Devitt was sitting quietly beside the hospital bed, holding his sleeping colleague's hand. It had been a difficult and draining task, explaining to the distraught, badly injured man that his young partner was missing. Moaning "No, no, no,", shaking his head and, despite almost paralyzing pain, trying to get up, it had taken all of Devitt's physical and emotional strength to eventually get his friend to surrender to the inevitable.

Finally getting Mike to lie back and listen to him, he explained what little they had learned about the night before, about how he had been found unconscious on the floor in Patches poolroom and taken to into Eureka in the back of Sheriff Lassiter's cop car.

He told Mike that Healey and Haseejian were probably now en route Colville, where they were having the tan Galaxie towed, and of the time they had spent in Crocker with Sheriff Lassiter. And he assured the distraught man that everything would be done, using the combined services of the police forces in Colville, Eureka and, hopefully, Crocker, to locate Steve and bring him home.

Mike had become unusually quiet when Devitt had finished, lying very still with his eyes closed, trying to stop his chest from heaving. He laid his left hand over his brow, shielding his eyes, and inhaled sharply. "It's my fault," he said softly.

"What?"

"It's my fault," Mike repeated just as quietly. He took his hand away from his eyes but didn't look at his companion. "I'm the reason we're here… and I'm the reason this has happened."

"What do you mean?"

The haunted blue eye finally turned in Devitt's direction. "I made the decision to come up here and look into this case. He didn't have a choice."

"Of course you made the decision," Devitt protested, "you're the senior partner. It is your decision, as I'm sure you know by now." He tried to finish on a lighter note than how he started, and wasn't sure he'd succeeded. When Mike didn't respond, he continued in a slightly more conciliatory tone. "Mike, you didn't pressure him into anything… you can't possibly believe that. And nobody, not even you, could have predicted that this would happen."

Mike had turned away and Devitt couldn't tell how he was reacting to the words he was hearing. He decided to try another tack. "Look, we're gonna need to lean on you and what you learned the last few days if we're gonna get anywhere quick on this. It might help if you can give us a description of the guys who attacked you last night. Can you do that?"

Mike had closed his eye but Devitt knew he was listening. After several long motionless seconds, opened his eye again and turned his head. The ghost of a very small smile touched his lips and Devitt slumped slightly, not even realizing how tense he had become.

Mike's right hand, which had remained across his stomach, now found its way towards his colleague and Devitt grabbed it and squeezed, smiling encouragingly.

"I can't remember, Roy," Mike said sadly, trying to shake his head, "I know I saw him… but I just can't remember right now… I'm sorry…"

"Hey, you don't have to be sorry… You've taken a hell of a shot, both physically and mentally… it's gonna take awhile, don't worry about it…" He gave Mike's hand another squeeze. "Look, you need to rest. I'm not gonna go anywhere. I'm gonna stay with you all night, okay? That way, if you wake up in the middle of the night and you've thought of something, then you can tell me right away, okay?" He smiled warmly. "Don't worry; we're not going to leave you out of it. I promise."

Mike swallowed heavily. He knew what Devitt was trying to do, and he appreciated it more then he could put into words right now. He tightened his fingers as best he could around his friend's hand. "Thank you…"

Devitt winked.

# # # # #

"Well, we're gonna have to go at this from an angle I'm not going to be too comfortable with, I can tell you that." Healey picked up the glass in front of him and took a sip of the ice cold beer.

"Oh, what angle is that?" Sheriff Manley asked, looking from one SF sergeant to the other.

Healey and Haseejian had spent over an hour going through Steve's notebooks, then had telephoned the sheriff to ask he if was up to meeting them to go over what they had learned. Manley had suggested Colville's one and only diner; they ended up sitting at the same table he'd been at before with Mike and Steve.

Healey blew out a frustrated breath. "Well, we're gonna want to interview everyone we can get our hands on that'll admit to being in Patches last night, and I have a feeling that's gonna be a little more difficult that we hope."

Haseejian chuckled. "You can say that again. We got no jurisdiction up here, and I have a feeling Lassiter's not going to give us carte blanche to start going around heading up our own little investigation. I can't believe that little bastard sat there yesterday, right beside the pool of Mike's blood on the floor, and lied to our faces. Hell, we haven't been here a day yet and I'm already thinking there's more secrets in that little town than there are in Peyton Place."

Manley chuckled as he put his beer glass back on the table. "You're right about that. And I've been thinking about that too. It's gonna be tough – he seems to know everything that's going on in that town, without a doubt. And as far as I know, everybody that works at Patches lives in Crocker. You know, when I first heard the rumours about Lassiter, I have to confess I didn't believe 'em. Then, when we started having trouble with drugs here in Colville – and it was pretty mild to start with, just kids high at school and here in the diner or in the park … but then when the heroin started to show up and we had a couple of near-fatal overdoses, I asked to see him so we could, you know, talk about our mutual problem."

With a tilt of his head and a sigh, he shrugged in disappointment. "Well, let's just say he was a little less than forthcoming. I mean, he didn't come right out and tell me I was exaggerating a minor problem, but that's what I took away from it. It felt at first like he just didn't care, but the more I thought about it, and then when I heard the rumours again from different sources, I began to think that maybe it was more than just turning a blind eye.

"And to be perfectly honest, after what happened to Mike and Steve last night, I think I'm more convinced than ever that there's something really rotten up there in Crocker, and your guys walked right into the middle of it."

Healey turned to Haseejian and raised his eyebrows. The Armenian sergeant looked at Manley and smiled coldly. "That's what we think too. And I also think what we should do tomorrow morning is head into Crocker and ask Lassiter if he'd help us interview the bar employees to try to get a description of the bikers who attacked Mike and Steve. If he lets us, great. But if he wants to conduct the interviews himself, then there's the possibility he wants to control how much we'll uncover."

"And if he won't let us interview them at all?" Healey asked, almost rhetorically.

Haseejian smiled with a mirthless chuckle. "Then we do the only thing we can do - we threaten to call in the Feds."

It was a prospect none of them really wanted to consider, but it might turn out to be their only ace in the hole.

Manley looked from one to the other and nodded. With a grin, he sat back and picked up his beer again.

# # # # #

Devitt was dozing in an overstuffed armchair that Cavanagh had the janitorial staff dig up from another floor and brought to Mike's room. Despite showing signs of anxiety, the injured detective was doing as well as hoped. And having someone he knew in the room with him overnight could only help to keep him calm so his body would begin to recover.

He woke with a start, briefly disoriented, his fingers digging into the arms of the mustard yellow upholstery of the chair. It took a second or two to remember where he was, and why. A soft hiss, like the one that had disturbed his surprisingly restful sleep, reached his ears and his head swiveled towards the bed.

"Roy…?"

He got up quickly and leaned over the bed. "Yeah, Mike, I'm here. Are you okay?"

Mike's damaged right eye was now a deep purple and at least twice the size, but the left was still the familiar striking blue and it stared at him unblinking. "I remember, Roy. The biker that stabbed me.,, I remember what he looked like."

Devitt's worried frown disappeared and he reached toward the bedside table to pick up his notebook and pen. He flipped the book open to a fresh sheet. "Tell me," he said with a smile.

# # # # #

"Knock yourselves out," Lassiter chuckled dryly at the two San Francisco detectives who were standing on the other side of his desk. "I'll get Kathy out there," he gestured towards the outer office with his coffee cup, "to make a list of the people you want to talk to. I mean, we already did, the night it happened and I told you what we found out but, hey, I can understand you guys wanting to hear it for yourselves. Hell, if it was a couple of my guys, I'd wanna do the same."

Haseejian glanced at Healey; he knew what they were both thinking. "Ah, thanks, that'd be great. Do you know what time the staff starts showing up there?"

Lassiter glanced at his watch. "Let's see. Chuck - he manages the place – mosta the time he's the first one there, last to leave. He should be there in about a half hour, I'd think, around 10. He can let you know about the others." He set the cup down with a thud and got to his feet. "Kathy!" he roared as he circled the desk to the door. "I'm gonna need a list of everybody at Patches we interviewed the other night…" he continued loudly as he crossed the large bullpen to the young brunette clerk.

Healey looked at his partner. "Does this feel right to you?" he asked sotto voce.

Haseejian stared at him. "Do you mean his being all cooperative and friendly and all that…?"

"Yeah…"

The Armenian sergeant sucked his teeth. "Feels as genuine to me as a three-dollar-bill."

# # # # #

"So far, so good," Cavanagh said with a smile, nodding to the nurse on the other side of the bed.

Mike, who had kept his eyes closed during the surgeon's examination of his abdominal wound, now opened his one good eye to see the doctor leaning over the bed. "It looks very good. It's still early days, but it looks like we got all the glass shards out of you and all the perforations seem to be healing perfectly."

"When can I get out of here, Doc?" Mike could hear and feel the nurse applying a fresh dressing over the raw wound.

Cavanagh chuckled. "I knew you were going to ask me that. I'm afraid you're going to have to stay with us for at least a week. Wounds like yours are not to be taken lightly, and we want to make sure you're completely on the mend before we let you outa here."

The doctor glanced up at the nurse who, finished her ministrations, nodded. She began to gather up the materials she'd brought in with her, then headed to the door. Cavanagh looked back down at his patient, who had closed his eyes. "We're gonna let you rest for now, but someone will be back in a little while to give you some clear broth for lunch. We're going to get you started eating again, but just clear liquids for the next few days."

Cavanagh waited; when there was no response he gently patted the detective's arm and walked silently to the door. Devitt had told him what was going on, hoping the explanation would help the doctor understand the mood swings that the lieutenant was going through. He looked back and smiled sadly, determined to do whatever was in his power to see that, physically at least, Mike Stone would make a full recovery.