My apologies for being gone for a while. Spring, farming and challenging weather are not a good mix. Been struggling a lot lately to keep things going in this economy. Hang tight everyone and enjoy!
That feeling of coming close to a case break was back after a few days of painful absence.
From his remote work area in the safehouse, Steve had instructed R&I to do some research on the dilapidated apartment complex and its owner, quickly surfacing a plethora of code violations and just as many angry letters to the city housing inspector.
The press had picked up on the issue over a year ago, when tenants complained about water dripping off the ceiling and a thick layer of mold spreading in some of the corridors and closets. From what they'd been able to ascertain, nothing had been done about these complaints besides cheap talk.
Even when several residents began to suffer from respiratory issues, nothing was done. A small class action lawsuit against the landlord had been dismissed because the illnesses could have stemmed from the heavy smog befalling the city at the time of the complaint.
When Steve tried to reach some of the residents listed in the article, they had either moved or passed away since, leaving him to wonder just how close the owner was to achieving his master plan.
Hoping to add to the growing pile of circumstantial evidence, he had asked Healey and Haseejian to pay the owner a visit. Thomas Earl Atkinson was, per his R&I file, a longtime businessman who had mingled with everything from production to shipping, retail and construction.
Atkinson himself lived in a well-to-do neighborhood in Nob Hill, far away from the dangerous living conditions he subjugated his tenants to.
Whether or not the physical distance had made him careless, or the haughty belief that nobody would detect him behind the criminal mayhem that had befallen the Webster and Geary corridor; it hadn't taken long for Atkinson to get tangled up in a web of lies.
Cornered in an intense interview with Healey and Hassejian, the businessman had stumbled over his excuse of not making the necessary repairs on the apartment complex, citing a business opportunity that would in turn get rid of the old building, beautify the landscape and create new housing that his current tenants could claim first- at more than ten times the rent cost.
When questioned about any connection he might have to the violent youths, Hassejian had slipped in a well-thought-out lie that somebody had seen Atkinson with one of their recent fatalities, thus the speculation had arisen that there was some sort of business relationship.
It was the straw that broke the camel's back, leading from one half-truth about wanting to support local youth groups to willful ignorance of how his hard-earned money had been spent on violence and murder.
Two hours into the interview, both experienced policw officers finally cracked the code, causing Atkinson to spill the beans on his hired hard-hands that succeeded in scaring the living daylights out of everyone in the neighborhood, and by doing so, making him an accomplice to first degree murder, assault, and multiple property damage charges.
By 5pm, Steve received the call he'd been waiting on- a signed statement from Atkinson, admitting to his financial support of the youth gang, along with the names of everyone involved, and the location of the gang.
Before he could even bring up the point, Mike had already cautioned them about engaging with these unscrupulous fellas once again, instead, forcing Atkinson to make a phone call to have them summon at an agreed-upon spot for a safe arrest.
And now, all they had to do is to wait.
Even though the terrifying case and their encounter with the youth group would soon be a thing if the past; Steve was on pins and needles, his active mind envisioning how the arrest would go down, or whether or not these street-wise teenagers could smell a setup in the making, and hightail it before anybody would be caught. That in turn would lead to more time spent in the safehouse and away from the comforts of his home, all in the guise of preventing further attacks.
He could only hope that the criminals of San Francisco would remain blissfully unaware that a certain hard-nosed lieutenant and his counterpart would remain strangers to the bullpen for a bit longer.
As though the universe had finally come together to right all the wrongs that had befalling the detectives of the Hall of Justice building over the past few days, an exuberant phone call at midnight informed him that the youths had been safely apprehended and locked up in jail, awaiting arraignment.