Steve returned to his desk with a fresh cup of coffee, putting it down as he sat and flattened his tie into place. His sleeves rolled up and collar button undone, he glanced at his watch before leaning over the report once again, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand. The sun had gone down and all the lights in the bullpen were on.
He glanced up at the inner office; the lights were out. Devitt had gone home but was staying on call. He chuckled to himself; if Mike were back at work, he would definitely still be here.
It had been a long, slow day. Both teams had broken for dinner a couple of hours earlier; pizzas and soft drinks had been brought in for everyone. And now they were all back at it.
Neither Russell nor Young, it seemed, were saying much and their lawyers were demanding to see all the evidence against them. It was a slow process as the lawyers were starting literally from scratch. They had a lot to catch up on and were constantly asking for time to study the evidence presented.
The detectives conducting the interviews had not gotten to the point yet where they were willing to offer one of them a deal to have them flip on the other. And neither was saying anything about Graham Baker – not even acknowledging that they knew him, let alone that he was an accomplice, even though Russell had been caught fleeing in Baker's grandmother's car.
Steve used his left hand against the side of his chin to crack his neck in both directions, hoping to relieve some of the stiffness. He thought of calling Mike again but reconsidered; his partner might have called it an early night after spending the last few in the hospital.
The interrogation room door opened and Healey came out with his empty coffee cup in his hand. The only concession he had made to the long day, it seemed, was a loosened tie and open collar. He grimaced at his colleague as he crossed to the coffee pot, shaking his head in frustration.
"Dead ends?"
"More like a twenty-foot wall," Healey growled as he poured the steaming fresh java into his cup. "We can't even get him to admit he knows Baker, the clever little bastard. I don't know… maybe they took a blood oath not to rat on each other…" He looked at Steve with a chuckle then hesitated. The younger man was staring into space as if frozen. "What?"
Suddenly animated, Steve snapped the fingers of his left hand several times then his eyebrows shot up. "Of course!" he hissed to himself, shaking his head almost angrily. "God, I must be more tired than I thought, I forgot all about it. When Mike and I were interviewing kids from Baker's high school, one of them gave us a photo of Baker and his buddies at a block party a few months ago. We brought it to Gangs to see if they could identify any of them and Yarrow gave us Russell's name. That's how we ended up at that house where the Imperial was." He shrugged. "I lost track of the photo but I bet it's still down in Gangs." He picked up the phone. "I'll see if anybody's down there." He dialed three numbers and waited for a response.
With an encouraging nod, Healey started back towards the interrogation room. "Let me know if you find it."
Luckily a Gangs inspector was staying late finishing reports. Steve headed down, found Jack Dowd's home phone number and gave the lieutenant a call, apologizing for disturbing his evening. Within seconds, Steve had the photo in hand and was heading back up to Homicide.
He knocked on the interrogation room door and Healey stepped out, smiling gratefully when Steve slipped him the print. The inspector returned to his desk as Healey shut the door slowly, staring at the photo with exaggerated interest as he dropped back into the chair on the near side of the metal table, showing the picture to Stearns before placing it carefully on the table and sliding it towards Russell.
From his desk, Steve watched the interplay through the glass; even from a distance he could see the younger man pale, blinking quickly and licking his lips. Steve smiled to himself then went back to reading the report.
It wasn't too much later that the interrogation room door opened quickly and Healey charged into the bullpen, pulling the door closed behind him with a loud bang and hurrying towards Steve's desk. "Get Sean on the phone – tell him we're coming down. We may have a lead on Baker."
The inspector picked up the receiver and dialed three numbers. As he quickly informed the PC sergeant they were on their way, Healey went to his own desk and called Devitt at home. Everyone knew they had to move and move fast.
Within five minutes, Healey had met up with Whiting and Steve had tracked down Franklin, who was in Records. "Now, according to Russell," Healey told them, trying to contain his enthusiasm, "Baker spends a lot of time in a loft over on Natoma near 6th… it's essentially a flophouse. A bunch of old hippies squat there, from what he says, and Baker likes to hang with them, I guess. Russell says he doesn't know why."
"The drugs?" Franklin suggested with a shrug, not expecting an answer. He didn't get one but he did get some nods.
"Whatever it is, we don't know how many people are going to be in the building so we have one of two options: we go in tonight with a small army and hope we catch them by surprise… or we stake the place out all night and all day tomorrow and see it we can catch Baker coming or going…" Healey raised his eyebrows. "Opinions?"
The detectives glanced at each other before Steve piped up; he was the lowest in rank but in essence had the most skin in the game. The others would give his opinion the gravitas it deserved. "Well, I would like to get him before he has the chance to run. If he finds out we have Russell and Young in custody, he's gonna split."
"I agree," Healey nodded, looking at Whiting.
"Me too," Franklin echoed.
Pursing his lips together, Whiting looked down, his hands on his hips. Giving one firm nod, he raised his head. "Yeah, me too. Okay, Larry, get on the horn to dispatch and have two units meet us on 6th near Mission in about an hour, and I want them to keep a low profile and stay in their cars. Dan, you get back upstairs with Russell, but make sure you bring Roy up to speed when he gets here. And I am going to call the D.A.'s office – Gerry said there would be an ADA standing by all night." He turned to the youngest member of the team. "Steve, I know you and Judge Miglin have a good relationship. Gerry said he warned the judge he might get a late night phone call about all this so I want you to give him a shout and tell him we'll be over as soon as we can with the warrant. Everybody got all that?"
With nods all around, Healey turned on his heel and disappeared while Franklin went to his desk and picked up the phone. Whiting turned to Steve. "We're finally getting somewhere."
"Yes, sir," the young inspector smiled, doing up his collar button. For some reason, he wanted to look professional even though he was only going to be talking to the judge on the phone. It was a habit Mike had, and though he had found it quirky and endearing at first, it was something he soon found himself doing as well.
# # # # #
Warrant in hand, Whiting, Franklin and Steve met in the parking garage under the Hall just after midnight. Whiting handed Steve the keys. He knew they would be making a stop at the judge's residence for his signature before continuing on to 6th. The flophouse was actually within walking distance of the Hall, but the judge lived in the Sea Cliff area. Walking was definitely out of the question.
"All right, you'll do the driving but when we get there, you're going to stay in the car this time, am I clear?" He was waving an admonishing finger close to the younger man's grinning face. "You got lucky the last time… and I don't want to be the one that has to make that phone call to Mike, you hear me?"
"Yes, sir."
Chuckling to himself and shaking his head, Whiting turned and circled to the passenger side of the dark blue Galaxie. Steve watched him go with a chuckle and a smile, the sergeant's words and actions reminding him so very much of his partner. He was still laughing when he slid in behind the wheel.
# # # # #
It was almost 1 a.m. before the unmarked police car slipped into an empty space on 6th, a block north of the two black-and-whites already on the scene. The actual trip to and from Sea Cliff had been relatively swift, but Miglin had insisted on reading the entire warrant before he signed it.
As Steve swung the car to the curb, he glanced into the rearview mirror. A couple of blocks behind, the headlights of a large car disappeared as it pulled to the curb as well. "We'll be right back," Whiting said with a chuckle as he and Franklin got out of the car and started down the block towards the marked cars.
Steve watched as the two PC detectives were joined on the sidewalk by the four uniformed officers and they all continued up the street and around the corner. He reached down and laid the fingers of his right hand on the walkie-talkie beside him on the seat. Whiting would radio when they had Baker in custody and he would drive around to their location to pick them up.
He glanced at the driver's side mirror. Someone was coming up the sidewalk in his direction. He slid down behind the steering wheel as far as he could go. As the walker got closer to the Galaxie, Steve leaned over on the seat so he wouldn't be seen. He heard the footfalls as the person reached the car and continued down the street, and though he didn't know for sure, he had a feeling that there had been at least a cursory glance towards the car as the stranger passed by.
As the steps faded away, he sat up. The newcomer, dressed all in black he could see now, had broken into a jog. Suddenly alarmed, Steve opened the door as quietly as possible and got out. He pushed it to, not wanting to close it and call attention to himself. He stood stockstill beside the car until the stranger turned the same corner as the others had just seconds earlier.
The hair standing up on the back of his neck, Steve began to run as silently as he could in the same direction. There was now no doubt in his mind that the man in black was following his colleagues. He flattened himself against the wall and peered slowly and carefully around the corner. He knew the small apartment building in question was four up on the same side; he couldn't see his colleagues, but the man in black was standing on the sidewalk staring up at the second floor of the same building. He had something in his right hand, which was down beside his leg, but Steve was too far away to tell what it was.
He looked around, trying to find a way to get close enough to get the drop. The street was lined on both sides with parked cars. Breaking from his cover behind the building, he sprinted quietly across the sidewalk to the rear of the car at the corner and out into the street, crouching. Duck walking, he made his way down the street towards the man in black, who was still on the sidewalk staring at the building.
Finally opposite his quarry, Steve reached across his body with his right hand to pull the .38 out of the holster then stopped, silently cursing himself. He dropped his right hand to the pavement to steady himself as he unholstered the revolver with his left hand, shaking his head sharply in frustration.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, he got to his feet and sprinted up onto the sidewalk, directly behind the man in black. Raising the gun and holding it with both hands, he pressed it against the back of the taller man's neck.
"Don't move," he hissed.