Chapter 25
Without expression, Steve stared at Wilson's smiling face as he picked up the photo and brought it closer. As the Robbery sergeant nodded once, the younger man's eyes refocused on the 3x5 in his hand, at the image of the man whose identity they'd been trying to uncover, the man who was now the target of their impending manhunt.
It had been taken at a distance, but the features were still easily discernible. A head and shoulders shot, in three-quarter profile, it was impossible to tell the man's height, but his athletic build was unmistakable. The clean-shaven bullethead, large hooked nose and cruel slash of a mouth burned easily into Steve's highly-trained cop's mind; and he knew without asking that Wilson had also already committed the facial characteristics to memory.
"This was taken about three years ago, I was told. So, chances are, he's not bald anymore and he could have facial hair now as well. He's about five-eleven, six feet. And he speaks with a heavy accent – that won't have changed, thank god." Wilson paused, clearing his throat slightly, and Steve looked up at him. The older man's eyebrows rose. "Rumor has it, I was told, that he has quite a… smorgasbord of tattoos on his chest and back, but he didn't know what of. I was told that one of them was an eagle carrying a nude woman, whatever the hell that means."
"There's a guy in Quentin, a guard – Mike knows him… we talked to him about tattoos once just after I joined Homicide. He might know or, if he doesn't, maybe he can turn us onto someone who does. May be worth a shot…?" Wilson nodded. "I'll ask Mike about him."
"Great. So," Wilson sighed, reaching for the photo, "I'm gonna get a couple of copies made of this at my local pharmacy so we each have a copy and maybe can hand a few out. But I've been thinking… we've gotta make sure the Feds don't get any kind of whiff about what we're doing or this is gonna disappear right before our eyes. I don't want that to happen and I'm pretty sure you don't either. I want to keep this just between you and me…" He stared at the younger man, tilting his head questioningly.
Steve nodded, briefly closing his eyes, relieved that Wilson felt the same way.
"I'm pretty sure Irene doesn't want to know anything about this," Wilson continued, "but do you think Mike…?"
With a mirthless snort, Steve shook his head. "No, ah, he knows what we're up to, no doubt about that… I mean, we kinda tipped our hand… but wanting to know the details…?" He shook his head again. "He's got enough on his plate right now… getting both himself and Irene healthy again… and that's gonna be tough. They've got a lot to overcome." Remembering that Wilson was still unaware of the miscarriage, and knowing that the decision to tell him or not was completely up to Irene, Steve stopped himself before he said too much.
Wilson nodded, looking down; he was beginning to wonder if life would return to normal, if he'd ever get his partner back.
Sensing the sudden melancholia emanating from the other side of the table, Steve asked with renewed vigor, "So, what do you think we should do first? I know you've been thinking about it all the way back on the plane." He chuckled gently and was relieved to see a warm, embarrassed smile on the sergeant's open face.
"You got me there," Wilson admitted, leaning forward and putting the photo back in his jacket pocket. "Well, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to start fresh tomorrow morning? It's been a long couple of days for me and I'd like to get home for a bit and get a good night's sleep. And do a laundry… a laundry is damn near a necessity right now," he laughed.
Steve chuckled. "I've been there, believe me. But that sounds great to me too; I'd like to have dinner with Mike, Irene and Jeannie tonight 'cause I think we're gonna be tied up for the next little while…" He looked at Wilson questioningly. "Hey, ah, you want to join us? I think everybody'd love to see you."
Wilson looked down, toying with his coffee up, and his warm smile disappeared. He cleared his throat self-consciously. "No, ah, I… I want to give Irene a little more time, you know..."
"Sure, sure…" the younger man agreed softly, trying to sound understanding. But he was puzzled by the decision. He knew Wilson had spent time with Irene in the first days after the attack, and as far as he knew nothing untoward had happened; Irene had been, if not happy, at least open to seeing him. This change in attitude was confusing but he decided not to press the issue right now.
"Anyway," Wilson said a little louder as he leaned back, anxious to change the subject, "I was thinking that first thing tomorrow morning we get to work in earnest. I think we should avoid going into the Hall, what do you think?"
Smiling, Steve nodded. "I think you're right, we've gotta play this very close to the vest. Why don't we use my place?"
"On Union?" Steve nodded and Wilson shrugged. "Sounds perfect. Oh, and you should call Rudy and tell him we're still on the clock but just not coming in. I'll call Derek."
"Yeah, I'll do that," Steve said, pouring the rest of the thick, dark coffee from the pot into his cup.
"Do you have the SF phone book at your place?" Steve nodded. "An Oakland one?"
Frowning, Steve shook his head. "No, why?"
"Well, I have a feeling that a good ol' Russian boy like our friend here," he tapped his jacket over the pocket with the photo, "he probably likes to indulge himself with reminders of home, don't you think? Like, I don't know, the cuisine from behind the Iron Curtain…?"
Impressed, Steve smiled with a facial shrug and a nod. "Good thinking. How about I start with The City directory and you get your hands on an Oakland one and we'll get a list going?"
"My plan exactly. I'll take the photo into the pharmacy first thing in the morning then head over to Oakland and get a phonebook. And maybe we should try further down the peninsula as well, what do you think? And across the bridge? Marin, San Jose, Palo Alto? You never know…"
"Well, one thing I do know," Steve said with a sigh, picking up his cup, "we've got a lot a work ahead of us."
# # # # #
"How are you feeling?" Jeannie asked with a worried smile as she stood, glancing at Irene as she reached across the kitchen table for her father's empty plate and stacking it on the others.
From under the thick bandage, Mike looked up at her and smiled. "I'm fine," he said patiently. "I wish you'd stop asking me that."
"Unh-hunh," Jeannie said dryly, raising her eyebrows at Irene as she turned to the counter, "like you'd tell me if you weren't…"
The older woman dropped her head, trying to hide the small smile that played across her lips. Mike looked at her with mild indignity as Jeannie chuckled. He had felt well enough to get out of bed, get dressed and join his daughter and Irene for lunch in the kitchen.
As encouraged as she was with her father's progress, Jeannie was still very worried about Irene. The spark that had always shone in her eyes was gone and, though the older woman seemed relieved and comfortable at Mike's side, there was an obvious emptiness in her heart and soul that nothing seemed to help at the moment.
Jeannie glanced back at the table; Mike was staring at Irene, smiling with a sad encouragement, holding her hand on the table. With a heavy though silent sigh, she turned back to the counter, knowing that they all still had a lot to overcome, both physically and psychologically, before life would begin to get back to some kind of normalcy, if ever.
She took a carton of Rocky Road ice cream out of the freezer and spooned it into three dishes. As she placed the bowls and spoons in front of the older couple and turned back for her own bowl, Mike said, "Um, sweetheart, I know I haven't been paying much attention to things lately, but, ah, it's December, right?" There was a lightness in his tone but Jeannie could tell he was about to broach a serious subject. She braced herself.
Chuckling, she nodded as she sat, glancing at Irene, who was staring at her blankly, obviously not knowing what was up either. "And…?"
"And don't you have, you know, exams to write?" Mike asked, raising his eyebrows as far as he could under the bandage.
Jeannie stared at him, briefly immobile, then laughed and relaxed. "Oh, that?" She grinned as she glanced at Irene once more and shook her head. "You don't have to worry about that, Mike, I have it all under control." She drove her spoon into the ice cream.
"What do you mean you have it all under control?" Her father's tone was curious yet firm.
Still smiling, she looked directly into his concerned eyes. "I'm way ahead of you, for a change… I called my professors a few days ago and explained everything. They understood completely – they really are nice people, you know… And it's been arranged that I am going to sit all my exams here at State." Her grin got wider. "Happy?" She popped the ice cream-filled spoon into her mouth.
With a short, elated, surprised snort, Mike looked from his daughter to Irene, who was smiling at the younger woman. "So, ah," he asked quietly, "so you don't have to go back to Arizona…?"
Jeannie's grin wavered; she knew exactly what her father was getting at, and she quickly blinked away the sudden moisture in her eyes. She shook her head slowly, staring at the face she loved so much. "I'm here for as long as you need me… Daddy…"
Looking down, swallowing heavily, Mike nodded, trying to smile. He felt Irene's hand tighten on his own but he didn't trust himself to look up at her.
Jeannie's eyes swung back and forth from her father to Irene, their guilt, pain and heartache still so achingly obvious. She cleared her throat gently then challenged brightly, "So, you two up for a little crib action?"
# # # # #
"Jeannie, you have outdone yourself again," Steve proclaimed as he forked another slice of pot roast onto his plate.
"Why thank you, sir," she acknowledged with a grin as she picked up the gravy boat and passed it across the table.
Smiling as he chewed, Mike stared proudly at his daughter, his eyes sliding once more to Irene beside him. He had been watching her closely all evening, his hand gliding across the tablecloth more than once to grip her forearm and offer a comforting squeeze. She would look up into his eyes and smile but continued to offer little in the way of conversation. But she was eating, and he was grateful for that.
Steve glanced at his partner, pleased to see that Mike was doing so much better and, at last, eating something substantial. It was important to him right now that the older man was making noticeable progress; one less thing to worry about, he thought. He had a feeling the next few days were going to be long and potentially dangerous, both physically and professionally. He needed, and wanted, to be at his sharpest.
He looked around the table, at the two people who had, in the past few years, become not only his surrogate family but the most important thing in his life. A lucky happenstance had brought him into their world; and, if he was lucky, he knew he would be a part of it for a very long time to come. The warm contentment burned like an ember in his soul.
"Steve." He heard his name being called and involuntarily shook his head, blinking and coming back to the room. A gentle chuckle reached his ears and he turned his head to look into Mike's warm, amused blue eyes.
He smiled back, coughing self-consciously. Mike's smile slowly disappeared; Steve stared back, somehow knowing that the older man knew exactly what was going through his mind.
Jeannie started to stand up. "Everyone up for some fresh baked apple pie?" she asked, knowing the question was really academic. When Steve looked at her, she grinned, "Hey, I had a lot of time on my hands today – what else was I to do?" She crossed to the counter.
"I'll give you a hand," Irene said quietly and, glancing reassuringly at Mike, got up to help.
Alone at the table, Mike looked back at his young partner. Their eyes met and held, and for several long seconds neither moved. Then the older man said quietly, "You be careful, you hear me."
Tears springing instantly to his eyes, Steve blinked quickly, catching his breath. He nodded, trying to smile. "I will," he whispered.