Steve splashed water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror, water drops falling from his beard. He knew if he were still a cop this beard would be a figment of his imagination. He moved his chin from side to side, admiring his hirsute look, and laughed when he remembered Mike's initial reaction.
He dried his hands and was just dropping the paper towel into the wastebasket when the washroom door opened. "I thought I'd find you in here," Derek Washburn said by way of greeting. "There's a phone call for you in the main office."
"I'll be right there," Steve said, taking one last look in the mirror before crossing to the door. He fell into step behind Washburn as they walked down the corridor. They were halfway to the office when Washburn looked back over his shoulder.
"It's the San Francisco Police Department," he said casually, and Steve smiled slightly, shaking his head. It was probably Mike calling to cancel their dinner date.
"It's Inspector Robbins."
In an instant, Steve's world narrowed. The walls seemed to close in, as did the floor and ceiling. Sound became muted, words unintelligible. He felt his heart begin to pound and his head swam. He knew he was trembling and it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other.
Mechanically, he followed Washburn into the office. The younger man gestured towards a desk where a receiver lay on a blotter. Time slowed to as crawl as he crossed the large office to the desk and picked up the phone with a hand that seemed disconnected from his body. Shaking, he brought the receiver to his ear. His mouth was dry but he managed to get out, "Dan?" into the void.
There was a slight pause on the other end then a heavy, emotion-laden voice said quietly, "Steve?"
"Yeah..?"
"It's Mike." There was a long pause. Neither man seemed willing to fill the silence.
Finally Steve found his voice again. "Is he dead?" he whispered quietly, not noticing the others in the room turn in his direction.
"No no," came the quick reply, "but it's bad, Steve, it's really bad…"
He heard Dan take a deep breath. "How bad?" he asked, closing his eyes in anticipation of the answer.
Another heavy breath. "He took three to the chest."
Steve gasped, gripping the receiver so tightly his knuckles turned white. A couple of his colleagues began to move closer to the desk.
"But they were .22's, Steve, he's got a chance." They both took deep steadying breaths.
"Were you with him?"
"Not when he was shot but right after. I was with him in the ambulance."
"Where is he?"
"Franklin."
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
"What about Jeannie?"
"I'll figure that out when I get there." Without saying goodbye, Steve put the receiver down on the cradle, unable to move. He felt someone close in beside him and a hand touch his arm.
"My car's just outside, I'll drive you," a gentle voice said and he looked up into the face of Associate Professor Jeff Burns. Burns was startled by the lost, frightened look that had replaced Steve's usually calm and controlled demeanour, and his heart went out to his obviously distraught friend.
Burns put a hand on Steve's arm and turned him in the direction of the door. They began to move slowly across the room. "Where are we going?" he asked quietly.
Steve turned his head slightly. "Ah, Franklin, he's at Franklin."
Burns nodded slowly, "Okay, good, we'll get there as fast as we can, I promise you."
He stepped back to let Steve through the door first, sad concerned eyes following their exit.
# # # # #
Dan put the receiver on the hook, not letting go, then leaned forward and rested his forehead against the back of his hand. Without a doubt that was the hardest phone call he had ever had to make. As close as he and Mike had become over the past two years, he knew their relationship paled in comparison to the bond his partner had shared, and continued to share, with Steve.
Taking a deep breath and straightening up, he turned and walked slowly back towards the waiting room. Word hadn't spread yet, and he had been the only one there when he left to make the call. He knew that at least two squad cars had been at the scene when he had left in the ambulance, but he half expected to see some others, at least a uniform or two, when he returned.
Stepping into the room, he was surprised to find no other officers there as yet, but the babel of voices had increased and strangers seemed to be talking to one another in an agitated state. There was a shocked, stunned atmosphere in the room that Dan couldn't comprehend.
In his own world, his heart and mind in an operating room somewhere in bowels of the building, he made his way to an empty chair and dropped into it, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands.
He wasn't sure how long he remained in that position before a voice urgently calling his name shook him from his preoccupation. He looked up to see Sergeants Norm Haseejian and Bill Tanner standing over him, worry distorting their features as they noted the dried blood on their colleagues hands and clothes. He stood quickly.
"How is he?" Haseejian asked in a rush, taking Dan's arm.
Dan shook his head quickly. "I haven't heard yet. They took him right into the OR when we got here and nobody's come out to say anything to me yet." He paused and took a deep breath, looking at them with upraised eyebrows. "That's a good sign, isn't it?" he asked hopefully, almost rhetorically.
The others nodded, looking around the room then back at their colleague. Dan leaned closer to Haseejian. "Norm, what the hell's going on? Why aren't more of the guys here?"
Haseejian's eyes snapped to Dan's and he froze. "You haven't heard?" he asked cautiously. When Dan shook his head, Haseejian took a deep breath, looked away briefly, then said quietly, "Supervisor Dan White walked into City Hall about an hour ago and shot Mayor Moscone and Harvey Milk to death."
Dan didn't move as he stared into his colleague's eyes, not quite believing what he had heard. "You're kidding, right?" he asked breathlessly.
"I wish he was," said Tanner, slapping Dan lightly on the arm and shaking his head. "The entire city is on alert; no one knows where White is right now."
"How…ah, how did get a piece into the building?" Dan asked, still reeling from this second shock.
"We don't know yet," Haseejian answered with a tinge of anger in his voice. "Look, ah, Dan, we all want to be here, you know that, but we've been ordered back to City Hall. Everyone is on this until White is in custody and we know how the hell it went down." He looked at Dan helplessly, but the younger man just shook his head and managed a slight smile.
"No, no, you guys, you go … I'll be here for Mike, don't worry. I just, ah, I just called Steve and he's on his way. He should be here soon. You guys come back when you can."
Brow furrowed, Haseejian nodded and grabbed the younger man in a brief hug. Tanner slapped his arm again and the two sergeants quickly strode back across the room and down the corridor. Numb and drained, the dark-haired inspector sank back down onto the chair.
# # # # #
Burns glanced across the front seat. Steve was immobile, staring through the windshield, looking at nothing. They were just approaching the Bay Bridge; not a word had been exchanged. "How long were you partners?" he asked quietly.
Steve didn't move and Burns wasn't sure his question had been heard. Then Steve took a deep breath, his head went back slightly and he seemed to refocus. "Six years," he said softly.
"That's a long time."
Steve nodded slowly, a small smile playing across his lips and his eyes softening at the memory.
Not wanting to push his luck, Burns turned his full attention back to his driving. He glanced over once more, grateful to see Steve's smile linger, hoping he was thinking positively and not giving in to his deepest fears.
# # # # #
Jeannie was sitting at one of the small round tables just outside the University of Washington's dining hall, her books spread out before her. Distractedly, she reached for the coffee cup and took a sip, her head snapping back and features contorting in disgust as the ice-cold liquid touched her lips. "Yuck," she chuckled as got up from the chair and dumped the cup into a nearby garbage can.
She had just sat back down when someone approached the table in a hurry, "Jeannie!" She looked up, recognizing one of her lecture mates.
"Hi, Karen, have a – "
"You're from San Francisco, right?" Karen interrupted.
"Yeah."
"Get in here," Karen said quickly, grabbing Jeannie by the arm and trying to pull her to her feet.
Jeannie stood, letting herself be dragged into the dining hall. A bunch of students were crowded around a large television that had been sitting on a high stand in the corner of the room, a leftover from the Watergate years. "What's going on?" she asked as they got closer to the others.
"Sssh, listen," Karen ordered quietly.
"They're gonna to show it again," someone said.
"Show what?" Jeannie asked, confused and becoming a little frightened.
On the screen, a fuzzy picture of a dark-haired woman and two dark-haired men, one of them in shirtsleeves, appeared, looking like some kind of impromptu press conference. Startled, Jeannie thought she recognized the head of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, Diane Feinstein.
"…Both Mayor Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk…have been shot and killed… The…" Jeannie gasped at the same time there was a loud outburst from the reporters and others on the videotape and they had to be waved and shouted silent. "The suspect is Supervisor Dan White."
Jeannie's knees went weak and she grabbed her friend's arm. "Oh my god…"
Karen looked at her. "Your Dad's a cop, right?"
Still staring at the screen, Jeannie nodded then looked at her friend, eyes wide with disbelief. "Well, I know where he'll be all day."