Man oh man, I just can't win this week. Got stung by a wasp yesterday while I was picking beans. An ungodly amount of benedryl and steroids later, I am laid up. Here, I always cherish the idea of getting in some downtime but it's decidedly difficult to write or review something when your brain feels like jello. Always something, I guess.
"Okay…Okay, I know you're mad."
Mike had tried to keep his voice as soothing as possible, as they returned to the safety of the Galaxy, one of the two detectives smelling decidedly worse than the other.
Never gracing him with an answer, Steve got into the driver's seat, waited until Mike assumed his position, then started up the tan sedan and sped down the dirt road towards home.
Beyond the obvious stains to the beige overcoat and the gray dress shirt down below, Steve was soaked in sweat, a thin film of barn dust covering his cheeks and hair, a rogue brown chicken feather stuck in his collar that Mike didn't have the heart to make his partner aware of.
They wordlessly left the farm behind, as the young Inspector skillfully maneuvered the Galaxy through the vast assortment of potholes lining the two-track, and back onto the highway.
"For what it's worth, you did look pretty good out there throwing those hay bales around. Nobody would ever know you grew up in the city. And those animals, oh those animals. They sure liked you, didn't they? Well, not the chickens so much…but the other ones."
His comment made Steve take a deep breath, then clench his jaws in defiance, as he resumed his oath of silence.
Fidgeting with the black notebook in his hand, Mike looked over at the passenger side mirror, as the farm disappeared from view, and with it an assortment of startling new clues he couldn't wait to share with his partner.
That was, once Steve's temper had dissipated a bit.
"You know, I feel the department owes you a big favor this time. I might even send a letter of recommendation to Conden for going above and beyond the line of duty. Throwing yourself out there, never hesitating, sacrificing so much to bring in prima facie evidence."
His words had finally struck a chord when Steve raised his eyebrows, and glanced over at him in unmasked agitation.
"How does me being covered in sweat, hay and manure sum up to any sort of evidence?"
Duly noting the high pitch in his young partner's voice, Mike nodded soothingly, then pointed his finger at the case file resting on the Galaxy's dash.
"Very simple. Once we get back into town, we're going to take your boots and all your clothes over to Charlie's lab, see if the manure found on them matches what he found on Sullenger's clothes. If so, it brings us that much closer to solving this case."
Steve grunted in discontent, before running a hand over his sweaty neck, discovering the rogue chicken feather, and carelessly tossing it toward Mike.
"Tell me this isn't the only thing we're going to take away from this place. If I just slaved away for two hours for nothing more than that, so help me God-"
"Easy now, Buddyboy.", Mike cautioned with a wily smile and patted his partner's thigh as they turned south on Highway 1, "Don't get yourself too worked up. As a matter of fact, your…noble sacrifice helped us in a lot more ways than one."
The change in his tone of voice was enough to snap Steve out of his fury for the time being, and the young Inspector glanced over at him curiously.
"Like what?"
"Like the fact that Roy Sullenger was a lot lonelier and sadder than what our previous witnesses let us to believe. If what Marietti said is true, the man was close to a complete mental breakdown. He was burnt out, couldn't maintain a relationship, had trouble sleeping, was beginning to have drinking problems…and it sounds like he spent a lot more time up there than he did in the studio where he was recording his show."
Acknowledging the statement with a fleeting nod, Steve ran a hand across a bloody scratch on his cheek, where an angry hen nearly cold cocked him as he tried to retrieve the eggs.
"That would give anybody who was involved in the production of his show a good motive for murder. If he lost his…his mojo, ratings would sooner or later begin to drop, so why not take him out before that happens."
"Mhm hm."
"The thing that doesn't add up though is that leather jacket.", the young Inspector said and reached into his halfway unbuttoned dress shirt to pull out some hay stuck to the sweaty skin on his chest, "Why would he have still carried it around with him at the bar, after he broke up with Coreen? It doesn't add up. Was it a token of sorts? Something that reminded him of the good ole times?"
"Can I tell you something to that regard?", Mike said playfully and brushed some of the hay chafe and dust off his partner's shoulder.
"What? Alfonso the Great revealed that secret to you as well while I…while I nearly died in that chicken coop?"
"Mhm hm. You see, after you brought up the point that Sullenger had changed names while he was up here, I asked Marietti about some of the other people who would come and visit, and sure enough, none of the names rang a bell. But he did say that there was a lady that our victim grew quite fond of over the past few weeks. Tall, brunette, blue eyes, mid-twenties…oh, and she claims she's a medium. Anybody matching that description coming to mind, Buddyboy?"