Chapter 7 - Two Leads and a Maybe
Detective Doreau had argued vociferously with Inspector Hammer from the car into the precinct lobby, all the way up in the elevator, and then down the hallway.
Actually, it wasn't much of an argument. She had railed away silently to herself, reciting all of the things she wanted to say to her partner – all in silence while trying to keep up with his frantic pace.
Hammer hadn't spoken a word on the drive back to the precinct. Neither had she but, in her own defence, she had felt it best not to distract Hammer from the delicate task of guiding a fast moving, erratically swerving, police vehicle through San Francisco traffic – without lights or siren. Mostly, she had passed that time wishing that she had taken a taxi, rather than literally catching a ride with him.
Just getting to her seat in the car taken quick thinking and even quicker action on her part. Norman's van was still parked and blocking her door when she came out. Hammer already had his door open and, of course, he wasn't holding it for her. He had jumped in, started the engine, and slammed the transmission into reverse without even a moment's hesitation. She had just enough time, while he was shifting from reverse into drive, to yank the passenger door open and hurl herself inside before he gunned the engine again. Wild acceleration threw her against the seat back and slammed her door closed behind her. It had taken almost a full city block before she got seated properly and her seat belt secured. Somewhere along the way she had pulled a muscle in the back of her neck and now it was beginning to stiffen up.
Whatever was on Hammer's mind, he was pursuing it with single minded determination. A new class of rookie officers in the main lobby had parted before him, much like the Red Sea before Moses, except Hammer didn't need a staff, the assistance of a deity, or even his magnum. The look in his eyes had been sufficient. Doreau caught up to him in the elevator, but only barely.
I wonder what's gotten into him? I haven't seen him this focused since ...
As the doors closed she first tried glaring at him silently, hoping for some explanation. Nothing. He just stared ahead, focused on the indicator lights as though willing them to move faster.
She coughed, and cleared her throat. That earned her a quick glance.
"Sledge," she began to form the word, intending to sound insistent.
Too late. The doors began to open. Hammer bolted out between the still opening doors, bowling through a cluster of officers apparently waiting for the elevator. Doreau followed more slowly, mumbling apologies.
Who are these guys? She wondered, realizing that she didn't recognize any faces. I don't recognize their shoulder patches, either.
She was so distracted that she almost walked into a heavy looking box that two of the officers were manoeuvring on a dolly. As they rolled it into the elevator she tore her eyes away to focus on Hammer. He had stopped at Officer Mayjoy's desk, apparently interrupting the junior officer's regular duties. Doreau cast one last glance at the strange officers as they filled the elevator, and hurried to catch up to her partner again. She was just in time to catch the conversation.
"Mayjoy, I'm going to need my lucky interrogation room for the afternoon."
"Hammer, you've already exceeded your monthly quota," Mayjoy informed him, firmly.
Hammer tried to freeze Mayjoy with an icy stare. His profligate use of the interrogation rooms had caused friction with other officers until Mayjoy had instituted a reservation system. That didn't stop Hammer from pretending that this rule didn't apply to him any more than the other rules did, but Mayjoy seemed determined to hold his ground.
"If you want more time in the interrogation rooms, Captain Trunk will have to approve your request."
Mayjoy held out the appropriate form. Doreau heard Hammer start to sputter and cringed, involuntarily. It was moments like this when her partner was prone to firing his magnum into the ceiling until he got his way. Instead, Hammer grabbed the second form.
Before he could take off again, she stepped in front of him, barring his way.
"Sledge, what's going on? What's so important?"
In response, he fished into his jacket pocket, handing her a nondescript looking item. Doreau examined it, curious, while Hammer, for once, waited.
"Sledge, this is a luggage tag."
"That's what Norman said, too. Look, I need to see the Captain. Are you coming, or not?"
Hammer tried to step around her, but she stood her ground. Curious, she turned the item in her hand over once, and then again. One side showed a name, Vincent Luigi, along with an address. Clearly, it belonged to the deceased shop keeper. The other side ... she turned it again, checking the other side more closely, wondering what she was missing. She had just enough time to realize that there was some kind of logo on the back when Hammer snatched it back, catching her by surprise. This time, he managed to dodge around her and without hesitating, set off in the direction of Trunk's office.
Doreau turned, puzzled, watching him go. Momentarily, she wrestled with her thoughts. It was clear that she had a decision to make, and quickly.
On the one hand, she was burning up with curiosity.
Hammer had actually seen the murder victim and he had talked with Coroner Blates. He must have seen, or heard, something - something connected to that luggage tag? Judging from his request to Mayjoy, something that had convinced him that he had a suspect – or at least that he needed to question someone. Now he was headed directly to their superior, Captain Trunk, apparently to ASK for approval? And he was in so much of a hurry to do it that he hadn't bothered to argue with Mayjoy.
On the other hand, it was likely that this was another one of his wild hunches. In all probability, he was letting his imagination run wild … again … with little in the way of circumstances and even less in the way of facts to back him up. Certainly nothing she had seen on the luggage tag suggested the urgency he was displaying.
What am I missing? It really isn't like him to ask, ever? Where is everybody?
Doreau shook her head. The bullpen was empty and showed signs of a hasty evacuation. Doreau turned to question Mayjoy. A resulting twinge of discomfort reminded her of the strained muscle in her neck, now beginning to stiffen.
"What happened here? Who were those officers?" She suspected a connection.
Mayjoy raised an eyebrow.
"Hammer booby trapped his desk with a grenade. The Captain had to evacuate the bullpen and call in the bomb squad."
As Mayjoy spoke, Doreau's eyes widened in horror.
"I bought that thing for him from a novelty store. I'm sure it's a dummy."
"Tell that to the Captain. And the Bomb Squad. They cleared the Inspector's desk, and did a controlled explosion in a big steel box. Trunk has me calling everyone back in, now that it's clear. You better hurry, if you don't want to miss the fireworks."
Doreau turned in time to see Hammer arrive at Trunk's office. As much as she enjoyed fireworks, something made her hesitate.
I gave him that thing. I am certain it's a dummy. If Trunk finds out he evacuated the bullpen over a novelty grenade ...
One more reason for me to stay out of this. Besides, my neck hurts, and I just want to sit down for a while. He is on his own, this time.
"I have some phone calls to make," she said to no one in particular.
With a final glance, she turned toward her desk.
Reaching her chair she removed her jacket and hung it across the back. Then she slowly eased down and sighed in relief. She wasn't surprised that Hammer had apparently ignored her. He was, after all, nothing if not an equal opportunity ignorer. She didn't care right now about "equal opportunity". Tentatively, she turned her head, tilting it one way and then the other, trying to stretch the muscles and working the kink out before it became permanent. As she turned, her gaze fell on Trunk's office door. Hammer, she saw, had paused outside Trunk's office, seemingly deep in thought.
What's going on? Is he ... reconsidering? Sledge? Mr Shoot First and ...?
Inspector Hammer paused at the door to Captain Trunk's office. He was troubled by a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something. Instinctively, he reached for his Magnum. His hand felt the familiar bulge beneath his jacket; he felt the familiar weight beneath his left shoulder pull at him, and he found them both comforting. He dug into his pocket, searching, and found the luggage tag he taken from the crime scene. He had his Amigo, and he had the evidence he planned to use to get Captain Trunk to agree to his request.
What else do I need? Doreau? Where is Doreau?
He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. He saw Doreau, seated at her desk, performing some yoga exercise. "Rotating Sunflower", he guessed based on how she moved her head. He shrugged. Her loss. If he was missing something else, it was clearly nothing important. Pushing the matter from his mind, he yanked open the door and barged in as usual.
"Captain," he got right to the point, "according to Mayjoy, I need your permission to use the interrogation room."
Across the room, Captain Trunk felt his heart stop momentarily. He was used to Hammer's interruptions. He wasn't used to Hammer asking his permission … for anything. Then, suddenly, he realized that the Chief of Police was still talking to him. Motioning emphatically at the telephone, he tried to simultaneously indicate to Hammer that he should shut up, take a seat and wait. Hammer, always lousy at charades, looked increasingly confused by Trunk's gesturing. Finally Trunk was forced to give up.
"He's here now, Chief." He spoke into the mouthpiece. "Yes. Oh yes. I'll be very clear." Trunk promised.
Trunk set the receiver into its cradle quickly, determined not to let the Chief have time to protest or, worse, for Hammer to speak again further unsettling the Chief. Trying to maintain a sense of calm he turned slowly at his desk to face Hammer. Then, in an instant, his face turned florid.
"HAMMER! Don't you EVER knock?
That's what I forgot!
He opened his mouth as if to respond, but Captain Trunk, who knew better than to provide him with an opening, continued without pausing.
"Do you realize that I was on the phone with the CHIEF OF POLICE? MY boss! Because of you, you lame brained, inconsiderate, lunatic. I've been going through the dictionary for TEN MINUTES! They don't even have a word for the kind of maniac who sets a bomb in his own desk! I had to EVACUATE the office, Hammer! Call in the BOMB SQUAD Hammer! Then I had to explain to the CHIEF why I have no Detectives working today! Do you know how that makes me look? Bad, Hammer. It makes me look BAD! BAD!" He repeated for emphasis, not that emphasis had ever worked before.
So that's who those guys were. My notes!. Did they read my notes?
Both thoughts competed for Hammer's attention. Ignoring Captain Trunk's tirade, he turned and peeked through the blinds, confirming that his desktop was now empty.
Where are my notes? Who saw my notes?
Having said his piece, Captain Trunk then slumped into his chair with a resigned 'thump', placed his elbows on his desk, and dropped his head into his hands, pressing his fingers against his temples. His mind was racing. He knew he sounded like someone who was scolding an errant puppy, but at least his rant had released some of the building tension. And bought him precious time to think. He knew that he needed at least a sense of calm, or he would face another migraine. He knew many things, but none of them seemed particularly useful in the present circumstances.
It's no use. He never listens. He won't ever listen. It's bad for my blood pressure. Maybe Doreau can help me figure out what is going on.
Trunk raised his head from his hands and looked up. His mind started to race.
He's alone. Hammer is in my office alone. Where is Doreau, anyway? He's asking for permission. He NEVER asks for permission. And what in the world is he doing?
A sense of impending doom rose inside him. Hammer was peering out through the blinds like a man hiding from someone.
"Hammer!" He spoke forcefully and had the satisfaction of seeing Hammer drop the blind and turn, looking guiltier than usual.
Why … are … you … here? Why are you alone? Haven't I told you to … never … come in here alone?"
Captain Trunk emphasized the word "never" as he tried to impress upon his subordinate that it had been more than just a polite request. As usual, Hammer misunderstood anyway.
"Captain, I don't need a chaperone," Hammer scoffed. "I'm in complete control. Watch."
Swiftly Hammer drew his magnum from under his jacket, spun it twice on an outstretched finger and just as swiftly, re-holstered it.
"See, not a single hole in your ceiling," he said, clearly pleased with the accomplishment.
"Not for YOUR benefit Hammer, for MINE!" Trunk thundered. Then he forced his voice to a lower volume. "If I ever have to shoot you, Hammer, I want a witness that it was self defense."
Trunk paused, trying to remember where his original train of thought had been heading.
"Now … where … is … your … partner?" He put all the emphasis he could into the final word.
"My partner, Sir? You mean my Amigo, right? I just showed you, Sir," Hammer replied, clearly puzzled. He opened his jacket again, displaying his shoulder holster, with his Amigo nestled inside. "Remember? This is my partner", he said, letting his jacket fall closed again.
It's only a white lie, he thought, omitting the fact that he wasn't entirely sure the two of them were actually speaking to each other.
"I'm not interested in your imaginary friend, Hammer! Where is your real partner?"
Inspector Hammer's face looked even more confused.
Why would Captain Trunk think my Amigo is imaginary? Something must be affecting his short term memory. Maybe it's his blood pressure. Or his blood sugar. Maybe a couple of rounds will jog his memory.
Hammer was already reaching inside his jacket when Captain Trunk quickly interrupted.
"Leave that thing in its holster, Hammer! What I want to know is; where is Doreau, Hammer?"
First Norman and now Captain Trunk?
Hammer shrugged. He had no idea why everyone was so interested in Doreau's location this morning, but it was beginning to annoy him.
"Why didn't you say so, Sir?" He responded. "I left her outside. In the bullpen. Not on the street. She said something about a phone call, but if you need her, I think I can get her attention."
Again, Hammer moved as if to draw his magnum.
Trunk stared at Hammer with a look of utter exasperation. It felt like he had fallen into a time warp, taking him forward about four years.
"HAAAAMMMMER! Don't even think it, Hammer!" Captain Trunk delivered the last words with a low hiss that froze Hammer in mid-motion. "Detective Doreau is your partner, Hammer," he continued. "I expect the two of you to be working .. together."
Hammer remained silent, unsure how to proceed.
The Captain is really confused if he thinks there's two of me.
"I'm an only child Captain, remember?"
Trunk was careful to speak slowly, enunciate clearly, and emphasise the key words in his message, hoping that this time it would sink in. He watched Hammer carefully, looking for some sign or reaction as he spoke the words 'partner', 'two of you' and 'working together'. Hammer showed no reaction at all; he did not blink or twitch or give any sign of being distracted from his purpose – although what that purpose was, exactly, remained a mystery. Trunk gave up, for the time being, and simply got straight to the point, with absolutely no further wasted time.
"YOU and DOREAU, you NUMBSKULL. Now why isn't SHE with YOU?"
Trunk could feel the veins in his temples beginning to throb. He held his breath and began counting to ten.
Hammer took the silence as a request for him to explain. He stepped over to the windows facing the bullpen.
"Because, Sir."
Hammer replied, this time lifting the blind for Trunk to have a clearer view of the bullpen area and Doreau's desk.
"See? She's at her desk, Captain, just like I said. She can't be two places at once. So she's not here because she is there."
Hammer let the blind drop back into place. He shrugged.
Why is Trunk having so much trouble remembering things that I just told him?
"She said she needed to make a phone call. Probably gossiping about her latest hairdo. You know what that's like, Sir. Once a woman gets on the phone; well, it's like a congressional filibuster."
Hammer started off almost pleading for understanding, and but was showing signs of increasing agitation.
"I needed to talk with you now, not after the next elections," he finished, eyes spinning wildly.
Although Hammer had paused, he gave every indication that he could go on like this indefinitely. There was no escaping. Trunk realized was going to have to deal with Hammer if he wanted to get to the bottom of this, or even just to spare himself a half hour tirade on feminine foibles. He knew his face was turning blue. He gave up counting at eight.
"WHAT IS IT," he yelled, before forcing his voice down to a more normal tone, "Hammer?"
The rhythm of the blood in his temples was now a steady drumbeat.
"Captain, you really need to get your blood pressure checked. And maybe a new head gasket. That vein is really jumping. I mean it's just, really, like popping, sir." Hammer gestured with his hand. "I'd get that looked at … before it …" He grimaced and made an exploding gesture with his hand.
Another thought occurred to him. Maybe the Captain just needed to relax a bit.
"I can recommend a really good massage therapist. He got all the tension out of my trigger finger after it cramped up while I was celebrating the big rally for justice last week"
Curiosity not only killed cats, it could distract a police Captain as well.
"Rally for justice? What are you talking about, Hammer?"
Trunk knew the conversation had just taken a detour, but the situation seemed beyond his control.
"You must have seen it Captain. Hundreds of people marching on city hall? Waving signs and demanding life sentences for criminals. And they say there's nothing good on the news."
Trunk thought back, trying to remember the last protest march at city hall. He couldn't think of anyone demanding longer jail sentences.
"Hammer, are you referring to the pro-life march last week? That wasn't about stiffer sentencing…"
Captain Trunk caught himself. He couldn't possibly win. He probably couldn't hope for a tie either. He certainly wasn't making any progress in finding the cause of Hammer's behaviour this morning. He wasn't any closer to understanding why was in his office, either. He tried to bring the conversation back to that point. Hammer
"Why are you in my office, Hammer?"
"Did you want to talk in the hallway?" Hammer asked in a puzzled tone, The Captain's questions were increasingly confusing.
All I wanted was Trunk's signature on a form. Why is he so distracted?
Captain Trunk's head slumped to his desk top. He wished Hammer would come to the point. A point. Any point. To his surprise, his silent plea was answered.
Hammer saw Trunk's head fall to the desk and finally understood.
The Captain is suffering sleep deprivation! That explains his irrational behaviour. Maybe if I hurry, I can get out before he nods off.
"Look, Captain," Hammer said, trying to hurry. "Mayjoy says I've gone over my monthly interrogation room quota, and I need your permission to book more time."
Hammer unfolded the paper he was holding and slid an official looking form onto his superior's desk.
"So, if you just sign here," Hammer helpfully indicated an obvious space at the bottom of the page, "Then I can get back to work and you can quit stalling the Chief."
"Hammer, I am not stalling the Chief. You interrupted, while I was trying giving him a report." Captain Trunk started to sign the requisition, and then paused. "Do you have anything to report, Hammer?"
"About what?" Hammer asked, innocently.
"About the homicide case I assigned you to this morning!"
"Oh, that."
Hammer's attention was focused on the document that Trunk had almost, but not quite, signed for him.
Captain Trunk waited. When it became obvious that Inspector Hammer was disinclined to further elaboration, Trunk decided to press the issue.
"Do you and Doreau have any leads?"
That startled Hammer from his reverie.
We're back on track!
"Better! I've got a suspect, Captain. That's why I need my interrogation room. So can question a suspect. Give me a few minutes to introduce him to my new interview technique and he'll sing like a canary. But Majoy is on my case about overtime ... so I need your signature so I can get back to work."
Captain Trunk was intrigued. It wasn't like Hammer to use the word "suspect".
"A suspect, Hammer? A confession? Hammer, are you actually telling me that you … and Doreau … have found enough evidence to arrest someone? Already?"
And what's this about a new interview technique? Has he replaced those circus props already?
The Captain looked again at the document he was about to sign. As he waited, he slowly realized how ridiculous that all sounded. A suspicion had begun to form in Captain Trunk's mind. The suspicion grew to become a certainty.
And this, the Captain thought, is how the migraines start.
Captain Trunk had a sudden flash of understanding. Hammer had not yet confirmed it, but Trunk knew the truth. He was certain that Hammer was working on another one of his hunches. He was certain that Hammer's 'evidence' would likely prove to be flimsy and circumstantial. All of that was completely normal. Inspector Hammer acted like this all of the time.
What was unusual, what he didn't understand, was why Doreau had let him come in here alone, with nothing more than this. She never did that. More often than not, she went out of her way to make excuses for him, almost as if she was protecting him. Today, she was talking on the phone, apparently unconcerned, while her partner was in here, throwing himself under a bus. Trunk had no idea why. He wondered if Hammer did. It dawned on him that this might be a unique opportunity to quiz Hammer without his partner in the room.
But I have to keep Hammer from realizing what is going on …
"Hammer, does Doreau know why you're in here?"
He could immediately see that he had taken Hammer unawares. He pressed the advantage.
"She doesn't know, does she, Hammer?
Hammer was surprised. He had expected Trunk to object to a "new interview technique". In fact, he threw it in so the Captain could refuse that part of his request. Since Mayjoy had replaced the burned out bulb, shining a flashlight in a pizza faced punk's eyes wasn't nearly as effective anyway. He thought that Trunk might question his evidence. He expected Trunk to protest vigorously when got to the part about Don Key, but he hadn't even gotten that far yet. Why was Trunk more interested in Doreau than the murder?
"Of course she knows I'm here. She was right there when I got these forms from Mayjoy. I told her I was coming to see you. She probably knows I'm still here from all your shouting. Sir."
It was Captain Trunk's turn to be surprised. Inspector Hammer's response reinforced his worst fears.
Detective Doreau has deliberately let Hammer in here alone. Either Hammer's request is simply so nutty that she wants no part of it, or this is clear evidence that Doreau is willing to let her partner hang himself in public. Or possibly both.
Hammer, this is entirely your idea isn't it? Doreau doesn't like it, does she? And, I'm not going to like it either, am I?"
Before he had even finished, Trunk had his right hand raised, to cover his eyes as he squeezed them shut, a physical manifestation of his desire to shut out the unreality of the situation. Knowing he didn't want to know, he asked anyway.
"Who is it Hammer? Which of San Francisco's 800,000 citizens have you randomly selected to drag downtown and harass this time?"
"Don Key." Hammer got straight to the point.
Captain Trunk froze. Suddenly, he was fully alert. Don Key was easily the most notorious crime boss on the entire western seaboard. The FBI, IRS, ICE, ATF, DHS and the SFPD – exactly half of the alphabet – all of them had tried, at one time or another, to pin something on Don Key. Anything. They weren't even particularly choosey about anatomy, as long as it stuck. If Doreau had any inkling that this was Hammer's plan perhaps it was no wonder she was distancing herself from it. It was finally starting to make sense.
But, it will be a real feather in someone's cap if they succeed.
Captain Trunk knew it was unlikely that Hammer was that someone. That somehow, in less than a morning, Hammer had done what everyone before him had failed to do, was unthinkable. As was the fact that, if somehow he had pulled that miracle out of his hat, Doreau wouldn't be here supporting him. But he couldn't help himself.
If there is the slightest chance, he thought, reluctantly deciding to let Hammer continue.
"OK, Hammer, I'm listening. What evidence do you have?"
In response, Hammer withdrew the luggage tag from his jacket pocket, tossing it onto Trunk's desk. It landed face up. Captain Trunk studied the tag, reading it out loud.
"Vincent Luigi, 380 Gough Street, San Francisco, California. HAMMER, what does this have to do with Don Key?"
Hammer actually seemed flustered. "It's on the other side. If you flip it over … to the other side. Captain, just …". Hammer's impatience grew; he made a flipping motion with his hand.
Trunk waited for the moment, Watching Hammer grovel was .. he knew it was wrong but .. it was entertaining. But he had to time it just right . Wait for it ..
As Hammer extended his hand, reaching for the tag to turn it himself, Trunk snatched it up at the last possible moment leaving Hammer sprawled across the top of his desk. Turning the tag in his hand, he examined the back carefully.
The old man still has it, he congratulated himself on his reflexes, trying not to smirk.
He had to look closely before finally discerning the faint outline of four letters, apparently identifying the designer. Captain Trunk frowned.
"DNKY"? That's not right.
He had to repeat the letters to himself, silently, several times before realizing that two letters were out of sequence.
"Do you have any idea how many dyslexic people live in San Francisco? And you want to arrest someone over ... over MIS SPELLING?"
"It's insensitive of you to make blonde jokes, Captain. And, I don't think Tori had anything to do with this, sir." He paused, his face showing obvious confusion and then, suddenly, misunderstanding. "Oh, I see. You said misspelling, not Miss Spelling. Anyway, it's neither of them Captain, it's a simple code. See, if you leave out the vowels …"
Hammer grabbed a pen and paper from Captain Trunk's desk and demonstrated, writing the name "DON KEY" before crossing out the "O" and the "E", leaving the letters "DNKY". Triumphantly, he pushed the paper in Captain Trunk's direction.
"See, Captain, that's his signature. That's how I know he's behind this. Now, if you'll just sign here, I can bring him in. I'll beat a confession out of him. That is, I'll get his confession and beat Doreau. What I meant to say was, I'll have his confession before she gets off the phone. That kind of "beat" not the … you know … kind. I'm not supposed to ... You told me not to ..."
Hammer grimaced, hoping he'd made himself clear. Because he was fairly certain he couldn't repeat what he'd just said a second time.
Trunk waited for Hammer to finish before asking. "HAMMER! Are you familiar with the name 'Donna Karan'?"
Hammer's face went blank again.
"Donna Karan?" He repeated, quizzically. "Donna …".
Hammer snapped his fingers in sudden realization.
"The Don's wife? Of course! You want me to bring her in, too? Brilliant thinking, Captain. You know, Sir, we don't respect your investigative skills nearly enough."
As he spoke, the excitement in Inspector Hammer's voice increased with every word. His eyes lit up with anticipation.
Two sleazoid yoghurt eating scum. Scums? Scumni? What's the plural of 'yoghurt eating scum'? Do I care? There will be one for each of us. My Amigo will definitely want in on this!
Captain Trunk felt overcome by weariness. Only Hammer could make this sort of random connection.
"No, Hammer!"
He spoke softly, but the frustration in his voice was clear.
"Donna Karan is a New York fashion designer. Her label is DKNY. Just like this one, with a couple of letters exchanged."
Captain Trunk held the luggage tag at arm's length, pushing it toward Hammer as though willing him to see.
"This …", the Captain shook the tag for emphasis, "this is a fake label. A cheap counterfeit. I'll bet you got it from some cheap knock off merchandise."
Doreau would certainly have known that. One more indication that she either didn't know and didn't care what Hammer was doing in here, or she did know and still didn't care. I'll figure that out later, he vowed.
"So, I should bring them in for counterfeiting, too?" Hammer asked hopefully, trying to retrieve the tag from Trunk.
"Have you got any evidence for that charge, Hammer?"
"Well, it was your idea, Sir. You just said it was from a cheap knock off. That's a counterfeit, isn't it?" Hammer replied, wondering again about the Captain's short term memory.
"Hammer, you are wasting my time. Do you have anything else? Fingerprints?"
"Uh – no …"
"What about witnesses?"
"None. Well there is the hippie. And the victim. But I suspect he's a dead end."
Captain Trunk considered and discarded the possibility of a connection between Don Key and a hippie. He didn't want to know.
"Any sort of forensics?"
"Norman was still processing the scene when I left."
"What does Doreau think?"
"Captain, Doreau's a woman. Look, are you actually asking if I know what a woman is thinking?"
For the first time during the discussion, Trunk conceded that Hammer had a valid point. Just not one that would justify bringing someone as well connected as Don Key in for questioning.
Captain Trunk rose from his chair, and approached Hammer. Firmly, he pressed the unsigned requisition and the luggage tag into Hammer's hand. He tried to speak clearly, but calmly, emphasising each point.
"Hammer! You have no evidence. Noth-ing." He emphasised each syllable.
Placing the other hand firmly on the Inspector's shoulder he guided him towards the office door, continuing as he went.
"Without evidence I can't get you a warrant. And without a warrant, you have no authority to arrest Don Key. It's a violation of his civil rights. It's against Department policy. And I forbid it! So don't do it.
Reaching the door, Trunk opened it.
"Am I making myself clear, HAMMER?"
Anticipating that, if there was a way to misinterpret his instructions, Hammer would find it, Trunk made a final clarification.
"Hammer! I forbid you to arrest Don Key. I forbid you to arrest his wife. I forbid you to arrest his girl friend, or any other friends he has. Now, GET OUT HAMMER. Take your flimsy excuse for evidence and GET OUT of my office!"
As he spoke, Trunk slowly moved forward forcing Hammer to retreat.
"Could I just say …?" Hammer made one final attempt.
Captain Trunk pressed his palm against Hammer's chest, physically forcing him to step back.
"NO! The only reason I'm not placing you on suspension is that I have no-one else to assign to this homicide! No get out! Come back when you AND Doreau have something concrete to report." Then, as an afterthought, "Concrete EVIDENCE, Hammer, not some broken piece of sidewalk! Now, go home and shave, Hammer! You look like you belong on Miami Vice, not in my Precinct!"
As the Captain slammed his office door for emphasis, Hammer turned and tossed the useless requisition into a waste basket. Stepping in the direction of his desk he tucked the luggage tag back into a jacket pocket, and reflected. Perhaps his visit to Captain Trunk had not been a total waste. Captain Trunk had not told him he couldn't question Don Key, only that he couldn't bring him in, and he couldn't have use of an interrogation room.
If the Don won't come to me, at least I can still go to the Don.
He pulled up short of his desk, drew his Amigo and muttered. "Want to pay a visit to the seamy side of town – the garment district?"
"Who are you talking to, Inspector?" Officer Mayjoy's voice intruded on Hammer's monologue.
"No one."
He gave his usual denial, minus his usual "caught again" look. As he thrust the magnum back into his shoulder holster, he wondered if this time it was actually true – and wondered when, or if, his relationship with Gun would return to normal again.
He cast an instinctive glance toward Doreau's desk. Once again he noted his files and notes were missing.
Maybe someone gave them to Daley to file? I'll never find them again, if she does. Neither will anyone else.
Doreau was still on the phone, he noted, but her attention seemed to be focused on her computer screen.
Pffffft , he scoffed to himself. When was she going to realize that police work, real police work, took place out on the streets? Not on screens.
Justice delayed is justice denied, he grumbled under his breath, fuming as Doreau continued to ignore him.
Abruptly, he hurried off down the hall before anyone else could delay his progress.
Let Doreau investigate her computer screen! We're going to investigate a living, breathing (for now!) suspect, in the person of Don Key. Hopefully, something exciting will happen. Maybe even some gunfire! Gunfire is the best possible antidote I can think of for whatever currently has my Amigo in a funk!
Attention completely focused on that objective, he ignored everything , and everyone, else. Nothing, he was determined, would distract him from his goal.
Trunk returned to his desk, sat down in his chair and considered the situation.
Through the half open blinds he could see Hammer's back as he crossed the bullpen area, heading towards the hallway. He noted Hammer pause and glance quickly in Doreau's direction. He saw Doreau duck her head so that Hammer wouldn't notice that she had been watching him. He saw Hammer draw his magnum and for a moment thought he intended to use drastic measures to get Doreau's attention. He spoke to it instead, saying something that Trunk couldn't hear, but that obviously caught Mayjoy's attention. Mayjoy's voice carried well enough for Captain Trunk to know that he made some comment, but not well enough for the Captain to understand it. Still, it wasn't hard to guess, based on Hammer's reaction – he swiftly holstered the magnum, glanced again in Doreau's direction and then hurried off down the hall way.
So, at least that much is still normal this morning. In fact, except for Hammer's earlier than usual presence in the office this morning, his actions were, if not normal, at least no more abnormal than usual. That knucklehead is undoubtedly on his way to question Don Key.
Trunk smiled the faintest of smiles.
He probably thinks I slipped up, not telling him he couldn't do that. It's unlikely that Hammer will get any sort of admission from the Don, especially on home turf. But it might not hurt to make the Don aware that the craziest police officer in San Francisco was snooping around. It might make him nervous, and nervous people sometimes made mistakes.
The Captain resolved to give the organized crime detail a heads-up. As well as the Fire department and FEMA. And the Red Cross. They[re always there when disaster strikes. Then he let his attention wander back to Detective Doreau.
Clearly, whatever is going on between them has yet to be resolved. Doreau isn't even trying to protect him from his own crazy theories She isn't making any effort to follow her partner. She doesn't even seem curious about where he's going. There she is, sitting in front of her computer while he is headed for the streets. Because she knows? Or because she doesn't care?
It was certainly clear that she had something on her mind though. Trunk could see her clearly through his blinds, seated at her desk, with the telephone propped between her right shoulder and ear. She appeared to be discussing whatever was displayed on her computer screen. He could barely make out information scrolling across the screen, but he was too far away to make any of it out. He couldn't even tell for certain if it was words, numbers, or some combination or both. Whatever it was had her rapt attention. Hammer leaving had barely distracted her.
I wonder what she has found? I'm sure it's something related to the case, but what? Whatever it is, it sure has her attention.
Captain Trunk leaned back in his chair to consider the situation. His discussion with Hammer had produced nothing of value. Indeed, in many respects, Hammer's behaviour while he was here was fairly normal. His barging into my office, the cockamamie connection to Don Key, talking to his Gun … none of it was the least unusual for Hammer.
Just the way he ignores Doreau. And those damned files. Too bad they'd been destroyed in the controlled explosion the Bomb Squad was forced to use to render the booby trap inert. Now I'll never know what he was working on this morning.
Doreau, on the other hand, is not acting normally at all. She's focusing on that screen like she's blocking something out. Or someONE. It's not at all like her to let Hammer come in to see me alone. It's even odder that Hammer could walk out, right through the bullpen, without her racing after him. What if I have it backwards? What if Doreau is the problem … and Hammer is the cause?
Thinking back over the last two years, about everything she'd been through with Hammer, what would it take to ...?
Trunk felt a shiver go up his spine. He tried to shake off the feeling while he picked up the phone and dialled the Chief's number.
Doreau watched in disbelief as Sledge hesitated briefly outside Trunk's office. He appeared to reflect on something, shrug dismissively and then push the door open. Stepping quickly inside, he let the door close behind him. Only moments later she heard Trunk's voice, through the closed door and over the buzz of activity in the bullpen. She tried to listen in, but except for the points where the Captain raised his voice – she made out the words "HAMMER", "CHIEF", "BOMB SQUAD", "EVACUATE" and "BAD" – and something that sounded like "TEN MINUTES". Everything else had been just a dull drone. She congratulated herself on her earlier decision.
That pretty much confirms what Mayjoy told me.
Silently she contemplated her partner's now bare desktop. The image of bomb techs very gingerly transferring the stack of files and papers, along with the apparent grenade, into their reinforced bomb kettle for safe disposal briefly caused her to smile.
The Bomb Squad must have transferred everything into that steel box and used a controlled explosion to render it inert. I wonder how long his suspension will be this time?
Doreau glanced at the empty desks around her and momentarily panicked, realizing that if her partner was suspended, she was the only Detective in the building.
Trunk will want to know what I know, which is nothing.
Moments became minutes and nothing happened. The drone of conversation continued to come from the Captain's office, interspersed with perfunctory exclamations. The Captain sounded, by turns, angry, confused, frustrated, incredulous and accusing, Doreau began to relax.
I guess I won't have to cover the rest of the day myself after all. I wonder what he said? It doesn't matter. From the Captain's tone, he isn't buying whatever Sledge is selling. Good solid police work, the kind we should do more of, depends on going over all of the evidence carefully and not on chasing wild hunches.
"What 'evidence' are 'we' going over again? 'We' didn't even get to see the victim."
The voice in her head was already disagreeing with her conclusions. Doreau glanced at her desk, still covered by the files she had been reviewing earlier.
Sledge never does paperwork. So what was he doing with those files?
The thought that the grenade might have been a new and rather ingenious way for Hammer to avoid paperwork crossed her mind.
Booby trap some paperwork hoping the Bomb Squad would 'finish' it for him? He wouldn't dare!
Even as the thought occurred to her, she gathered her files, sorting them into a neat pile and set them to one side. The activity was both an excuse to check whether anything was missing, and an opportunity to collect her thoughts.
As far as she could tell, none the her current case documentation was missing. That was a relief! Doing paperwork for Hammer was bad enough, if she had to RE-do it because of him .. the words "justifiable homicide" went through her mind.
Her attention returned to the current case. Thanks to Hammer's rush to get back to the precinct, she only viewed half of the crime scene. She had not even had a chance to examine the body or to talk with the Coroner, before rushing out with Hammer. Well, she could fix that, and the sooner the better. She picked up the phone and began dialing the Coroner's office.
As she expected, the voice on the other end informed her that Norman Blates was still working at the crime scene. No, she did not know when he would be returning. Yes, she could take a message. Yes, she would have Dr. Blates return her call as soon as he was available. Doreau hung up.
She glanced in the direction of Trunk's office. She could make out two voices through the closed door. From the rise and fall of Captain Trunk's voice, he was evidently still chewing Sledge out over something. From time to time his voice paused. Doreau could imagine Sledge trying to "explain", but each explanation seemed to only set Trunk off again.
It sounds like I was right. Whatever Sledge thought he had, the Captain doesn't sound impressed. It's just as well I'm not there with him.
She stretched her neck again, hoping it wouldn't stiffen any further.
Norman won't be back for a while. It sounds like Sledge is going to be tied up for a bit, as well. And, if Sledge is on another wild goose chase, maybe the answer was somewhere else anyway.
I have information and evidence from the arson scene that I know Hammer has not seen.
Eventually, Doreau thought, I can get caught up by talking to Norman, after he gets the victim back to the morgue for autopsy. He might even give me some additional information that Sledge isn't aware of yet.
In the long run, I might have a head start on solving the case.
"If Sledge doesn't solve it in the next couple of hours," her conscience chided her.
What am I thinking? Solve a case in two hours? Sledge? What do I have to worry about? Not that it's a competition.
Her inner voice answered, dripping in sarcasm.
"Lucky for you. Sledge has a suspect. What do you have? What are you going to do? Sit and wait for Norman to call?"
NO, Doreau asserted firmly to herself.
She turned, opened her purse and withdrew her field notes. She searched her jacket pockets and produced a mini diskette taken from the point of sale terminal. She laid them on her desk, thoughtfully.
I can hear what Captain Trunk thinks of Hammer's "suspect", she argued. I have these!
For a moment, indecision gripped her. Then she seized the diskette and inserted it into her computer.
I already know what's in my notes. Maybe there's something new in here, she mused to herself as the computer began to whir away, scanning the diskette.
She drummed her pencil impatiently on the desk as the disk whirred, paused, and whirred again. The machine always took its sweet time scanning foreign disks for viruses and malware before displaying any of the contents. She knew this, but knowing did nothing to sooth her impatience.
When the directory finally appeared before her, she breathed a sigh of relief. The disk was intact, at least. Uncorrupted by heat, smoke or the efforts of firemen to extinguish the fire. Quickly, she scanned the directory, trying to determine the most opportune place to begin her investigation. Several files were present but to her inexperienced eye the names seemed cryptic. Presumably they were more meaningful to the owner, or the manufacturer of the terminal.
Well, if the file names aren't meaningful, maybe just look for something recent.
She clicked the directory column for "Last Modified" and resorted. Her attention was drawn, not to the first file on the list, but the second. Not only had it been in use recently, she noted, but it was also significantly larger than all the others on the screen. Opening it, she found what appeared to be a list of transactions.
That makes sense, she thought to herself. There has to be a list of transactions and amounts for the owner's books. Every time a new sale was recorded, this file must be modified. She scrolled quickly to the last entry and noted the time.
5:50 the previous day. Two items listed for a total $172.35, after taxes. The purchaser apparently paid cash. Presumably everything was normal at that time. It's not much, but every little bit helps with the timeline. The purchaser's name and a telephone number were also recorded, but meant nothing to her.
She returned to inspecting the file. With columns for name, phone and address, additional columns for product code, sale price, tax information for each item purchased, receipt total and method of payment the file extended well past the edge of her screen. It was going to be challenging to not get lost. She sighed, attempting to scroll up and down and side to side to take in everything..
Weren't these things supposed to make life easier? I'd actually prefer paper copies, so I could spread it out on my desk and see more of it at once. I'm not even sure what I'm hoping to find.
Certainly at first glance there was nothing that appeared unusual. The names were obvious, but comparing them to Sledge's file of "Wanted" posters wasn't likely to be productive. And all this scrolling was making her head hurt.
"I don't know about you, but I bet product code 116-71573 is a really fetching little number, if only you had someplace to go in it."
Startled, Doreau looked up to see who had spoken. There was no one. The voice seemed unnecessarily sarcastic. Grimly, she ground her teeth.
Shut up! Just shut up!
She ordered herself. And then stopped to reconsider.
I don't know what product code 116-71573 is. Or any of these other codes for that matter. So why am I wasting time looking at all of them? But I can't just delete them, in case they are valuable evidence later on. No, but I can make a copy and start deleting stuff that makes no sense right now.
It took her only a couple of moments to find a blank diskette and enter the "Copy" instruction. Once again though she found herself waiting while the machine clicked and whirred, working on the assigned task. She willed it to work faster. Instead of cooperating, it paused and demanded that she change disks.
You would think that the Department could afford dual drives in these things.
While she waited for the process to complete, she gave some thought to what information she wanted to keep. Names and contact information, obviously. After further consideration she added the receipt total and method of payment, after deciding that especially large cash transactions might be worth her attention.
Finally, after only swapping disks three more times, the screen signaled "Copy complete".
Tucking the original safely away, she opened the copy and began editing. When she had finished, she smiled.
It all fits in the width of my screen now. At least I only have to scroll up and down.
Paging through the results, she scanned the list of transactions more closely, trying to decide where to begin. Currently the entries were organized by time of sale.
I'm not even sure what I expect to find, she thought to herself. Maybe the cash transactions will tell me something.
Doreau resorted the file, pulling all the cash transactions together. Then she resorted those so she could find the largest transactions quickly. The result was disappointing.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. A lot of people just don't carry that much cash with them anymore, she mused
The largest transaction of this type was just over $200.00. If there was anything about this business that was worth killing over, she couldn't see it in these transactions.
She relaxed back into her chair, and glared at her computer.
There has to be something here. There has to be a reason this man is dead. If there is, I won't likely find it in $200 transactions. So what do I look for? And when? A week ago? Two weeks?
It took a couple minutes to return the file to its original order. Skipping back she scanned the dates, stopping after ten days. She started scanning information, 'paging' through entries and scanning columns alternately looking for anything unusual or out of place. After several 'pages' something caught her attention. A name.
"Shauna Bayfield." What is it about that name? Something about it feels familiar. Why?
Doreau hesitated, uncertain. She glanced at the date.
Almost three weeks ago. Maybe I saw it before?
Tapping the 'Find' option she entered the name.
"One matching item found", the computer responded, highlighting the entry she was viewing.
Huh. That's not it.
She tapped her pencil against her arm and frowned, trying to think. To clear her mind, she let her eyes wander. They went straight to last place she wanted … the empty chair across from where she was seated. A quick glance at Captained Trunk's door revealed that it was still closed, with Hammer still inside speaking to Trunk. She heard the rise and fall of the Captain's voice and the deeper tones of Hammer's occasional responses, but the voices were indistinct and she couldn't follow their discussion. She focused her attention back on her own problem. As her eyes came back to her own desk, they flicked over the case files piled neatly to one side.
That's it!
Eagerly she leaned forward, reaching for the pile. Sliding them over in front of her she fanned them out to make the identifying tabs easier to read. Quickly her eyes scanned until she found what she was looking for and pulled it free. "Bayfield Robbery." Opening the folder she quickly compared the contact information with that displayed on her screen.
They're the same!
She picked up the phone to begin dialing. A sudden commotion interrupted her. As her eyes were drawn to the source, she realized that Captain Trunk's door was now open.
From behind the now open door, Captain Trunk's voice sounded clearly across the bullpen.
"Am I making myself clear, HAMMER?"
His voice boomed. The words were forceful and came to her clearly through the open door. The tirade continued as he worked his way down an entire list of possible points that Sledge had, on other occasions, treated as "grey areas" open to his interpretation. He eliminated each, one by one.
"Hammer! I forbid you to arrest Don Key. I forbid you to arrest his wife. I forbid you to arrest his girl friend, or any other friends he has. Now, GET OUT HAMMER. Take your flimsy excuse for evidence and GET OUT of my office!"
As he spoke, Trunk slowly moved forward forcing Hammer to retreat.
"Could I just say …?"
Captain Trunk pressed his palm against Hammer's chest, physically forcing him to take another step back.
"NO! The only reason I'm not placing you on suspension is that I have no-one else to assign to this homicide! Now get out! Come back when you AND Doreau have something concrete to report."
Then, as an afterthought, "Concrete EVIDENCE, Hammer, not some broken piece of sidewalk! Now, go home and shave, Hammer! You look like you belong on Miami Vice, not in my Precinct!"
At the mention of Don Key, Doreau's mind temporarily froze. Every officer in the city knew that name. Numerous rumors swirled around it, connecting it to pretty much every unsolved crime in the city. How much was fact, and how much was fiction, or even just a convenient excuse, was hard to determine. Doreau searched her memory. As far as she could recall, no one had ever successfully connected Don Key to anything illegal, anywhere, ever. Not even a parking ticket, although his driver had several.
The slamming of Trunk's office door jarred her thoughts back to the present.
Suddenly realizing that she was still staring in Hammer's direction, she dropped her gaze and again focused on the computer screen before her. She could feel her cheeks flush, and was glad that there was no one to notice.
Reflecting on the Captain's tirade, Doreau felt bemused at the detail and extent of the Captain's restrictions on Hammer's future actions. Apparently the Captain was no fan of either the stubble faced, unshaven Miami Vice look, or the show itself, judging from his final comment before the office door slammed in closing punctuation.
Hammer did not appeared concerned.
He's up to something. I wonder what he thinks Trunk left out?
Hammer's voice distracted her again. She thought she heard a question about the garment district and was looking up to respond when Officer Mayjoy beat her to the punch line.
"Who are you talking to, Inspector?"
As soon as she heard the words, she knew the answer.
He's talking to his gun, not me, she realized, hearing him brush the question aside, as he always did.
The fact that Sledge treated his gun as if it were alive was a running joke at the precinct. Today though, she didn't find it humorous. It was irksome; just one more reminder that she was being ignored. She pushed the thought aside, and focused on the information on her computer screen. She didn't want him to think that she was interested, or had even heard.
She did risk another quick glance. From the corner of her eye she caught him holstering his sidearm and then turning to the exit. As if by habit she started to rise from her chair, reaching for her jacket and intending to follow.
Why? To watch him shave? To listen to him complain?
She reconsidered and settled back in her chair. The phone in her hand reminded her that she had other plans anyway. Confirming the number from her screen, she dialed.
Even before the phone began to ring, she began to question her instincts.
It was, she thought, unlikely that a purse snatching from two weeks ago and last night's homicide are connected.
The first ring steadied her nerves.
At least this is something to take my mind off this morning … and last night … and him.
A human voice on the other end of the line interrupted her train of thought.
"Hello?"
"Hello. Ms. Bayfield?" Doreau inquired.
"Yes?" The voice on the line responded, sounding curious, but also wary with an unfamiliar caller.
"I'm Detective Dori Doreau, badge number 155621, from the San Francisco Police Department. I'm investigating a homicide that took place this morning." Doreau introduced herself, and then paused briefly to let the information sink in. The silence on the other end of the line continued, becoming uncomfortable.
"Hello?" Doreau repeated herself.
The person on the other end finally found her voice.
"A homicide? I don't understand. My purse was stolen, but no one was killed."
"I'm sorry you were robbed, ma'am." Doreau bit her tongue, remembering how she had felt offended by that word earlier. Then she steered the conversation back to her own investigation.
"Actually, the homicide took place at Luigi's Fashions. I believe you are a customer of theirs?"
"I've never been there"
Doreau's senses instantly became alert.
"Are you certain? I'm going through sales records and your name came up from two weeks ago"
"It was probably Jim, my husband. He purchased my birthday gift around that time, and may have given them my name, I suppose."
"I understand," Doreau continued probing. "Could I ask what he bought?"
"It was a new handbag. The same one that was stolen, in fact. It was one of those New York designer styles. I know it was quite expensive. We're not usually that extravagant." She paused briefly. "Why?"
Doreau made a note. It wasn't much, but it was the first tangible connection between the two events.
"Can you tell me anything about the man who took your purse?"
"I told the Officer who took my statement everything I could remember, Detective."
"Yes, but sometimes people remember things later that they couldn't think of at the time," Doreau paused a moment before continuing. "Do you recall if you saw anyone like him hanging around the store?"
"What did you say the name of the store was again?"
"Luigi's Fashions. It's located on Gough Street, a couple of blocks off Market". Doreau did her best to jog Ms. Bayfield's memory without providing more information than necessary. There was a brief pause.
"I'm sorry Detective. I'm certain I have never been there, so I can't have seen anyone. I know it's hard to believe, but my husband actually picked it out on his own."
"I don't suppose your husband was with you when your purse was taken?"
"I'm afraid not, Detective. And I was so busy scrambling to pick up my things that I didn't really get a good look at the thief, either."
Doreau scanned the victim statement in the folder. That was why this incident stayed with her. The thief had dumped the purse contents before running off.
"Ms. Bayfield, your statement mentions that the thief dumped the contents of your purse before he ran off. Can you think of any reason why he would do that?"
"Who understands men these days? Perhaps he just wanted a new purse. I am just thankful that I didn't lose my credit cards and ID."
"Thank you for answering my questions, Ms. Bayfield." Doreau was just about to end the phone call when another thought occurred to her. "I have just one more thing: Is there any possibility that your bag wasn't authentic?"
"You mean, counterfeit?" The voice on the other end of the line sounded both shocked and amused. "Detective, he's my husband. He was shopping on his own. Would you trust a man about something like that?" After a brief pause, she continued. "The first thing I did was check the logo and the zippers and the lining. Then I ran downtown and had the sales clerk at Nordstrom's check it out again. It was real alright." The voice on the other end paused. "Some of my friends have said they'd kill for a bag like this. Do you think that's what happened to poor Mr. Luigi?"
"We're considering all possibilities right now Ms. Bayfield. Anything you remember might be important."
She paused. A pause sometimes resulted in some further comment. This time there was none. As the pause became awkward, Doreau broke it.
"Thank you for your time, Ms. Bayfield. If you remember anything else - anything at all - could you give me a call at 555-6428? Just ask for Detective Doreau."
"Detective Doreau … at 555 … uh … 6428," the voice repeated her name along with the phone number. "I'll be sure to call if I remember anything else."
The connection was broken, leaving Doreau to ponder the information she had gotten.
Could it be a coincidence? There were a lot of thefts in the city every day. One instance of a robbery that seemed to intersect with a homicide case probably wasn't completely unexpected. But, what if there were more?
Absently, Detective Doreau once again tapped her pencil against her desk and tried to concentrate on her computer screen. She scrolled through part of the file, estimating its size. She scowled.
There must be thousands of entries. It would take hours to catalog all the names and compare them to case files.
"That seems like a waste of time. Maybe what you need is a good hunch."
It's too early for lunch, she thought, absently.
"Not 'lunch' … 'hunch'. You need a good hunch. You could ask Sledge. If you knew where he was."
"I don't care …"
She bit the comment off abruptly, glancing around sharply and then relaxing. There was no one else to hear her outburst. It was hard enough working with a partner who talked to his gun. She didn't need colleagues hearing her arguing with herself.
And I don't care where Sledge is, she tried to tell herself. Furious, she tried focusing her attention on the file again, hoping for some inspiration.
"What you're calling 'inspiration'; Sledge would call a 'hunch'."
Would you just shut up? She ordered herself.
"Hmmm. A little testy, aren't we? You need to look at this from a different perspective. Sledge always has a different perspective. Give him a chance, next time you see him."
Determined to put the matter of Sledge out of her head, Doreau began scrolling through file once again. Over her years as an officer she had come to trust the voice in her head. Sometimes her subconscious had … insights … before she was even aware of them. Today, though, it seemed to have turned into a nagging annoyance that only wanted to talk about Sledge. It was right about one thing though; searching this file manually was going to take way too much time.
The next problem with this is that I have no place to start, she complained to herself.
Then she brightened.
I'm going at this the wrong way. I already have these cases. It's not a lot, but I can easily compare victim information in these half dozen active cases to customer data.
She reached for another of her active case files. Opening it and scanning she quickly found the information she was looking for – the victim's personal information. On a hunch she entered it and searched the transaction file for matching information.
Twenty minutes later she leaned back with a satisfied look on her face. With only her currently active files for comparison, she had been able to match store customer's names for three of the open cases she had been reviewing. Plus the Bayfield case, for a total of four.
This has to be more than a coincidence! With just a bit more time …
Time, she realized, is a luxury I don't have.
There is a lot of information on this disk. It will all need to be cross-checked against all of the unsolved muggings in the city. Captain Trunk is going to want an update on a homicide investigation, not my theories on a string of purse snatchings. This looks more like something for someone from Robbery Division to follow up on.
As she made that decision she realized that she was going to need another copy of the diskette. Pulling another blank from her desk drawer, she began that process. While that process ran on the computer she compiled some brief notes, summarizing her suspicions, what she had found and suggesting further avenues of investigation.
Doreau glanced up from her work. The clock on the wall was a dispassionate reminder that time was passing. The bullpen, and Captain Trunk's office remained quiet. Too quiet. An unexpected chill ran up her spine.
Dori Doreau took stock of her unease, questioning how this particular moment had left her feeling ... unnerved.
I've been in worse places than an empty office ... like Sledge's apartment
From her early experiences at the academy, to her work in counter terrorism, she had experienced the ... challenges ... of being a female working in law enforcement. None of it had fazed her. Even when fate had dealt her a nihilistic, chauvinistic, misogynistic, Inspector named Sledge Hammer, she felt confident, even secure, in her abilities. It might have helped that she thought it was pretense.
Oddly, the memory brought a smile.
No one, she recalled telling herself over and over, could possibly be so ... so impossible. She hoped. If she was honest with herself, at some point proving it had become almost a compulsion. But, while she looked for new ways to get him to open up, he studied Zen and the Art of keeping your Motorcycle Inscrutability. Mostly, he won out. Occasionally, very occasionally and for all too brief moments, a tiny crack appeared in that indifferent exterior and she caught a glimpse of another, almost human, side. What she had seen in those moments had warmed her.
Doreau sat bolt upright. The eerie chill went up her spine and then was gone, replaced by an unexpected wave of emotion. That brief feeling of warmth had touched a memory from another time, not of Sledge, but before Sledge. Warmth was no longer a comfort. It was, in fact, uncomfortable. And unwelcome. She pushed it away. If nothing else, two years of trying to break through to her partner had kept .. THAT .. at bay. She was determined to not revisit it now. Not this morning. Not after last night. Especially not after last night.
A flashing "Copy Completed" caught her attention, reminding her of the task she was working on.
Quickly she ejected the new disk, flipping the write protect tab so that no one could inadvertently erase the data on it. She dropped it into the interoffice envelope she was filling. By the time she added the relevant case files, the envelope bulged. She managed to squeeze her hand written notes in as well before tying it closed.
I need to review all of this with Captain Trunk. Just because this gets handed over to Robbery is no reason I shouldn't get credit for figuring it out.
Although she was tempted to take it straight to Trunk, something made her hold back.
I don't want to miss Norman's call. And the Captain will certainly want an update on the homicide case.
Then she leaned back in her chair to consider her options. She reached for her field notes.
Hammer was, in fact, several miles in the opposite direction from his apartment.
After some time combing the streets and shaking down sources, he had eventually found one who had reluctantly provided a current address for Don Key's operations. Although vague, the description of "a location somewhere in the warehouse district" and the name "RnD Inc." at least gave him a starting point. At least the source thought it was "Inc". Maybe it was "Ltd". Whatever it was, Hammer was now quartering that district, going street by street, determined to not leave empty handed.
As the unsearched area continued to shrink, Hammer became increasingly impatient.
I understand why things are always the last place you look, he grumbled to himself. Why would I keep looking after I find it? Still, why can't the last place be closer to the first?
Hammer was still contemplating that philosophical conundrum when he spotted a sign on an otherwise unassuming building he had almost passed by. Excited, he drew his sidearm.
"Did you see that?"
The anticipation in his voice was obviously infectious. Gun responded. He felt a surge of relief, even thought the response was in the negative.
"Right. Your holster is inside my jacket. It's dark. Look, I think that was the place. I'm going to circle the block. Turn? Here? Oh, you mean NOW."
Taking his attention off Gun and putting it back on the road, he realized he was already part way through the intersection and turned the wheel hard. The car leaned precariously, but stayed between the sidewalks. The next three turns ware navigated more conventionally, bringing back to the correct block.
Finally.
The word had a solid feel to it. Like a signpost, it marked an ending and a beginning. The end of one journey - the seemingly endless and time consuming search for this location.
The beginning of - he wasn't quite sure what this was the beginning of. But he had someone to question now. And not just a run of the mill sea life park someone, either. What he had was the Cappo di Fruitti Mare. And who knew what that might start?
This is how to solve homicide cases. It's way easier to gather evidence after the Fruiti Mare is in the freezer than before.
This definitely looks like the place.
Now that he was looking, the sign was obvious as soon as he turned the final corner. At least the "RnD" and the "NC" were there. The "I" appeared to be missing. Maybe it had fallen off. The building certainly looked old enough
"Better buckle up, Amigo."
Hammer thrust Gun back in its holster, freeing up both his hands, to grip the wheel tightly. His grin grew as he neared his destination. He had one more "finally". He and Gun were speaking again. That meant he had a chance for some make up gunplay. Any gunplay was great. But make up gunplay was best.
Now, if I can just find a place to park.
As Doreau reached for her notes, sounds from the front desk caught her attention. Two uniformed officers were taking with Mayjoy. At first she thought it was only officers returning to work now that the office was clear. Then she saw Mayjoy nod, and point in her direction. As the officers turned in the direction Mayjoy had indicated, she realized that they were both unfamiliar to her.
Probably the officers who canvassed the area around the shop.
She stood up, waving them over.
Moments later, the two officers were seated at her desk, reviewing the results of their area canvas. The junior officer of the two began by smoothing out a hand drawn map on desk.
"We started by knocking on doors across the street from the crime scene. No one there could recall seeing anything out of the ordinary."
I hope they're giving me the bad news first, Doreau thought to herself, nodding. I'm not surprised, though. There were no indications of anything happening out front.
"How about around back? Did anyone mention seeing the VW?" Or any activity at all?
The more senior of the two officers, Officer DiMarco, nodded.
"Nobody we talked to saw your van arrive. A couple of shops did make deliveries to the back, but not to a vehicle like that. We had possible witnesses here, here and here."
He pointed to specific establishments.
"We had them walk us to the back of their stores so we could take a look. Only this one had a clear view of the van from the back door. They took one look and swore it wasn't there yesterday."
Doreau took notes, adding to her unspoken suspicion that the vehicle must have arrived later, perhaps even after dark.
"The others ...?" Doreau prompted.
"Nothing. But they only had partial views. So they couldn't be completely certain it wasn't there. Just that they couldn't recall seeing it."
"Were you able to find any information on any garbage pickup last night?"
The senior officer shook his head.
"Pick up is regularly on Thursday, according to residents. There shouldn't have been any activity last night."
The junior officer, chipped in. "There was Ms Lowengart ..." He hesitated.
"Did she see something?" Doreau questioned, intently.
"Not exactly," he responded, double checking his notes. "She said she was going to bed and heard something. When I questioned her, she said it did sound a bit like the trucks they use for pick-ups. She remembered because it was late and on the wrong day."
"But she didn't actually see anything? Or maybe note the time?"
The officer shook his head.
"According to her, the sound stopped and she went to bed She didn't check the time, but she guessed it was around 10:00 or 10:30 pm."
Doreau's mind raced.
The fresh oil behind Luigi's shop. A truck of some kind, perhaps a commercial garbage truck, could have left that. A truck of that size could have picked up a larger, commercial, waste container. One heavy enough to have left the marks on the pavement. The time .. 10:00 to 10:30 .. if the fire didn't start until later this morning then someone could have been at the shop for several hours. Plenty of time to empty the display racks into the back, then. But why would they want the garbage bin? Why kill the owner? And how does the van fit in?
A voice disturbed her musings.
"Detective? Is there anything else?"
"No," she replied, too briskly. "No .. thank you both," she recovered. "This is good work. Both of you. I think it will be really helpful to resolving the case."
She shook hands with both of them, walking them to the front desk, and wishing them a good day.