"I felt sorry for the poor bastard, I really did," Steve said as he leaned back in the metal chair, the front legs lifting off the floor. "He was really shaken up."
Mike, shirt sleeves rolled up and tie loosened, his right foot on the edge of the opened lower desk drawer, pursed his lips and nodded. "You can't really blame him. That must've been a helluva thing to witness, especially if you thought you were gonna be next…" he mused quietly.
The younger man inhaled slowly and deeply, staring into space. "Yeah…" After a couple of seconds he released the held breath and refocused. "Yeah, so, ah, he's coming in at 9 to go through some mug books and if he doesn't pick out anybody, he's agreed to sit with a sketch artist."
Mike frowned. "You sure he's gonna come in?"
Steve chuckled. "Don't worry. Our new friend Lester stayed with him last night, promised he'd bring Jason in himself. And I believe him."
The older man smiled. "This Lester fella is starting to sound like a potentially good C.I., don't you think?"
Steve laughed softly. "We'll, he's on my list, that's for sure." He sat forward, the front legs of the chair thumping to the floor.
Mike took his foot off the drawer and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the desk. "Speaking of potential, how's Ethan working out?"
A smile flashing over his face, the younger man nodded. "Good… really good. He's got great instincts. But he hasn't had to deal with a body yet." He paused and raised his eyebrows. "I remember my first time…"
The lieutenant chuckled. "Oh yeah, so do I."
Steve's smile briefly disappeared as he shot a peeved look in his partner's direction. "Ha ha. If I remember correctly, even you said it made your stomach a bit queasy…"
Mike smirked with a tiny shrug. "I've always had a problem with burned bodies… especially partially burned bodies…" He shuddered slightly. "So, ah, you think he could fit in here pretty easily?"
The younger man paused, his brows narrowing as he studied the lieutenant. "Yes, I do…"
With a quick smile, Mike nodded, reaching for his glasses and slipping them on as he looked down at the papers on his desk. "That's good to hear. We can always use another good detective." When he felt Steve staring at him, he looked up again, removing the glasses. "What?"
"Is this your subtle way of telling me you're backing away from the streets…?"
The older man's brow furrowed as he straightened up slightly. "What are you talking about?"
"Look, Mike, I know you just didn't throw Ethan and me together willy-nilly… you're trying out a new partner for me, aren't you?"
Cocking his head, Mike tossed his glasses on the desk again and leaned forward. "Now where would you get a fool idea like that? I'm not giving up the streets," he started to shake his head slowly, staring into the green eyes unflinchingly, "not for the foreseeable future, anyway. And you and Ethan are not going to be permanent partners. In case you missed it, you're my partner… and you're going to stay my partner. All right?"
The relieved smile was slow to build but it was genuine when it finally appeared. "All right."
"Good. Now get back to work, Inspector," Mike ordered with a smile and a wave of his hand. "I've got lieutenant stuff to do here and you've got mug books to set out."
Chuckling, Steve got to his feet, smiling warmly. "I'm going, I'm going," he muttered as he opened the door.
# # # # #
"Homicide, Stone."
"Yeah, Mike, it's me."
The lieutenant glanced quickly at his office door; it was closed. He turned in the swivel chair so he was facing the typewriter to the left of the desk, his head lowered. "What've you got, John?"
"Well, I did the background work on Steve's girlfriend," Johnny Doan said, "and I'd like to meet with you about it. You free sometime today?"
Mike shot a quick, furtive glance through his office window. Steve's desk was empty; he was still in the interrogation room with Collier and Jason Ward. "Look, ah, I've got a busy day but I could meet you tonight. Say, ah, seven o'clock in our usual place?"
"Works for me. See ya later." Doan hung up.
Mike turned slowly back to his desk and dropped the receiver onto the cradle. He sat motionlessly for a few long beats then got quickly to his feet and circled the desk to the coat rack. He slipped his jacket on then picked up the black topcoat and fedora and left the office. He glanced in Sekulovich's direction as he crossed the bullpen, obviously in a hurry. "Tell Steve I'll be back in a couple of hours," he barked without breaking stride.
"Sure thing, Lieutenant."
# # # # #
It was just after three when Mike walked back into Homicide, glancing at his partner's empty desk as he made his way to his office. He shrugged out of the topcoat and hung it and the fedora up but opted to keep his suit jacket on as he circled the desk and sat heavily. His right hand went automatically to the left side of his jacket just over the inside pocket; he could feel the folded heavy drawing paper of the composite safely hidden from sight.
He had spent the last few hours canvassing the shops and restaurants around Grant and Sacramento, showing everyone he encountered the composite photo of the mysterious woman with the dog. No one recognized her, although a few thought she looked familiar. But not one of the restaurant or shop owners could, or would, tell him about a private investigator who had approached them with the promise she could extract them from clutches of the extortionist Chin Han.
The mystery around this woman, and the accident that was probably not an accident, was getting deeper and deeper.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. God, he wished he had Steve to bounce this off of, but he didn't dare mention anything to his partner until he was absolutely sure Linda wasn't involved. He raised his left wrist and looked at his watch; a small, quick and unbidden smile played over his lips. It was nice to have his watch back where it belonged again. But seven o'clock couldn't come soon enough; he needed to know one way or the other. Hopefully he would find out tonight.
A sudden knock on glass brought him abruptly out of his reverie and his eyes snapped towards the door almost guiltily. Steve was looking through the glass, eyebrows raised.
Frowning suddenly, Mike beckoned him in and the inspector opened the door with a soft chuckle. "Where were you?"
Flustered, Mike gestured towards the bullpen, "Oh, I had to go out for a couple of hours -"
"No, I meant just now," Steve grinned as he dropped into the guest chair, tossing a manila file folder on the desk. "You looked a million miles away."
"Oh, ah…" Mike snorted with an unconvincing smile, "I was just thinking about what my arguments are going to be when they start talking about shuffling our department around…"
Steve frowned. "They're still talking about doing that, even with all the strike talk still floating around?"
The older man shrugged. "That's the rumor." He bent over the desk, leaning on his forearms, and gestured at the folder with his chin. "So what've you got?"
Steve leaned forward and opened the file. "Well, Jason didn't recognize anyone from the mug books, not even close. So we sat him down with a sketch artist and this is what he came up with." He picked up the composite drawing, turned it around and dropped it on the desk in front of his partner.
Mike fished his glasses out of his inside pocket, his fingers brushing his own folded composite of the unidentified woman, and slipped them on. The face looking back at him was a white man in his late twenties or early thirties with short-cropped dark hair, a round face, a thick dark moustache and cold dark eyes. He grunted. "Looks like a cop… or a firefighter," he said quietly and Steve leaned forward sharply.
"Or a soldier… or a sailor… That was my first thought too."
Their eyes met; they both knew what that meant. Besides the grunt work of just checking out the personnel files, it would also mean having to go up against superior officers who might not take too kindly to having their men put through the wringer, especially when it involved the death of a member of the gay community. The times might be 'a-changing' but in some circles they were not changing all that quickly.
"You up to this?" Mike asked quietly.
Steve pursed his lips and nodded. "Yeah… yeah, I think so."
"Have you and Ethan talked about this already?"
The younger man shrugged slightly. "We've touched on it. But if you sign off on our going in that direction, I'll make sure he knows what we're up against."
Mike nodded slowly. "Well, I think that's the way you have to go, don't you?"
Steve nodded, reaching for the drawing to put it back in the file. "So who do you think we should start with?"
"Well, I think you should leave the services out of it until you exhaust the other two avenues, don't you? So I would start with our own department…" He glanced pointedly at the now closed file folder. "He looks about your age. Any alarm bells going off for you?"
Leaning back, Steve pursed his lips again and shook his head. "No, not at all. But that's a good point. I think we'll head over to the Academy, see if it rings any bells with the instructors."
Mike sat back, a proud smile curling his lips. "That's a great idea." Steve got up, folder in hand. "You gonna go back to The Castro and show it around?"
"Yeah, we're thinking of doing that tonight." He exhaled loudly as he paused at the door.
"Listen, you guys were down there the past two nights, right? Give yourselves a break and take the night off. Why don't you go see Linda and… recharge your batteries…" he added with a mischievous grin and bobbing eyebrows.
"Why, Lieutenant," Steve laughed, "are you actually telling me to go home and go to bed?"
His head snapping back and his eyes widening, Mike picked up the notepad near his right elbow and threw it towards the door. With a sudden laugh, Steve deked out the door and slammed it as the notepad hit the glass.
# # # # #
Mike looked at his watch then across the small restaurant towards the front door. He exhaled loudly, picking up the menu to peruse it once again. He was getting hungry. He hadn't planned on eating here but the later it got, the more that was becoming a distinct possibility.
Growling with impatience, he was just reaching into his jacket pocket for his glasses when Johnny Doan dropped heavily into the bench seat opposite, tossing a white legal length envelope on the table in front of the detective.
"Sorry I'm late, there was a bad accident on Divisadero and I got caught up in a jam and then I couldn't find a place to park…" He shrugged theatrically.
"I'd almost given up hope."
Chuckling, Doan pointed at the menu. "It looks like you almost had to order too…"
With a smirk, Mike slammed the menu down on the table. "So you saved me from having to order something I didn't want." He pointed at the envelope. "What's that?"
Doan smiled. "Your bill."
Mike's eyebrows rose. "So you're finished? Already?"
"I told you I'm good."
Mike put both forearms on the table and leaned forward. "So what did you find?"
