky voice floated towards him and he nodded automatically.
The older man, holding his breath and clenching his teeth, pushed himself away from the seat and closer to the dashboard, trying to see through the fog and the cracks in the glass. Breathing in short gasps, his eyes scanned both sides of the road, looking for any sign of a trail or lane they could turn down.
At this moment, flight and cover were their only options.
Steve glanced in the rearview mirror again. As far as he could tell, they were still alone, but he couldn't be sure. Suddenly he felt unsure about everything.
"There!" he heard Mike gasp and his foot hit the brakes, the car sliding slightly even though they hadn't been going very fast. Both of them winced. Mike, who had braced himself against the dash, reached across his body towards the steering column to slide the shifter up into Reverse. Steve backed the car several feet then made the turn onto the narrow, overgrown path after Mike had shifted back into Drive.
Overhanging branches slapped the windshield as the large sedan bounced heavily down the winding lane, Steve pushing the car as fast as he dared under the circumstances. The fog was now so thick the high beams were more hindrance than help and Steve quickly took his left hand off the steering wheel to turn the headlights off.
Mike had braced himself again but couldn't smother the moans of pain that tore from his lips every time the car bucked and swayed.
Steve steered the car around a bend then slammed to a stop; the short road had come to an abrupt end at a dense copse of cottonwood trees. Leaving the car in Drive he turned the engine off. As the heavy silence settled, wispy tendrils of the cold, thick fog drifted through the holes in the windshield and the shattered side window.
The two occupants of the badly damaged police car were fighting their pain, gasping for breath, the brown leather seat between them slick with their blood. Both of them could hear the rapid hiss and see the thin column of steam escaping through the grille from the punctured radiator.
"We're in trouble, buddy boy," Mike gasped finally, trying to control the tremor in his voice, "big trouble…"