He maneuvered the ladder to the back of the bodega without incident, grateful that no one happened to look out a back window at an inopportune time. He was far enough away from the street, and there was enough traffic going by, that he wasn't particularly visible and his footsteps were muffled.
He put the ladder down and caught his breath, temporarily rapid and shallow from exertion and anxiety, and looked up at the second storey windows again. His heart started to pound, from fear this time, and he tried not to think of what he might find in there. If he found nothing, he wasn't sure if he would be relieved or not.
He was just about to try to lift the ladder into place when he realized he had forgotten to get the flashlight out of the glove box. Cursing to himself, he leaned the ladder lengthwise against the wall and started at a half-jog up the alley towards the street, hoping that no one would notice him emerge from the shadows.
He paused at the end of the alley, staying in the shadows, straining to see if there was a break in the foot traffic so he could step out without being noticed. It took a little over a minute but he finally saw his chance, and he started at a brisk pace back to the LTD.
# # # # # Kendall had wandered nonchalantly around the corner, taking long, satisfying drags of his cigarette, till he was in position to see the alley at the back of the Steiner house. It was a place he had frequented a number of times in the last two weeks, so his presence there wouldn't raise any immediate flags. A couple of the locals whom he had struck up an acquaintanceship with wandered over and asked him for a cigarette. As he laughingly explained where he had bummed his, he kept his eye on the alley.
# # # # #
Steve opened the passenger side door and leaned in, unlocking the glove box and rooting around for the flashlight. As he shut the small door and locked it again, he glanced down at the radio. The urge to call in was strong but so was his desire not to cause a fuss if none was warranted.
Besides, if the place was empty, his little B&E might go completely unnoticed and he would never have to mention it to anybody, including his partner.
He was just about to close the door when he stopped and, exhaling in frustration, dropped onto the seat and picked up the mic. He thumbed the Talk button. "Inspectors 8-1 to Dispatch."
"Go ahead, 8-1."
"Yeah, ah, listen, this is Inspector Keller. I need you to make a landline call for me. Lieutenant Stone." He gave them the number. "If he answers, can you tell him to meet me at 850. I'll wait."
"10-4, 8-1."
In the silence, Steve watched the crowd of mostly young people of all shapes, sizes, colours and dress streaming by. The air was getting colder and the foghorn louder but the happy crowd didn't seem to notice.
"Inspector Keller?"
Steve jumped slightly, bringing the mic to his mouth and pressing the Talk button again. "Yeah."
"There's no answer at Lieutenant Stone's."
Disappointed, he tapped his knuckles against his upper lip before replying. "Okay, thanks." He released the button and hung the mic up. He headed back to the alley, walking with his hands in his jacket pockets and his head down, his brow furrowed with worry.
# # # # #
Kendall looked up, trying to make the move look natural. He thought he had seen a flicker of movement in the very dark alley behind the Steiner house. His companions, in search of their own smokes, had drifted off and he was blissfully alone.
He had looked around to be sure he wasn't been watched before reaching into his fringed jacket pocket and pulling out his own pack of cigarettes. He hated Marlboros; he preferred Kents and he chuckled as he took one out and stuck it between his lips. He was just about to light it when he spotted the movement in the alley again.
Whoever or whatever it was seemed to be coming in his direction. He turned his back, ostensibly to block the flame of his lighter from the wind, but also to hide his face, hoping he wouldn't be noticed.
Peripherally, he saw the women they had spotted earlier charge out of the alley onto the sidewalk. Though she was now wearing a camel-coloured car coat over the cardigan, he knew it was her. She stepped onto the sidewalk and made an immediate left turn, heading east and away from him.
A split second later, a man stepped out of the shadows right behind her. He was wearing a peacoat and a black watchman's cap, but Kendall knew immediately it was Brother Samuel. His heart started to pound and his hand shake.
As the pair headed down McAllister, he sprinted up the street and around the corner, looking for his partner among the locals and out-of-towners enjoying a crisp and cool San Franciscan night. He ran up the Charger; Watson was in the back-seat, in the dark, staring at the Steiner house.
Kendall rapped on the window and gestured frantically. Watson scrambled out of the car, just in time to see his partner rounding the corner on McAllister and he gave chase, no longer worried about blowing his cover. Something was definitely happening; he just wished he knew what it was.
# # # # #
Steve made it back to the rear of the bodega without incident, the flashlight comfortingly in his pocket. Checking to make sure he was still alone, he carefully lifted the top end of the wooden extension ladder and walked it to a standing position, then leaned it as quietly as he could against the wall. It was still several feet short of the window and he grabbed the rope to extend the fly section. He tried to do it slowly so the run lock didn't make too much noise; it turned out to be easier said than done.
Every time the rung lock clicked, he froze, waiting for someone to discover his presence. But it didn't happen and he finally got the extension high enough to reach the window comfortably.
He pulled the foot of the ladder out from the wall far enough for stability then stared at it. Though he was good with heights, he really wished there was someone footing it for him. Falling off a ladder wouldn't put him in Mike's good books, should this turn out to be an act of sheer folly instead of a timely rescue.
He looked around for something heavy but manageable and spotted a cinder block near 'Gino's' back entrance, no doubt used to keep the door open when needed. He brought it over, putting it against one of the ladder legs in the hopes it would add a modicum of stability. Then, with an unsteady sigh, he started to climb.
# # # # #
Watson caught sight of his partner jogging down McAllister when he rounded the corner. He sprinted as fast and as quietly as he could, trying to run on his toes to keep his cowboy boots from making his presence known. But he was a good runner and he caught up fairly quickly just as Kendall, now just walking swiftly, turned onto Fillmore, heading south.
Kendall glanced over but didn't say anything. Instead he thrust his chin out and Watson looked down the street in front of them. Other than groups of young people enjoying a night on the town, and locals enjoying the crisp night air, he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary at first.
Then he noticed them, two people moving swiftly away from them, slightly apart, working their way through the crowds with a destination obviously and urgently in mind. As the pair passed under a streetlight, Watson's head went back slightly and he looked at his partner. "Samuel?" he asked sotto voce.
Kendall, not taking his eyes off their prey, nodded.
Watson looked forward again. "What the hell…?"
# # # # #
Steve climbed up three rungs of the ladder and stopped. He bounced on it slightly, feeling it bow and straighten underneath him but it stayed put and, though it seemed rickety, was proving to be sturdier than it looked. Buoyed, he started to climb higher, moving slowly so as to minimize any noise. He gradually reached the small window to the right of the large one. He could see the sash lock but couldn't tell if it was closed or not and he didn't want to use the flashlight just yet.
The bottom of the sash and the sill was covered with chips of peeling paint and he brushed the bigger ones away before he leaned against the edge. He reached up and put his fingertips under the lip of the top rail and pushed. The sash started to move. Heartened, he held his breath and pushed harder and, very slowly and with just a little noise, the sash began to move higher.
He dropped his hands under the bottom rail and pushed up and the window opened about halfway. He stopped, figuring there was now enough room for him to get under it. He brushed more of the dried paint shards and wooden splinters off the sill then paused. After a second, he nodded to himself then, very carefully leaning back and keeping his balance, took off his leather jacket and stuffed it through the window, not wanting to damage it trying to struggle through the window. He held onto it as long as he could before dropping it the short distance to the floor; the flashlight was in the pocket.
It hit the wooden floor with a faint 'whomp' and he froze, listening, then chuckled to himself; if someone was around to hear the coat hitting the floor, they would have definitely heard the window being opened.
The top of the ladder was close to the windowsill and he moved up so that his hips were almost level with the sill, his feet on the second rung from the top. Still moving slowly and carefully, he ducked and stuck his head through the opening, pausing briefly to listen for any sign of activity.
An unnatural silence was all he heard so, taking a deep breath, he leaned forward and wiggled over the sill. The window was too small to do anything other than go through head first, and he was glad he had tossed his jacket in when he put both hands on it and slowly pulled his legs through, dropping them as quietly to the floor as he was able. He froze again, listening once more, and was rewarded again with an eerie silence; there wasn't even the normal, almost subliminal hum of electricity.
He picked up the jacket and shrugged into it, then took the flashlight out of the pocket and thumbed it on. He kept the beam on the floor, hoping the bounce of light onto the walls wouldn't be seen. He was definitely in a living room. It was large but sparsely furnished with an old wooden table pushed into one corner, a couple of metal and vinyl kitchen chairs and a dirty paisley sofa. There was a large blue tarpaulin folded up and stuffed between the sofa and the wall; the sight of it sent shivers down Steve's back. He had seen too many bodies wrapped in blue tarpaulin.
He moved out of the living room into the hallway, shining the light into the bathroom on the right. There was no shower curtain, and nothing in the tub. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom-turned-office and shone the light over the desk and the shelving units. The door to the closet was closed and he could see a lock on a hasp just above the door knob. He frowned, knowing he would have to come back for a closer look.
He had just moved to the entrance of the second bedroom and was playing the beam over the old sofa when he heard the sound of metal on metal from the first floor and he froze. Someone was coming in.
