"Well, that was a bust," Steve grumbled as he slammed the door, put the key in the ignition and started the engine.
"Why do you think that?" Mike asked genially as he closed the passenger side door and settled in, looking across the front seat with a curious smile.
"Well, other than the fact we didn't see anything remotely illegal - not even an underage drinker let along a drug buy - we didn't get to talk to anybody and the place was a little less than 'jumping'. A hot spot it is not."
"Okay, I'll grant you that. But it's a Tuesday night, right? I have a feeling things'll get a little more… jumping… the closer we get to the weekend." Mike laughed and laid his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. "We'll check out the other two places the next couple of nights and come back here on Friday. I have a gut feeling that this is the place we want, but I also want to check out the others just in case." He sighed heavily. "Besides, we still have a lot of people to interview in the next few days… it's gonna be a busy week."
Steve had turned the sedan onto the road that would take them back into Colville. He glanced at Mike and smiled. "Yeah, it sure is." He heard Mike chuckle.
"You know, if you want, I could just stay in the motel tomorrow night, let you try your luck on your own –"
"Don't you dare!" Steve almost shouted, for a split second horrified that his partner would even consider such a move. From the corner of his eye he saw Mike's head come up and turn towards him with a broad grin.
"What, don't think you could handle all the, ah, the action?" The older man's demented laughter filled the car.
# # # # #
Doris put the three coffees down on the booth table then quietly padded away. As Mike reached for the small white milk jug, he shot a resigned look at his partner who managed to successfully swallow a smile.
As the older man poured a bit of milk into his cup, he looked up and smiled at the young woman with the long straight blond hair sitting on the bench seat opposite them. "So, Katie, you said the night before Craig disappeared the two of you went out for dinner?"
Katherine Porter, whom Steve thought bore a striking resemblance to Judy Collins, nervously fingered the edge of the saucer, looking down. After a beat of silence, Mike glanced at his partner then reached across the table.
"Would you like some milk in your coffee?" he asked softly and her eyes snapped up, startled.
"Oh, uh, ah, yes… yes, please." She nodded enthusiastically with a small perfunctory smile.
Mike started to pour. "Just tell me when."
"Oh, ah, that's enough, thank you."
The lieutenant smiled warmly and encouragingly as he put the jug back on the table. Steve pushed the small wicker basket of sugar cubes closer to her cup. She looked at him and tried to smile then dropped her eyes again.
As she reached for a couple of cubes and dropped them into her cup, Steve prompted gently. "You went out with Craig…?"
"Yes… yes," she said softly as she stirred, "we had just set a date…" She glanced up and met both sets of eyes briefly. "We're going to get married… next June…" Catching her breath, she bit her lower lip and dropped her head again.
There was a slightly awkward pause as both men debated with themselves as to whether they should offer their congratulations. Mike ended the internal debate by leaning forward slightly and asking, "Where did you go? I mean, this doesn't look like the kind of place you would come to celebrate something as important as that, is it?" There was a lightness in his tone that took the melancholic sting out of the words.
She looked at him, a slight, appreciative smile crossing her lips. "No, it isn't," she agreed. "We went into Eureka. They have some really nice restaurants there." Her bottom lip began to quiver. "It was a special night."
"I bet it was," Steve said gently and Mike shot him an approving glance.
"The day Craig disappeared," the older man began, "you didn't see him that day?"
She shook her head, staring at her coffee cup.
"Do you know where he was?"
"He called me in the morning. He said he was going out with some of his friends." Her head came up, a look of almost mild panic in her eyes. "He did that a lot, but I didn't mind. I spent a lot of time with my girlfriends too."
Both men nodded, smiling in understanding.
"Do you know where they went?" Steve took up the questioning.
She shook her head. "They used to go to a lot of different places." She sighed heavily. "You should ask some of his friends; they'll know, I think." Steve reached into his pocket for his notebook; nodding, Mike picked up his coffee to take a sip. "I know they used to go to Patches in Crocker a lot."
Both men froze in mid-motion.
# # # # #
"You gentlemen want a refill?" Doris asked as she approached the table with a full carafe.
"Oh, god no," Mike answered quickly, putting a hand over the top of his almost empty cup. He smiled up at her. "I mean, ah, no, I've had enough, thank you."
Her moist pale eyes slid towards Steve who, trying hard not to smile, did the same, nodding his thanks. She turned to the nervous young man opposite the two big city cops and raised her eyebrows.
Johnny Mitchell looked up from his study of the tabletop and nodded, pushing his empty cup towards her slightly. She filled the cup and turned away. "Thank you," he mumbled to her retreating back. As he spooned some sugar into dark brew, he looked once more at the older detective.
"Do you remember anything that happened that night at Patches?" Mike asked. "Anything at all?"
Mitchell shook his head. "No, sir… it was just another normal night. Like I said, we shot some pool, like we always do, and we had a few beers but none of us was anywhere near to being drunk. I mean, we were celebrating and all that… Craig had asked me to be his best man and the other guys to be his ushers so we were all pretty charged about that, you know…" He ran a hand across one eyebrow as he looked down, his chin trembling. "We, ah… Craig and me, we've known each other since we were in the first grade… he's my best friend…"
Mike's eyes slid towards his partner and he stared at him for a few seconds before asking. "So, ah, did you all go home together that night?"
Mitchell nodded. "Yeah… yeah…" he mumbled, nodding slowly, then his head snapped up. "Oh my god, I just remembered! We didn't… we didn't go home together. I remember now. Chris and Charlie and I got there first; Craig had to work so he drove there by himself. He got there about ten minutes after we did." His brown eyes were snapping back and forth between the two detectives.
"Did you leave at the same time?" Mike asked, almost holding his breath.
Mitchell looked down, as if struggling to remember. "I think so… I know the three of us got back into Chris's car and I saw Craig get into his and the lights come on… But I really don't remember if his car followed us back here or not. I was sitting in the back and I just don't know…"
"So there was a chance that Craig stayed behind at Patches for awhile?" Steve asked carefully, trying not to suggest the answer they wanted to hear.
Mitchell looked up at him and shrugged. "I guess. I mean, I didn't talk to him again… I don't know…"
Steve glanced at Mike as he sat back, and he knew exactly what his partner was thinking.
# # # # #
Mike, already changed into his khakis and light blue work shirt, was sitting on Steve's bed leaning against the headboard, watching the first ever World Series night game.
Steve came out of the bathroom freshly shaved and ready to go, wearing a crisp clean shirt and a mild cologne. He stopped short, looking from Mike to the TV and back again. He grinned. "You sure you want to go? You know, we could always get something from the diner and bring it back here and watch the rest of the game."
Mike tore his eyes from the screen. "No, no, no, we got a job to do. Besides, since the Pirates beat the Giants in the playoffs, I don't really want to root for them. And I can't root for Oakland… so I'm conflicted…" His voice just dripped with self-pity.
Laughing, Steve crossed to the TV and turned it off. "Then let's go." He grabbed his jacket from the chair near the door and shrugged it on as Mike slid off the bed and picked up his cap and windbreaker. As he passed the younger man holding the door open, he paused and looked back at him, sniffing the air.
"We're not going to Patches tonight, remember? I don't think she'll be where we're going," he chuckled evilly as he continued out into the parking lot.
"Ha ha ha," Steve mouthed, swatting at the older man's shoulder as he pulled the door closed and locked it.
# # # # #
It turned out that The Roadhouse was the only other tavern in Crocker; the third, Bill's Bar & Grill, had closed three months earlier. And while they had a good meal, Mike opting for steak and Steve for fish, it was even less popular, it seemed, than Patches.
That, coupled with that fact that The Roadhouse had foosball tables - which Mike refused to play - instead of pool tables, made it an early night. Neither of them minded that, and they were back at the motel by 10.
# # # # #
"I want to find out where Craig Steen's car is," Mike said, staring at Steve's notebook through his black reading glasses as the tan Galaxie crawled along the pot-holed dirt road. The car bounced roughly and Mike's left hand went immediately to the upholstered ceiling to steady himself. He shot a grumpy look across the front seat. "You want to maybe try missing those instead of driving through them."
Looking equally testy, Steve's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Do you want to drive?!" he shot back, instantly regretting his uncensored outburst. He tensed, waiting for the eruption he knew would be coming.
A deafening silence filled the car as the senior detective stared expressionlessly at the younger man's profile. Then a deep chuckle could be heard and Steve allowed himself a brief sideways glance; Mike was staring at him with a broad smile. His brow knit in confusion.
"What got into you this morning?" Mike asked through a laugh.
Shaking his head, Steve managed a slight smile. "I'm sorry, I, ah, I didn't get much sleep last night." He glanced across the seat again. "You're lucky; you have the room on the end of the row. Mine isn't."
Mike's brow furrowed. "What? You mean…?"
Steve nodded, his lips pressed together and his eyebrows raised. "I think they rent the other rooms out by the hour, if you know what I mean. And, ah, and the walls are pretty damn thin."
Mike stared at him. "Oh… I see…" he said quietly. He turned back to look at the notebook again. "Gee, I thought you'd be able to sleep through that…" He began to chuckle again. "Want to borrow my earplugs?"
Steve laughed sardonically, shaking his head. "No, I'll be all right. I'll use Kleenex tonight."
Still chuckling, the older man nodded.
"We're here," Steve announced, looking to his left as the turned the car into the gravel driveway of the well-kept white clapboard bungalow.
Mike took off his glasses and put them in his inside jacket pocket. He flipped the notebook closed and put it on the seat between them. "Okay," he breathed through a long exhale, "let's see if the Steens know where their son's car is."