Steve pushed the door open and took a soft step into the bedroom. Mike's eyes were closed. He looked asleep and Steve had started to back out of the room when he heard, "Don't go, I'm awake." Smiling slightly, he moved closer to the bed as the older man opened his eyes. "So, how did it go?"
Pollard and Baxter had just left. They had met for almost four hours, going through what Pollard would need from Steve in the days ahead, the approach that would be taken in the courtroom with regards to the overwhelming evidence they were up against, and the efforts that would be done, using Pollard's own investigator, to uncover something that could trigger a dismissal of the case altogether, if not an outright innocent verdict.
With a soft snort, Steve sank into the chair, shaking his head slightly. "He looks about fifteen. I swear to God I don't think he shaves yet."
Mike grinned and chuckled. "Well, if I remember correctly, it wasn't too long ago people were saying the same thing about you."
Shooting his partner a peeved look, the younger man sat forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "He took my case," he said simply.
Mike frowned. "Was there a chance he wouldn't have?"
Steve shrugged. "Well, he told me he was hesitant, just because of the things he'd read in the paper." He fell silent for a beat. "That's what scares me, Mike. There's been so much publicity about this case… How in the hell are they going to get an impartial jury?"
"Is that one of the things you talked about?"
Steve nodded.
"Well, they could always move the trial to another jurisdiction. That's happened before."
"That's what Pollard said, but he also said not to focus on that until if and when it becomes necessary."
"Good advice. What else did he say?"
"Well, he wants me to go over everything with him and his investigator, slowly, bit by bit, to see if they can uncover anything that we may have overlooked…"
"That's a good idea. Fresh, unbiased eyes…" Mike nodded approvingly.
'Yeah, we're gonna start that tomorrow. He, ah, he wants to do it in his office. I'll be gone most of the day…" He paused, his brow furrowing. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. I don't want to leave you -"
"I'll be fine," Mike cut him off gently. "I can get myself back and forth to the bathroom, and I can probably get myself down to the kitchen if I need to. Besides, you'll be keeping bankers hours, I'm assuming, so you won't be there all day. It'll be fine, don't worry."
Unconvinced, Steve nodded reluctantly.
"You said this Pollard has his own investigator?" The younger man nodded again. "Did he say who it was?"
Steve shook his head. "Ah, he may have, in passing, but there was so much he was telling me, I just may not have registered it. Sorry."
"Don't apologize," the older man responded with a snort. "We'll find out. Just wondering if it's one of ours. A lot of retired detectives end up working for lawyers. It pays well, I hear," he chuckled, the sound fading quickly when Steve didn't join in. "So, what else is bothering you?"
The younger man, whose gaze had dropped to the floor, looked up. "What?"
Mike sighed pointedly. "I said, what else is bothering you?" Steve didn't say anything. "Look, I've known you long enough to know when something's bothering you. Now what is it?"
Without a word, Steve got to his feet and crossed to the door. He bent down and picked up something from the floor just out of sight in the hallway. He stared at his partner as he crossed back to the bed, a folded newspaper in his hand. "Norm and Dan dropped this off this morning."
Frowning, Mike reached out and took it, flipping it open. He froze for half a beat when he saw the picture then he sighed heavily. "Well, I don't need to put my glasses on to read that headline," he mumbled sardonically. He disdainfully tossed the tabloid toward the foot of the bed. "I take it there's an article to go with that?"
"Oh yeah," Steve groaned as he sat again. "Page 3. The whole page."
"And just what do they have to say… in a nutshell," he clarified, holding up a forefinger.
Steve snorted angrily. "You know, the usual. How the department is going to cover up for me, that my being charged is just a show, that I'll be exonerated before the trail begins and I'll go back to work just like nothing happened…" He shrugged.
Mike stared at him expressionlessly for a beat. "Well… isn't that what we want to happen…? I mean, except for the 'show' part." He tried not to make the question sound flippant.
Steve stared back quizzically before a surprised, and most welcome, smile briefly lit his features. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But it's they way they word it, like if I do get exonerated, it won't be because I'm innocent, it'll be because the department covered something up." He didn't want to bring up the salacious allegations that him staying at his partner's residence was something more than just common sense. If Mike was going to find out about that, he would have to do it by reading the article, something he was sure the older man would do when he was alone so as to spare his young partner the embarrassment.
The older man nodded. "Well then, we'll just have to make sure we get you off legitimately." He gestured angrily at the paper lying at the foot of the bed. "Just forget about that, Steve. You know what that is - it's yellow journalism at it's finest." He growled. "You know, for all the good your Woodward and Bernstein did with all that Watergate stuff, I think what they've really done is made a lot of second rate reporters think they're uncovering the next big scandal. I'd just forget about it if I was you, buddy boy."
"Easier said than done," Steve grumbled, shaking his head in exasperation.
"Yeah…. Well, at least it's just a weekly rag…. Hopefully things will calm down by this time next week." They sat in silence for a couple of long seconds, then Mike straightened up a little. "Hey, ah, I'm a little hungry. What time is it anyway?"
Steve looked at his watch. "Jeez, it's almost 7. They were here longer than I thought." He started to get up. "I'll go get dinner started."
"No no no," Mike stopped him. "It's too late and you've had a busy day. Why don't we just call for a pizza?"
The younger man looked at him with a warm, skeptical smile. "Are you kidding? Jeannie would kill me if she knew we were just gonna order pizzas. I promised her I would cook both of us good meals and I mean to keep that promise." He started for the door. "Besides, it'll help take my mind off of today. Okay?"
Mike was watching him intently. "Okay… if you're sure?"
Steve smiled. "I'm sure." He left the room.
Carefully, trying not to grimace, Mike leaned forward and reached gingerly for the paper, his outstretched fingers grabbing a corner. He pulled it closer then opened it, reaching for his glasses on the bedtable.
# # # # #
"Steve, this is Charles Budzinski."
They were in a small conference room at Pollard's law firm. A tall, thickset man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a very bushy black moustache leaned across the dark wood table to shake his hand. "Call me Charlie," he said in a deep baritone, the smile barely visible beneath the facial hair.
"Steve. Good to meet you. Were you on the force?"
Budzinski's grin got a little wider. "You bet. Thirty years with the LAPD."
"What brought you up here?"
Laughing, Budzinski dropped heavily into the chair he'd been standing in front of. "I came up here to visit my daughter years ago - she was going to Berkeley - and fell in love with the place. So when I retired, I relocated. Then I met this guy." Laughing, he nodded at Pollard.
Chuckling, Steve sat opposite the already seated lawyer and his investigator. "I went to Berkeley too. I'm from upstate… fell in love with The City too and never left."
"It does that to people, doesn't it?"
"It sure does…"
They heard Pollard gently clear his throat and turned their attention in his direction. "Gentlemen, we have a lot of work to do and not much time so I suggest we save the water cooler chitchat for our breaks." He had the file, small stacks of paper and several pads and sharpened pencils spread out on the table.
Looking suitably chastised, and sharing brief sheepish smiles, Steve and the ex-cop nodded.
"Good," Pollard said, reaching for the file and pulling it a little closer. "Now I've already told Charlie what I want to do. For the next couple of days we are going to go through everything in this file, bit by bit, line by line, and I want you to elaborate on anything and everything you might remember that is not here in black-and-white. And I mean everything. Don't leave anything out - the colour of the walls, the chipping paint on a sign, a look she gave you, everything. Do you understand? We're going to be grasping at straws here and I don't want to leave anything out."
Steve took a deep breath, nodding slowly. "I understand." "Good." Pollard looked from his client to his investigator and back. "All right, gentlemen, let's get started."
# # # # #
Mike heard the front door open and close then the sound of heavy footsteps ascending the stairs. Steve stepped into the open doorway, his tie loosened and collar button undone. He looked exhausted.
"Welcome home," Mike said flatly, not quite sure what kind of a mood his partner was in at the moment. "How did it go?"
With a tired sigh, Steve moved deeper into the room and sank onto the chair. "Well, it was thorough, that's for sure. I don't think a cross-examination could be as intense."
"Hah," Mike snorted, "don't fool yourself. How far did you get?"
"Up until I got to the garage."
The older man frowned in surprise. "Only that far?"
Steve cocked his head, raising his eyebrows. "Pollard wanted every detail… so I gave him every detail. The man puts new meaning to the term 'meticulous'. I think I've had physicals that weren't as invasive."
"Well, if he can pull something out of you that can help, more power to him, I say."
"Yeah, you're right. Oh, ah, I met his investigator. He's ex-LAPD, thirty years. Spent the last ten in Homicide, retired up here. Nice guy from what I can tell so far. He said he doesn't want me driving back and forth to Pollard's office on my own - they both saw the, ah, the article - so he's going to be picking me up and driving me home. I'll bring him in to meet you at some point - probably when they come here to talk to you."
Mike nodded. "Sounds good."
"So how did you get along by yourself today?"
"Me? Oh, I, ah, I got along just fine. Managed to get myself down to the kitchen and make a sandwich for lunch, even made myself a pot of coffee. I'm okay."
"Good." Steve sighed heavily as he got to his feet. "Well, ah, I better get started on dinner."
"Steve," Mike stopped him. "You don't have to keep -"
"Oh yes I do," the younger man interrupted with a smile. "I know you sent Jeannie away so I would have to look after you and it would take my mind off what was happening… and you were right. It does. And I like doing it. So no more talk about ordering pizzas or anything like that, okay? I'm doing just fine." With a grin and a wink and without another word, he left the room.
Mike watched him go, settling back onto the pillows with a warm and relieved smile.
