Leaning his forearms against the marble walls lining the downstairs corridors, his head resting on the back of his hands, Steve let out a forced breath, trying to get his emotions back under control. Knowing full well that the hatred expressed by Odin Molgren's parents wasn't anything he could change, or for that matter, take personally, it still gnawed on his nerves more than he cared to admit.
In a world so full of death and destruction, there had to be better things to spend one's time and energy on besides hating your own kid for his sexual orientation. Then again, times were obviously changing.
And not for the better.
A warm hand appeared on his shoulder, squeezing it fleetingly, before footsteps signaled its owner leaving already. Looking up from his protective position against the wall, Steve noticed Ray Kazcinsky walking down the hall, dressed in his patrol blues and throwing a brief sympathetic glance back at him, sharing the same sentiment on that gloomy Wednesday afternoon.
Nodding at the tall, blonde patrolmen in gratitude and remembering their time on the black and whites with much fondness, Steve turned back around and straightened his stiff shoulders, hoping it would help revitalize his senses.
The gas station, the age bracket of their victims…there had to be more than those common denominators. After all, how would their killer know how to choose his victims? How could he know which ones were worthy of organ harvesting and which ones weren't? Or, worse yet, what if he didn't, and instead, picked his victims at random, disposing of those he didn't deem worthy?
Leaning back and resting his head against the cold wall, Steve closed his eyes for a moment, trying to drown out the hundreds of thoughts, observations, seemingly random facts and gut feelings flooding and overwhelming his weary mind; even if it was only for a brief moment.
Focusing on slow and deep breaths, Steve managed to quiet the busy chitchat almost immediately, worrying only about his immediate surroundings. The sterile smell of the reception area a few dozen feet off to his right, the monotonous hum of the elevators nearby, the wailing of sirens from the parking garage underneath, signaling another emergency. Busy footsteps farther back, a few voices here and there, having an engaged conversation.
Satisfied that he'd reached a somewhat calmer state of mind after a few moments of relaxation, Steve was about to head back upstairs, when he overheard the word "missing" being said by an older gentleman at the reception desk, followed by "young friend" and "three weeks".
Suddenly growing enormously intrigued, he pushed himself away from the wall and slowly walked up to the large desk, manned by two officers. Across from them stood a man in his mid-sixties, well dressed, a brown fedora covering most of his black hair. Nervously fidgeting with a napkin in his hand, he appeared to feel horribly out of place.
"I am just so worried, you know, Officer?", Steve overheard him say as he approached the desk, "It's not like him to be out of touch that long. I just…well, I don't want to waste your time but I think after this long, I need to tell somebody about him being missing…"
"We completely understand, Sir.", the young Asian officer answered and pointed toward the elevators, "All you need to do is to head up to level 2, second door to your right. There'll be a reception area for you to sign in and an Inspector will be right with you…"
Their conversation died down quickly, as Steve approached, clearly intrigued by what was happening.
"Sir, my name is Inspector Keller…you are here to report a missing person?"
Briefly glancing over to the two officers, both of them confused at the young Homicide Inspector taking over, Steve nodded reassuringly, before reaching for the older man's elbow, ushering him toward the elevators.
"Yes, Inspector…my name is Elvis Lindstrom. My chess partner…Lew Davidson, he, well…he disappeared almost three weeks ago…"
Putting a hand on the other man's shoulders as they walked down the long hallway, Steve cleared his throat.
"Sir, if you don't mind me asking but why-"
His question was disrupted when the other man stopped in his tracks, his eyes welling up with tears as he patted Steve's chest.
"I know, Inspector, it sounds weird. Why am I checking on him and not his family…well, he doesn't have any family left, no decent family members anyways. Lew and I met at the chess boards down by Coit Tower one day, you know, the park?"
When Steve nodded quickly, the man bit his lip, the worry about his friend seemingly draining all of his energy.
"Anyways, that was over a year ago. Lew and I became best of friends. People thought we were nuts because of the age difference. I mean, you see a sixty-three-year-old man with a thirty-year old one, people don't seem to comprehend that…that concept…"
Appreciating the irony more than the other man could begin to imagine, Steve smiled, before continuing to lead him down the hallway.
"When was the last time you saw Lew?"
"Well, I'd say just after Thanksgiving…first week of December…see, we were thinking about competing at one of those chess tournaments they have at the Palace Hotel every year…but he'd met a girl up north and wanted to see her once before we would practice. I think her name was Suzie. He was going to head up to…Lower Lake I think it was called?"
The name peaked Steve's interest and he stopped a few feet from the elevators.
"Lower Lake you said? As in, right by Clear Lake?"
"Why yes, I do believe so, young man…"
Desperately trying to contain his growing apprehension, Steve clenched his jaw.
"Sir, I am going to take you upstairs to my own office, if that's alright. We're currently investigating a string of…of missing persons and your friend might be part of it. Do you…do you think if I had you talk to a sketch artist, that you could provide us with an accurate description of your friend Lew?"
The older man smiled gratefully and nodded, before reaching into his coat pocket.
"I can do better than that. I have a picture of him right here."
Accepting the 5x3 image of a man sitting at a chess table and smiling, it took all of Steve's self-control, not to have the man see his inner turmoil at the fact that he'd just identified their murder victim.