The entrance area of the police department was elegantly decorated. Pictures of patrol cruisers and smiling personnel hung on either side of the long corridor that led to the front desk. A few fake plants here and there changed up the ochre color pattern that continued throughout the building.
Glancing down at the marble floor, Mike checked on his partner in his peripheral vision, noting that Steve had fallen a few feet back, hands kept still to either side, gaze sternly focused on some spot straight ahead, trying to put on the professional façade.
He knew well enough how hard the young Inspector was working on keeping his emotions in check, and the horror he must feel given the current situation. It was one of the reasons he hadn't told him that the Chief was out and that it was Marty Keller himself, who had been assigned to help the two San Francisco detectives. Likewise, Marty wasn't aware that Mike was bringing his son along, a trump card he had intended to hold onto as long as possible.
The corridor opened up to a large office with a dozen or so desks situated behind a vast wooden entrance area. No expense had been spared in the ornate woodwork that resembled large waves crashing onto a beach. Mike took in the scene for a brief moment, then instinctively let his eyes drift over the busy room, looking for a secretary.
Noting their arrival, a stout man in his late fifties, who had been standing by the water cooler turned around and approached with a faint smile. With three chevrons on his immaculate uniform, and a posture that exuded unquestionable authority, the clean-shaven Sergeant headed for the front desk at a casual pace.
Without his peaked cap, Mike could make out the other man's crew-cut sandy hair, groomed to utter perfection, as if he resembled some sort of trademark to be put on a bulletin board. Built like a wrestler and just a few inches short of six feet, the man's muscular and suntanned arms were peeking out from beneath the dark blue uniform, his wrists built like wrenches and fingers like vice grips.
Feeling as though he was face to face with the human version of a guard dog, Mike let his features relax, appear non-threatening. He was about to introduce himself, when his eyes fell on the other man's brass name tag, then travelled up to his chin, noticing the all-too-familiar dimple.
"You look like the guy I talked to on the phone this morning.", the Staff Sergeant announced and reached forward to shake his hand across the vast desk, his strong fingers digging into Mike's palm, "Heard a lot about you, Stone. They say you're one of the best. Highest rate of closed homicide cases in the bay area over the last eight years. Pretty impressive."
Returning the handshake, the Lieutenant fell unusually quiet, his mind having a hard time envisioning the other man's direct connection to his partner. Aside from the stark physical differences, it was easy to see why there'd been such a clash of personalities between Steve and his father.
"Mike Stone. Lieutenant Mike Stone.", he stammered, eyes going back and forth between Marty and an alarmed Steve, who'd come up behind him, almost running into his back, then stopped dead in his tracks, "And this is my partner…"
It seemed as if the entire office fell completely silent.
The color vanished out of Marty Keller's face as if he'd been struck by lightning. His seasoned green eyes, so full of stories from a lifetime of working the police force widened rapidly, his lips forming a few words nobody could hear or understand. The professional façade broke for the fraction of a second, as emotions were exchanged between both men, not all of them good. Eventually, Marty Keller cleared his throat, his wide jaws tense as he looked his son up and down, his outstretched hand withdrawing slowly.
"Last I knew, I don't need to be introduced to my own son.", he muttered with a hint of disappointment, then managed a cordial smile that seemed to use up all his energy, "Stephen. It's been a while. I didn't know you were coming down here. Or that you were on this case. Or working with a guy like Stone. I guess the rumors were true about you working Homicide in downtown San Francisco. What an irony indeed. It's ehm…it's good to see you."
Behind him, Mike could hear his partner's breaths coming in short gasps, the tension practically radiating through every pore of his body. He'd been trying to stay still, like a deer in the headlights, using the Lieutenant's broad shoulders as a hideout.
"It's good to see you too, dad."
He'd put a lot of emphasis on addressing his father that way; Mike could hear it in the slight quiver in his voice. Standing right behind him now, Steve exuded the relaxation of a heart attack victim ready to go into complete VFib, and for a few moments, Mike was worried he might do just that.
Finally, as the tense seconds passed, it was Marty Keller who cleared his throat and motioned toward the inside of the large office.
"Well, why don't you…you two take a seat here for a moment. Grab some coffee or water. I'm still working on gathering some of the information you requested, Lieutenant. I should be done in a little bit though."
Following the stocky man to a small entrance area that split the wooden desk in half, he slipped through the angled door, ensuring that Steve stayed right behind him, as they headed for an empty desk by the water cooler.
"I'll be right back, just going to head downstairs for a second to look something up for you.", Marty promised as he walked out of sight, leaving Mike to wonder if there actually was a downstairs, or if the Sergeant was looking for a safe haven to recover from the shock of seeing his only son again after several years.
Likewise, Steve had completely clammed up, his actions reduced to simple nods and fake smiles here and there, as they made their way past several uniformed cops staring at them as though they'd seen a ghost. When they arrived at the empty desk, Mike motioned for him to sit down on one of the cheap metal chairs. Obeying quietly, the young Inspector kept one leg angled toward the exit, readying himself to run away if the need arose.
Following suit, the Lieutenant slid into the chair right next to his partner, reaching for his shoulder as he did so and squeezing it understandingly. It was a subtle gesture left unnoticed by the other police officers that occupied the office, something Mike was utterly grateful for.
"Take a deep breath. It's going to be okay.", he whispered, the words seemingly soothing his partner's troubled soul that afternoon when Steve glanced up from his crouched position, a weary smile trying to form on his lips.
"Easy for you to say…"
"Maybe so.", Mike countered and slid his hand down to Steve's forearm, where he'd keep it for the next few minutes, "But let's just say that maybe I haven't been quite as forthright about my family situation either. And maybe, just maybe I can relate to some of this. So, just trust me when I tell you to relax. It's gonna be alright."
The reassuring words seemed to help when Steve dropped his head, trying to get rid of some of the anxiety-driven tension that made his entire body freeze. Eyes focused on Mike's strong hand wrapped around his forearm, he exhaled slowly, causing his tight shoulders to relax somewhat.
Unbeknownst to the two San Francisco detectives, Marty Keller stood in the back corner of the busy bullpen, arms crossed over his chest, watching the scene with a mixture of curiosity and condescension. Trying to overcome the shock of seeing his son in the most unlikely of situations, he shook his head and returned to the records office.