The long morning of staff meetings and brass filibusters had done nothing for his cantankerous spirit as Mike crossed the bullpen, savoring the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the smell of wet ink from the nearby Telex machine.
Taking a moment to switch from leadership role back to detective mode, he stopped by the polishing station outside his office to work out a scuff on his black leather shoes courtesy to cutting a corner too close as he came out of the elevator.
Even though he seemed deeply engrossed reading a case file, Mike knew his partner was well aware of his presence, waiting patiently until he was caught up before raising his head.
"Well, good morning, sunshine.", the Lieutenant greeted and brushed off his shoes one more time before approaching his partner's desk, sensing a depth in his brooding that didn't go along with their current case. Then again, the cacophony that was Stephen Keller's on-again-off-again love life left ample potential to add to any drama surrounding the young man's daily routine.
"Good morning.", he answered dryly, as if having to force it, then smiled awkwardly, "How was the meeting?"
"How about I tell you once I am done stewing about it, hm?", Mike offered cordially and headed for the coffee table, filling his cup two-thirds, then adding plenty of cream and sugar, before facing his partner again, "Say, I don't know what they told you at the fancy barbershop down the street but your new aftershave takes a lot to get used to. A little too sweet for my taste."
The lighthearted comment meant to break up the monotony of their gloomy start into the day seemed to cause the exact opposite when Steve's green eyes darkened, his strong jaws showing as he clenched his teeth, taking a moment to debate on how to answer.
"That's not me. Beverly Landau stopped by an hour or so ago to say hello. Remember her?"
"Remember her? She's a hard-to-forget lady, Buddyboy."
As he sipped on his coffee, regretting some of the sugar overload on his third cup of the day, Mike studied his partner's features intently; the unreadable blank stare he learned to read years ago, the slightly pulled back shoulders that were supposed to signal control and authority, the redness appearing on the side of his neck where his body was refusing to go along with the image of the calm and meticulous professional Steve desperately tried to portray each time something was bothering him.
"So, what did she have to say?", Mike pried subtly, noticing his partner shift uncomfortably, then lower his glance for a moment as he fidgeted with the cufflinks on his mandarin dress shirt.
"Not much of anything. Just wanted to see how we were doing. She'd been downstairs, filing a complaint with Armin on some guy who touched her inappropriately. I already called him up to get the perp's name and a copy of the file and maybe we can-"
"Now wait a minute…", Mike interrupted and raised his index finger in caution, even though he never lost that warm smile, "You're in the wrong department for that, my friend. Armin works A&B. This right here is Homicide. And we have a killer to catch, remember that?"
"Of course, I do. But this is Beverly we're talking about here."
When the young Inspector's tone grew a hair bit too argumentative, Mike shook his head, then stepped closer to his partner's desk.
"And Armin will take good care of her case. He's been running that department for almost twenty years… have you forgotten about that? In the meantime, we have to work the Harrison murder. You can always catch up with Beverly when you're done with your day job…but right now, I need your attention on this case."
The subtle reprimand seemed to do the trick when Steve nodded faintly, his eyes growing distant for a moment before he swallowed whatever arguments were circling in that bright, albeit busy mind of his.
Eventually, the young Inspector drew in a deep breath and leaned against the back of his chair, hands clasped behind his head, as he gestured toward the file on his desk.
"That R&I report came back on her cousin. There's nothing in there that would suggest he's a killer. Never even got a parking ticket. Holds a steady job, not married, no kids, no money troubles. I think it was just a coincidence that they were seen together a few days before Leanne's murder. Could be that they went out for ice cream or something like that…"
"Maybe…", pursing his lips, Mike took another sip of coffee, savoring the rich creamy taste, before answering, "But I still want to talk to him. A woman gets killed in her own home and nobody has seen or heard anything. There must be something we're overlooking."
Leanne Harrison, a successful thirty-five-year-old Caucasian female, living in a safe neighborhood in the Mission District, single, no kids, never been married, worked as a florist at Betsy & Evans just a few blocks from home, found in her living room with a broken neck after failing to show up for work two days in a row, no signs of forced entry.
Her body had been covered in bruises and yet the rape kit came back negative, no furniture was disturbed, nothing broken, nobody heard any screams and her hands showed only mild signs of struggle, possibly not even from the night of the murder.
It left Mike to wonder just who she had trusted so unconditionally to permit entry to her house late at night, allowing the killer to get close enough to work her over thoroughly and then murder her without putting up much of a fight.
It was as perplexing of a case as it was worrisome, leaving the two San Francisco Homicide Detectives scratching their heads more than a week after the body had been discovered.
"Well, Betsy Hernandez said she didn't talk much at work, kept to herself a lot. Maybe she met somebody and maybe that person wasn't…well…maybe she didn't want to be seen with him. Many domestic abuse relationships work like that. People never realize what goes on behind closed doors until…well…until it's too late."
Although still a valid argument after circling back to the secret boyfriend theory for the third time, Mike still couldn't get himself to believe it, no matter how psychologically conceivable it seemed.
"Whether you want to consider that beating she received before her death a sexually-oriented fantasy or not, being with somebody, even an abusive boyfriend doesn't tie into her life outside of work. She frequented this little bar just down the street and nobody ever saw her with another man. Why wouldn't she take a boyfriend there? Even if, let's say, her family wouldn't approve of the man, why wouldn't she tell her few friends about it? Why keep it a secret? It just doesn't tie."
"Yeah, but neither does the cousin theory.", Steve argued and reached for a pistachio from his gray dress pants, chewing on it nervously as he stared at the file on his desk, then tossing the empty shell into his wastepaper basket, "I just don't see her 5'4" 125lb cousin waltzing into her house, then beat and kill her before heading to his third shift job at Dolo's bakery flipping doughnuts. Did you see the arms on Leanne Harrison? She would have put up a far bigger fight had she known what was coming, no doubt about that. If cutting flowers all day does that to your biceps, I am in the wrong business."
Those muscles.
Weighing only 140lbs herself, Leanne had indeed been a surprisingly fit woman; not what he had envisioned after they first got the call for a potential 187 and began talking to her friends and neighbors. Bernie had attested her physique to something beyond running track, leaving Mike to wonder what exactly a successful and talented florist did in her spare time to build her muscles that nobody seemed to know about.
On his long list of questions he needed answers for, this one was right near the top.
"Hey Mike…"
Bill Tanner's urgent voice pulled the two detectives out of their engaged debate as the African American Inspector returned to the confines of the bullpen, several file folders under his arm.
"I just came from Captain Olson's office. He asked me to remind you of the 10AM meeting to formally introduce you and Steve to Staff Sergeant Kammers."
Unable to contain a dreaded sigh, Mike cocked his head in acknowledgment, mouthing a silent Thank You to Tanner before checking his watch, woefully realizing it was five minutes to.
"I didn't even know we offered positions like Staff Sergeant now.", Steve mumbled, brows furrowed over the latest para-militaristic approach to create substructure within various police departments.
In Mike's humble opinion, the only thing this supposed exciting improvement concept within the police force created was a culture of too many Chiefs and not enough Indians.
"That's part of what I was going to tell you but haven't had a chance yet.", the Lieutenant mused with a resigned headshake, "Believe me, you haven't heard half of it yet, Buddyboy. But you will now."