Adding a few more chapters before Christmas. I hope you will all find some peace and quiet during these trying times. We ended up adopting a couple more shelter cats for the farm yesterday. They had been overlooked for adoption by many, which makes them a perfect fit for us. Now the snow has finally moved in, making for blustery conditions out there. I can't wait to get home from work, finish chores, stoke up the fire place and indulge in some much-needed vino. Cheers y'alls!
They'd started their research at Pier 96, home to several of Peterson's warehouses, as well as the main office for all his freight work and boat business. During the lunch hour, the impressive boatyard along the railroad tracks featured everything from luxurious yachts to fishing boats, in various stages of repair.
Closing up his beige overcoat when the strong wind threatened to blow it wide open, Steve wordlessly followed Mike toward the long trailer that housed most of Peterson's office workers.
The Lieutenant had been quiet the entire ride south, not even reacting when the young Inspector had to put on the emergency brakes to avoid hitting an alley cat coming down Cargo Way.
Steve figured that it was a mixture of irritation when it came to his research into Tre Summers, paired with the pressure from the brass to get this case solved. Mike Stone didn't follow timelines when it came to his investigation. He followed solid evidence only, along with an uncanny amount of street smarts.
"Hello? Anybody in here?"
Knocking on the door that had seen its better days, Mike reached for his badge, patiently waiting for the approaching footsteps to end across from them. Steve could tell from the clattering of shoes against the linoleum floor inside, that it was somebody wearing high heels.
"Can I help you?"
The forty-something woman greeting them was friendly; her salt-and-pepper hair tied back into a neat bun, a few pieces of paper in hand as she glanced around the doorframe insecurely.
"I believe you can. My name is Lieutenant Michael Stone, this is my partner, Inspector Stephen Keller. We'd like to ask you a few questions about Ramon Peterson, if we may."
"Sure…", the lady countered hesitantly, and took a second glance at Mike's badge, before opening the door wide enough for them to gain entry, "I am Mary Watson, I am…well…I was Ramon's bookkeeper. What can I help you with, detectives?"
The trailer was a good fifty feet long, its barren walls lined with a handful of desks and large pictures of the marine life of San Francisco. A water cooler stood by the coat rack near the door, and farther back was an old maroon couch next to a small fridge, presumably the break room.
Aside from the lady, a younger girl sat at one of the cluttered desks, her delicate fingers working the typewriter like a machine gun.
"We were hoping you could tell us a bit more about some of the…establishments Mister Peterson liked to frequent."
With a frown, the lady put the paperwork down by the watercooler, then shrugged.
"I would think his wife might be able to help you out a lot more than I can. I am afraid I did not spend much time with Mister Peterson outside work."
"And we're afraid that he may have not been very straightforward with his wife about some of the places he'd go to in order to…I don't know, relax from a long work day? Blow off some steam?"
Steve's candid words made the bookkeeper draw in a deep breath, her understanding eyes resting on the young Inspector.
"I see. Well, let me think…"
Pacing the small corridor of the office trailer, Mary bowed her head, as if it would help her think better. Finally, she turned back around, her arms crossed so tightly over her chest that she was holding on to her upper arms for support.
"I guess…I guess there were a few places he mentioned a couple of times. I have never been there, but I did hear him talk about these places."
"And what would the names of these places be?", Mike nudged with a warm smile, his eyes never losing sight of the dainty lady.
"Well, there was Flamingos, up near Sutter…"
At her words, Steve reached for the black notepad in his breast pocket, hoping to hear the one name they all were counting on.
"And he mentioned something about Morley's once or twice…"
The name made him look over at Mike, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment.
"Most recently I think he's been frequenting a place called…let me think…Old Al's or Big Al's or something like that?"
And thus, they'd finally struck gold.
