Part 2: To The Rescue
Steve pulled onto the street leading to the Michaels' home. The place was distinguished by the number of departmental vehicles parked both in and near the driveway. On previous visits, his attention hadn't been much focused on the details of the house. It had been dark, and there had been another, much more engaging focus for his attention.
The outside of the home was neat and well cared for, obviously by hired professionals. The exact image a couple like the Michaels' might want to present to the world. Unfortunately, the large vans marked 'Coroner' and 'Crime Scene Unit' marred that visual.
Forced to park a ways back from the driveway, he brought the truck to a halt behind one of the cruisers on the scene. As he climbed out, something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. It was a man, standing in the driveway across the street, operating a video camera.
"Can you believe that?" he asked his father, gesturing purposefully as they headed past the official vehicles and toward the drive. The man shifted from one foot to the other at the attention as if he half-expected to be run off, but he didn't halt in his activity.
"Yeah," Mark agreed, following Steve's gaze, musing the point.
"Nothing like a good neighbor," Steve muttered under his breath. He didn't know what the man expected to get on tape. Lots of boring police procedure and little else.
"That her?" Mark asked, drawing Steve's attention forward again.
Steve turned and saw an obviously upset dark-haired woman standing near a decorative bench that sat in the corner of the yard. A tissue was clutched tightly in her palm as she haltingly spoke with Detective Ben Sternen, a newly promoted officer at the precinct.
"Yeah, that's her." Steve came to an abrupt stop, and for a moment felt completely out of place. This wasn't his case. Ben Sternen had been assigned to work with Maureen Gruber. Gruber was a good officer, and he had no doubt that she would get to the bottom of what had happened to Adam Michaels.
As he stood, considering what his next move should be, Maeve turned and looked directly at him. Pale and shaken, her eyes were red from crying. But as she focused on him, he saw the light of hope appear.
He simply stared back at her, not sure what he felt. He only remembered the day when he'd confronted her about her marital status. They hadn't exactly parted as friends. But that didn't seem to matter to Maeve. She moved past Sternen, practically at a run and buried herself in his arms.
"I'm so glad you came," she cried. "I couldn't kill Adam. I wouldn't. Not over this."
Steve wrapped his arms around her reluctantly, then pushed her gently away from himself. He would do what he could to help her, but he had to make her understand his position. On several levels. "I'm not the investigating officer on this case," he said, gently. "And if I was, I would be removed as soon as they discovered our previous relationship."
Maeve looked up at him, confused. Then looked from him, to Mark and back. "Then why did you come?"
Steve frowned, drawing back slightly. "I came because Amanda called me and told me I should."
"What are you doing here, Sloan?" Another male voice broke into the conversation before Maeve had an opportunity to respond. The question was asked with a friendly tone, but it sent slivers of apprehension up Steve's spine.
He looked up and beyond Maeve, having immediately recognized the voice of Fred Mancini - the lead detective and FBI liaison during the missing children's case. Steve took a step away from Maeve, and felt his face settling into the inevitable grim lines as the salt-and-pepper haired man approached. He noticed that Sternen stood a little back from the group, almost as if he wasn't sure what he should do next.
"Good morning, Fred." Steve greeted the man coolly, and nodded a greeting toward Sternen. "You know my dad."
"Doctor Sloan." Fred greeted the man who stood unobtrusively at Steve's side. "I'm surprised to see your son here. I thought this was his day off." He glanced toward Steve. "Came with the award didn't it, Steve?"
Steve stared back hard at the man. "Where's Mo? I thought she was working with Sternen."
"She called in sick. Can you imagine that out of Reliable Maureen? But don't worry, Sternen and I will do just fine." Fred slid an oily, suggestive look between Steve and Maeve. "I'm sure you have other . . . affairs to attend to."
With that the older detective turned toward his young partner. "You got everything you need, Sternen?"
"Yeah, I got . . . ." The younger man's reply died as Steve cut him off, dragging Mancini a few steps away from Maeve and his father.
"You have something to say to me, Fred?" Steve demanded in a low voice, tinged with anger. Something was off with the older detective, and had been for weeks, now. He had thought at first that it'd had to do with the missing kids case. But as time had gone on, he hadn't been able to get anything out of the other man aside from animosity.
"Same old Sloan." Fred shook Steve's hand off his arm and smiled a derisive smile. "Not much changes with you does it? Still a slicked back pretty boy with an eye for the ladies. Still got a nose for the high profiles. Oh, and," he looked around Steve to where Mark was standing, talking quietly to Maeve. "Still dragging your father with you on your cases. Whatever works for you, pal, but this one is mine. Stay away from it."
Steve's hands tightened into fists. He would love to grab the man by his collar and shove him into the nearest wall until he could talk some sense into him. But it was useless. And Fred was right about two things. This was his case, and he had brought his father along. Not for the reasons Fred thought, but there was no way the other man could know that, and Steve had no intention of filling him in. So instead of following his instinct, he impaled the other man with a hard look and stepped around him without a word.
"Remember what I said, Sloan," Fred called after him.
Steve didn't turn, just kept moving toward the house and Amanda. She'd called him, asking him to come here. He hoped she had a mighty good reason, because best he could tell Maeve hadn't been the one to ask her and Amanda knew how badly that relationship had gone.
He felt a small amount of the tension leave him as he entered the door of the home. There were crime scene technicians everywhere, examining carpet fibers, gathering bits of evidence, going over every inch of the house.
Steve sighed as he moved through the living area. He hadn't worked with Fred since the missing children's case. But he knew Fred had been a good detective, he had even worked with the man for a while after he had been promoted to the detective ranks. Maybe whatever grudge the other man had was with him alone.
He followed the sound of voices into what he assumed to be the master bedroom and got his first look at Adam Michaels. He was laying sprawled on top of plush blue carpeting, a large bloody hole in his chest. A blonde- haired woman lay face down where she had fallen half over his thighs. She appeared to have been shot in the back. Neither of them were wearing shoes, but they were both dressed in business attire.
That caught him off guard and made him pause. Not that he normally walked into crime scenes with a predisposition as to what the scene would look like, but this one he had. He had expected a sordid display which had ended in what appeared to be a crime of passion. These people looked like they were on their way to, or from, a business meeting.
~*~
"I don't like that man," Maeve said as she watched Fred Mancini watching Steve stalk off toward the house. She wrapped her arms about herself and shivered slightly.
Mark followed her gaze. "He does seem to be a little upset," he agreed absently as he turned back and observed her closely. Her eyes and nose were red, obviously from crying, and she had the mildly dazed look of having received a nasty shock - such as finding your husband dead. He also noticed that she wore the proverbial 'little black dress' with a pair of strappy- looking shoes. Hardly the way he would have expected to find her that early in the day.
"So you're Steve's father?" she asked, catching him looking her over.
"Oh, uh, yes," Mark replied, smiling abashedly. "I was with him earlier when he got the call."
"Did he tell you about us?" she asked, her face reddening slightly with embarrassment of her own.
"Yes, he did," Mark said gently. "And I'm very sorry to hear about your husband."
She nodded and blinked when her eyes begin to fill with tears again. For several moments, her chin quivered and she seemed unable to speak. "Thank you," she finally managed to whisper.
"Why don't we go and have a seat," Mark urged, directing her toward the bench that she had been seated on before when he and Steve had arrived. "Can I go inside and get you a drink or anything?" he offered.
"You're very kind." She smiled tearfully up at him. "But that isn't necessary. Actually," she looked sheepish, "If you could just stay with me. Just for a few minutes."
"Of course." Mark gave her his best reassuring smile and settled beside her on the bench. "You've had a terrible shock. Is there anyone I can call for you?"
She shook her head. "Just my dad. But he's in Boston at a seminar. Since it's his seminar, he can't leave right away. He won't be back in town until day after tomorrow. And this isn't the kind of thing I want to invite my friends over for." She seemed to shiver again.
Mark nodded. "I can understand that. Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
"No, of course not."
Mark directed her attention to the man across the street with the camera. He was barely visible, standing between an SUV and a hedge.
Maeve frowned a little in confusion for moment. "Oh, that's Kevin Masterson. He's been trying to get us into trouble with the neighborhood association for months now. This'll probably do it."
The wheels in Mark's mind began turning. "Why would he want to do a thing like that?"
She curled her hands in her lap. "He said that we were a blight on the neighborhood."
"Oh." Mark thought he understood. "Have the police spoken with him?"
She nodded. "Yes. One of the detectives did. He must have gone and gotten his video camera later."
"Do you know if he might have seen something that might help the police figure out what happened?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. They didn't tell me what he told them. Just that --"
The sound of a cleared throat interrupted the conversation. Mark turned and looked up to see Fred Mancini and his partner were standing behind him.
"You'll need to come with us down to the station now, Mrs. Michaels. We'd like to get your prints for the purpose of elimination, and we also need to have the powder residue tests done as soon as possible." Fred spoke gruffly.
Maeve gasped a little. "Right now? Do I have to go now? In your car?"
Mark could well imagine that Maeve wouldn't want her neighbor video taping as she was loaded into the back of a police car. So when he saw the look of growing suspicion on Fred's face, he spoke quickly, cutting the man off.
"I could go with you," he said. Then, glancing back at Mancini. "That should be okay, shouldn't it? I'll just need a moment to let Steve know. I'm sure he'd be happy to come and pick us up from the precinct." Without giving anyone time to object, he sprung up from the bench and hurried toward the house. Glancing back at the small trio with a smile, he caught Maeve's relieved look and Fred's mutinous one. He had a feeling that Steve might not be overly appreciative of his move either.
Steve pulled onto the street leading to the Michaels' home. The place was distinguished by the number of departmental vehicles parked both in and near the driveway. On previous visits, his attention hadn't been much focused on the details of the house. It had been dark, and there had been another, much more engaging focus for his attention.
The outside of the home was neat and well cared for, obviously by hired professionals. The exact image a couple like the Michaels' might want to present to the world. Unfortunately, the large vans marked 'Coroner' and 'Crime Scene Unit' marred that visual.
Forced to park a ways back from the driveway, he brought the truck to a halt behind one of the cruisers on the scene. As he climbed out, something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. It was a man, standing in the driveway across the street, operating a video camera.
"Can you believe that?" he asked his father, gesturing purposefully as they headed past the official vehicles and toward the drive. The man shifted from one foot to the other at the attention as if he half-expected to be run off, but he didn't halt in his activity.
"Yeah," Mark agreed, following Steve's gaze, musing the point.
"Nothing like a good neighbor," Steve muttered under his breath. He didn't know what the man expected to get on tape. Lots of boring police procedure and little else.
"That her?" Mark asked, drawing Steve's attention forward again.
Steve turned and saw an obviously upset dark-haired woman standing near a decorative bench that sat in the corner of the yard. A tissue was clutched tightly in her palm as she haltingly spoke with Detective Ben Sternen, a newly promoted officer at the precinct.
"Yeah, that's her." Steve came to an abrupt stop, and for a moment felt completely out of place. This wasn't his case. Ben Sternen had been assigned to work with Maureen Gruber. Gruber was a good officer, and he had no doubt that she would get to the bottom of what had happened to Adam Michaels.
As he stood, considering what his next move should be, Maeve turned and looked directly at him. Pale and shaken, her eyes were red from crying. But as she focused on him, he saw the light of hope appear.
He simply stared back at her, not sure what he felt. He only remembered the day when he'd confronted her about her marital status. They hadn't exactly parted as friends. But that didn't seem to matter to Maeve. She moved past Sternen, practically at a run and buried herself in his arms.
"I'm so glad you came," she cried. "I couldn't kill Adam. I wouldn't. Not over this."
Steve wrapped his arms around her reluctantly, then pushed her gently away from himself. He would do what he could to help her, but he had to make her understand his position. On several levels. "I'm not the investigating officer on this case," he said, gently. "And if I was, I would be removed as soon as they discovered our previous relationship."
Maeve looked up at him, confused. Then looked from him, to Mark and back. "Then why did you come?"
Steve frowned, drawing back slightly. "I came because Amanda called me and told me I should."
"What are you doing here, Sloan?" Another male voice broke into the conversation before Maeve had an opportunity to respond. The question was asked with a friendly tone, but it sent slivers of apprehension up Steve's spine.
He looked up and beyond Maeve, having immediately recognized the voice of Fred Mancini - the lead detective and FBI liaison during the missing children's case. Steve took a step away from Maeve, and felt his face settling into the inevitable grim lines as the salt-and-pepper haired man approached. He noticed that Sternen stood a little back from the group, almost as if he wasn't sure what he should do next.
"Good morning, Fred." Steve greeted the man coolly, and nodded a greeting toward Sternen. "You know my dad."
"Doctor Sloan." Fred greeted the man who stood unobtrusively at Steve's side. "I'm surprised to see your son here. I thought this was his day off." He glanced toward Steve. "Came with the award didn't it, Steve?"
Steve stared back hard at the man. "Where's Mo? I thought she was working with Sternen."
"She called in sick. Can you imagine that out of Reliable Maureen? But don't worry, Sternen and I will do just fine." Fred slid an oily, suggestive look between Steve and Maeve. "I'm sure you have other . . . affairs to attend to."
With that the older detective turned toward his young partner. "You got everything you need, Sternen?"
"Yeah, I got . . . ." The younger man's reply died as Steve cut him off, dragging Mancini a few steps away from Maeve and his father.
"You have something to say to me, Fred?" Steve demanded in a low voice, tinged with anger. Something was off with the older detective, and had been for weeks, now. He had thought at first that it'd had to do with the missing kids case. But as time had gone on, he hadn't been able to get anything out of the other man aside from animosity.
"Same old Sloan." Fred shook Steve's hand off his arm and smiled a derisive smile. "Not much changes with you does it? Still a slicked back pretty boy with an eye for the ladies. Still got a nose for the high profiles. Oh, and," he looked around Steve to where Mark was standing, talking quietly to Maeve. "Still dragging your father with you on your cases. Whatever works for you, pal, but this one is mine. Stay away from it."
Steve's hands tightened into fists. He would love to grab the man by his collar and shove him into the nearest wall until he could talk some sense into him. But it was useless. And Fred was right about two things. This was his case, and he had brought his father along. Not for the reasons Fred thought, but there was no way the other man could know that, and Steve had no intention of filling him in. So instead of following his instinct, he impaled the other man with a hard look and stepped around him without a word.
"Remember what I said, Sloan," Fred called after him.
Steve didn't turn, just kept moving toward the house and Amanda. She'd called him, asking him to come here. He hoped she had a mighty good reason, because best he could tell Maeve hadn't been the one to ask her and Amanda knew how badly that relationship had gone.
He felt a small amount of the tension leave him as he entered the door of the home. There were crime scene technicians everywhere, examining carpet fibers, gathering bits of evidence, going over every inch of the house.
Steve sighed as he moved through the living area. He hadn't worked with Fred since the missing children's case. But he knew Fred had been a good detective, he had even worked with the man for a while after he had been promoted to the detective ranks. Maybe whatever grudge the other man had was with him alone.
He followed the sound of voices into what he assumed to be the master bedroom and got his first look at Adam Michaels. He was laying sprawled on top of plush blue carpeting, a large bloody hole in his chest. A blonde- haired woman lay face down where she had fallen half over his thighs. She appeared to have been shot in the back. Neither of them were wearing shoes, but they were both dressed in business attire.
That caught him off guard and made him pause. Not that he normally walked into crime scenes with a predisposition as to what the scene would look like, but this one he had. He had expected a sordid display which had ended in what appeared to be a crime of passion. These people looked like they were on their way to, or from, a business meeting.
~*~
"I don't like that man," Maeve said as she watched Fred Mancini watching Steve stalk off toward the house. She wrapped her arms about herself and shivered slightly.
Mark followed her gaze. "He does seem to be a little upset," he agreed absently as he turned back and observed her closely. Her eyes and nose were red, obviously from crying, and she had the mildly dazed look of having received a nasty shock - such as finding your husband dead. He also noticed that she wore the proverbial 'little black dress' with a pair of strappy- looking shoes. Hardly the way he would have expected to find her that early in the day.
"So you're Steve's father?" she asked, catching him looking her over.
"Oh, uh, yes," Mark replied, smiling abashedly. "I was with him earlier when he got the call."
"Did he tell you about us?" she asked, her face reddening slightly with embarrassment of her own.
"Yes, he did," Mark said gently. "And I'm very sorry to hear about your husband."
She nodded and blinked when her eyes begin to fill with tears again. For several moments, her chin quivered and she seemed unable to speak. "Thank you," she finally managed to whisper.
"Why don't we go and have a seat," Mark urged, directing her toward the bench that she had been seated on before when he and Steve had arrived. "Can I go inside and get you a drink or anything?" he offered.
"You're very kind." She smiled tearfully up at him. "But that isn't necessary. Actually," she looked sheepish, "If you could just stay with me. Just for a few minutes."
"Of course." Mark gave her his best reassuring smile and settled beside her on the bench. "You've had a terrible shock. Is there anyone I can call for you?"
She shook her head. "Just my dad. But he's in Boston at a seminar. Since it's his seminar, he can't leave right away. He won't be back in town until day after tomorrow. And this isn't the kind of thing I want to invite my friends over for." She seemed to shiver again.
Mark nodded. "I can understand that. Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
"No, of course not."
Mark directed her attention to the man across the street with the camera. He was barely visible, standing between an SUV and a hedge.
Maeve frowned a little in confusion for moment. "Oh, that's Kevin Masterson. He's been trying to get us into trouble with the neighborhood association for months now. This'll probably do it."
The wheels in Mark's mind began turning. "Why would he want to do a thing like that?"
She curled her hands in her lap. "He said that we were a blight on the neighborhood."
"Oh." Mark thought he understood. "Have the police spoken with him?"
She nodded. "Yes. One of the detectives did. He must have gone and gotten his video camera later."
"Do you know if he might have seen something that might help the police figure out what happened?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. They didn't tell me what he told them. Just that --"
The sound of a cleared throat interrupted the conversation. Mark turned and looked up to see Fred Mancini and his partner were standing behind him.
"You'll need to come with us down to the station now, Mrs. Michaels. We'd like to get your prints for the purpose of elimination, and we also need to have the powder residue tests done as soon as possible." Fred spoke gruffly.
Maeve gasped a little. "Right now? Do I have to go now? In your car?"
Mark could well imagine that Maeve wouldn't want her neighbor video taping as she was loaded into the back of a police car. So when he saw the look of growing suspicion on Fred's face, he spoke quickly, cutting the man off.
"I could go with you," he said. Then, glancing back at Mancini. "That should be okay, shouldn't it? I'll just need a moment to let Steve know. I'm sure he'd be happy to come and pick us up from the precinct." Without giving anyone time to object, he sprung up from the bench and hurried toward the house. Glancing back at the small trio with a smile, he caught Maeve's relieved look and Fred's mutinous one. He had a feeling that Steve might not be overly appreciative of his move either.