Yeay, our new wash machine just got delivered. Ours broke last week. Blew up in a bunch of smoke from one too many heavy duty outfits needing cleaning. Try and run a farm without a wash machine for a week. We are so spoiled these day. Enjoy these chapters, sorry about the delay.
Mike's eyes widened in surprise when the late-night house guest wasn't Steve, as he'd suspected.
Instead, the smiling face of Theresa Summers greeted him, seemingly oblivious to the time of the day.
With a deep frown, he wrapped the bathrobe tighter around his body and fastened the soft hazel terrycloth belt, before opening the door to let her in.
"Tre. What are you doing here? It's after midnight."
An apologetic nod was his only answer for many long moments, as the Professor took off her elegant fur coat and blue cloche, before inviting herself into the living room.
"I owe you an apology, Michael. And this was the only opening I had today. I just figured, a detective as busy and diligent as yourself would still be awake."
Shaking his head at the bizarre scene playing out in front of him, Mike closed the door, then followed her into the living room and leaned against his couch, his keen eyes looking the Professor up and down, as he pondered about a fitting answer.
"Are you sure you came here to apologize, or are you trying to continue on with the insults, Tre?"
With a faint nod, she pursed her lips and walked over to his glass cabinet, absent-mindedly adoring his many knickknacks and trophies, before moving on to Helen's picture.
"You're right, Michael. It seems I…how would you say that in street lingo…I suck at apologies. It's been a long day of bickering and I guess I need to learn when to pull in the talons."
As she stared at the picture of Mike's late wife with an unnerving level of curiosity, Tre waited for the atmosphere between them to settle down again before continuing.
"I do owe you an apology, Michael. I shouldn't have been so rude. You see, I fear that my…attempts to make you realize the impact Rudy McMillan's death has left in the educational community of San Francisco were too…too passionate, and in turn did more harm than good to my intentions."
"Mhm hm."
Falling quiet for a moment, Mike studied Tre's body language with trained eyes, decades of street smarts and experiences telling him almost immediately that her claim of coming here to apologize wasn't necessarily the sole reason for her visit.
"And you're still trying to sway my investigation."
"Not sway it. Why would I do something like that?", Tre shot back and turned away from Helen's picture to face him again, "I simply wanted to talk about things. You see, a lot of people are concerned that Rudy's death is just going to get overlooked in this serial killer case. He'll be treated like just another body, when in reality, he has done so much for this community, and deserves to be recognized for his charity. Headlines like "Rudy McMillan's Body Found Floating in Bay Creates Concern of new Serial Killer" and the likes do little to help with that problem."
Chuckling at the absurdity of her argument, Mike shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Do I understand you right, you'd rather seen him be the sole victim of a killer, than getting mixed in with a bunch of other…less influential people who were also murdered?"
Drawing in a deep breath, Tre tried her best to remain calm as she weaved her hands in front of her waist, appearing genuine and innocent to the credulous eye.
"We just didn't want him ending up as a number, that's all. Rudy deserves more than to be number two of god knows how many people this psycho will kill before you finally catch him."
"Now wait a minute, wait just one minute here…", Mike said and raised an angry finger, a somewhat triumphant smile on his face from reading through her cloud of smoke, "A thorough investigation takes time. Evidence needs to be gathered. Autopsies conducted. Things need to be done by the book in order to hold up in court. No murder investigation gets wrapped up in a day or so, you only see that kind of stuff on television."
"Then why won't you call in some support?"
"Tre, we have four detectives working this case, myself included."
"I looked into the other two men you have on this case, Michael, I even had a friend of mine check out their crime solving statistics and their educational background. While I think you could have picked better candidates from other counties even, I am keeping up my hope that your efforts will be successful. I am still not sure what made you decide to pair with that…that young kid though. For what it's worth, I think you're setting yourself up for failure with such an unlikely match. It seems strange for the man I used to know, who believed in the importance of age and experience, to pick a war protester from Berkeley as a partner in a department as fundamental as homicide."
Feeling the anger changing his face to a shade of red, Mike narrowed his eyes, his voice a mere growl by now.
"Theresa, I am going to tell you something right now, and you better remember it in that…that highly educated mind of yours. Don't you ever dare to get between me and my partner. I don't care who you're friends with or which buttons you try to push. You will not win, and you will not get between us, is that clear?"
When she only nodded, Mike shook his head in frustration, before continuing.
"And maybe if we weren't so busy answering switchboard complaints from your…your fellow colleagues and having to justify our actions in the Captain's office on a morning that should be spent on research, well maybe we'd get somewhere a little faster. But don't sit here and lecture me on how to do my job, when you've done everything in your power to stall our investigation."
With an angry grunt, the Professor crossed her arms in front of her chest, closing her mind off to any sort of reasonable discussion for the time being. With her stern eyes watching Mike's every move, she exhaled slowly, blowing the air out through partially opened lips, before clenching her jaws.
"All this did was show you just how large of an impact Rudy had on our community. People want answers and see actions, that's all. And if I can speak for myself, you or your partner didn't seem too busy when I stopped by."
"And just what is that supposed to mean? Would you prefer we run circles across town with our lights flashing and sirens running? Would that make you feel better? You see, here's what I think is really going on. I think this whole…posturing you're doing has a lot more to do with your relationship with Eric McMillan. What is he to you? Is he planning on running for some sort of office and have you as his sidekick? It would explain your obsessive need to get this case closed, remove it from public interest altogether, so that you have a clean slate for your campaign next year. That's more like it, now isn't it?"
"You've always been the paranoid type, Michael, suspecting everything and everyone of foul play."
Heading back to the clothes rack to grab her coat and hat, Tre never bothered to look back up at him, having turned to complete flight mode. Standing off to the side, torn between victory and disappointment, Mike waited until she reached for the door handle, before clearing his throat again.
"No foul play. I'm just reading the cards the way they're falling, Tre. You see, you're not quite as subtle as you think you are. You never were."
