Since we are all stuck at home, I guess we need a diversion. I've been working on this for a while (over a year) and it is more than half complete, so the beginning will come fast, and then it might slow up a little. Please be patient. The standard disclaimers apply, not my circus, not my monkey's. (Boy, I wish they were!) I make no money from this. So enjoy.
A throbbing pain behind his eyes woke Steve from a deep slumber. When he opened them, it made no difference. Wherever he was, it was a shade of black that had no name. Along with the black came a bone chilling damp and earthy odor. He heard a groan on his right.
"Mike?"
He heard another groan and assumed it meant that wherever he was, his partner was alive, and not far from him. It gave him little comfort. Steve took stock of the situation as best he could. Other than feeling hung-over, he seemed to be in one piece physically. He tried to move his hands but only got an inch or two of play before they stopped. The same was true with his legs.
"Mike? You with me?"
"I think so, but I can't see."
"Neither can I, I think it's just too dark. You know how we got here?"
"Where's here? Last thing I remember we were in the car."
"I'm pretty sure we still are. Can you move?"
Steve heard some rustling. "Nope, I'm trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey. You?"
"Handcuffed to the steering wheel. My legs are tied or taped, too."
"Now what?"
Previously...
Mike was sitting at the table reading the paper, nursing a rapidly cooling cup of coffee. When the phone rang, be looked at the clock. It was just going on 6 am and he was curious what emergency rated a call this early. He picked up the phone. An agitated Norm Haseejian was on the other end.
"Mike, I need your help!" there was a brief pause, "I'm in big trouble."
00000
Mike pulled the big sedan up to Steve's Union St. apartment and hit the horn. The young inspector looked out and shook his head. Mike turned off the car and slid over to the passenger seat. The door shut and it was several moments before it opened again. Steve jogged down the steps, his tie undone and his fashionable grey tweed jacket draped over one arm. He opened the driver's door.
"C'mon, Mike it's only 6:30. Is San Francisco burning down or something?"
"Just drive, Romeo." Mike could smell the faint scent of perfume that entered the car with his partner.
"And where am I driving to, Sherlock?" It never failed, Mike always sussed out when he had a female house guest.
"17 Bret Harte Terrace, apartment 1"
"Why do I know that address?"
"You'll figure it out soon enough. Drive."
They pulled up to the small, two-story house, which had been split into apartments. An ambulance and a radio car sat out front, lights flashing. Steve was finishing the knot on his tie as they exited the car and walked over to the young patrolman standing by the door. He looked a little green.
"What do we have, son?" Mike asked in a fatherly manner. He could see the officer was in distress.
"Female, mid to late 30's, DOA. God there is so much blood. It's my, uh, my first dead body." He looked around for someplace to be sick.
"Who called it in?"
Before he could answer, a bathrobe clad man exited the front door.
"Norm? What gives?" Steve asked and turned wide-eyed to Mike.
"I'm glad you guys are here, this is a nightmare."
"Give us the abbreviated version. What happened?" Mike asked.
"I met Miriam, and before you ask, no, I don't know her last name, at the Suds and Soda last night after work. She seemed like a nice gal, we had a couple of laughs." Norm looked at the expression on Mike's face. "Don't judge Mike, it's the 70's. We came back to my place."
"And?"
"That's all I can remember. I swear, we only had a couple of drinks! Uniforms pounding on the door woke me up. She was dead, next to me in bed and… Hey where's my car?" Norm looked up and down the block.
"And?" Steve interjected.
"She was shot, and…."
"Spill it, Norm." Mike said, irritation evident in his voice.
Norm looked at his feet. "My gun, my gun's been fired."
"Go sit in the LTD till we figure out what's going on."
"But Mike, someone…"
"That's not a request Norm," Mike was firm in his tone, "You know better than this, you need to stay out of the way till we get more information."
"But Mike... "
"Now, before someone puts you in cuffs!"
Norm shrugged and shuffled over to the LTD in bare feet.
Mike and Steve walked over to the uniform in charge and spoke briefly with him before entering the apartment.
"You don't think that he had anything to do with this?" Steve asked Mike as they arrived at the bedroom, now seeing why the young officer looked so green. A middle-aged brunette lay draped over the bed, 3 oozing wounds to her head and torso. The sheets were stained with large blossoms of crimson. Mike noted the perforated pillow on the floor.
"Poor man's silencer?"
"That's what it looks like, but it still should have woken up Norm. You figure somebody slipped him something?"
"I think it's a safe bet. We'll need to get him to the lab and get some work done, blood test and paraffin test for gunshot residue. We're also gonna have to keep a tight lid on this. If the press finds out, he'll be tried in the court of public opinion before we get to step 1."
"What about IA?"
"As much as I hate to say it, we gotta bring them in. Even though it's Norm, everything has to be above board and by the book."
Bernie entered the room without greeting. "Gentlemen, what do we have?"
Steve looked at the dead woman's purse that sat atop a pile of clothes on the nightstand. Most of the contents, it seemed, were spilled onto a colorful scarf that puddled on the orange shag carpeting. He retrieved her wallet and read from her driver's license. "Miriam Steiner, 38. Three gunshot wounds, probably from a Colt .38 detective special." He pointed to Norm's gun, which was laying on the nightstand on the opposite side of the room..
"Police issue?"
"Yeah," Mike replied, "You'll find it registered to SFPD, issued to Sgt. Haseejian."
"Norm?"
"Yeah, Bernie. Do us a favor. Keep that on the down low and check her for methaqualone. That's the drug of choice for incapacitating people these days, correct?.
Bernie shook his head in agreement. "Quaaludes. Doctor's need to quit giving out that stuff like candy."
"You're preaching to the choir. We also need to have Norm checked for the same, plus a paraffin test, can you handle that for us Doc?"
"Sure, no sweat. I'll do the drug test and Charlie can do the paraffin. Rape kit?"
"From what Norm said, no. But I guess we better cover our bases." Mike answered, thinking that this situation was going to get a whole lot worse before it got better.
"Will do. Say, do me a favor if you see Charlie's guys outside, tell them to hold off until I'm done with the body. Just send in the photographer."
"Sure thing," Steve said as he retrieved the dead woman's keys. "I need to log these in with Charlie before we leave anyhow. Steve copied the dead woman's address into his note book. As he put her wallet back he noticed an ID for The Fine Arts Museum of San Francisco.
"Hey, Mike. She works at the Art Museum over at The Legion of Honor." He held up the ID card.
"Not Norm's typical date."
"No, he's more the bowling and burgers type. Speaking of Norm, what are we going to do about him?"
"Well, first…" Mike said as he opened the closet, "We get him some clothes. Then he's got to go to the lab. The uniforms can take him in. We also need to call Captain Olsen, IA and a PBA lawyer so he can give his formal statement."
"APB on his car?"
"Absolutely."
"Are we going to handle the interview?" Steve asked, although he already knew the answer.
"Nope. Wouldn't smell right if it gets out. We'll let IA handle that. We need to look at her house."
"You think they're going to charge him?"
"I hope not. Probably get put on administrative leave. Depends if they want to play hardball or not. A lot rides on the drug and paraffin test."
"Do we need to get Gerry in the loop?"
"That's not a bad idea."
"I've been known to come up with a few now and again. Do you want to run by the museum and bar after we check out her place?"
"Absolutely, you're on the ball this morning, buddy boy."
"It's all about the sleep deprivation." Steve said with an eye roll.
Mike slapped him affectionately on the arm.
00000
Steve pulled the LTD up to a high-end townhouse on Sacramento Street in Nob Hill. "Definitely looks high brow for Norm and the Suds and Soda."
Mike knocked on the door while Steve pulled out the keys he had found in the dead woman's purse.
When no one answered, Steve let them in with the keys and handed them to Mike. They walked into an elegantly appointed marble foyer. Mike let a low whistle. What the heck did Norm get himself into?
"You want upstairs or down?" Steve asked
"Up, since you are so sleep deprived." Mike replied looking at the grand staircase to the right.
Mike trotted up the steps while Steve turned into a refined sitting area. The furniture and wall coverings reminded him of the grand European drawing rooms in period piece movies. Tall ceilings with carved crown molding, ornate antiques and nothing out of place. He went through the figured-oak pocket doors into a Chippendale outfitted dining room set with painted porcelain plates and bohemian crystal. This place looked like a museum.
A butler's pantry off the dining room led into the kitchen. At least this room looked slightly lived-in. A newspaper was still on the table with a half-drunk cup of cold coffee and a wrapper from a Poptart. Steve picked up the paper and was surprised to see that it was in German. There was a composition book with flowers doodled on the cover in green ink. Steve picked up the note book and opened to the first pages on which was written Sarah Steiner, Algebra II/Trigonometry, Period 2 in a curley feminine hand. Apparently, Miriam Steiner had a teenage daughter.
There was a note taped to the fridge with a ten dollar bill. Steve pulled it down and read it.
Sarah,
I'm going out after work. There are leftovers in the fridge. If you and Opa don't want to eat them, get some take out. I'll see you later.
Love, Mama
PS. Don't forget to DO YOUR HOMEWORK before you get on the phone. XOXOXO
Mike came into the kitchen as Steve finished the note. "This place is really something."
"No kidding." Steve said as he held the note up to his forehead, like the character from The Tonight Show. "Three people live here: Miriam; a teenage girl, Sarah; and an old man who speaks German."
Mike shook his head. "Well done Carnac the Magnificent. How did you figure that out?"
Steve handed the note and newspaper to Mike. "Opa is grandfather in German. And if she's telling Sarah to stay off the phone, well, that screams teenager. Plus, there's an Algebra notebook on the table. Miriam, Opa and Sarah, ergo three people."
"I'll make a detective out of you yet. That lines up with the three bedrooms I found upstairs. We know where Miriam is. Any idea where the other two are?"
Steve looked at his watch, it was already going on ten. "Sarah's probably at school, as far as Opa, who knows?"
Mike produced a receipt book and handed it to Steve with a flourish. "He's at work. Opa is Jakob Steiner. Owns a jewelry store on Grant."
"That might explain where the dough came from for all this." Steve swept his hand toward the opulent furnishings as they headed for the door. Where do you want to go first?"
"Let's hit the jewelry store. I want to get notification out of the way."
With their sad duty ahead of them, the detectives headed for Steiner's Fine Jewelry and Antiques.