The remainder of the day ended as uneventful as it began- at least from an investigative standpoint.
After thoroughly reviewing the few pieces of information they had gathered on Warren Thompson; Steve had made some phone calls to the local agencies, trying to narrow down whether or not the officer had been part of the "clean-up crew" for the Oxford protests Joe and he had been part of.
They'd been difficult phone calls, digging into a past that was so vastly different than the life Steve was leading now.
In his intuitive ways, Mike seemed to sense the emotional struggle this latest situation had caused. As such, the lieutenant had been threading the topic carefully, mastering the proverbial walk on the tightrope of trying to help and show compassion, while staying within the guidelines of departmental rules and procedures.
Steve had been beyond grateful for his best friend's support. His graceful way of talking Joe down from his state of agitation ways when it came to the frightening phone call had been the level-headed approach that felt like life ring in an emotionally charged case.
Not that there was much of a case so far.
But he'd known Joe long enough to see the unbridled fear in his eyes, negating any thoughts that the situation might just be blown out of proportions.
With a subconscious shake of the head, Steve put down his book and got up from the couch to grab another glass of water. So far, the reading had helped settle his mind, slowly clearing all the fog that could potentially jeopardize an investigation whenever things got too personal for his liking.
DiBarolo, he scolded himself.
His mind needed to be focused on the DiBarolo situation.
Even though they'd handed much of the surveillance work over to Tanner, Steve knew that the case really belonged to them, along with half a dozen stalled ones, lacking an array of evidence, testimony, or both.
Standing by the sink, he watched stoically as the tap water flowed into his glass, then turned off the faucet and headed back to the couch when he heard a knock on the door.
Brows knitted, he looked at the clock, surprised by the late night visitor.
With his glass in hand, he meandered toward the front door, wondering if Mike would await him on the other side, impatiently urging him to get dressed at the eve of another homicide.
On the other end of the spectrum, there could be Joe Joplin, scorning him for not working the case of the mysterious phone call harder.
Sighing at his admonishing thoughts, Steve reminded himself that this might very well be Miranda from next door, wondering if he had some flour. After all, not everything had to be work related.
It was wishful thinking at least.
Drawing in a weary sigh, he finally opened the door, immediately feeling the damp cold of the Bay hitting his skin late that evening.
It took a fraction of a second for the sight his eyes had taken in to reach his brain, then his mouth again.
She must have sensed his surprise when she smiled broadly, before handing him the bag of takeout dinner.
"It's nice to see you again, Inspector Stephen Keller."