Mike opened the office door, glancing around the now almost empty room as he crossed to his partner's desk and sank slowly into the guest chair. Steve looked up. The older man gestured towards the bullpen. "Rudy sure knows how to clear a room," he chuckled, rubbing the palms of his hands into his eyes then lacing his fingers behind his head. He nodded at the open file on the desk. "Find anything?"
Steve leaned back and shrugged noncommittally. "I'm not sure. Dave's vic - Shirley Walker was her name - had similar marks on her wrists but they weren't as deep and there was nothing on her ankles. She had bruises on her arms, like our vic, and one on the left side of her jaw, and there was vaginal bruising and tearing. They found semen, but nothing out of the ordinary for what they would find on a working girl, or so the notes say. They blood-typed the semen. Whoever was her last partner was Type O - which narrows it down… a little…"
Mike grimaced, bobbing his head slightly. "It only narrows it down if the guy she had sex with ended up being the guy that killed her."
"Yeah…"
"So what was the cause of death?"
"Same as ours. Well, pending confirmation from Bernie. Single shot to the head. But this one wasn't from behind; it was from the side, the left side. So… what? Right-handed shooter if he was facing her, left if he was behind her." He shrugged.
Mike pursed his lips and nodded. "What calibre?"
".44. But the bullet's not in good shape so matching it to ours, if ours is in better shape, will be impossible."
"A .44, hunh? Jesus," Mike breathed, "this guy plays for keeps. Well, our vic definitely wasn't shot in that alley. A .44 would've sounded like a cannon in that tight space and somebody would've heard it."
"Ah, speaking of which, I got a call from Englund. The canvas turned up nothing so we are definitely starting from square one, or whatever's below square one if such a state exists…"
"Yeah…" Mike sighed, slumping lower in the chair, dropping his hands into his lap as he stretched his legs out and stared into space.
"So, what did you do while I was doing all this?" Steve asked with a soft chuckle.
The smile appeared before the head turned in his direction. "I'll have you know, I had a brainstorm. I called the California Medical Association, which is based in Sacramento just so you know," he emphasized with a raised finger, "and asked them to send me a list of all the ophthalmologists in the ten counties around here."
"Ten…?" Steve suddenly sounded overwhelmed.
Mike nodded sombrely. "Yeah, ten. All within easy driving distance of our fair city, I'm afraid. I have no idea how many that's going to be and I didn't ask. So I'll either be shocked or pleasantly surprised when the list arrives."
"And when will that be?"
"They couldn't say. I told them it was very important but I didn't want to tell them why, and using the word 'emergency' didn't seem like a good idea either."
"Good point."
"However, that doesn't stop us from going through the phone book and making our own list of the locals. We can start making discreet inquiries tomorrow."
"What about the vets?"
"Same thing. Funnily enough, they're headquartered in Sacramento too."
"Well, it is the capital."
"True. Anyway, I, ah, well, I had to do some fancy verbal footwork with them as well. The woman kept asking me why San Francisco Homicide was interested in veterinarians." He shrugged with a lop-sided grin.
"What did you tell her?"
"That we needed a consultation on a case but it had to stay hush-hush for the time being."
"And she bought it?"
The older man shrugged again. "She going to fax me the list as soon as she can pull it together."
"You silver-tongued devil, you," Steve chuckled. "You do realize, though, that there is a huge chance that our enucleator -"
"Is that even a word?" Mike asked with a scowl and a confused frown.
"- might not be a doctor at all but somebody with an unusual, and deeply disturbing, fetish?" the younger man finished, ignoring the interruption.
"Oh, I'm very aware of that, believe me. But, for the time being anyway, don't burst my bubble… please?" Laughing, Mike raised his left wrist and looked at his watch. "Say, ah, did you get the photo of our vic from Bernie?"
"Yeah, I'm having a few copies made. They should be ready by now. You want to go down and pick them up before we hit the road?"
Mike chuckled. "I want to pick them up and then have dinner before we'll hit the road. I don't remember having lunch, do you?"
Steve grinned. "You're right."
Beaming, Mike slapped the desk. "Come on. Dinner's on me." He got to his feet.
# # # # #
"Aren't you glad we stopped by your place and got your coat?" Mike asked as he stepped up onto the curb to join his partner, his black topcoat buttoned to the neck. The mid-October evening had turned cool, damp and foggy, the wails of the Golden Gate foghorns bouncing off the low cloud cover and filling the air around them with their mournful keening. That, and the mission they were on, made the atmosphere perfectly film noir. "Any luck?"
They had returned to the corner of Jones and Ellis in the hopes they might find someone who would admit to recognizing the woman who had been so brutally murdered, desecrated and dumped near there the night before.
Steve shook his head. "Not a nibble. Everybody swears they've never seen her."
Frowning, Mike nodded. "Yeah, me too. But they might not be lying to us. She might not be from around here. Maybe she was picked up someplace else, taken to where she was killed and… violated, and then just dumped here, far away from where she was picked up…"
Steve nodded. "Yeah, I was thinking that too." He looked up and down the street. Even on this chilly and uninviting night, the women working the street were scantily clad, huddling together in empty doorways when the the slowly cruising cars momentarily disappeared, venturing back to the curb to strut and pose when headlights penetrated the wispy fog. Their desperation, and perseverance, was heartbreaking, and both detectives watched them silently for a moment.
Steve glanced at his partner, a soft smile playing over his lips as he thought about Beverly Landau and the lesson Mike had thought him about prejudging. He had never looked at a working girl the same after that.
He took a deep breath and watched as the blue eyes turned slowly in his direction. "So, ah, want to hit another area or want to call it a night?"
Mike didn't say anything for a long second as his brow knit then he brightened. "I've got a little more gas in the tank. Why don't we head over to North Beach for an hour or so and then I can drop you off home?"
"My car is at the Hall."
"So? You've left it there before. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning and you can drive it home tomorrow night." The older man grinned. "What to you say?"
Steve stared at him expressionlessly for a long beat then shook his head gently with a soft chuckle. "Lead on, MacDuff."
"If that means we're going to North Beach, then let's go."
# # # # #
Steve stood on the landing, watching the bright red taillights of the tan LTD turn left onto Montgomery and disappear. He took a deep lungful of the cool, moist air, faintly tasting the salt from the seawater in the nearby Bay. The foghorns, a little further away now, were the only sounds that could permeate the fog, which had grown progressively thicker, casting a pall over the entire city.
With a sigh, he turned to the door, his key at the ready. He slipped it into the slot then stopped, looking to his right. He stared at the doorframe he could barely make out in the dim light for several long seconds before, with a heavy sigh, he turned the key in the lock and opened the door.
He stepped into the dark apartment and closed the door behind him, standing in the pitch black. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He couldn't get her out of his mind, still ashamed and embarrassed he hadn't seen her for what she was, hadn't seen that she had used him from the moment she had 'accidentally' bumped into him on the apartment steps. He had fallen for her exactly as she had planned, letting his guard down when he could least afford it, allowing himself to be strung along by his hormones and his heart instead of his training and his intellect.
It was only because of a concerned and perceptive lieutenant with a hunch that he hadn't become another notch on the belt of a professional hitwoman. What he had been was a tool that she had required and used and was soon to be discarded, possibly with a bullet to the head, by someone who just needed to get a job done.
It was a life lesson he wasn't going to forget, he fervently hoped, and another unspoken debt he knew he owed to the man who wasn't only his partner but had become over the years his best friend and irreplaceable mentor.
The sting of Sydney Bruce was still fresh and palpable when the tables had been turned and he had been forced to take the life of a hitman in order to prevent an assassination that would've had severe international ramifications. As bad as that had been to his psyche and his soul, even worse was the praise and commendations he had received, through discreet channels, from people in high government circles who were appreciative of the his skill, bravery and professionalism.
The two incidents, so close together, had hollowed out his secret self. He had managed to hide his personal demons from the world at large but not, he was well aware, from the one person who knew him almost better than he knew himself. And though nothing had changed between them, he knew Mike was keeping a close eye on him and letting him try to recover in his own time and on his own terms. It was like being held in a warm embrace that he could feel but couldn't see, and he was grateful beyond words.
With a heavy sigh, he reached for the lightswitch beside the front door and snapped on the lamp on the far side of the couch. He was tired but he knew that sleep wouldn't come for hours yet, a pattern that had repeated itself almost every night since Sydney Bruce had been unmasked and arrested.
And that scared him now more than ever.
The man who had the brazenness to kidnap, kill and remove the eyes of his victims was obviously someone who could not be treated lightly nor underestimated. They would have to be at the top of their game to catch him. He knew Mike would make sure he had his partner's back, in every sense of the word; his worry was if his head was back in the game enough to make sure that his best friend didn't pay the price for another lapse in judgement.
His hands shaking, Steve walked across the living room into the kitchen, not even bothering to turn the overhead on. He opened the fridge and took out a can of Bud. Popping the tab, he returned to the living room and dropped heavily onto the couch.
He had no idea when or if he would get any sleep tonight.