"I won't help us much in a court hearing quite yet, but it's definitely a move in the right direction."
There was a distinctive improvement to their previous downtrodden mood when the two San Francisco Homicide detectives reentered the confines of the tan Galaxy, each man entirely convinced that Ellis had indeed witnessed Cassidy and his gang abducting Milan, which sadly could also make him the last person to see the Fire Captain alive.
And once again, the African American stranger had come up, playing an integral part in the ploy that was her abduction.
They had discussed the possibility that both O'Conner and Milan might still be alive, held captive somewhere for a wide range of questionable purposes. But judging by the ease with which these men had ridded themselves of an unwelcome witness before, chances weren't good. To make matters worse, in Mike's many years on the force he had learned that a kidnapper usually stopped abducting people once he had taken possession of his target.
A serial killer on the other hand would continue to strike.
"It still begs the question who this African American guy is that you heard in the bathroom, and that Roger saw out on the street. None of our department checks came up with something, so he must a somebody from the outside."
Steve's voice was strained as he reached for the gear shaft and pulled away from the curb to begin their journey back home, trying to ignore the rain that was hammering against the windshield.
Neither one of them had found the energy to eat much of their dinner, leaving most of the sandwiches on their plates as they took turns making phone calls to arrange protective custody, while reeling in Gerry O'Brian to explain their plan, along with a pressing need of utter confidentiality.
The nervous energy hadn't made for much of a relaxed dinner, but it was a small price to pay for the beginning of a potential case break.
"Yeah. Somebody who can just waltz right into their office without anybody growing suspicious."
"Attorney maybe? Some support staff from the garage? Journalist?"
"I know most of the journalists around here, Buddy Boy. I don't think that's what he is."
Running a hand across his freshly shaven chin, Mike fell silent for a moment, watching the street lamps fly by as Steve sped up the tan sedan, hoping to shave a few minutes off their evening commute.
The realization that their realm of suspects was quickly growing bigger was daunting to say the least, made worse by the fact that they would be indicting fellow police officers. Not that Mike didn't look forward to the chance to cut out the cancer within the force, stopping them from tarnishing the name of an admirable profession and putting them to trial.
But it was the thought that others from outside the force were in on it. Was this a fellow police officer from another town perhaps, quite possibly Windsor? Was it somebody working for the city in a different department?
"Well, who can we talk to down there without raising suspicion? Especially if Davis is already keeping an eye on us?"
It was the very question that had been bugging him since they left the bar behind. And thankfully, out of nowhere, a memory had popped back into his mind.
"It has to be somebody who blends in just as well. Somebody who can be everywhere in this building without raising any suspicion. Somebody who has a photographic memory and an incredibly big crush on you, Steve."
"No. No. Not her. You can't be serious. Michael, come on now…"
What little joy had been left in Steve's features vanished instantly when his mind comprehended what his partner had suggested. With a vigorous headshake, he stole a glance across the front bench, hoping for any signs of humor and teasing, but only met serious blue eyes hidden beneath a lighthearted façade.
"Why me, Michael? I thought I was your partner and you care about me!"
"Because she loves you. And because she might know this guy and can tell us more about him without having to go through Missing Persons. And because I will buy you dinner if you do it."
Irina Angalova was their off-the-boat Czechoslovakian cleaning lady who had managed to jump the Iron Curtain and flee to America. The well-liked tall blonde with the steel-blue eyes was the head of their in-house sanitation department, having three employees below her belt.
Steve had met her during one of his late nights turned mornings, when the crew came through to empty waste bins and polish floors.
To none of his fault- or so he claimed- the east European lady had grown quite fond of him, hinting on numerous occasions that she would be very interested in starting a family and have many children with the attractive young Inspector.
It took many months of polite denial for that hot-blooded Czechoslovakian passion to finally subside; allowing Steve to walk the corridors of the Hall of Justice Building once again without fear of having a ring forced on his finger.
Mike had been shamelessly amused by the situation, enjoying the tables getting turned when it came to the young Inspector's illustrious love life being undermined by a strong-willed woman- a benefactor that might come in handy now.
"The last time you promised to buy me dinner I got choked to an inch of my life. My bruises aren't even healed yet and you're ready to throw me out to the sharks yet again."
The half-hearted complaint was met with a genial smile, as Mike reached over to pat his partner's thigh.
"She'd do anything for you, and you know it. She might hold the key to this whole…conglomerate of evil we've got going on here."
The peculiar choice of words caused Steve to look over and raise his eyebrows, only to see the Lieutenant shrug indifferently.
"I spent a lot of time doing crossword puzzles last night. Helps to relax the senses."
With a dissatisfied grunt, Steve moved his attention back onto the road, then drew in a deep breath.
"Suppose I go to see Irina, what are you going to do to…you know…help out the investigation? You know my meeting with her could…take some time."
"I thought you'd never ask.", Mike returned facetiously, then leaned forward to point at their map of Windsor, "I'll do some research on distance. Cassidy's car read 145 miles when they returned it to the garage. And if the majority of the miles they put on that car were spent between the downstairs garage and Windsor, there're about fifteen-some miles that are unaccounted for."
Once again surprised by his partner's unbelievable attention to detail, Steve glanced over for a moment, then down at the dash where they had noted the odometer reading before they left.
In the midst of leaving Windsor to head back to San Francisco, they'd just rolled over 67 miles.
