Two hours later, Mike was still sitting at his desk, mindlessly scanning through mugshot books, hoping to find the proverbial needle in the hay stack. As his photogenic memory took in every face, every set of eyes, crooked mouths or dimples, he went through everything that had happened over the past few days, seeing if there was a connection, any way to identify the shadow of death and destruction that had been following him in Karpa's name.
His quarrel with Steve had been petty, and his outbursts uncalled for.
Having grown too accustomed to using the young Inspector as a sounding board, Mike had made the mistake to use him as a punching bag for his frustrations as well. It was something he'd been trying to apologize for over the past hour, but Steve had neither answered his phone at home, nor 10-20'd his position.
Quite possibly intentionally.
By now, the bullpen was eerily quiet.
Mike took a moment to glance over at Tanner's desk, angry at himself for not being able to recall seeing somebody walk in with the poisonous box of sinkers. Then his eyes drifted over to Sekulovich's work station, wondering how many more of his men would fall victim to Karpa's senseless revenge before the hitman would be caught.
Eventually, he stared at Steve's desk again, feeling sick to his stomach from the overwhelming guilt and sorrow for the words said in misguided anger.
Drawing in a deep breath, Mike pulled the black framed reading glasses off his face and sat them down by his pencil holder, before rubbing his burning eyes.
His thoughts drifted to Pauly and Christine, mortified of what might have happened to the young man he'd grown so fond of, as well as his darling fiancé. His grief for Beth's death was as fresh as it had been when he received the initial call. He wondered about Father Delgado and any of his friends, supporters, stoolies or other contacts that were all very much so in the wake of this situation, plenty of collateral damage Karpa could use to break his spirits before going for the kill.
The thought of being a walking target didn't suit him one bit, and Mike was already growing tired of the crosshairs he could feel on his back.
To make matters worse, the incident in the bullpen had raised the interest within the brass, bringing up questions as to whether or not he should be moved into protective custody for the duration of this case, leaving his partner, and the entire homicide department without their leader.
It was an idea Mike had begrudged and fought since the moment it was brought up, but the more he evaluated the possibility of a repeat attack, this time perhaps even fatal, the more he understood where his superiors were coming from.
Sighing in defeat, he got up from behind his desk, this time refusing to leave his badge and revolver in his desk drawer, as he packed up his things and headed home for a presumably sleepless night.