Thank you all for the numerous emails and comments about helping out your communities. It is a tremendous feeling coming together and doing something good in the name of our SOSF community!
Also, people noticed that their reviews aren't posting. I still get the emails and honestly, don't worry. I am not doing this for reviews. Writing these stories is as therapeutic for me, as it is for you reading them.
A few times already, Steve had lost the battle to stay awake, his eyes stubbornly closing on him whenever he wasn't paying attention, head sinking to his chest, breathing slowing down to lull him into oblivion.
And there he would powernap for a few precious moments before the ringing of an office phone or the screeching of the Telex machine woke him up again with a start, beginning the cycle of exhaustion all over again.
Without Mike around, the office seemed to have quieted down significantly, much of the usual eagerness and energy missing today. The few detectives that were left during the fall vacation busied themselves with phone calls or research, barely talking to one another in the desert that was the homicide bullpen.
Thankful that nobody seemed to be noticing his battle to stay awake, Steve rested his chin on his palm again, parking his elbow on the cushioned spot along his desk calendar, training his eyes to the case file they had worked on before the blood bath at the nightclub, a hit and run that was clear as day, with a suspect in custody and several eye witnesses accounted for to support the charges filed by the prosecutor.
But Mike had demanded they find a specific witness, a small-time stoolie playing the races who was known to spend a lot of time at the spot of the accident, a nearby camera capturing him walking by seconds after the incident. The Lieutenant knew that Curtis had witnessed everything, not wanting to get reeled in for identification purposes because of his questionable career choices.
Nonetheless, none of their current witnesses had actually seen the crash, only heard it and seen both, the vehicle and the pedestrian victim nearby. Their suspect claimed that the diseased store owner had carelessly ran across the street, ignoring the lights that had long turned green, citing the incident as an unfortunate accident that left him so traumatized he was afraid to go to the police for days.
Curtis on the other hand had stopped at a nearby bar for a few drinks and claimed that he'd seen the crash, going as far as noticing the suspect weave in and out of traffic as though he'd been intoxicated.
His testimony could potentially make the difference between the court determining the case to be the result of an accident, placing blame on both the driver and pedestrian, or out-and-out vehicular homicide.
And it was their search for the illusive stoolie that had brought them across the tidbit of information about the impending nightclub shooting.
One day later and nowhere closer to finding Curtis, Steve sighed, dreading this case more than usual, mostly because there was little investigative work on their end. No mysteries, no hidden agendas, no need for cross examinations or undercover stints.
Just a dead pedestrian and an arrogant banker who tried to cover up the fact that he was drunk and speeding when he hit the store owner, then fled home to evade a sobriety test.
"I am being told that you are Inspector Keller?"
The soft voice ripped him out of his thoughts and Steve flinched violently, before raising his head back up, trying to disguise that fact that he'd drifted off to sleep once again.
Next to him, a well-dressed man in a charcoal suit and blue tie greeted him, his hand stretched out, a friendly smile playing on his lips.
"I am Lieutenant DeToro with the FBI. We're handling the case your robbery guys were working on. They told me that you and your partner were first on the scene of the shooting?"
"That would be correct.", Steve countered and shook the other man's hand, "My partner is out of town on an emergency. Is there something I can help you with?"
"Yes, there actually is…"
With an apologetic smile, the man in his mid-fifties gestured toward one of their interrogation room.
"As we take over the investigation of this shooting, we're trying to piece together everything that led to this…this horrific outcome. In an effort to do so, we need to reconstruct Vargas' moves as best as possible. Do you think you'll have a few moments to sit down with me and go over everything you saw and heard last night while it's still fresh in your mind, Inspector?"
Feeling the heaviness in his heart return in an instant, Steve nodded quietly, even though every fiber in his body resented the idea of regurgitating those bloody and tormenting images of the shooting.
Already dreading every part of the looming interview, he led the way to the interrogation room, hoping the other man wouldn't notice the thin layer of cold sweat on his forehead.