And we're off to a new day and new reading. As you proceed, let me assure you that I have not lost my firm grasp on reality. But sometimes it's fun to throw some weird stuff at the boys, see how they handle it. Makes life more interesting after all.
A careful knock pulled both detectives back out of their startled state of mind, as Sekulovich peeked his head through the door, a thin manila folder in his hand.
"Coroner's report just came in, Lieutenant."
Getting up from behind his desk and accepting the document with a grateful nod, Mike rubbed his tired eyes for a moment, trying to focus back on his work.
"There is no way she could have researched some of that information…"
Steve's voice trailed off as he grabbed his coffee, his hand shaking slightly.
"That, or she's really good at reading body language. You know how those…esoteric types are, Buddyboy. They're trained to make their best guesses sound really convincing to get attention, or a following. It's just as possible she was at the scene this morning, thought you were cute and came up with a convincing story to see you again. Did you ever think of that?"
With a faint smirk, Mike used the file to tap his partner's shoulder, before reaching for his black-rimmed reading glasses.
"Says here that cause of death was the blow to the head. Killed him almost instantly. Bernie doesn't think that the scraped-up tips of his fingers and busted fingernails happened last night, more like a few days ago. No other bruises or signs of struggle. Did you…when you checked with that bar, did you ask if Sullenger was wearing that leather jacket when he left?"
Shrugging, Steve shook his head, instantly nervous about the grave oversight on his part.
"I…I just assumed that it was his. He was only wearing a dress shirt when I found him."
"If it was, it must have fit very snug. Sullenger was wearing a size extra-large, the jacket is a size small. And it's a women's."
"Maybe he wanted to celebrate the holiday in style and she felt threatened and decided to pound him over the head with a brick. That…or her pimp showed up."
"Mhm…", Mike countered deep in thought, "Sounds a lot more plausible than all this travelling spirit talk, now doesn't it?"
With one leather boot pushed up against Mike's desk, Steve tilted back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, showing off his legendary cheeky grin.
"Still doesn't explain how she knew about Helen…or that soft spot hidden so deeply within you. That gentle kindness beneath the…gruff…attitude I deal with on a daily basis."
"Good guess perhaps? I am not going to worry about it too much at this point. My money is on the jacket. Hopefully the lab can go over everything with a fine-tooth comb, see if we can narrow down our selection of San Francisco's finest prostitutes to the one who wasn't thrilled to be with our victim this morning."
"What do you want to do in the meantime, oh great leader?"
Pulling the reading glasses off his face again, Mike reached forward to tap his partner's chest, sporting a broad smile.
"You and I are going to return to the crime scene. I want to see if we come across any potential witnesses. Talk to the bartender again. See if we can figure out something while Charlie's crew is working downstairs."
"We could even ask him if they've got sheep and goats and chickens in the backroom somewhere."
Steve's flippant comment caused Mike to shake his head with a chuckle, ready to file the strange encounter away as yet another one of this city's eccentric citizens crossing the path of police at the least convenient time.
"Let's get out of here, Buddyboy. All that hot air and female attention seems to be messing with your mind."