They had talked for the remainder of the morning before Janaea excused herself once again, citing that she needed to return to the apartment to check on Yale and eventually go to work. It was obvious that in her father's slipping health, the situation would only grow worse.
How much, that depended on how fast they could get Yale some much-needed help.
On the way in, they'd stopped at Mike's house to allow the lieutenant a shower and change of clothes before heading to work.
Steve had spent that time in the Galaxie, quietly reminiscing of his encounters with the personable poet, cursing the universe for throwing such a terrible fate at a man who deserved it the least- not to mention what trials and tribulations it put his beautiful daughter through.
Secretly, he'd always hoped that Yale would make it to the big times; that somebody in the right place would see his talent and take him all the way to the top. Instead, a man with such incredible talent would die in the same kind of poverty he was born into.
By the time they reached the Hall of Justice building, the rain was back, setting a fitting picture of how their day would pan out.
Walking slower than usual to make sure he wouldn't strain his injured knee, Steve barely made it through the glass walled vestibule when Hassejian rose from his desk, a manila envelope in hand.
"What is it with the two of you always getting dinged up? I work here for twenty-five years and never got a scratch yet."
Smiling at the feigned mockery, Mike shrugged dismissively.
"That's because you do most of your work from the comfort of your desk, Sergeant."
"It sure beats the broken bones and cuts and such", the Armenian detective replied before handing Mike the envelope, "Got the info back from the DMV on the car. It was reported-"
"Stolen yesterday from the Presidio Heights neighborhood, yeah I know.", Mike answered, causing the other man to raise his eyebrows.
"So, now you're into reading the future too, Lieutenant?"
"I am reading something alright, and it's not good.", he replied cryptically, then took the file, "Anything on the owner?"
"Nothing that sticks out. Some rich businessman. R&I couldn't dig up much on him."
"That figures. Very well, I will give him a call in a minute to get this cleared up."
Visibly displeased, Mike scoffed, then headed toward his office, Steve following along under Hassejian's scrutinizing eyes, when the sergeant cleared his throat again.
"Oh, and Mike, I thought you might like to know that we got a call from Pasadena Homicide. They found Joey DiBarolo stabbed to death in an alley. Looked like a contract kill, no money missing out of his wallet. I guess that solved your case."
From a few feet away, Steve could hear his partner draw in a deep breath, the shoulders beneath his dark gray suit coat visibly tightening as he shook his head in defeat.
"I am going to need some coffee."