My apologies for dropping off the radar. Not dead, just had a lot going on with losing a horse and then getting into bottle calves. Never a dull moment on this farm as we continue to fight the drought. Hope everyone is hanging in there ok!
Adrian's accidental omission had been the highlight of the day for more than just two weary detectives of the Homicide bullpen.
Trying to tie down a family with a criminal history spanning more than a decade had been an enormous effort on everyone's part, involving multiple departments and countless work hours of research and investigation.
Ultimately, it seemed as though it was impossible to indict Vincente and his growing hoard of sons, the families' influence spreading through much of the west side of town, leaving a trail of terror, suffering and heartbreak wherever they went.
The heated conversation that had led to Adrian's Freudian slip had been sheer luck at best, but Steve relished it regardless.
The words said in youthful carelessness were enough to justify an arrest, as well as a warrant to search the mobster's mansion, look into any bank and phone records. Hopefully between all of them there'd be enough evidence to lock away one son for the foreseeable future, leaving Vincente and his third son Ricardo.
To speed up the process and prevent any tampering of evidence from sides of the family; they had split up, Mike taking over the intense interview with Adrian, while Steve would execute the search warrant for the house.
Due to the high-profile nature of the case, Gerry had been able to get the warrant signed in record time, allowing for Steve and his team to arrive just ninety minutes after the initial arrest.
He wasn't surprised to find several of Vincente's goons present, some of the high-end furniture overturned and paperwork scattered as they entered the majestic villa.
With four unis in tow, they split up between the three levels and basement, a second set of patrolmen staying on the main level to ensure that nobody would enter the building until homicide cleared it again.
The inside reminded Steve of a castle, many of the tall walls adorned with ornate paintings and statues of roman goddesses in suggestive poses.
With a slight smirk, he stopped at the nude sculpture holding up a bow and arrow, before making his way up the handcrafted wooden stairwell that circled above the living room and ended in a hallway lined in Berber carpet.
If he guessed correctly, these were the bedroom suites, nestled comfortably far away from the large kitchen and guest area across the main floor.
The art displays didn't end here; if anything, they were accentuated with fresh flowers bouquets that were delicately placed between each golden picture frame, lining the hallway in an intoxicating mix of color and aroma.
By now Mike would be going at Adrian full throttle, hopefully squeezing a confession out of the man who would have little to no chance of escaping the lieutenant's experienced senses.
Musing at the mental image of his partner leaning across the interview room table and turning his conversation partner another shade whiter; Steve headed to the first room on the right, carefully turning the knob, immediately smelling the fresh linens on the bed.
Judging by the silk pajamas neatly draped across the nearby chaise lounge, Steve figured this to be Adrian's room. Thankfully it looked as though Vincente's goons hadn't quite made it up here yet in their efforts to hide evidence.
The room was brightly lit with the sun coming in through several windows facing the street down below, the curtains so white they almost didn't look real.
Everything seemed in to be in perfect order, as one would expect of the little prince living in the palace, Steve pondered quietly and walked toward the bed, when a sight off to the right caught his attention.
Next to a golden lamp stand, tucked into the back corner of a seating area was a duffel bag.
With his eyebrows raised, Steve headed toward it, his heart beating faster when he saw the airline tag still wrapped around the brown leather handle.
Crouching down, he carefully lifted the tag, feeling a distinct sense of confirmation when he saw the LAX letters, along with the date from two days ago.
Thus, there was strike one.
Thoroughly encourage by his find, Steve carefully dug through the contents of the bag, feeling a couple dress shirts and pants beneath his fingertips. Even though the plane ride would be another nail in Adrian's coffin and offer supporting evidence, it still wasn't enough for a murder charge.
No, he was hoping to find something placing him at the scene of the crime.
In the end, Steve resorted to pulling out each clothing item and inspecting it for blood, the tedious process made harder by some of the intricate patterns in the shirts themselves. Most of the pants were black or a dark shade of gray, not showing even the tiniest stain.
It was absolutely possible that Adrian had thrown out his clothes and left them in Pasadena, he reminded himself, and it was just as possible that Adrian had taken one of his goons along to do the deed while he stood watching.
With a pile of clothes stacked next to him and a near empty duffel bag in front, Steve exhaled slowly, thoroughly missing Mike by his side for that witty, out-of-the-box thinking that had saved the day so many times before.
Dropping his head to his chest, he took a moment to put himself into Adrian's shoes, seeing where else he might be able to find viable evidence.
Eventfully, he resorted to digging out the remainder of the items from the bag, finding three ties, several sets of black socks and an undershirt that looked freshly ironed.
One of the ties was red, the other one grey and blue checkered. The third one dark brown. Every one of them seemed free of stains once more.
In a bout of frustration, Steve threw them to the ground, hoping that the lab would be able to find more than he did.
The ironed undershirt was another dead-end road, causing him to grunt in dissatisfaction as he slowly stood back up, taking a moment to look around the elaborate room once more, wondering what it must be like growing up as the son of a mafia boss.
The price that came with living in utmost luxury seemed too high- at least for anybody with a conscience.
He was about to backtrack to the bed when a set of dark brown Oxfords by the dresser caught his eye. And it wasn't even the exotic leather or the intricate design that did it but the scuff marks on the right toe.
With renewed curiosity, he took a closer look, lifting the shoe in question up until he could smell the expensive oil that had been used to polish it not too long ago.
The scuff mark was deep enough that it had damaged the leather along the outside of the toe of the right shoe, as if Adrian had kicked at something and missed. When he ran his fingers over it, Steve could feel the coarse grinding of brick powder still attached to it.
The other side of the toe had two small stains on it, barely large enough to see with the naked eye. While the dark brown leather hid some of the coloration, the tan thread used to seam the expensive shoe together did not.
It was the color of dried blood.
