"So, let's see here…"
Mike didn't need to wear his reading glasses to know exactly what files were resting in his hands, priding himself in knowing the in's and out's of each and every single homicide that came through the department, where the investigation was headed and whether or not any of his detectives were struggling to close the case.
It was an important part of his leadership role and allowed him to oversee everything going on before problems could spiral out of control. In Tanner's case, it had also allowed them to quickly reassign resources to take care of the African- American Inspector's case load while he was recovering.
Back at Steve's desk, Mike briefly scanned through the files, knowing just which homicide the thickest one belonged to, and waited until his partner acknowledged him.
"You got your choice between the 50-something-year-old John Doe floating in the Bay three days ago…", he reached for the file in the middle, before depositing it on the young Inspector's desk, "Or…how about City Commissioner Martin's secret girlfriend found strangled to death down on Sutter…"
Mike had barely grabbed the thick manila file folder when Steve shook his head vehemently.
"Definitely not that one. You know what happened the last time we came across City Commissioner Martin and his…circumspect social life…", Steve complained and grimaced when Mike put the file down next to him.
"Yeah, come to think of it, I believe he might still have that restraining order out on you, doesn't he?"
"…which is ridiculous considering that I just yelled at him and pointed out his character flaws while you were the one knocking him unconscious."
"I only hurt his face. You hurt his ego though…that's worse than any physical pain for those kind of people…I was surprised when the judge held it up in court while keeping a straight face.", upon his somber words, Mike waved the last file in his hand, before depositing it on his growing stack, "Final one is the random leg found up north with the San Francisco tattoo on it…"
That had been a strange one.
The case had come to them from the Point Reyes Park Rangers who had found an unclothed male leg along the beach with no signs of the rest of the body. Although the case technically fell into the hands of the local police, it was determined that the San Francisco tattoo in bold letters going across the thigh would make it their case.
Mike remembered reading that it seemed as though the leg had gotten cut off, likely stemming from a traumatic injury, a boat motor hitting a floater perhaps.
And while every death should deserve their utmost attention, he felt that the case would be a dead end, literally and figuratively, that it would only be a matter of time before a body missing a leg would wash ashore somewhere near the northern beaches, closing their case before it could turn into much of anything besides a suicide turned interesting.
Following along his thinking, Steve reached for the file on top, a broad grin on his face.
"I'll take the leg."
"That figures.", Mike grunted in feign anger and moved the remaining two files onto his desk, opting to leave Martin's busy romantic life for Hassejian and Haley until after the holidays.
There'd be no point in getting involved and ripping that old bandaid off once again, not if he could help solve the case of their 58-year old floater and bring peace to a family who'd been missing a loved one for far too long.
Barely back at the beverage station to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee, Mike noticed a crowd of people making their way through the glass walled vestibule, the unexpected visitors taking in the cheery scene of stockings and candy bowls with great curiosity.
Olson was leading the pack, his half bald head shiny and blushed from agitation as he forced a cordial smile, spewed out some politically correct jokes about the workforce, and slowly ushered the three people he had in tow toward Mike's office.
The press, he realized with growing dread, as he recognized Greg Brannaman from Channel 12, Oliver Savino from Channel 8, and last, but not least, Claire Gifford, editor and column writer for the San Francisco Telegraph, covering everything from lifestyle to politics to nature.
Meeting his woeful glance for a fleeting moment, Olsen grimaced awkwardly, trying to have him replace the frown with a smile, something Mike felt himself utterly incapable of doing considering their visitors.
As if the TV guys weren't bad enough, bringing in Gifford the day before Christmas felt like a sack of coal deposited right in front of his office.
"And here we have the cream of the crop, the front line of our finest Sergeants and Inspectors, and their fearless leader, Lieutenant Michael Stone."
Swallowing the question of how long Olsen had to practice to get that line down perfectly; Mike leaned against his doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, figuratively blocking access to his sacred confines, as the group came to a halt in front of him.
"And just who do we owe this visit to?", the Lieutenant asked matter-of-factly, noticing Savino nervously running a hand across his greasy short black hair, his Hispanic complexion unable to hide his blushed cheeks from a less than favorable encounter with the Homicide department just a few weeks ago, his biased reporting leaving out many important factors in a case that had renewed racial tensions in a city that needed it the least.
"Chief Condon.", Olsen barked like a dog on point, his blue eyes wandering across the office as if to find something to entertain his guest with, "Call it a renewed effort to increase communication and partnership with the press. A friendly visit to exchange pleasantries and share thoughts. I would have sent you a memo but I figured you'd rush out of the office if I'd given you a headsup."
"You're probably right, Rudy…", Mike countered flippantly when he noticed Steve glancing over at him, the idea of Gifford's presence making both partners uneasy, "Well, so now that we met again, I better get back to work. Thanks for the visit, fellas. Merry Christmas."
"For a man who has his fingers in everything that goes on in this town, you're being awfully anti-social today, Lieutenant.", Brannaman teased, the charismatic reporters' eyes beaming below the rim of his bright red fedora, matching his eccentric dress coat choice for the day.
"Not anti-social.", Mike corrected and shrugged, "Just busy. So, if you guys want something to talk about tonight, Steve and I…well…we better get back to work. Don't want to waste tax payer's money on payroll by just standing here making small-talk, right Ollie?"
The proverbial stab hit center mass when the Hispanic reporter bit his lip, unwilling to indulge into the qualms his one-sided documentary had caused after two African-American males were killed in a police shootout, Savino's supposed research claiming that the victims had been targeted by two patrol units for several days before being executed openly out on the streets, in front of unsuspecting bystanders.
While reality and a thorough investigation quickly revealed that both men had been armed and had opened fire on multiple units arriving for support, their death to be ruled self-defense on parts of the police; Savino had taken a liking to the idea of turning the case into a man-made witch hunt to sway public's opinion about the integrity and morals of the police force, feeding half-truths and out-and-out lies to further his agenda.
It was obvious to the credulous onlooker that it was no coincidence why Condon had picked him for the latest social experiment, probably ever so eager to take a few pictures together to throw at the local press, frame them and put them into the foyer downstairs, all the while reassuring concerned citizens that the San Francisco Police Force was indeed holding itself to the highest standard of morals and integrity there was.
"The bull-headed but ever so vigilant Lieutenant Stone, and his witty and loyal sidekick, the best dressed cop in San Francisco…",Claire chimed in, hoping to break up the growing tension with her remarks that did little but raise the hairs on the back of Mike's neck, "So what are you two going to do for the holidays? Hang out with family? Isn't Jeanie due to come home for Christmas?"
The unnerving curiosity with which Gifford had followed them around over the past few months had worn on both partners, breaking the professional distance between reporter and police officers on more than one occasion.
At first, he'd shaken it off as nothing but a strange affinity, that Gifford was seeing something in their partnership that reminded her of friendships past and present. But then she showed up at crime scenes, working up columns that depicted the deep bond between two men working together, her writings garnering enough followers that it had turned into a weekly release, then morphed into a novel-like series that portrayed the lives of two unlike superheroes joining forces to fight evil.
Everybody with half a mind would have been able to tell that she was talking about them, and yet, his concerns had been met with discrediting smiles, Condon going as far as calling these stories a homage to the team with the greatest crime solving rate in all of San Francisco, that they should ease up and relax, in fact, be flattered by Gifford's work.
But Mike wasn't flattered.
If anything, he was worried.
Perturbed even by the intrusion into their privacy, by the obvious research done on Gifford's part to learn more about their lives outside the force, their families and loved ones. Some of it had been public knowledge, the rest undoubtedly gathered by talking to friends or sneaking around their neighborhood.
And his worry had washed off on Steve like gasoline on fire.
It had made the young detective edgy and unfocused each time Gifford's pale face appeared from within the crowd at the scene of another homicide, her fingers doing a tap-dance on her notepad as she wrote down her observations. And what exactly those entailed, Mike would read about in the newspaper the following week. Sometimes it was their choice of clothing, other times it was the way he'd put his hand on the small of Steve's back as the young Inspector bent over to examine something on the ground. Other times, she'd spend an entire page in the newspaper explaining the deep connection between a mentor and his pupil.
Their supposed super hero adventures had turned into a bit of a mockery in the bullpen, which seemed appropriate at first and he'd hope it would take the steam out of Gifford's attempts to stalk them. But instead, it seemed to take away the credibility of his complaints of the woman's questionable motive and her interest in them that had gone far beyond professional levels.
While Condon viewed her stories as a conduit to encourage public trust into the police force, Mike saw in it a viable threat from a person who, for one reason or another, had grown intrigued in their partnership and was ready to do anything in her power to penetrate the layers of privacy they both had created in lieu of the situation.
"We're gonna be working the Christmas shift.", Mike answered in a neutral tone, his partner instantly picking up on it, his curious green eyes following the exchange intrigued.
Blinking a couple of times and recognizing the dead-end Mike had created to her intrusive questions, Claire glanced over at Steve, her eyes tracing his clothing choice for the day, the azure tie undoubtedly ending up on next week's story, before her glance fell on he opened file on his desk, along with the graphic image of a severed leg.
"And what about you, Inspector Keller? You're going to find some time to spend with your family in Modesto?"
Closing the file as soon as he noticed her interest, Steve pursed his lips, feeling crowded by the many curious faces following their exchange and eagerly waiting for his reply.
"No."
It was as simple of an answer as he had at his disposal, the move earning him an approving nod from Mike's direction, but unfortunately one from Claire as well.
"You've got family trouble too, eh? I've been there before, I get it."
Putting her hands on her wide hips, Gifford drew in a deep breath, mimicking a sorrowful sigh, her broad chest heaving below the black blazer as if she was reliving some tormenting memories.
When nothing else was said for a while, Steve glanced over at his partner, careful not to show his discomfort with the awkward situation.
"Well, now that we've had our chat, it's time to move on to the next department. These guys need to wrap up a few more things and we're only going to have a skeleton crew for tomorrow, so it's time to get busy. Thanks for letting us visit, guys."
Sharing the same sentiment about the uncomfortable encounter, Rudy pointed toward the glass walled vestibule, going as far as taking a few steps toward it with the rest of the group slowly falling into pace with the exception of Claire.
Glancing back and forth between both detectives like a customer deciding which steak to pick from the meat counter, she smiled faintly, the left corner of her mouth curling a little too cunningly for Mike's liking, then finally cleared her throat.
"Well, I guess I'll be seeing you two around. Have a Merry Christmas and enjoy time with your family…or those you call family."
Mike held eye contact until she joined the rest of the crew, keeping his expression completely unreadable, Steve mirroring his moves. Then, when they finally disappeared behind the door to the vestibule, he left out a breath he'd held for far too long, before shaking his head.
"Buddy Boy, mark my words right now…this one's gonna be trouble."