John Steel Collection - Books 4-6

Chapter 8-1

The Diner was on a busy corner of Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard and West 148th Street. Above the white-walled exterior of the building began the red-brick apartments. Steel noticed a ‘For Rent’ sign on one of the walls. Its green writing was bold, designed to catch the eye. The dinner was in the corner building. A double-door entrance was situated directly in view of the pedestrian crossing, giving good easy access for all customer needs. The place itself was clean, with PU leather upholstery in the booths and dark wood tables. The black-and-white checkerboard tiled floor glistened from the overhead lighting.

To the back of the diner was a long counter with glass showcases full of doughnuts and cheesecakes. Behind that was the delivery counter, where the waitresses collected the orders from a large angry looking man who was wearing a white T-shirt and a small chef’s ‘skull’ hat. Steel was convinced that he looked more like a bulldog chewing a wasp, the hanging jowls and beady eyes just added to the picture. On a far wall, a small twenty-inch television set was tuned to the news. The customers just looked through the two cops as if they weren’t even there. Steel sat at one of the padded seats that was in front of the counter. The stainless-steel pinion was bolted firmly to the ground a little too close to the counter for Steel, causing him to sit with spread legs. McCall shot him a look of disapproval, then did the same. McCall didn’t want to stay and have lunch, they were there to deliver bad news and get information, something she hated to mix, but it was necessary given the fact it was a homicide investigation. Two waitresses rushed about frantically, like catchers in a ball game. Steel picked up one of the menu cards and checked the vast array of artery-blocking dishes on offer.

“I don’t think they have caviar here,” McCall joked, just as a pretty black-haired woman in a red-and-white uniform appeared behind them, her pad and pencil at the ready.

“Hey there. Welcome to Bob’s Diner. So, what can I get you folks?” the waitress asked, sporting a bright smile.

“We are with the NYPD,” Sam said, flashing her shield. “We are here about one of your waitresses. Tara?”

The woman’s mouth fell open as if to say something.

“That b***h better be in hospital or dead!” yelled the man who wore a grease-stained T-shirt and jeans. “I am down three waitresses, and she decide to not come in!” A dirty white chef’s cap covered most of his large fat head.

“I take it you’re Bob, the owner?” McCall said. Her tone had changed, her voice now sterner and more authoritative as she spoke to him. He stayed behind the wall and just blew hot air and waved his spatula about.

“Yeah, I’m Bob, what’s it to you, lady? Look, I am busy here, so what do you want?” he yelled. Sam McCall could feel her blood boil at his apparent lack of manners or respect. It wasn’t so much that she was a cop; she felt his disregard was more because she was a female cop.

“So, what’s happened to her?” asked the waitress, her voice full of genuine concern.

“She’s gone missing,” Sam said softly. “Her roommate was found murdered, and we are worried about her safety.”

The waitress looked shocked, and her face blanched as she stumbled backwards. Steel was already up and had caught her before she fell any further. He led her to a booth, where they all sat down.

“Hey! No sitting down on the job, you hear me?” came Bob’s angry voice from behind the counter, but everyone just ignored him.

“My name is Detective Samantha McCall, and this is Detective Steel.” McCall smiled as she spoke.

“I am Kim, Kim Washington. She was … She is my best friend.” Kim’s eyes shone with fresh tears.

is“You don’t think she could have done this murder, do you?” Kim asked, her voice sounding dry and scared at the possibility.

“We don’t know. She isn’t in any trouble, we just want to talk to her,” Steel said reassuringly. Kim looked up at him and smiled.

“When did you see her last?” McCall asked. Kim looked up at the clock above the door as if she was trying to remember.

“It was around half-eight, nine, I guess. She had pulled a double and was heading home. It had been a long day for everyone,” Kim explained.

“Are you open all night?” Steel asked, looking around the room, but paying special attention to Bob, who was sneaking brief, worried looks from his area beside the grill.

“No, four until midnight. Unless we know something special is on, then we are open twenty-four-seven,” Kim told them. Steel sat back and continued his unobserved scan of the place. There were around twenty people sitting in various places. Most of them appeared to be drivers who were just passing through. He looked out of the window at the traffic that was beginning to build up outside.

“Did she have any problems with anyone that you know of?” McCall asked—she was almost hoping that Kim would say that her boss was causing problems. The thought of getting him in the box was making her salivate.

“No, not really. Everyone liked her. She didn’t have time for a boyfriend or anything,” Kim added, expecting the usual question about personal relationships.

“What about Bob? Any problems there?” Steel asked. He noticed Bob look up suddenly at the mention of his name. Kim shook her head but said nothing.

“How did she seem when she left?” the British detective asked.

Kim looked puzzled at this strange cop’s question. “She was distracted, but then she was tired. Why?” Kim said, still wondering about Steel’s question.

“We are just trying to piece everything together,” Steel said with a smile.

McCall passed across her business card. “If you do see her, can you get her to contact me, please?”

Kim looked at the card and placed it in a breast pocket of her uniform. Steel looked up angrily towards Bob, as he hammered a brass call bell. Kim stood up. She knew that was her signal to get back to work.

“Are you OK?” Steel asked as he noticed the strange eye contact Bob was giving Kim.

The young waitress turned towards Steel and smiled quickly before nodding. “Sure, I’m fine. Look I’ve got to get back to work. If I see her, I will let her know.”

Sam nodded in appreciation. “Thanks for your time,” she said, shaking Kim’s still trembling hand. As they watched Kim return to her station, the two detectives became uneasy. Something was wrong, and whatever it was had nothing to do with their case.

Bob dragged Kim into the kitchen so no one could see, and then he slapped her hard.

“What did they want to know about that silly b***h?” Bob growled; his voice toned down so as not to not draw any attention.

“Nothing. She has disappeared and they—”

Bob slapped her again, hard. So hard that his finger marks were visible on her face.

“You don’t say anything, you hear me?” he screamed, his voice breaking its strained tone. He raised his hand again to give her another shot just in case she didn’t understand. Then he looked around suddenly, shocked to feel the firm grip around his wrist. He turned to find Steel holding him back.

Bob swung with his other fist at the British man, but he failed to connect. Steel wrenched down Bob’s arm and pulled it behind his back. As he did so, Steel added a bit of force, bouncing Bob’s shaven head off the stainless-steel preparation table. There was a metallic thud as skull met metal, making Steel feel a little better.

“Bad move, jackass,” McCall said, almost with a hint of pleasure as she slapped the cuffs on the bruised Bob’s wrists.

“OK, you’re both coming with us,” McCall growled as they dragged Bob to the door. Kim followed sheepishly. As they left the place, the second waitress stood watching the scene, open-mouthed. There was a helpless look across her long face as the double doors swung closed. She was alone with twenty customers, all of whom had just ordered food.

* * *

Steel and McCall headed back to the station. McCall had collared a passing black-and-white to take the dazed Bob to lock-up, whilst they escorted Kim Washington. The journey to the 11th was quiet. They had to take the FDR back to East Village where the 11th Precinct was based. It took nearly an hour and a half due to a three-car pileup, but Steel didn’t mind, McCall’s Mustang was more comfortable than a squad car. He had never asked her why she was banned from using police vehicles; a mystery he thought he would leave for his imagination. That said, the way she had treated her own car – namely the car before they one they were enjoying the comforts of, had led to many questions for him. Sure, she had sacrificed her beloved car to save him from a situation, but he was sure they could have been another way to have done it? Of course, his gratitude for saving his arse came in the form of a new car, and what a car.

Warm sunbeams broke past the gaps in the towering buildings filling the car like strobe lights. The only sound came from the police radio, and the daily commotion as everyone headed home. The local radio station was on low and was more background noise than anything. McCall looked in her rear Kim Washington, who was doing something on her cell phone to pass the time.

“I hope you ain’t putting this on social media!” McCall said, looking around at Kim; who shot her an angry look.

“Yeah, I can see it now “Having a fun day stuck in a police car on the FDR,” that will get loads of likes,” Steel laughed turning to McCall, Kim giggled, and McCall shot him a burning gaze.

“You’re such an ass,” McCall said with almost a whisper.

“No, just bored, and hungry,” Steel said, looking over at the street food vendors. McCall looked back at Kim, who was sitting in the back with her earbuds in, listening to music or watching a film on her phone. McCall had questions for her, but they could wait until they reached the station. Steel had plans for later, plans that could not wait.

On the way to the precinct, they had taken Kim Washington to New York-Presbyterian Hospital to get her checked out. She had taken quite a beating from Bob and McCall wondered what other wounds she had sustained since she had worked there. McCall had gotten a female uniformed officer to stay with her to make sure she was safe. When Kim was finished, the uniform would bring her to the precinct. McCall didn’t want to wait; she was afraid what the doctor might find and give McCall to lose control and beat the s**t out of the owner. Steel convinced McCall to go back to the station, for her good and Bob’s.

The 11th Precinct was busier than usual. Hordes of people filled the entranceway, yelling and screaming – mostly abuse. Steel smiled as they entered, think that the last time he had seen this kind of chaos, he was waiting for a flight out of Germany. As Steel and McCall stepped off the elevator onto the department floor, they saw John Doe still in the room with Doctor Davidson. Steel opened the door to the small briefing room slowly and entered almost unnoticed. Steel felt that John Doe looked nervous and uncomfortable, but then, how else would anyone look after losing track of everything they ever knew, their entire life gone in a moment. In a way, Steel envied him, wished he had no memories, especially of that day he lost everything, and everyone. Unfortunately, he couldn’t change being inquisitive, and Steel knew that if he had lost his memory, he would do everything to find out who he was and what had happened. Surely that would be worse, to find out that way rather than having the memories – or rather, nightmares?