After the tension-filled meeting with Forester, Mike had been called to join the brass for the upcoming press conference. It was Olsen's hope that seeing one of San Francisco's most famous detectives side by side with his superiors as they discussed the case would somehow raise public confidence and goodwill when it came to the slow progress of their investigation.
The same offer had been extended to Steve, who politely declined after seeing his face on too many front-page articles as it was, all because of one small act of kindness that had turned into a monumental image depicting the tragedy that happened on that fateful night.
Instead, he'd used the spare time to call up Clarence, spending half an hour apologizing about the misuse of favors and ensuring the line cook that nobody was going to file charges against him whatsoever.
The entire duration of Mike's absence, Forester had stayed in his office, feverishly going through files, calling up the DMV, then the Department of Commerce, then Gerry to request the warrant for Hank and Barry's Bar records.
Despite his own research taking up much of his concentration, the obvious commitment and fierce discipline of the seasoned Captain had raised Steve's interest, and he couldn't help but eavesdrop each time he made a call, taking mental notes of his approach to the case and the way he talked to others, though not always in the most cordial manner.
But…he did get the job done.
Steve was about to take a bathroom break when he heard Forester pick up the phone in Mike's office and dial a long-distance number, before clearing his throat. Glancing around the bullpen and noticing that there were only a few souls left this afternoon, he decided to feed his curiosity and get up, pretending to refill his coffee in order to hear what the latest call was all about.
Much to his surprise, it had gone out to someone entirely unexpected.
"Just checking in before you go to bed, Sweetheart. Did you have a good day?"
The complete change in Forester's voice was both startling and heartwarming, showing that there was indeed a human being hidden beneath the rough package of stern arrogance and complete disregard for departmental barriers.
"Well, I sure am glad to hear that…Yeah, I am still busy over here unfortunately. This is a rough case. Yeah…there're a lot of problems we're facing. No, they are treating me well, don't you worry. They got some nice people here, just a bit…different than what I am used to. It's a beautiful town too, you'd love it…I sure will. You get some rest now. Love you!"
With a faint smile, Steve topped off his coffee cup and sat back down, relishing the black goodness for a brief moment of peace, before returning to his somber task of weeding through Carigio's R&I file.
A few minutes ago, Tanner had returned from downstairs, passing on a warning that the press conference was taking longer than anticipated due to the media presence and large volume of questions, and not to expect Mike back before 6pm, possibly 7pm.
With their workload drying up due to many of the businesses and institutions they relied on for their answers closing down by 5pm, Steve wondered what progress the next couple of hours would bring, if any.
"Do they ever let you go home around here?"
The unexpected question jerked him out of his subdued state of mind and Steve glanced up, only to see a smiling Forester take a seat by his desk.
"They do. We get enough time to go home, change, and come back. That's why we come across as slow and unresponsive to you. We're just sleep-deprived."
"I have to admit, the clocks turn differently over here. I am used to a more direct and military-type approach. Put in your twelve hours, follow direct orders, go home, have a life. You guys work day and night and then there's this this…this cordial beating around the bush you do with witnesses and suspects alike. Seems to work for you though. At least if I trust a few of the local resources I talked to who called me out on being…too direct."
Chuckling, Steve took another sip of coffee and leaned back in his chair to face the Captain better.
"Yeah…that's a good way to put it. This isn't New Orleans by any stretch of the imagination, but I guess…it isn't Boston either."
"I told my wife about this place. Your architecture is quite fascinating. People are surprisingly friendly for a condensed city like this. I even had somebody offer me their spot in line down at the cafeteria earlier. You won't find that in Boston. They'll punch you in the face for looking at somebody cross-eyed."
The comment seemed to pull Forester's mind into a different direction when he glanced down at his lap for a moment, his brown eyes softening by the time he looked back up.
"So what does your family think about your line of work, Barney? Do they know what you do for a living? Doesn't look like you're married."
Steve couldn't hide a chuckle at those well-aimed stabs at the truth, and grinned back at Forester sheepishly.
"Who says I am not married?"
"Come on, now Barney, who are you kidding? I saw the research you did on me on your desk this morning, all your handwritten notes about my credentials, which admittingly so, were quite accurate. But now let me ask you this; what do you think four years of Psychology at Wentworth taught me?"
Amicably slapping his shoulder, Forester leaned back and raised his hand to count off all his findings.
"First, you don't wear a wedding band. Second, the hours you keep are ridiculous and wouldn't allow for a meaningful relationship, even if you tried. Third, your threads are way too expensive. You wouldn't have that kind of money to spend on yourself if you had a wife to support back at home. Fourth, I can smell your fancy aftershave all the way over in your partner's office. It's the psychological principle of the male marking his territory hoping a female in season will be attracted to his scent. So now that I've given you my answers, you owe me yours."
Steve was beginning to enjoy the elaborate tit-for-tat Forster was playing and leaned forward, providing both men with more privacy.
"Well, nothing like starting a conversation off with baseless insults.", he retorted dryly and symbolically wiggled his left hand and the obvious lack of a wedding band, "My parents know about it. My father is a policeman over in Modesto. They're fine with it. They know somebody has to do the job."
"Yeah, but you're only a kid. You shouldn't have to deal with the vileness that comes with this line of work. I am surprised to see you work here and not in robbery or Vice or something. Bunko…you could be a great asset there. But this…this right here is the end zone, for more than one reason."
There was a subtle undertone in Forester's words, a sadness that could only come from looking down that heartbreaking path for way too many years.
"Then why are you still doing it? You retired three years ago, but yet you do this kind of freelance work whenever a mass shooting happens."
A proud smile appeared on the other man's lips and he lifted his baseball cap to run a hand across his bald head.
"You tell me, Berkeley boy. You dipped into Psychology for a while too."
Upon seeing the young Inspector raise his eyebrows in surprise, the other man shrugged.
"What did you expect? You think you and Stone are the only ones doing their research around here? I want to know who I am working with if I fly all the way across the country to help out. Been burnt one too many times dealing with complacent idiots; cops who can't be bothered to put in the extra effort, especially when so many lives were taken. Nope, I got a full jacket on you and the Lieutenant as well. Admittingly so, as I am sure you've heard before, you're quite the…team. Not sure how you made it work, being that you are complete opposites of each other, but it seems to get the job done. I can tell he cares a lot about you. That's a good thing to have on the force, you know? Have a good partner. Somebody you can trust unconditionally. Somebody who has your back. Somebody who's more than just your buddy for a sixteen-hour shift."
"Like that partner you lost eight years ago?"
Steve knew he shouldn't have said that, but at the end of a long workday, his curiosity got the better of him. As expected, the question caused Forester to lose his fleeting cheer immediately, his eyes turning somber and distant.
"Just like Matthew, that's correct. He was my right hand, and my left one too some days. Young chap too, not as young as you, but young enough that he had no business working mass shootings and homicide with me. I balked at my superiors but they stuck me with him, call it a revenge after I made them look like a bunch of fools for disregarding my advice and giving a bad order a year earlier; a call that cost eight people their lives, just because they wouldn't let me hold my suspect an extra day. Instead, the guy went into a daycare and began shooting."
Clenching his jaws, Steve drew in a deep breath and fell quiet; vaguely remember reading about the incident.
"See what I mean, Barney? You're just like Matt when I tell you things like that. I can see it in your eyes. You care too much. And this isn't the line of work where you should care so much, it'll get you killed. Or messed up in the head. Whichever comes first."
When Steve didn't find the right words for a fitting answer, Forester reached for a pencil from his desk, playing with it nervously, as if it would help offset some of his inner tension.
"See, Matt…he was too young and a personality type that didn't fit in with any of my experienced agents in the department. So, I took him under my wing, secretly hoping I could discourage him enough to switch back to Missing Persons or Narcotics, something a lot less…dangerous. As fate would have it, he and I became best of friends. He loved working with me and we'd even spend our weekends together. His wife and mine loved each other, it was a perfect picture."
Hesitating when his voice began to break, Forester ran a hand across his head once again, subconsciously itching at a spot, his eyes focused on one of the file cabinets in the back.
"A few years into the job, I could see it starting to take a toll on him. The sight of too many dead babies, pregnant women and innocent men changed him. He started to drink, first only on weekends, then at the end of the shift. His marriage was falling apart. I got him into psychological counseling and he started to snap back to his old self for a while, Rita began to talk to him again, he got to see his daughter, things were looking up. But then we got called out on a shooting in progress. It was a guy I'd been tracking for a week. He'd been planning a mass shooting but when police arrived at the scene, he decided to hold up the diner instead, hoping it would buy him negotiation power to get out. Matt knew from the psychological profile that this guy was no good, that he couldn't negotiate with him and expect him to hold up his end of the bargain. This was going to be a dirty shootout even if Jesus Christ himself had come from the heavens begging him to put down the gun. I'd turned my back for a minute to debrief the Chief, and next thing I know, Matt waltzes into the diner like it's nothing, and starts talking to the guy. Tensions began to rise; we could hear them argue. That's when I knew it was the last time, I'd see him alive. Dumb…dumb kid raised his gun to the guy and blew him away, but bought himself a one-way ticket along the way. He was dead before I ever arrived by his side."
Swallowing hard, Forester managed a sad smile, his eyes glistening against the fluorescent lights up above.
"See, we weren't going to go in without a SWAT unit. It was a holdup situation with an indefinite outcome. We had our strict orders, nobody move, nobody talk to the suspect until the head shrink arrives. Part of me never stopped wondering if…if unbeknownst to me, Matt had become suicidal and was ready to end it that day. Take the noble way out and give up the fight for his own future; knowing that it was either he, or the twenty-three souls sitting inside that diner. And that…goddamn kid made that choice without asking for my permission."
Unable to stop the tears from welling up in his eyes, Steve reached over, gently squeezing the other man's forearm in unspoken sympathy. They sat there for many long moments, until the phone in Mike's office rang, disrupting their private moment and signaling more work on the horizon. Briefly covering the young Inspector's warm hand with his own, Forester cocked his head with an amicable smile and got back up.
"Well, we better resume our business here. We've got a killer to catch after all. And I don't want that hardnose Stone to think I like you, Barney."