Chapter 36
Though it was three in the morning and most of the building was quiet, there was quite the little gathering in Homicide. Word of the arrest had spread quickly, yet discreetly, amongst those most interested, and involved, in the phantom investigation.
By the time Wilson delivered Steve to Bryant Street from St. Mary's Emergency, Captain Olsen, Sergeants Norm Haseejian and Dan Healey, Captain Derek Redding from Robbery, and Patrolmen Scott Peters and Ian Johnson, who were the first unit on the scene that night, were present.
They stepped into the bullpen, waving off questions of concern for their well-being as they crossed to the interrogation room and stared through the glass. The two patrolmen were inside: Johnson near the door, Peters in the opposite corner. Handcuffed to heavy metal chairs on the far side of the grey metal table, Vlad and Igor sat sullenly, staring at the tabletop. A clean white bandage was taped to Vlad's right temple; a bruise was developing near Igor's right eye. Neither seemed particularly happy to be there.
Steve's stare penetrated the glass to a pinpoint laser focus on Igor's downturned face; this was the man, he knew, who had come so very close to killing his partner. Subconsciously he flexed his hands, the need to exact some form of retribution almost too strong to contain. The sharp pain stabbing through his right hand only served to deepen the fury seething inside him.
Beside him, Wilson's rage was focused on the older man, the more vicious one, the one who had taken everything, it seemed, not only from his partner but from him as well.
Olsen cleared his throat. He was standing very close to the two junior officers, watching them closely, as were all the others in the room. Everyone knew what Steve and Wilson had been through the last couple of weeks. 'There but for the grace…' had suddenly taken on renewed significance for them all.
"Listen, ah, there's not much we can do until the morning, fellas. They, ah, they don't seem to speak or understand English – though I doubt that very much." The captain's gravelly voice dripped sarcasm. "And they lawyered up, sort of, I guess. Who knows? Russian sure ain't like, you know, French or Spanish, where you can at least understand some of the words!"
Despite everything he was feeling, Steve couldn't resist a slight smile. He glanced at Wilson, who was biting his lips, his eyes dancing.
"Anyway," Olsen continued, getting his outburst under control, "I've got a couple a guys trying to locate a public defender who speaks Russian. Good luck to them, especially at this hour."
Redding took a step toward the window, glaring at the two subdued Russians. "I just talked to O'Brien. He's gonna meet us here at 10. Hopefully we'll've tracked down a Russian-talking PD by then." He glanced over his shoulder at Steve and Wilson. "Not much we can do until then, fellas. I'll get Peters and Johnson to take these two to the cells. Why don't you two head home for a couple of hours, grab some shut-eye and get back here for 10?"
Wilson looked over at Steve; their eyes held for a second or two then they both nodded. "Sounds good, Captain," Wilson said with a mirthless smile. He nodded towards the window. "Just make sure those two bastards don't go anywhere. We're not finished with them yet."
Redding smiled. "Don't worry about that, Bob. Rudy and I'll guarantee ya – you and Steve get first crack at 'em in the morning. You deserve it."
"You got that right," Steve muttered under his breath as he turned away from the window and started across the bullpen to the door.
Haseejian fell into step beside him. The usually jovial sergeant's brow was furrowed. "You sure you're okay, kiddo?" he asked quietly.
Once again, Steve found himself smiling despite the situation. "Yeah, I'm okay, Norm. This is all superficial." He stopped suddenly, a hand on the Armenian's arm, pulling him to a halt. "Listen, ah, I lost track of the victim after I was taken to St. Mary's… do you now what happened to her?"
"Oh, you mean the lady with the mean right hook courtesy of a 6-inch stiletto?" Haseejian's chuckle was contagious and Steve found his smile getting a little wider as he nodded. "They're still checking her out at St. Mary's. Last word is they're gonna keep her overnight, just in case, you know… But, ah, just so you're aware, you guys got there before they had the chance to, ah, you know…." He put a hand on the younger man's forearm and squeezed. "You and Bob, you saved her, Steve… you got there in time…"
Steve dropped his head, the smile disappearing, and he exhaled loudly. "I owe her my life, Norm," he whispered, keeping his head down.
Haseejian watched and waited. When the inspector's head came back up, he smiled warmly. "You did good, kid. You made Mike very proud tonight."
Steve snorted raggedly, dropping his head again. He cleared his throat. "Ah, speaking of Mike, I better get over there, tell him I made it out alive." He chuckled, meeting Haseejian's eyes gratefully. His perfunctory smile disappeared quickly. "Thanks, Norm."
The Armenian grinned. "Anytime, kiddo, anytime."
# # # # #
He heard the front door open and close. He held his breath. The light in the hallway snapped on; a bright glow silhouetted the closed bedroom door. Soft footfalls could be heard mounting the stairs then the doorknob turned and the door opened, flooding the room with light.
He stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding. He felt Irene tighten her grip around his chest. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them again.
The shadowy figure circled the bed to his side, hesitating only slightly before sitting on the edge. The light from the hall illuminated the profile he had been praying he would see again. He tried to smile but found he couldn't; he was almost paralyzed with relief.
Staring into the bright blue eyes that burned into him from the bed, Steve smiled affectionately, then very slowly reached out and laid a hand gently on the older man's chest. "We got 'em," he said softly, hearing the catch of the breath, watching the blue eyes close.
Allowing Mike to get a grip on his emotions, knowing only too well what his closest friend had been and was still going through, he increased the pressure of his hand and waited, smiling.
Mike opened his eyes, blinking quickly, and raised his right hand to touch his partner's face. Even in this dim light he had seen the bandaged cheek. "Are you alright?" came the voice barely above a whisper.
Steve nodded, grinning. Details could wait for later; what was needed right now was reassurance. "I'm fine." He cleared his throat. "Listen, ah, I gotta get back to the Hall tomorrow morning, lots of loose ends to tie up. So I'm gonna crash and try to get a couple hours sleep." He patted Mike's chest gently. "I'll see you tomorrow." Glancing at Irene, who hadn't taken her eyes from him either, he enveloped them both in a wide smile as he got to his feet and crossed slowly to the door, closing it behind him.
She could feel Mike trembling with relief and once more she tightened her hold around his chest. He pulled her closer, not in the least surprised when her hot tears began to soak into his pajama top.
# # # # #
His head down, his smile lingering, Steve shut the bedroom door and turned to head down the hallway when he stopped short. Jeannie was on the landing, staring at him with such a warmly compassionate smile that it almost took his breath away.
When she gasped slightly, seeing the bandaged hand and cheek, he raised his left hand quickly to shush her. "I'm okay," he whispered. "Really." He pulled her further down the hall so his voice wouldn't be heard through the master bedroom door.
"You don't look okay," she countered, equally softly, when they stopped outside her bedroom door.
"This is superficial, really, my hand isn't broken."
"Why is there blood on the back of your shirt then?" Her tone left no doubt that she needed an answer.
He sighed heavily, knowing he had to come clean. He shrugged slightly. "They had to put five stitches in my back – I fell on a beer bottle."
She winced, trying to turn him around. He resisted, raising his eyebrows.
"I'm fine, I just want to go to bed for a couple of hours, okay?" He stared at her, daring her to contradict him.
After several seconds of a silent stand-off, she backed down with an annoyed exhale. "All right… what time do you want to get up?" Her fists had found their way to her hips.
His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because I'll wake you. The way you look right now, you'll probably sleep through your alarm."
He eyed her silently for a couple of beats. "You're probably right… Nine?"
Still pretending to be annoyed, she nodded, frowning. "Then nine it is." She turned towards the stairs then stopped, looking back. Her artificially stern look vanished. "I don't think he got any sleep at all tonight. He was worried about you," she said softly before she headed down the stairs.
He stood stock-still for several long seconds, his stare unfocused, his thoughts far away, then he turned the doorknob and entered the bedroom.
# # # # #
The featherlight touch on his bare arm brought him gradually to wakefulness. He was lying facedown on a bed, it seemed, in a room that was lit with the spill from the open door. For a few seemingly long seconds he had no idea where he was. He slowly tried to push himself up but froze with a moan; every part of his body was aching, or so it felt. Sluggishly, he became aware of the other presence in the room. He managed to raise his head and look over his shoulder.
A warmly concerned smile creasing her comely young features, Jeannie Stone was standing beside the bed. She leaned closer and whispered, "It's nine. You wanted me to wake you up so you could get to Bryant by ten, remember?"
Expressionless while the words soaked into his muddled brain, Steve attempted a nod and a mirthless smile. "Right," he breathed softly as memories of the previous night started drifting back.
Her grin got wider but her voice stayed quiet. "I have bacon and eggs cooking and the coffee's ready. Get dressed and come down when you're ready." She began to straighten up then stopped. "Oh, and try not to make too much noise," she chuckled softly as she disappeared from sight, crossing the room and descending the stairs.
Confused, he shook his head slightly before putting it back down on the bed, the temptation not to move almost overwhelming. But as more and more snippets of memory fused together in his disoriented brain, he realized his task was only half done. The score he needed to settle was far from complete; he knew couldn't go on with his life until this entire horrific episode was over and done.
Taking stock of his aching body, remembering the stitches in his back and right cheek and the cracked bone in his hand, he gingerly pushed himself upright, draping his legs over the side of the bed to sit on the edge. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his left hand over his face; it hadn't been near enough sleep but it had been better than nothing.
His hand found its way to the back of his neck and he rubbed the nape, then lightly touched the back of his head. It was tender, another souvenir from the previous night's activity, if he remembered correctly, and he was pretty sure he did.
He had just put both hands on the bed to push himself to his feet when he saw him. Covered by a thick wool blanket, Mike was sound asleep in the armchair he had pulled away from Jeannie's vanity and closer to the bed. Steve sat back, covering his mouth with his hand as he stared at his partner, suddenly unable to move.
Then, taking a deep breath and with a wry, self-conscious smile, he pushed himself up and quietly crossed to the closet and the dresser. Removing the clothes he needed, and with a quick, fond backward glance, he ducked into the bathroom across the hall.
Emerging a short time later, shaved, showered and wearing fresh clothes, he stepped softly back into the bedroom. Mike hadn't moved. He crossed to the far side of the bed and sat, immobile, staring at the older man.
Eventually he got slowly to his feet and took a step towards the armchair. He reached out to touch his best friend's shoulder, to wake him up; the need to talk, to hear that comfortingly familiar voice was almost overpowering. But his hand froze in midair then dropped to his side.
Biting his bottom lip, smiling affectionately, he tiptoed out into the hallway and quietly closed the bedroom door behind him.