"Can you spell that again please?"
Using his left shoulder to push the receiver of the telephone closer to his ear, Mike reached for the partially scribbled on notepad with his right hand, pencil ready.
"That's H-A-R-L-A-N…Harlan…, Drew Harlan. He's the…ehm…the principal of the Modesto Middle School? He's the one we should be talking to when we head over there? Okay. Yes. Perfect, thank you very much."
Hanging up the phone for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning, he added the name to a column off on the right, reserved for anything relating to the school and its annual spelling bee contest.
To the left were two phone numbers to the Modesto Police Department, one for the Chief who had the day off, one for the Staff Sergeant. He knew they'd have to stop by there one way or another. If nothing else to rule out any possibility that their killer might be a known trouble maker, somebody who'd stalked the contest or the school before. If anybody had a record of somebody like that, it would be Modesto PD.
Near the middle of the page were phone numbers of local Catholic Parishes in Gilroy, Union City and Modesto, all of which he'd already checked against each other. He knew the news would disappoint Steve, but there was no one priest that came even close to fitting their killer's travel pattern over the past decade.
Tapping the eraser-end of his pencil against the paper for a moment, Mike pursed his lips, not liking the Modesto connection one bit.
Scarily enough, it even went along with Lenny's profile. Somebody unsuspecting, blending into the crowds of an annual school contest, being in the same intuition that granted him easy access to prey on his victims for a decade, somebody nobody would ever suspect to be the killer…like a teacher.
He was pulled out of his deep brooding when the door to his office opened slowly, a grinning Steve sneaking in through the crack, before closing it again.
"Cindy's questions have been answered in a professional matter and she's been thoroughly reassured and appeased. My PR duties are done for today, Lieutenant."
"Yeah and I bet you suffered through every minute of it.", Mike countered mockingly, then motioned for his partner to sit down, "Where'd you know her from anyways? It's not like you to hang with the police-hating crowd."
"Berkeley.", the young Inspector answered matter-of-factly and slid into the guest chair, "We went to some marches together. She was one of the leaders at the time. One hell of a speaker. I don't think she hates the police either, she's just had some…bad run ins with officers overstepping their boundaries back in the day. I guess we all had."
"And yet, she continues to criticize the police work behind the cloak of a neighborhood committee, while you became a cop."
Behind Mike's facetious smile was immeasurable pride in his partner's maturity and the willingness to stand up for his beliefs, no matter the consequences. Although he never agreed with the protests and escalation of some of the so-called freedom marches that turned into nothing but riots and vengeful property damage; he couldn't deny the strength of character it took to become part of the very essence of what Steve had protested against, in order to change things for the better.
Plenty of his friends had chosen alternative pathways; and surely, it would have been easy to follow their lead. But something made Steve swim against the current and away from the crowd, into an entirely different direction.
Mike knew there was a good chance he may never find the real motive behind his career decision, knowing how tight-lipped his partner became when casual questions reached deeper than their platonic discussions about student movements and the war.
Secretly, he'd hoped that the three bottles of beer last night would lower his defensive walls enough to spill the truth, but despite his intoxicated state, Steve had remained quiet about the issue, derailing direct questions and smoothly changing topics whenever Mike's prying became too intense.
And sometimes he wondered if Steve even knew the answer himself.
But regardless of the root cause that turned the vigilant war protestor into one of the best cops he knew, Mike was ever so grateful to have him by his side. At the end of the day, as far as he was concerned, everything surrounding that remarkable young man, and the unlikely friendship they shared had little to do with life choices or strange coincidences, and a whole lot more with divine intervention.
"Mike…", Steve complained disdainfully and rolled his eyes, raising the proverbial warning flags about a discussion he refused to have.
Deciding to let sleeping dogs lie for the morning, the Lieutenant shifted in his chair and sipped on the cold coffee, before clearing his throat.
"Well, in that case, wipe that lipstick off your neck, will you, Romeo? We've got work to do."
Complying with a faint chuckle, Steve dug a handkerchief out of his suit and rubbed it along the side of his throat, knowing exactly where the crimson mark was.
Mike watched him with a mixture of amusement and impatience, then focused back on his notes, returning to the disturbing idea of their perpetrator being a teacher. The young Inspector must have sensed his thoughts and followed his intense glance, that smile disappearing off his face the second he saw the Modesto PD phone number.
"What have you been able to dig up in the meantime?"
"Contacts…mostly.", Mike replied cryptically and ran a hand over the row of buttons on his light blue vest, "I think I want to head over to that school in Modesto. Ask questions, look around. See if anybody still works there, who attended the spelling bee contest ten years ago."
"You think it could be a teacher?"
Silently cursing his partner's bloodhound instincts when it came to reading his thoughts like an open book; Mike nodded, then pointed at the sheet of paper.
"It's a possibility. Could even be a janitor. I requested a list of all active employees from the time of Brody's kidnapping until now. I also want to check with the police to see if they have any records that match the guy we're looking for. You were the one telling me it's one of those small towns where everybody knows each other. I think it's time we start to dig into that…that local grapevine a bit."
He'd expected Steve to put up an argument, even figure out a creative way to bypass dealing with his father's place of employment. But much to Mike's surprise, the young Inspector stayed quiet, stoically nodding at his words, eyes focused on some imaginary spot by his coffee cup.
"There're a couple restaurants and bars in town that might be a good spot to check out too. A bunch of locals hanging out at night discussing their…their dirty laundry."
"Well, if you ask me, it sounds like we're well prepared to get out of here and head over to Modesto…"
Mike studied his partner intently when he said that, knowing that Steve was very much aware of the scrutiny bestowed upon him by his best friend in light of the situation.
It wasn't fair, that much was true. But considering that they were already under the radar due to the nature of their case and Condon's latest approach to his staff's mental health; Mike preferred to nip any problems in the bud from his end and on a personal level, rather than having word travel up the brass ladder- or straight into Lenny's shrink office.
Steve met his penetrating glance with carefully guarded indifference, his green eyes intentionally blank, shoulders rigidly straight.
"Let's see if you're right about things at the end of the day, Michael."
He couldn't be sure what Steve was referring to, and didn't dare ask.
The young Inspector's uncanny ability to read his mind had been proven to be both, a blessing and a curse at times. And now, Mike wasn't certain if Steve was talking about his hunch that their killer was a teacher; or that he'd sensed his well-hidden, yet very realistic concern that despite his best intentions, Steve would get pulled face-first into the exact heartbreaking family situation he'd escaped from years ago.
There was only one way to find out. And Mike would be sure to brace for impact regardless.