Head and Heart – Chapter 38
They had split up, Steve staying in the kitchen and living room with Mike taking the bedroom, bathroom and laundry room. Other than the dried blood on the kitchen floor, there was no other sign of violence in the entire house.
Mike wandered back into the kitchen, hands in his pockets; Steve was crouching, staring at the dried bloodstain. "Well, it looks to me like this came from a knife wound…" he said without looking up.
"Why do you think that?" the older man asked. He had already come to that conclusion but wanted to hear how his partner got there.
Steve glanced up, his eyes snapping around the room. "There's no splatter, which there would be with a gunshot, and there's too much blood for just a fistfight. But it's also not enough to be fatal… right?"
Mike nodded slowly. "Right. And there aren't any blood drops anywhere else – at least not that I can see. Did you check the drawers?" He nodded towards the smaller drawers under the counter near the stove.
"What for?"
"The blood is very… localized, isn't it? Whoever got stabbed probably grabbed a dishtowel or something nearby, don't you think?"
Nodding, Steve got to his feet and moved closer to the counter, opening the bottom drawer, figuring as that was where he kept his own dishtowels and cloths, it was the most logical location to start. He was right, and the top towel was rumpled, as if it had been disturbed when the one above it had been hastily removed. He glanced over his shoulder at his partner and smiled with a soft chuckle and shake of his head.
Mike shrugged and grinned. "I checked the laundry basket, there's nothing in there with any blood on it so whoever got stabbed probably took the towel with them, so that rules out Trammel for sure, right? I mean, he was beaten to death… I think even Bernie would've noticed a fresh stab wound."
Snorting a laugh, Steve nodded, looking around the room once again.
The older man exhaled loudly and shrugged. "Well, I think we've done all we can here, don't you agree?"
"Yeah, I think you're right." His roving eyes stopped on his partner. "So I guess we should head back to the department and talk to Waters and his partner about our six… suspects. And then we gotta find out if any of them were up in San Francisco when Trammel was killed." He sighed heavily.
Mike stared at him for a long second before he said quietly, "We're not going to be able to get all that done today, even with the guys here working with us… you know that, right?"
Steve sighed unhappily. "Yeah, I know. I really think we can wrap this up soon if we have enough manpower though, don't you? But a really big part of me wants it to be just us…" He was looking at his partner from under a lowered brow, deliberately chumming the water.
Mike stared at him without expression for several long seconds, knowing exactly what the younger man was doing. Finally he chuckled and looked down, shaking his head. "We'll have to clear it with Roy, you know… and I don't know about you, but I'm gonna have to buy more underwear and probably another shirt or two."
Steve's smile was slow to build and he crossed the kitchen quickly, slapping his partner on the arm as he returned to the living room and started for the front door. "I'll call him as soon as we get back to headquarters."
# # # # #
"So what about…" Steve glanced at the name on the file folder label, "Joshua Spencer?"
Their sleeves rolled up and ties loosened, the two San Francisco detectives were sitting on one side of the metal table, five files spread out in front of them, as well as two now empty coffee cups, two chocolate bar wrappers and a large half-empty bag of Lay's potato chips. Waters and McCann were sitting on the other side of the table, leaning back in the metal chairs, their legs crossed.
"Oh, him," McCann snorted, glancing at his partner. "He'd be my first choice."
"Oh? Why is that?" Mike asked with an interested smile, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table.
McCann shook his head with a dry chuckle. "Unlike McGuinty," he pointed vaguely towards the file on the floor beside the table, "Spencer can't control his temper. He's been… how shall I put it?... a guest of ours a couple of times over the years, mostly for assault. We had him dead to rights twice but his victims refused to press charges."
"Yeah, we saw that," Steve muttered, scanning a page in the Spencer file. "It just says here that the charges were dropped." He looked up. "Do you know why?"
McCann looked at Waters and they both shrugged.
"Well, the only thing I can think of," the blond Waters began, "is that when Spencer isn't drinking, he's a really nice guy."
Mike and Steve exchanged a look. "So what set him off?" the lieutenant asked.
"With which one?" Waters asked.
"Either of them."
"Well, that first time somebody ran over his garbage cans when he put them out at the curb on trash day. They'd swerved to miss a dog running across the street… Anyway, Spencer'd been sitting in his house drinking… he has a spotty employment record, let's just say… and he came roaring out of the house, pulled the guy out of his car and almost beat him to a pulp."
"And the guy didn't press charges?" Steve asked with a puzzled frown.
"Well," McCann took up the story, "the guy was going to but Spencer went to see him and the next thing we know, the driver's calling us and telling us he doesn't want to press charges."
"What… did Spencer threaten him?"
Both PS detectives shook their heads. "Nope," McCann chuckled, "and we followed up on it. The guy just changed his mind."
"Humh," Mike snorted, looking down briefly before pinning Waters with a curious stare. "So what makes you put him in with all these others potential Trammel suspects?"
"Well, Spencer was one of the reasons the department was serving a warrant on Trammel…"
"Yeah, we want to hear about that," Steve confirmed with a nod.
"Well, Trammel's business was… circling the drain, if you want, and, ah, he was starting to rip people off even more than he'd done in the past. The recession's hit this area pretty hard and a lot of the small businesses are going under. Turns out Spencer, who doesn't have a lot of spare cash, if you know what I mean, went to Trammel to buy a car – or at least put a down-payment on a car."
Steve snorted. "I think I know where this is going, right? Trammel took the money and didn't give him the car?"
The PS cops nodded. "Exactly," Waters confirmed with a wry chuckle, "and Spencer wasn't too happy about it, as you can guess. But he kept his temper, for a change, and came to us."
"So if you were going to arrest Trammel, why do you think Spencer would be the one to go after him then?"
"Well, Spencer knew we were putting a case together against Trammel, but we found out, after Trammel disappeared, that Spencer'd found out that the hundred bucks he'd already paid towards the car was gone for good. And a hundred bucks is a lot of money to him."
"It's a lot of money to most of us," Mike said softly, nodding his head. He slid the folder from in front of his partner, closed it and tossed it on the end of the table. "Okay, he's on our list." He looked at Steve. "Next…"
The inspector slid another file closer and opened it. "Robert Bonaventure…"
Waters chuckled evilly and McCann chortled. Both San Franciscan cops looked at them with bemused expressions.
"Ahhh, Bobby…" Waters muttered under his breath. "He's my number one."
"Because…?" Mike prompted, eyebrows raised.
"John Trammel slept with his wife who then moved in with Trammel for about six months before leaving him as well."
"Did she go back to her husband?" Steve asked, making notes.
"Nope," Waters shook his head. "She left town with another guy, and left Bonaventure with their three children."
"Okay… so why is Bonaventure on the list?"
"He threatened Trammel more than once… you know, the 'I'm gonna kill you, you son-of-a-bitch' kinda thing. No one took him seriously but…"
"But that's why he's on the list…" Mike nodded. "Makes sense to me."
Steve closed the folder and tossed it on the other one.
# # # # #
By the time they had finished, there were four men that they wanted to interview.
Stacking the folders, Steve glanced at his partner in the chair beside him. Mike was sitting perfectly still, his eyes closed. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.
The older man slowly opened his eyes and smiled reassuringly. "Yeah," he said softly, "I'm just beat..."
"I'm not surprised," Steve said, getting to his feet and picking up his jacket. "Let's get out of here and back to the motel."
Nodding, Mike started to get up then stopped, putting his right hand on his chest and his left on the table. Alarmed, Steve grabbed his arm. "I'm okay," Mike assured him in a whisper, "I'm okay…"
"Sure you are," Steve said flatly, unable to keep the worry out of his voice.
Snapping a defiant look in the younger man's direction, Mike pushed himself all the way up then reached for his jacket, keeping his right hand on his chest. Steve helped him into the jacket then put the fedora on his head. "You okay to walk to the car?"
Mike pinned him with another look. "I told you I'm fine."
Ignoring the glare, Steve opened the door and waited till Mike, both hands now at his sides, slowly shuffled passed him into the corridor, then preceded him out of the building and around to the parking lot. The older man leaned back against the passenger seat and closed his eyes, his right hand once more on his chest.
As they headed back to the motel, Steve kept glancing across the front seat. Mike wasn't moving. "Listen, ah…" he said quietly, "why don't you lie down when we get back and I'll go out and get us something to eat?"
After a couple of silent seconds, Mike smiled softly and nodded. "That sounds like a great idea…"
# # # # #
The key turned in the lock and, balancing a tray of drinks in one hand and fighting to keep the door open with his foot while bending down to pick up a large white paper bag with the other, Steve finally made it into the room.
Mike, still in his suit pants and dress shirt, was lying on the bed, watching him with an affectionate smile and chuckle. "You gotta hate those automatic door closers…"
Growling playfully, Steve managed to stagger to the desk with his load and put it down without dropping anything. He glanced at the bed. "Feeling any better?"
"A lot better, thanks. Guess I just had to lie down for awhile." He sniffed the air. "Tacos?"
"Umh-humh. The lady in the front office recommended this place. Smells good, doesn't it?" He had taken off his jacket and was taking the individually wrapped tacos out of the bag. "I told her we were going to extend our stay for at least another night. Business has been pretty bad so she's thrilled," he chuckled, glancing at the drinks. "I got you a lemonade. Is that okay?"
"Sounds perfect, thanks." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and started to push himself up.
"Stay there, I'll being the stuff over," Steve instructed quickly, but it was too late. Mike was already at the desk.
With a gentle chuckle, he pulled one of the chairs out and sat carefully. "I'm okay. I hate eating lying down." He reached for one of the tacos and started to unwrap it. "You get any hot sauce?"
Grinning knowingly, Steve reached into the paper bag and produced a small, half-filled bottle of Tabasco sauce. "I got them to sell me an already opened one." He took the small red top off and set it on the desk.
Mike laughed, obviously pleased. "Thank you." He unwrapped the thick, juicy, colourful taco, holding it with his left hand while he shook the red sauce onto it with his right.
Picking up one of the wrapped tacos, Steve asked with a sidelong glance, "So, ah, you think you'll be okay to make a couple of house calls tomorrow?"
Mike's eyes snapped towards him, setting the Tabasco bottle down with a thud. "Me? Of course I'll be okay. Why wouldn't I?"
Pulling the other chair out and sitting down, Steve shook his head, not meeting the intense blue-eyed stare. "I don't know, I just thought –"
"I'm fine," Mike stated almost angrily, still staring at the younger man, who had picked up his taco and taken a big bite. Belatedly realizing that Steve was just voicing concern for his welfare, he exhaled loudly and dropped his head. He reached out with his free hand and ran it across his partner's shoulders then patted his back. "I'm fine," he said quietly, relaxing into the chair. His eyes slid slowly in the younger man's direction and he smiled apologetically.
Still chewing, Steve met his eyes evenly. Then he smiled as well.