They had breakfast in the small coffee shop attached to the motel they were staying in just outside the city limits then headed into town and the police department. The appointment with the detectives with the Crimes Against People division was scheduled for 8 am.
It was 7:55 and already very warm when the tan LTD turned into the parking lot behind the single-storey grey building fronted by several tall palm trees. Steve was dressed in his usual muted brown tones, his tied done up, and he was carrying the folder he'd brought from San Francisco; Mike was wearing his charcoal grey suit and his fedora.
The older man looked over the roof as he slammed the door. "Sure glad I didn't bring my vest," he chuckled. "It's hotter here than it was at home!"
The building was, thankfully, air-conditioned. Steve introduced himself to the sergeant at the front desk, who made a phone call and moments later a blond, very tanned plainclothes officer not much older than himself came down the hallway. Spotting the two obvious detectives standing near the desk, he approached with an outstretched hand and a frown.
"Inspector Keller…?" he asked tentatively, his eyes snapping from Steve to Mike and back again.
Mike, who had his hands behind his back, was shaking his head with a closed-mouth grin. Steve took a step forward and shook the PS detective's hand. "That'd be me," he said with a confirming nod and a smile.
The other man's eyebrows rose. "Ah… Sergeant Waters. Call me Pete."
"Pete, good to meet you. I'm Steve." Releasing the other man's hand, he nodded towards his partner. "This is, ah –"
"Mike," he said quickly, stepping forward to grab Waters hand and shake it vigorously. "Pete, is it?"
Steve shot him a look, his brows knit.
"Yes," Waters nodded, looking a little confused as to who this older man actually was, and turned his attention back to Steve. "Welcome to Palm Springs, gentlemen. If you'll follow me, I've put what we've got on John Trammel in one of our interview rooms. There's a lot of pictures of the guy, so you should be able to make a positive I.D., and we have those partial prints you asked for as well. I've also given you a map of the town with his car lot and his house on it, plus the keys to both his house and his business." He started to walk down the corridor; Steve fell into step beside him, Mike trailing slightly behind.
"It's, ah… it's all pretty self-explanatory," Waters continued, glancing over his shoulder at the tall older man, who smiled at him benevolently, "Trammel wasn't the most popular guy in town. There's gonna be a lot of suspects."
"Any of them, you think, would've gone all the way up to San Francisco to murder him?"
Waters tilted his head and snorted. "At least a half dozen, but I'll let you decide which ones you think they might be. You know… kind of a Chinese wall…?"
Steve nodded.
They had reached a closed door and Waters opened it onto a small windowless office with a metal table and four chairs. There were two stacks of manila file folders on the table, a legal length yellow pad and a several pens.
"Here you go," Waters said, standing at the door as the two visitors moved past him into the small room. "I'll, ah, I'll leave you to it, and if you have any questions, I'm just down the hall," he pointed to his left, "in CAPS. I'm here till six, so if you get through all this by then and you want to bounce some ideas off me and some of the other guys in the squad…?" He shrugged and smiled.
Steve looked at the pile of folders then back to Waters. "That's quite the stack of files," he chuckled then nodded at the PS detective. "Well, I better get started. Thanks." He started to take off his jacket, glancing at Mike, who was standing in the corner, trying to look inconspicuous and not doing a very good job of it.
"Oh, ah, there's coffee in our break room just down the hall back the way we came – just go past the front desk and it's two doors further down on the left. It's the honor system – and the coffee's not bad, all things considered. And there's a bunch of small diners and restaurants in the neighborhood if you need to get some lunch." He glanced towards the files. "Good luck." He backed out of the room and closed the door.
Tossing his jacket on the back of one of the chairs, Steve looked at his partner. "What was that all about?"
"What was what all about?"
"'Mike'…? I mean, seriously, you know he's trying to figure out who you are. I told them yesterday I was coming down here alone. I'm pretty sure he doesn't think you're my father so, ah, what? Who are you? My baby-sitter…?"
Mike's brow furrowed as he looked down. "Oh… I didn't think of that." His head came up and he smiled wanly. "I guess I'll, ah, I'll introduce myself properly when we see him the next time. Sorry about that."
Chuckling, Steve shook his head as he sat. "No problem, I'll survive." He picked the top folder off one of the stacks and opened it.
Laughing, Mike took off his fedora and dropped it on a corner of the table, then took off his own jacket, draped it over the back of a chair opposite his partner and sat. As he reached for the top folder on the second pile, he looked at Steve. "Guess you're glad I decided to come after all, hunh?" He looked from one pile of folders to the other as he reached behind himself to fish his reading glasses out of his inside jacket pocket.
Glancing up from the file, Steve smiled and shook his head again. "You gonna talk or you gonna read?"
"Yes, sir," Mike laughed, starting to roll up his sleeves as his eyes scanned the top page of the thick folder.
# # # # #
Having established that John Alan Trammel was indeed their mysterious Mr. Goodman, they had gone through more than a half-dozen of the files when Mike looked over the top of his glasses. "Hey, ah, what's that 'Chinese wall' Waters mentioned?"
Steve's head came up, frowning for a second as he processed what he'd just been asked. Then he smiled suddenly. "Oh, uh, that just means he wasn't going to tell us anything before we had a chance to study the files so he wouldn't prejudice what, if anything, we find."
Mike, eyebrows rising, tilted his head with a facial shrug. "Hunh… so that's a Chinese wall…" He smiled. "Thanks." He looked back down at the file in front of him.
Across the table, Steve looked at the top of his partner's head, smiling affectionately before his attention returned to the papers in his hands.
# # # # #
Steve tossed a folder on the table, stretched and glanced at his watch. He looked across the table; Mike was still engrossed in the file he'd been studying, making notes on the loose yellow legal sheets that Steve had torn from the pad.
The younger man cleared his throat. Mike finished making another note before he looked up, eyes a question.
Steve had stood, picking up his jacket and putting it on. "Lunch."
Startled, Mike looked at his own watch. Chuckling, he took off his glasses as he got to his feet. As he put his jacket on, his eyes took in the ordered chaos on the table. "Well, we're almost through. Want to get something and bring it back?"
"Work through lunch, you mean?"
"Well, we only have today, right?" He reached across the table and picked up his hat.
"You read my mind, Lieutenant," Steve chuckled as he opened the door, gesturing for his partner to precede him out into the corridor.
They were almost passed the front desk when Waters and another man entered the building. The PSPD detective stopped, frowning slightly at Mike before smiling at Steve. "Inspector Keller and, ah… Mike, ah… this is my partner, Sergeant McCann."
"Charlie," the tall dark-haired, heavy-set detective grinned, shaking first Steve's hand then Mike's.
"Steve," the young San Francisco cop said with a smile before tossing a pointed look at his partner.
After shaking McCann's hand, Mike turned his attention to Waters. "Ah, Pete, I, ah, I'd like to… re-introduce myself." He glanced at Steve self-consciously and cleared his throat. "I'm Steve's partner, Lieutenant Stone. But I'm really not here in any official capacity… I just sort of came along for the ride…"
Both San Francisco cops watched as the Palm Springs detectives' brows furrowed in confusion.
"What he's trying to say is," Steve said pedantically, ignoring the pointed stare from the older man, "is that he's on injury leave and only came along because he's bored."
Mike grunted. "Well, that… and because it was, you know, my – I mean, our case to begin with before, you know…" He gestured feebly.
McCann was studying the senior officer with an intrigued frown. "May I ask… what kind of injury…?"
Mike shrugged slightly and bobbled his head, trying to wave it off, but Steve jumped in. "He was shot in the chest."
"What?" Waters blurted out, both sergeants stunned, staring at the man in front of them with confused awe. "When?"
Snorting irritatedly, Mike glared at his partner but Steve paid him no attention. "About a week and a half ago," he continued flatly, not meeting Mike's eyes.
McCann had taken a half-step back, his face still registering his disbelief. "You look, ah… you look great…"
Mike grinned and shrugged. "I was lucky…"
"I guess you were," McCann said slowly, shaking his head in awe.
Waters tore his eyes from the San Francisco lieutenant. "Ah, Steve, um… so, ah, how are you guys coming along?"
Swallowing a smile, Steve nodded. "Great, thanks, ah, we're almost through the files and then we'll head out and visit Trammel's house and his business. We're just going out for a bite to eat."
"Oh, ah, may I recommend Lonny's Diner around the corner," McCann pointed to their right. "Best burgers and hotdogs in town, if that's what you're into."
Mike grinned. "You bet, thanks." He turned and headed towards the front door.
Steve tilted his head in his partner's direction. "He's a little hungry…" he said quietly before starting to follow. He could feel two sets of dumbstruck eyes on them as he caught up to Mike at the door and they exited.
# # # # #
"You know, I thought Palm Springs would be a real bustling little resort, but it seems kinda, I don't know, deserted…" Mike observed, looking out the side window as the LTD crept slowly down Cam Norte.
"It gets busy in the winter," Steve told him, "but the recession's really hit them hard, I heard."
"Humh… well, it's sure is a pretty town… all these palm trees… There!" He pointed to the numbers painted on the light grey wall beside a wrought-iron gate.
Steve pulled the car to the curb, patting his jacket pocket to make sure he had the house keys before he got out. Mike was already standing beside the entrance when he got there.
Locking the gate behind him, Steve turned the lock on the front door of the modest beige stucco bungalow with the terra cotta roof then opened it slowly. They stepped into a large, sparsely furnished living room with an off-white shag carpet and teak paneling on the walls. A huge dark brown faux leather sofa was against the far wall, opposite a 21" TV in a faux wood wall unit. Two replica Gehry 'wiggle' chairs sat on either side of the sofa and a Mondrian print hung on the wall above it.
Mike stood just inside the door, surveying the scene. "He was divorced, right?"
Chuckling, Steve nodded as he pocketed the keys, his own highly trained gaze taking in the entire room.
"So, ah, in your professional opinion, is there anything in this room – apart from the rug – that's real or is it all… fake?"
The chuckle turning into a laugh, Steve gave everything a thorough once-over. "No, you're absolutely right. Everything is a knockoff… but it still doesn't look too bad, if you don't look too closely…"
"Where did the report say they found the blood?"
"The kitchen."
Steve leading the way, they headed to the right, stepping into the entranceway of an expansive well-lit beige-walled kitchen with a brown Moroccan-style filigreed linoleum floor. Their eyes scanned the room, taking in everything from the unwashed plate and cutlery on the small round table against the wall, the empty bottle of rum on the counter, the half-empty pot of stone cold coffee in the Sunbeam coffeemaker, and the now very dry puddle of blood on the floor.