Chapter Six

Unwarranted Interference

Steve had secured the search warrant for Medi-Quick's files, but his dad's call had made him decide to return to Community General before going to the courier service's offices.

As he exited the elevator and started down the corridor toward the doctors' lounge, he noticed that the same man who had bumped into him earlier wearing the CenterTech logo was now walking the opposite way.  His detective training caused him to stop and watch the man as he paused at the elevators, waited for the doors to open, and then got in.  He selected the button for the floor he wanted, turned, and half smiled in Steve's direction as the doors closed.  Steve shrugged off his suspicious feelings and went on his way.

When he reached the lounge, his father greeted him at the door.  "Oh, Steve, I'm glad that you're here.  Our prospective witness woke up."  Steve decided to ignore the fact that he was now sharing the witness, and followed his father in silence into the elevator.

"Here we are then!"  Mark's tone was a little too cheerful and Steve gave his father a less than sincere smile and a slight nod, noticing that Jack was already in the room.  The thought Don't you two have anything else to do? crossed his mind, but he decided not to bring it up.  "You said he was awake."

"Oh, yes, he is," Mark stated as he ushered his son into the room and over to the bed.  "Marty," he spoke to the man who had previously been called John Doe, "this is my son, Sergeant Steve Sloan, from the LAPD."

The homeless man held out his hand in a friendly gesture, "Nice to meet you, Sergeant."  He was receiving oxygen through a nasal tube and an IV was in his right arm, but he seemed reasonably cognizant.

Steve shook his hand and then began the questioning.  "Marty, could you tell me your full name, please?"

"Sure, it's Martin Howard Schmidt, the third."

Steve was surprised by the completeness of the answer, but he recorded it in his book.  "Mr. Schmidt, when you were found unconscious this morning, you had an inhaler in your possession…"

"We've already discussed that," Mark interrupted, "and he told us that a very nice man, who by the way seemed to match the description of Lazaro Coronado, gave it to him."

Steve glared at his dad for a few seconds, and then turned back and began to ask, "Mr. Schmidt, when did this…"

"He's had it for several weeks now, but he's not exactly sure when the man gave it to him."  It was Jack who supplied the information this time.

Steve scowled at the two doctors who, he thought, looked quite proud of themselves.  He cleared his throat and tried again, "Mr. Schmidt, have you ever seen…

"…anything suspicious," Mark butted in.  "The answer is no, he hasn't."

Steve's temper flared, and he grabbed his dad by the elbow and forced him out in the hallway.  Jack smiled at Mr. Schmidt, and said, "Excuse us for a minute."

"Sure thing," the man replied watching the threesome leave his room, not understanding why the cop seemed to be so upset.

"Dad, what are you doing?" Steve yelled once they were out in the hallway.  "You promised that you wouldn't interfere," he laid into his father, not caring that everyone in the corridor heard him.  "I'm conducting this investigation, not you!"

"Steve, we were just trying to help."  Jack tried to come to Mark's defense.

"No, Jack, you weren't just trying to help; you were trying to meddle.  There is a big difference!"

"Son, calm down.  Once Marty found out that Mr. Coronado was murdered, he was more than happy to help out."

"Oh, great, now I've got homeless people helping me solve homicides."

"Steve, don't you think that you're being kind of hard on your dad?" Jack asked.

"No, Jack, I don't.  I knew it was a mistake to let you help me on this case."  And before anyone could say anything else, Steve walked away, anger evident in every step.  "I have a search warrant to execute, unless you did that too, while I wasn't looking!"

Mark and Jack stood motionless, shocked from what had just occurred.

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It was much later that night when Mark got home from the hospital.  As he pulled into the driveway, he saw Steve's truck and let out a deep sigh.  After taking some time to think about the botched interview, he had tried to call his son several times that afternoon, but there had been no answer.  It was obvious when Steve left, that he had been angry and frustrated, and Mark felt he was to blame.  He shook his head knowing that once again he had let his enthusiasm get out of control and what he would deem as helping was really interfering.

He entered the house rather sheepishly, looking for Steve, wanting to clear the air as soon as possible.  He saw his son sitting alone on the deck drinking a cola.  Mark was a little surprised that he wasn't downing a beer, but took it as a good sign.

Steve turned his head slightly as the patio door opened, and his father came through it.  He had been waiting for him to get home to deliver his apology not only for the scene in the hospital, but also for ignoring his calls all afternoon.

Mark spoke first, "Steve, I'm sorry for interfering with your investigation today."

His son nodded, "It's ok, Dad.  I'm the one who should apologize.  I over reacted."

"Maybe just a little," Mark grinned, and Steve couldn't help but smile also.

"I'm the cop, Dad, not you.  And as grateful as I am for the help the other night, you promised to stay out of it after that.  But today, with Mr. Schmidt, you butted in again.  I'm the one who should interrogate witnesses."

Mark hung his head, a little embarrassed.  "I understand, Steve."

"No, Dad, I don't think you do."  Steve wasn't upset anymore; he spoke calmly.  "I've been sitting here for over an hour trying to sort things out."

"I see.  An hour.  Well, I would guess you've reached some conclusions in that amount of time," Mark teased his son.

Steve let a grin escape from his lips.  "Yeah, I have. I've come to two conclusions."

Mark raised his eyebrows in interest.

"The first one is that you are very good at solving murder cases.  Maybe it's the way your brain works, or maybe it's that you're older and have more experience, whatever the reason, you're just better at it than I am."

"Oh, Steve, I wouldn't say that," Mark tried to argue.

"Dad, let me finish."  It came out a little firmer than Steve intended.

"I guess I just butted in again, huh?"

A kind smile was his reply.  "As I was saying, you're better at solving murders than I am, but the second thing I've decided is that since you are better, then I need to have you around.  I want to learn from the best."  He paused, looking at his father with great admiration.  "And that's you, Dad."