There was a large cemetery near the center of Modesto where many who died during the twentieth century were buried. The graveyard was large with several sections based on the decade of their passing. Sheriff Riley knew of the section that held Steve's mother and his unfortunate sister. As the two died in the late forties, Mike would need to go to the north quadrant, section 5.
"If there was a chance to find Stakowski, that's where I'd go," Riley added as Mike departed.
While finding Stakowski/Smith was like recovering a needle from a haystack, something tugged at Mike's senses. He had a gut feeling that Steve's father would make a stop here. It was just as logical as anything. After all, Mike couldn't search the entire state and every airport. He had to make his best guess locally.
The Porsche was what Mike figured would be the giveaway. He knew Steve's car as well as his own, so if he came across it anywhere on the road, he would throw the police light on in pursuit. Jurisdiction be damned.
Mike circled the cemetery and followed the Sheriff's map of where the graves were located, but at this point the senior detective didn't feel it was necessary to locate the actual markers. Simply finding the car or seeing Smith would be enough. He quickly found the section and pulled over.
No one was there. After several minutes, Mike began to have an uneasy feeling. This could have been a bad hunch. Maybe Stakowski was gone for good.
Finally, Mike turned the ignition and decided to cruise around the cemetery. Could he have possibly been in the wrong section? He checked the section marker and found a match to what the Sheriff had given him. Still, Smith wasn't there and this was simply becoming a waste of time.
Driving slowing around the windy roads of the large cemetery, Mike saw trees, benches and water fountains. He thought of how grieving people came here to mourn their loved ones and how the swaying trees and benches must make the visit a little nicer. After seeing only a few lonely mourners, Mike slowed his car after squinting at the sight before him.
It was a small sports car ahead. As he drove closer, nearly a dozen sections away from where he posted himself originally, he struck paydirt. The familiar 1965 Porsche was parked before him.
He pulled up behind the vehicle and looked around the graveyard. There, several yards away, was Charlie Stakowski, aka Clark Smith. Perhaps the man has a heart, Mike thought to himself.
Stakowski heard footfalls approaching him from the side. Deep down, he knew he was caught and resigned himself to the confrontation. He glanced and saw Mike Stone standing three gravestones away.
"You surprised me, Stone. I figured the cops would catch up with me at some point, but I didn't think it'd be you." He placed a hand on his sore jaw, the one that Mike connected with the evening before.
"You surprised me, too, Stakowski," Mike scolded. "I figured you to be a sleaze, but I didn't think you'd try to destroy Steve's life after what all he's been through these last few days. Have you no shame?"
"No, Stone, I don't. I have nothing and that's all I deserve," Stakowski began.
"I should arrest you," Mike said as he redirected the subject before Stakowski could throw some sob story his way.
"On what charge?" Stakowski challenged.
"Grand theft auto, for one. Robbery for another," Mike advised.
"I didn't steal that car. It belongs to my son. As for the robbery, I don't know what you mean."
"You have five thousand dollars belonging to the City of San Francisco."
"Search me, Stone. Go ahead." There was a glint of defiance in Stakowski's eyes.
"All right. If you want to play it that way. You are under arrest," Mike reached for his handcuffs.
"You don't have the authority to arrest me here," Stakowski said as he took a step back. "Why don't you just leave me alone?" He looked at the grave before him. "Let me have a few moments here in peace."
Mike looked over to the names on the graves. It was not what he expected. "George Thomas Stakowski and Margaret Stakowski. These are your parents."
"These are my parents. I've come to say a final good-bye to them and then over the hill I was going to visit Steve's mother and sister," Stakowski said as he motioned to where Mike had already been. "I'm leaving town."
"So I heard."
"From Steve?"
"You left San Francisco rather quickly. You never even bothered to see Steve or know if he's okay." Mike could feel his blood begin to boil.
"I'm sure he's fine. You were going down to Mono Lake to bring him back. What's he in the car or something?"
"No, he's not." That was the only thing Mike wanted to say. He didn't want to share anything more about his young partner's whereabouts.
"Well, when you see him, just tell him that I've gone to start over. No hard feelings. I was hopeful that he'd join me or at least stake me some while I get situated."
"Stake you? After all the trouble you got him in and you want more." Mike couldn't believe his ears.
"I'm sorry about that. I truly am, but there's nothing that I can do to make it better. Maybe if his old man were out of his hair, he'd be better off."
"So, going to Brazil is your answer."
"Yeah, always been a dream of mine." Stakowski looked over into the distance, as if you could see the Andes mountains between where he stood and where he wanted to be.
"Well, Mr. Stakowski, unless you turn over the car and the money, I'm afraid that dream will be put on hold for, oh, maybe seven to ten years. If you're lucky."
"Now who's going to make Steve miserable? You'd put him through that?" Stakowski asked incredulously. "You'd send his old man away?"
"Don't you put that on me. You're the one that's done all of this. You can make it right if you want. I'll give you that chance, but not for long."
"Forget it, Stone. You got nothing. Your badge is worthless here."
"No, but mine is worth something," Sheriff Riley said as he walked up to the two men. "There's an APB on you and the car. I'm within my rights to arrest you and impound the car. You understand, Charlie?
Charles Stakowski was speechless. Mike gave Riley a relieved half smile.
Mike broke the silence. "Now, care to start over? Where's the money, Stakowski? I'm giving you one last chance." Mike's generosity was not for the man before him, but for his partner who was in the hospital several miles away.
Stakowski stood still. His dream to start anew was over.
"I'm waiting. Where's the money?" Mike's patience had left him long ago.
"Oh, the money," Stakowski said as he changed his tune. "You know, I guess there has been some mistake. I thought that was my reward money for aiding in the arrest of Petit Jones."
"Oh, you did, did you? Where do you have it hidden?"
"It's in my son's car. For safe keeping, of course."
"And about your son's car," Mike began.
"I was just borrowing it. You know, I gave him a car years ago and I thought he could return the favor by lending me his at least temporarily."
"That car," Riley interrupted. To this point, the Sheriff had been calm and pleasant, but now a fierce anger appeared in his eyes. "It was an old Nash Ambassador. That thing was a death trap. Steve nearly died in that car."
Stakowski corrected Riley. "Not the one his mother was driving. I'm talking about the one I'd given him years later. And it wasn't a death trap. He just couldn't handle it."
"You gave him the same type of car his mother was driving when she died?" Mike asked.
"I like Nashes. They've been a favorite of mine for years," Stakowski explained.
"I know the one. You gave it to Steve while he was in his junior year of high school. He drove like a bat out of hell around here like he had some death wish. One day, he finally drove it off the road and wrapped it around a good sized tree."
Mike was surprised to hear of Steve's accident. He was such a good driver on the force, but then he thought about it. That's how he learned to drive so fast.
"Those things were built like Sherman tanks," Stakowski defended. "He was pretty banged up, but he came through okay."
"He had a fairly serious concussion and a broken leg after that accident. He was in the hospital for weeks," Riley countered. He threw Mike a quick glance and couldn't believe the apathy Stakowski was displaying toward his own son.
"It happens."
"It happens?" Riley repeated as he took a step toward Stakowski. "Being in the hospital for weeks, his grandparents and friends finally figured out what was going on with the kid. As a result, Steve got the therapy he needed. He was dealing with a lot of guilt as far as his mother and sister were concerned…" the Sheriff began.
"Guilt? What was he, three when his mother's accident happened? I'm the one that suffered the guilt. He has nothing to feel guilty about." Stakowski's voice grew louder. It was as if he needed the world to hear of the guilt he bore.
"Try survivor's syndrome. Try the fact that he was rejected by his own father and made to feel like everything was all his fault by virtue of the fact that you abandoned him."
Mike remained silent as he reflected Steve's misfortune. His thought were interrupted by what was now a nearly repentent Stakowski.
"I didn't abandon him. He was with his grandparents and he was much better off."
tbc