The drive back to Riley's bar had felt different this time around, more foreboding.
Steve knew better than to decide on a suspect's guilt without as much as an indicting testimony, especially when it came to triangles. And yet, after days of spinning their wheels looking for the person responsible, things did seem to fall into place rather well when it came to the outspoken bar owner turned activist.
Throughout their travel, he'd stolen a few glances over at Mike, knowing how much the situation would wear on his best friend's heartstrings. It was the Lieutenant's caring side, that innocent way he unconditionally trusted those he called friends, that had taken a serious beating throughout the morning and Steve felt utterly helpless when it came to healing those deep and aching wounds.
"What are you going to do if he's not in?"
It was a trivial question at best, but Steve hoped it would help pull Mike out of his broody state.
They hadn't called ahead to announce their visit for fear of giving away their intentions. If Riley truly was responsible for the shooting, they wanted to catch him off guard, see his reaction when confronted with the evidence they'd gathered.
And for Mike's sake, Steve hoped the bar owner would simply confess, listen to his rights being read, turn over the man he'd hired to pull off the shooting, and then allow them to take him away in handcuffs to get booked, putting a smooth end to a horrific case.
The other, more realistic and experienced part of him knew too well that things rarely ever went the way they hoped for.
"He should be in. it's Taco Thursday."
Mike's voice was carefully guarded as Steve opened the door for the seasoned Lieutenant, trying to feel out if his mood had taken a turn for the better, but finding that little had changed.
As expected, the Lieutenant's pace was firm, each step a calculated move closer to the truth as he crossed the small entrance area of the dining section and headed straight for the kitchen door.
Taking advantage of his distance after falling a few feet back, Steve glanced around the supposed restaurant-by-day, bar-at-night; once again realizing that not a soul could be found eating here. For a place that offered everything from elaborate lunch entrees to happy-hour drinks, it was certainly lacking a serious number of patrons, making him wonder how Riley held on to the place- that was unless some of the funding he received was used to keep it afloat.
How convenient that Hank and Barry's was facing an uncertain future, as both Hank and the city leaders decided whether to re-open the nightclub, or turn it into a permanent memorial to honor the shooting victims, in lieu of erecting a statue somewhere nearby.
Their quest was cut short when Steve heard somebody shuffle paper, then clear his throat from one of the back booths.
"My favorite Lieutenant and his Inspector. I didn't expect you two here today. What a pleasure nonetheless! Tell me you're here for late lunch! I just put on the best lobster bisque you'll ever eat."
The eccentric outfit was back, paired with the pink cowboy hat, as Riley appeared from the back corner, the fuzzy purple vest hurting Steve's eyes tremendously.
Mike's stern gaze must have given them away, when the bar owner hesitated, his cordial smile fading into a frown as he dropped his paperwork on the booth table and slowly approached.
"Oh no. I don't like those sad eyes, Lieutenant. You got your man, don't you?"
"In a roundabout way, we think so, yes…", Mike answered solemnly and stopped in his tracks, waiting for Steve to flank him.
"Oh…oh that doesn't sound good. Is that why you have a hitch in your giddy up?"
Completely ignoring Riley's attempt to bring some humor into the conversation, Mike cleared his throat, then pointed his chin toward the kitchen.
"Is there a place we can talk in private? I'd like to ask you a few questions."
Steve shuddered at the emotionless tone in his best friend's voice, fully aware of the raw anger and disappointment boiling beneath the professional facade.
"Sure…", Riley stammered and gestured at the wide-open restaurant, "I don't think anybody will bother us right now, so why don't we sit down over here, gentlemen?"
A brief glance in his general direction, a subtle unspoken request was all it took for Steve to grab one of the nearby chairs, pulling it to the corner of the booth, instead of sitting down on the bench next to his partner. This way, if Harris were to attempt an escape, they wouldn't be stumbling over each other trying to rush after him.
"Riley, when we…when we conduct a large investigation such as the one right now, we reel in all the information that could possibly matter in our search for the man responsible…"
Mike's matter-of-fact approach to the interview that was about to happen was subtle enough that it didn't seem to raise Riley's suspicion, as the man sat down across from the Lieutenant, following his words intently.
"And in the process of our investigation, we look at everybody who could have a motive for such a vile act. Sometimes people use their past as a reason to commit crimes, sometimes it's for some monetary or economical gain. In this case right here, I think it's a little bit of both."
Nodding hesitantly, the bar owner glanced back and forth between both detectives, his thumb nervously running over the long painted fingernails of his left hand.
"You see, Stephen and I here have spent countless hours trying to figure out this puzzle and you know what we're thinking? We're thinking that somebody actually hired the guy…the…the ehm shooter to carry out the dirty deed."
There it was.
Steve saw it the same moment Mike did; the fleeting twitch of the eye, the almost instant uptick in breathing, followed by a faint layer of perspiration on his upper lip.
In a chess-player's words…check.
"It's a very cowardly thing to do, but that happens sometimes. It allows people to distance themselves from the horrible crime they paid somebody else to commit. But in the end, it doesn't make them any less guilty of the bloodshed."
By now, there were slight tremors running through Riley's body, obvious enough that Steve could see them out of his peripheral vision.
"So you…you are looking for two people…that's what you are saying, Lieutenant?"
The quivering voice and the nervous fidgeting aside, the bar owner deserved commendation for his acting skills as he continued the engaged conversation. Steve wasn't sure when Mike was planning to drop the other shoe, their suspicion about Riley's involvement, but decided to stay quiet until his help was needed.
"That's correct. So, what we have done is…we've divided up our resources, using some of our manpower to look for the actual killer, and Stephen and I…well, we've widened our net, looked at anybody who might have a motive to hire a killer, no matter how arbitrary it seemed. What helped a lot was to reel in bank records, because obviously, that person would have to find a way to pay the killer."
"I see."
It was the only thing Riley said for many long moments, the unnaturally high pitch in his voice completely gone, as he resumed the nervous fidgeting.
Below his cowboy hat, Steve could see his eyes going back and forth; looking for an answer to the tight corner Mike had squeezed him into.
"And for some crazy reason, Lieutenant, you thought I was involved and you checked my bank accounts and now you have suspicions."
When Mike only nodded, Steve decided to jump in, hoping to take some of the burden off his partner's weary soul.
"You have a perfect motive, Riley. The attack would only further the movement for equal rights, creating sympathy for the treatment of homosexuals by the radical right, as you called them during your protests. I checked into some of the overseas accounts you've received funding from, seen the kind of radicals that support your efforts, and I can't say that they're any better. All they do is hide their agenda behind a cloak of noble goals and the promise to defend humanity. But many of these rich people have been indicted on countess charges in their home countries, ranging from embezzlement to criminal sexual assault, rape, murder even."
"Why are you telling me this, Inspector?!", Riley growled and glared at him, "And for you…it's Mister Harris."
Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Mike tense up, torn between interfering and letting the young Inspector fight his own battles, giving the pupil a chance to show what he'd learned.
Using some of the Psychology training gained from his time at Berkeley, he decided to fall quiet, create an uncomfortable stillness and lack of reaction to Riley's outburst, before smiling confidently.
"The reason I am telling you this, Mister Harris, is because I am under the impression that you are using your role of being the driving force for equal rights as a clever disguise for your selfish and narrow-minded agenda, your…your misguided bravado to keep your restaurant going, to enjoy the praises from the press for your tireless humanitarian efforts, to rise in popularity within this city, much like the people who sponsor you have done. And with all that popularity, who would ever suspect you of any wrong doing, right? Especially when it comes to hiring somebody to kill dozens of innocent people, a justifiable sacrifice when it comes to opening the floodgates for your agenda and questionable intentions. After all, you are the victim."
This time it was Riley who fell quiet, before vigorously shaking his head.
"I don't know what you are talking about, Inspector. As a matter of fact, I am offended by your train of thought, such…primitive ideas from what I expected to be a bright mind for somebody working with the Lieutenant."
Thoroughly used to the insults, Steve briefly glanced over at Mike who'd taken on the passive role for now, quietly observing their suspect, trying hard to hide his condemnation.
And the Lieutenant actually succeeded- at least when it came to anybody who didn't know him as well as Steve did.
"Well, Mister Harris, why don't you answer my primitive questions then? Why did you withdraw $15,000 five days before the attack on Hank Flick's nightclub? And why did you withdraw yet another $15,000 a day after the fact? What did you use that money for? Whether it's for personal or restaurant use, surely, you should have receipts as a compelling evidence of your innocence, right?"
Deciding to ignore the young Inspector altogether, Riley turned his attention toward Mike, his previously cheerful expression an angry frown now, cheeks flushed in agitation, his entire body shaking.
"I can't believe you would suspect me, Lieutenant. After everything I've done to…to right all the wrongs for what my brother did to this city, after trying to make this a better place to live in for everybody, regardless of their sexual orientation, for tirelessly advocating to support the police…?"
"Let's skip the PR talk and just answer my partner's question, please."
Upon Mike's curt tone, Riley leaned back and drew in a shaky breath, eyes partially hidden beneath the rim of his pink cowboy hat, as he crossed his arms over his chest in obvious irritation and defiance.
"The first fifteen thousand went toward keeping this place afloat. As you can see, we're currently going through a lull. I had to cover payroll. There are no receipts because I cooked the books. I was afraid that the negative association with a failing business would affect my…my mission, the public's view of my leadership skills, so to speak. So, I used the money to pay some bills, made it look like we were busier on some nights than others. Turn me into the IRS if it makes you feel better, Inspector Keller."
When neither detective reacted to the questionable explanation, Riley glanced down, his breaths coming in short gasps as he mumbled something Steve couldn't understand.
"Anyways, the second withdrawal was to pay for two armed guards that are supposed to keep our neighborhood safe. I am hoping to get a few more people on board with the idea. As you always say, Lieutenant, you can't be everywhere at the same time. These guys will get paid to be here when we need them. I refuse to allow what happened at Hank's place to happen at mine as well. I am sick and tired of playing sitting duck while the heads of this city decide what to do to keep everyone safe. I am sorry, but my own safety and that of my customers must come first."
Leaning forward, Steve rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands, stealing a fleeting glance over at Mike, as the Lieutenant processed the information thrown at him, struggling between mistrust and disappointment.
And yet amongst it all, he could see a crystal-clear hunch that they weren't getting the whole truth.
"You own a quarter million dollars, Riley. With that kind of money in your pocket, you wouldn't go running around begging other store owners for a donation toward your militia. And even if, for some reason, you truly didn't have enough money to cover the cost…that's not in your character.", Mike countered calmly, his steel-blue eyes never leaving the distressed bar owner, "And the timing of your deposit to help your…establishment here is wrong too. This place has been hurting for a long time and you didn't do anything about it then. Even if you paid off some bills to make it look better, why wait until just before the attack on Hank's? What really happened here, Riley? Please, tell me the truth. You owe me that much after all these years."
Mike's pleading, regardless of how sincere it was, did little to settle the other man's mood, as the bar owner got up from behind the bench, causing the two detectives to follow suit.
"I will not sit here and be insulted like this. Especially not from somebody I thought was a friend.", the harsh words thrown in the Lieutenant's direction were followed by an agitated grunt, as Riley attempted to walk over to the kitchen, when Steve blocked his path.
"Lieutenant, let me reiterate it again, so that you and your dense Inspector can understand it…I didn't hire some crazy AK-47 swinging lunatic to kill patrons over at Hank's place. That's just insane. How dare you even consider me a suspect? I have done nothing to deserve this kind of…of scrutiny."
"Now wait a minute, wait just a minute.", Mike countered cautiously, his index finger raised as he froze in his spot, "Nobody said anything about an AK-47."
Steve could see Riley's eyes darkening the moment the Lieutenant spoke up, his expression changing from arrogance and defiance to utter distress.
Check-mate.
"I was just…I was just going off what the papers said. Call it an educated guess. I men, what else would somebody use?"
"We intentionally held back on releasing any information on the make and model of the gun used during the attack. How did you know about it?", Mike demanded and circled the booth, grabbing the other man by the arm and dragging him toward a nearby wall, so that he could tower over the slightly shorter suspect.
When he realized that his stammering was only incriminating him further, Riley fell quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat.
"I don't know what you are talking about, Lieutenant."
"There's a sucker born every minute, isn't there?", Mike returned coldly, unable to hide the raw pain and anger from his trembling voice, "And it was the perfect plot too. Hire somebody ruthless, looking to make a quick buck, some crazy lunatic, as you call them, from Carigio's place, somebody who knew where Nick was hiding his AK-47, then pay the guy off to shoot up Hank's bar to further your agenda and leave a perfectly paved path back to Carigio and his gay-hating crowd. Nobody would expect somebody like you to be involved, after all, you've been fighting for equal rights for a long time. But let me ask you this…which one of your overseas friends and sponsors coached you to do this? Which one of them was encouraging you to sacrifice the lives of sixty-four innocent people to raise awareness and sympathy for your causes? Which one of them thought this was morally acceptable?"
With his lips pursed, Riley lifted his cowboy hat to run a hand through his dark hair, then brushed over his purple vest as if to buy himself time.
It was a move that only served to make Mike angrier.
"What's his name? What is the name of the guy you hired to…to do this, hm? Which one of Carigio's guys received $30,000 to commit mass murder in your name, Riley?"
As the confrontation intensified, Steve approached carefully; close enough the he could see over Mike's shoulder and would be able to interfere if tempers began to flare.
Much to his surprise, the bar owner remained calm, his lip twitching slightly at the face of the fury bestowed upon him from the Lieutenant he once called a friend. As he struggled to come up with the right words, Riley glared at both detectives, his eyes as cold as those of a man facing certain death.
"He only received $15,000 for the job at Hank's place.", he finally admitted through gritted teeth and looked outside, where hoards of pedestrians filled the busy sidewalks, "The other $15,000 are for another attack this afternoon."