He'd been surprised to see the door to Mike's office shut, and even more surprised by the person sitting in his guest chair.
That was, until Steve saw the R&I file on Hank come across his desk.
Even though he saw nothing in there that made the bar owner look like a killer, or somebody desperate enough to hire one, apparently something had raised Mike's suspicion.
Deciding to leave the matter be after yesterday's tense confrontation, Steve scanned through the rest of his inbox but found nothing of importance relating to their case.
Sometime this morning, the FBI guy from Boston was due to arrive, hopefully able to help them in their investigation. He'd done some research on the man, finding nothing but praise and books upon books of solved cases in his history, hopefully indicating that the horror that was the Hank & Barry's mass shooting would soon come to an end.
The door to Mike's office opened suddenly, giving sight of an unusually glum-faced Hank, who glanced over at him briefly, mouthing a quiet greeting before leaving the bullpen at a fast pace.
With eyebrows raised in confusion, Steve waited until Mike appeared in the doorframe, his expression somber for the fraction of a second, until his glance settled on his partner.
"What are you doing in here so early, Smiley? I didn't think you'd be in for another couple of hours."
It was a tone he hadn't quite expected after their dispute the previous day, a cunning psychological technique that made it impossible for Steve to harbor any grudges when faced with the genuine smile aimed his way.
"I couldn't sleep.", the young Inspector admitted and waited for his partner to join him by his desk, "After tossing and turning all night, I just gave up."
"That makes two of us."
Mike's warm hand on his shoulder felt strangely tense this morning, making him wonder what exactly had happened between Hank and the seasoned Lieutenant. If the deep grooves in his forehead and his ashen face were any indication, it hadn't been a good meeting.
"Hey listen, I ehm…I was thinking about something too.", tapping Mike's forearm to ensure his utmost attention, Steve pointed his chin to the main corridor, "Jimmy Desco. He lives in an apartment along Market and with his…his overactive…sense of…how should I say this…?"
"Paranoia would be a good word."
Sharing a brief chuckle with his friend, Steve nodded, and ran a nervous hand across his navy tie.
"Yeah, so he's paranoid enough to have video equipment watching the road below. And it's going to be better quality than most bank cameras and such. Plus, we won't need to wait for a warrant. I thought it might be worth a shot to see if he captured our killer getting into the cab."
"That's not a bad idea at all. Say, why don't you check with Jimmy and see if he's got something. I gotta run down to SFO to pick up Captain Forester. His flight should be landing within the hour. I'll check in with you when I get back."
Barely waiting for an acknowledging nod, Mike got back up and headed for his office to grab his belongings, a distinct sense of tension radiating from his every move, every carefully calculated step and every subtle glance across the bullpen.
It was a side of Mike Stone Steve had never witnessed before.
And it was beginning to make him worry about just what his best friend was keeping from him.