Part 7: Never A Phone When You Need One
Steve quickly punched in Jesse's cell phone number and waited impatiently for him to pick up. After the fourth ring, his voice mail message started. Disconnecting in disgust, he levered himself gingerly up out of the lazy boy, hit the redial button and then set off for the stairs.
He couldn't believe that Fred had arrested his father! It was bad enough that the other police officer seemed to have it in for him, but to mess with Mark was too much. He needed to get a hold of Jesse, tell him to forget the groceries, so they could all go down to the precinct and get his dad. And after that, he planned to beat Fred to a quivering pulp, whatever it took to find out what he had ever done to merit this kind of behavior.
As he made his way up the stairs, he heard footsteps hurrying in his direction. Along with the sound of footsteps came the ringing of a cell phone. He halted halfway up the second flight, staring in frustrated disbelief as Maeve appeared, holding Jesse's phone in hand.
"I heard it ringing, and didn't know if I should answer it. I was going to bring it to you."
"Don't bother. I'm the one who's calling." He continued up the few remaining steps, waiting for the voice mail to kick in again. He didn't have time to wait for Jesse to come back. There was no way he was allowing his father to remain in custody a second longer than necessary.
"Dad's been arrested," he tersely told the voice machine. "I need to go get him." He disconnected and settled the phone on the table in the hall. In the same motion, he picked up his keys and his cellular.
"Mark's been arrested? Why?" Maeve sounded shocked as she followed him toward the door.
"I'll tell you on the way," Steve replied over his shoulder.
"Wait a minute." She grabbed his arm, making him pause for a moment. "Should you be driving?"
"I have to go get my father. I'm not going to sit around here and wait because Jesse is taking his time perusing the fresh fruit section!"
"I wasn't suggesting that you should." She plucked the keys from his hand. "I'll drive. The last thing your father needs is for something else to happen to you."
Steve considered arguing, but she raised a brow at him as if daring him to argue her point. He couldn't think of one. Regardless of how angry he was at the moment, he had no business behind the wheel of an automobile when he had what amounted to schedule II narcotics in his system.
"All right." He nodded. "Let's go."
~*~
Jesse smiled at the pretty cashier as he paid for his items. He tried to imagine Mark's surprise when he discovered that he'd gotten fresh spinach greens for the salad. He was sure that Steve would gripe, but that was okay. It was part of the fun of putting them in.
He walked energetically out of the doors, already planning his come backs to the expected complaints. He pressed the remote entry button to unlock his car, thrilled to have gotten such a great spot near the front of the store. That made up a little for the minor amount of guilt he felt for actually driving to a place that was practically across the street. His treasured space still put him at less than a mile driven. How much damage could that short distance do to the ozone, anyway?
He was waiting behind an older Volvo, tapping his fingers to a Judas Priest CD when he noticed a familiar looking vehicle drive past. Not having paid attention to where it had come from, he couldn't be certain that it hadn't pulled out of Mark and Steve's driveway, but he thought it sure looked a lot like Steve's truck.
"Nah." He shook his head. Steve wouldn't be out trying to drive while taking Percocet. One of the reasons Jesse had chosen it as a pain killer was for its sedative effect. Steve wouldn't be able to avoid getting some rest. Feeling proud of himself, he pulled out of the lot behind the Volvo and then drove the small way to the beach house.
When he pulled into the driveway, he was still smiling. It rapidly faded. The truck was gone. He reached automatically for his cell phone and came up empty. Realization dawned and he smacked a hand against his forehead. He'd left the device in the house.
He climbed out of the car and rushed toward the front door. He was halfway there when he realized that he had no keys. Swearing softly, he ran back to the car, climbed behind the wheel and tried to think where Steve would possibly go. No way he'd left Maeve at the house alone. And surely he hadn't gone out to do any investigating on his own. That was beyond crazy.
But he'd seen Steve when he was worried for Mark's safety. Crazy wasn't far off point. And he had been worrying over it when he left. And he'd promised to call his dad . . . . Suddenly, Jesse's own anxiety increased tenfold. He had to talk to Steve. Now.
As he started the car and headed back out toward PCH in search of a pay phone, he cursed the times and the prevalence of cellular technology. He was hard pressed to find one. He'd gone several miles in the general direction that he thought he had seen Steve's truck go when he found one at a small specialty shop.
"I hope you have a real good excuse, buddy," he murmured as he rooted around in his pockets for the requested change. "Otherwise soft restraints are definitely in your future." Waiting for the connection to go through, he thought about what he'd just said. A good excuse was a bad thing, too. A good excuse would mean that something had indeed gone very wrong.
~*~
Mark sat quietly in a chair to the side of Fred Mancini's desk, pretending not to notice the rumble of voices coming from Captain Newman's office. He supposed that was one of the disadvantages of having a desk so near the superior policeman's office, the noise level could become loud when the man was irate. At the present moment, the captain was exemplifying the word for his detective.
Mark focused on his hands, which lay cuffed in his lap. He tried not to see the metal bracelets, looking beyond them to a stain on the leg of his pants. Probably a bit of fertilizer from the Michaels' gardener.
He looked up as he caught Cheryl moving in his peripheral vision. She smiled reassuringly in his direction, before answering her phone. When he'd initially been brought in, Cheryl had been rummaging in a filing cabinet. She had done an almost comical double-take, before abandoning whatever task she'd been about to simply look on in shock.
"Steve. Call Steve." Mark had urged, just as Mancini gestured that he turn. Fred had then released the cuffs, turned him and reattached them. Mark had only just gotten settled before Newman appeared. He took in the situation at a glance and gestured that Fred proceed him inside. Less than a minute later the raised voices had begun.
Mark startled when the Captain's door opened and he stuck his head out. "Banks! Get in here!"
Mark winced. The man's volume was still a bit on the high side. His eyes lingered on Mark for a moment as Cheryl approached. She shot Mark a look that clearly indicated her reluctance to enter the lion's den. The door closed behind her with a solid thud.
Though things remained quiet from the other side of the barrier, Mark still fretted. Cheryl had told him earlier that Steve was on his way. Based upon the average drive time from Malibu, he knew that time was running out. Steve should be there any minute. Mark could well imagine what his son's reaction would be. But he would simply have to reason with him, explain the situation. Everything should be fine then. He hoped.
The door opened again, and this time Fred appeared there, but the captain hung back in the doorway. The detective removed something from a pocket that Mark recognized as keys. He stood as the other man approached wordlessly and made quick work of releasing his hands.
"Thank you, Detective Mancini," Newman said conversationally. "You may go. I don't want to see you again until after your scheduled appointment."
"Yes, Sir," Fred muttered with more than a little resentment. The look he shot in Mark's direction was ripe with barely restrained fury.
Mark opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. There was nothing he could say in this situation. His attention was soon drawn away by the captain's words.
"Dr. Sloan, if you would please?" He waved him toward his office. Mark did as he was requested and proceeded the other man inside. Cheryl was still seated in one of the chairs in front of the desk. She traded a mildly uncomfortable look with him as he settled in the seat beside her.
"First of all," the captain began. "I'd like to apologize for the actions of Detective Mancini. I'm sure that you can understand that he's been under some stress lately."
"Yes. I can understand that." Mark was eager to agree. Obviously the man had more to say and he wanted to know what it was.
"Detective Mancini has been removed from this case and it has been reassigned to Detective Banks." The man paused a moment before continuing. "Lt. Sloan has proved himself to be a fine detective and an asset to this precinct. But I'll expect Detective Banks to investigate this case without bias, wherever the evidence leads her. Do you understand what I'm saying, Doctor Sloan?"
"Uh, yes. I believe I do," Mark replied.
"Good." The captain smiled at him. "I'll also expect you to back off on this one. Mancini was right about one thing. It looks very suspicious for you to be wandering around a crime scene, even removing things from the house, especially when there is a possibility that your son may somehow be involved in the murder."
"But Steve wouldn't --" Mark started to object.
"I didn't say I believed it." The captain cut him off. "But it's just the type of thing defense attorneys use to create reasonable doubt. Now, I have every confidence that Detective Banks will get to the truth of the matter."
~*~
As Maeve pulled into the parking space nearest the door in the detective's lot at the back of the precinct, Steve felt his anger growing. He wanted to climb down out of the truck, storm into the precinct and find out what was going on with his father. Unfortunately, his newly received stitches didn't allow for much storming, and he was forced to ease more carefully out of the truck.
Maeve had gotten out of the driver's side and rushed around to help him. But he'd stubbornly pressed on, at least getting himself down before she could reach him. Some protection he was proving to be.
He scanned the lot as they walked toward the back entrance. It was no where near shift change or lunch, so there was fairly little activity. But he still checked the adjoining areas, ensuring that nothing looked out of place.
As they moved nearer to the door, he heard it open and turned to see Fred Mancini bearing down on him. He barely had time to register the glazed fury in the man's eyes before two meaty fists grabbed at his lapels. Caught off balance, he could do little to lessen the force with which he was shoved against the cement building.
Steve quickly punched in Jesse's cell phone number and waited impatiently for him to pick up. After the fourth ring, his voice mail message started. Disconnecting in disgust, he levered himself gingerly up out of the lazy boy, hit the redial button and then set off for the stairs.
He couldn't believe that Fred had arrested his father! It was bad enough that the other police officer seemed to have it in for him, but to mess with Mark was too much. He needed to get a hold of Jesse, tell him to forget the groceries, so they could all go down to the precinct and get his dad. And after that, he planned to beat Fred to a quivering pulp, whatever it took to find out what he had ever done to merit this kind of behavior.
As he made his way up the stairs, he heard footsteps hurrying in his direction. Along with the sound of footsteps came the ringing of a cell phone. He halted halfway up the second flight, staring in frustrated disbelief as Maeve appeared, holding Jesse's phone in hand.
"I heard it ringing, and didn't know if I should answer it. I was going to bring it to you."
"Don't bother. I'm the one who's calling." He continued up the few remaining steps, waiting for the voice mail to kick in again. He didn't have time to wait for Jesse to come back. There was no way he was allowing his father to remain in custody a second longer than necessary.
"Dad's been arrested," he tersely told the voice machine. "I need to go get him." He disconnected and settled the phone on the table in the hall. In the same motion, he picked up his keys and his cellular.
"Mark's been arrested? Why?" Maeve sounded shocked as she followed him toward the door.
"I'll tell you on the way," Steve replied over his shoulder.
"Wait a minute." She grabbed his arm, making him pause for a moment. "Should you be driving?"
"I have to go get my father. I'm not going to sit around here and wait because Jesse is taking his time perusing the fresh fruit section!"
"I wasn't suggesting that you should." She plucked the keys from his hand. "I'll drive. The last thing your father needs is for something else to happen to you."
Steve considered arguing, but she raised a brow at him as if daring him to argue her point. He couldn't think of one. Regardless of how angry he was at the moment, he had no business behind the wheel of an automobile when he had what amounted to schedule II narcotics in his system.
"All right." He nodded. "Let's go."
~*~
Jesse smiled at the pretty cashier as he paid for his items. He tried to imagine Mark's surprise when he discovered that he'd gotten fresh spinach greens for the salad. He was sure that Steve would gripe, but that was okay. It was part of the fun of putting them in.
He walked energetically out of the doors, already planning his come backs to the expected complaints. He pressed the remote entry button to unlock his car, thrilled to have gotten such a great spot near the front of the store. That made up a little for the minor amount of guilt he felt for actually driving to a place that was practically across the street. His treasured space still put him at less than a mile driven. How much damage could that short distance do to the ozone, anyway?
He was waiting behind an older Volvo, tapping his fingers to a Judas Priest CD when he noticed a familiar looking vehicle drive past. Not having paid attention to where it had come from, he couldn't be certain that it hadn't pulled out of Mark and Steve's driveway, but he thought it sure looked a lot like Steve's truck.
"Nah." He shook his head. Steve wouldn't be out trying to drive while taking Percocet. One of the reasons Jesse had chosen it as a pain killer was for its sedative effect. Steve wouldn't be able to avoid getting some rest. Feeling proud of himself, he pulled out of the lot behind the Volvo and then drove the small way to the beach house.
When he pulled into the driveway, he was still smiling. It rapidly faded. The truck was gone. He reached automatically for his cell phone and came up empty. Realization dawned and he smacked a hand against his forehead. He'd left the device in the house.
He climbed out of the car and rushed toward the front door. He was halfway there when he realized that he had no keys. Swearing softly, he ran back to the car, climbed behind the wheel and tried to think where Steve would possibly go. No way he'd left Maeve at the house alone. And surely he hadn't gone out to do any investigating on his own. That was beyond crazy.
But he'd seen Steve when he was worried for Mark's safety. Crazy wasn't far off point. And he had been worrying over it when he left. And he'd promised to call his dad . . . . Suddenly, Jesse's own anxiety increased tenfold. He had to talk to Steve. Now.
As he started the car and headed back out toward PCH in search of a pay phone, he cursed the times and the prevalence of cellular technology. He was hard pressed to find one. He'd gone several miles in the general direction that he thought he had seen Steve's truck go when he found one at a small specialty shop.
"I hope you have a real good excuse, buddy," he murmured as he rooted around in his pockets for the requested change. "Otherwise soft restraints are definitely in your future." Waiting for the connection to go through, he thought about what he'd just said. A good excuse was a bad thing, too. A good excuse would mean that something had indeed gone very wrong.
~*~
Mark sat quietly in a chair to the side of Fred Mancini's desk, pretending not to notice the rumble of voices coming from Captain Newman's office. He supposed that was one of the disadvantages of having a desk so near the superior policeman's office, the noise level could become loud when the man was irate. At the present moment, the captain was exemplifying the word for his detective.
Mark focused on his hands, which lay cuffed in his lap. He tried not to see the metal bracelets, looking beyond them to a stain on the leg of his pants. Probably a bit of fertilizer from the Michaels' gardener.
He looked up as he caught Cheryl moving in his peripheral vision. She smiled reassuringly in his direction, before answering her phone. When he'd initially been brought in, Cheryl had been rummaging in a filing cabinet. She had done an almost comical double-take, before abandoning whatever task she'd been about to simply look on in shock.
"Steve. Call Steve." Mark had urged, just as Mancini gestured that he turn. Fred had then released the cuffs, turned him and reattached them. Mark had only just gotten settled before Newman appeared. He took in the situation at a glance and gestured that Fred proceed him inside. Less than a minute later the raised voices had begun.
Mark startled when the Captain's door opened and he stuck his head out. "Banks! Get in here!"
Mark winced. The man's volume was still a bit on the high side. His eyes lingered on Mark for a moment as Cheryl approached. She shot Mark a look that clearly indicated her reluctance to enter the lion's den. The door closed behind her with a solid thud.
Though things remained quiet from the other side of the barrier, Mark still fretted. Cheryl had told him earlier that Steve was on his way. Based upon the average drive time from Malibu, he knew that time was running out. Steve should be there any minute. Mark could well imagine what his son's reaction would be. But he would simply have to reason with him, explain the situation. Everything should be fine then. He hoped.
The door opened again, and this time Fred appeared there, but the captain hung back in the doorway. The detective removed something from a pocket that Mark recognized as keys. He stood as the other man approached wordlessly and made quick work of releasing his hands.
"Thank you, Detective Mancini," Newman said conversationally. "You may go. I don't want to see you again until after your scheduled appointment."
"Yes, Sir," Fred muttered with more than a little resentment. The look he shot in Mark's direction was ripe with barely restrained fury.
Mark opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. There was nothing he could say in this situation. His attention was soon drawn away by the captain's words.
"Dr. Sloan, if you would please?" He waved him toward his office. Mark did as he was requested and proceeded the other man inside. Cheryl was still seated in one of the chairs in front of the desk. She traded a mildly uncomfortable look with him as he settled in the seat beside her.
"First of all," the captain began. "I'd like to apologize for the actions of Detective Mancini. I'm sure that you can understand that he's been under some stress lately."
"Yes. I can understand that." Mark was eager to agree. Obviously the man had more to say and he wanted to know what it was.
"Detective Mancini has been removed from this case and it has been reassigned to Detective Banks." The man paused a moment before continuing. "Lt. Sloan has proved himself to be a fine detective and an asset to this precinct. But I'll expect Detective Banks to investigate this case without bias, wherever the evidence leads her. Do you understand what I'm saying, Doctor Sloan?"
"Uh, yes. I believe I do," Mark replied.
"Good." The captain smiled at him. "I'll also expect you to back off on this one. Mancini was right about one thing. It looks very suspicious for you to be wandering around a crime scene, even removing things from the house, especially when there is a possibility that your son may somehow be involved in the murder."
"But Steve wouldn't --" Mark started to object.
"I didn't say I believed it." The captain cut him off. "But it's just the type of thing defense attorneys use to create reasonable doubt. Now, I have every confidence that Detective Banks will get to the truth of the matter."
~*~
As Maeve pulled into the parking space nearest the door in the detective's lot at the back of the precinct, Steve felt his anger growing. He wanted to climb down out of the truck, storm into the precinct and find out what was going on with his father. Unfortunately, his newly received stitches didn't allow for much storming, and he was forced to ease more carefully out of the truck.
Maeve had gotten out of the driver's side and rushed around to help him. But he'd stubbornly pressed on, at least getting himself down before she could reach him. Some protection he was proving to be.
He scanned the lot as they walked toward the back entrance. It was no where near shift change or lunch, so there was fairly little activity. But he still checked the adjoining areas, ensuring that nothing looked out of place.
As they moved nearer to the door, he heard it open and turned to see Fred Mancini bearing down on him. He barely had time to register the glazed fury in the man's eyes before two meaty fists grabbed at his lapels. Caught off balance, he could do little to lessen the force with which he was shoved against the cement building.