"So, listen, why don't you swing around here again tomorrow night for dinner… I'll whip something up for us…"

Steve was standing at the open front door, getting ready to leave. "Mike, don't think you have to have me over every night, you know –"

"Are you going to have time to cook a decent meal for yourself with all this work you're doing, now that you're heading up this investigation?" the older man interrupted with a pragmatic frown.

Steve stared unblinking for a couple of long seconds then reluctantly bobbled his head. "Well, no…" he admitted softly.

Mike nodded. "Then it's settled. As long as you're the lead on the Goodman case, and as long as I'm housebound, you'll finish your days by coming over here for dinner and we can hash over – well, figuratively speaking, of course, I won't be cooking hash - what happened during the day and compare notes." He grinned goofily, continuing to nod.

After another silent second, the younger man dropped his head and started to laugh. "All right, all right, I surrender, you win…" He shook his head as he took a step out onto the landing. "Listen, uh, is there anything you need?"

"Actually," Mike said with an almost embarrassed facial shrug, "I'm gonna be needing some groceries… you know, the perishable stuff...?"

Steve shrugged. "Yeah, sure, I can get you some."

"Great. Hey, uh, could you wait for a couple of minutes while I make a list and get you some money?" Without waiting for a reply, Mike turned and almost jogged back into the kitchen.

With another chuckle and shake of his head, Steve stepped back into the house and closed the door.

# # # # #

"That was one filthy car inside," Bernie greeted Steve and Tanner when they walked into the crime lab. He was sitting on a tall stool at the far end of the large black granite counter in the centre of the expansive room. "That's no way to treat a nice automobile like that one."

"I agree," Tanner concurred with a laugh. "But, ah, anything in that filth of interest?"

The lab chief chuckled as he reached for a file folder on the counter, picked it up and tossed it closer to both cops. "Well, that depends where your interests lie, doesn't it?"

Frowning with a bemused smile, Steve slid the folder closer and opened it, his trained eye quickly taking in all the relevant information. "You found 16 sets of prints?"

"Umh-humh. I would consider that number a little high, unless, of course, it was used as a taxi or a rental, but I doubt very much this one was."

"Where were they found?"

"Mostly on the driver's side door. Five sets were found on the passenger side door. Three on the steering wheel. And one set was only found on the outside of the trunk, which is slightly odd."

Both Steve and Tanner frowned, puzzled.

"Any found inside the trunk?" Tanner asked.

"You mean as if someone was locked in the trunk and tried to get out?"

Both cops nodded.

Charlie shook his head. "Nope, sorry, nothing."

Nodding, Steve looked down at the report again. "So what else did you find in the car?"

"Well, nothing as exciting as a gun or a shell casing or blood, I'm afraid, but a number of store and restaurant receipts and even two parking garage receipts. They're in those evidence bags over there." Bernie pointed to a stack of small plastic bags on the far end of the counter. "There was a bunch of fast food wrappers and drink cans – they're in that bag on the floor over there but I don't think there's anything of interest in it. But you can go through it if you want."

Steve and Tanner looked at each other and shook their heads simultaneously. "No, we'll pass," Steve confirmed.

"Then that's it, I'm afraid. Other than, yes, it's been painted recently. It's a decent job, as you know, but not professional, so that might be hard to track down. We think the color is Fathom Blue but that's just an educated guess."

"An educated guess?" Tanner echoed, and the black lab chief nodded with a deep chuckle.

"Anyway, the fingerprint cards are in the file… they're all yours. Good luck, gentlemen," he said dismissively, getting to his feet and moving deeper into the bowels of the lab.

# # # # #

With a frustrated sigh, Mike leaned over the coffee table and put another tick beside a name on the list in front of him. Running his right index finger down the page to another name and number, he picked up the black receiver, put it to his left ear and dialed. Just as the line connected, there was a sharp knock on the front door. His head snapped in that direction and he grunted.

The line was busy and he slammed the receiver down in irritation, getting slowly to his feet, his right hand bracing his injured ribs and trying not to wince as another heavy knock rattled the door. "Coming!" he bellowed as he got to the door, turned the lock and yanked it open.

Inspector Lee Lessing, sporting a wide grin and two large paper bags, was standing on the stoop, panting slightly. He took a breath before gasping, "Special delivery, Lieutenant," holding up one of the bags.

Frowning, Mike looked from the inspector to the bag. "What's in there?"

Lessing eyebrows went up. "Your groceries."

"My groceries? What do you mean my –?"

"Steve asked me to deliver them," he interrupted smoothly, with a wide grin. "He, ah, he gave me your shopping list and asked – well, told me to pick up everything on the list and bring them to your place. So… here I am…" He was chuckling genially.

Mike was looking at the younger man with an almost bemused frown. "Steve asked you…?"

Lessing made a face somewhere between a shrug and a wince. "Well, more like ordered… but nicely. I mean, after all, he is my boss, sorta, now, for the time being… and he did it very nicely, I have to admit…"

With a brief headshake and tiny shrug of acceptance, Mike smiled and reached for the paper bag Lessing was holding up. The inspector pulled it back. "Ah ah ah," he tutted quickly, "I was also specifically told that you were not to lift any of the heavy bags whatsoever. So, Lieutenant, sir," he chuckled, "if you'd please take a step back so I can get in, I'll take both bags to the kitchen and then they're all yours."

Chuckling softly, Mike did as he was told, and Lessing, both bags in hand, stepped over the threshold into the house.

# # # # #

"Okay, so the prints are being processed," Tanner said as he crossed the bullpen and dropped into the guest chair. "Anything in those receipts?"

The plastic bags with the paper evidence were spread out all over Steve's desk. "Well, ah, from what I can tell so far, most of these," he indicated a pile on the top left corner, "are from Palm Springs and they pre-date the murder by a good month or so, so I don't think they're of much use to us."

Tanner nodded.

"But these," Steve smiled slightly, waving his right hand over the half-dozen envelopes on the desk, "these are all from the Bay area, including one of the parking stubs."

"Ah ha…" The black inspector leaned over the desk. "And where is that from?"

"Believe it or not, it's from the Carlton on the night of the murder." Steve picked it up triumphantly and handed it to his colleague.

Tanner's head went back slightly. "So… so Goodman parks his car in the garage of the hotel he beats a man to death in…? I'm sorry, but that doesn't make any sense to me… Does it make sense to you?"

Frowning, Steve shook his head. "No… not unless the guy was expecting to get caught. I mean, it's not like a cherry red Chevelle is not going to stand out in a crowd. Unless it was painted before it was parked at the hotel…?" He shrugged. "I guess we're just going to have to ask Goodman that when we catch him, as Mike would say…" They both chuckled.

Tanner brought the receipt closer to his face to get a better look at the numbers. "Does that say the car was checked out at 3:32 a.m.?"

Steve nodded, raising his eyebrows. "Yeah, just around the time Charlie said Trammel was killed. So… what? Goodman beats Trammel to death then calmly takes the elevator to the garage and drives out… covered in blood…?"

Tanner looked up. "Well, that's ballsy, isn't it?" He held the plastic bag up for emphasis. "You know what this means, right? That someone must have been on duty that night in the garage to take the money and let them out, someone who might recognize who it was behind the wheel?"

Steve nodded with a facial shrug. "Yeah… I'll give the hotel a call and see if they know who that was."

"The garage may have it's own staff but it's worth a shot."

"Yeah."

"Anything else?"

"Well, we have a receipt from a restaurant in another part of town, from the night before the beating, in cash… and it's for two…" He picked up another plastic envelope and handed it over.

"That's over in North Beach," Tanner said after he looked at it. "For two…?"

"Yeah… from what that Keyes guy told M-… uh, me down in Palm Springs," Steve hoped Tanner didn't catch the near flub, "Goodman came up here alone, looking for Trammel, pissed about the break-up of his marriage and wanting to make Trammel pay for it. So if that's the case… who the hell did Goodman have dinner with?"

"And where was he staying?" Tanner added. He raised his eyebrows. "Yikes, we have a lot of phone calls and visits to make, my man…"

Steve sighed and shook his head, looking at the receipts on the desk. "We sure do. Hope Mike and Lee are making better progress than we are…"

# # # # #

It was just after six when he trudged up the concrete steps to the Stone front door, a file in his right hand. He shifted it into his left and raised his right fist to knock when he noticed the curtains of the large bay window were open and he leaned closer to look into the house.

Mike, his sleeves rolled up, was sitting on the couch leaning over the coffee table, the phone receiver to his left ear as he took notes on a yellow legal length pad in front of him. Steve waited a couple of minutes until his partner had hung up to knock.

Tossing an irritated glance towards the door, Mike gritted his teeth against the pain in his chest as he got up. "Not again…" he mumbled under his breath. He snapped the lock off and threw the door open on his bemused partner. "What are you doing here?" he asked gruffly, obviously confused.

Steve's smile got a little wider. "You, ah, you invited me for dinner, remember?"

"Of course I remember," the older man snapped back sarcastically, "but why are you –"

Steve stuffed the folder under his right arm, raised his right hand and pointed to his watch with his left forefinger. "It's dinnertime," he interrupted softly.

Mike froze, his annoyed eyes snapping from his partner's face to the wristwatch and back again. After a beat his face softened and he asked quietly, "It is?"

Grinning, the younger man nodded. "Mike, it's after 6."

"It is?"

"Yeah, it is." Chuckling quietly, he stepped past the stunned older man into the living room, immediately aware that the smell of something cooking was noticeably absent. He glanced back over his shoulder as he crossed closer to the paperwork on the coffee table. "You, ah, you lost track of time, hunh?"

Mike closed the door slowly, shaking his head slightly. "Ah, yeah… I guess I did."

Steve turned to him with a wide smile. "Don't worry about it. Look, I know we'd promised ourselves we'd start eating a little better but, ah, for tonight, why don't we just order a pizza?" He raised his eyebrows. "How does that sound?"

Mike had moved deeper into the room. "Jeez, I'm sorry, bud- … Ah, sorry, I was on a roll, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess," the younger man chuckled. He nodded towards the table. "You get anything?"

Mike made a face, shaking his head. "Nothing yet. But I worked my way through all the garages that do paint jobs and I'm working on the dealerships that supply 'Fathom Blue' paint. Oh, thanks for calling with that little nugget, it helps a lot."

"No problem. Well, ah, why don't you call for that pizza and while we're waiting, I'll fill you in on the rest of the little nuggets we managed to dig up today. I think you'll be surprised."

Mike's face lit up. "I better order that pizza," he chuckled, almost jogging into the kitchen.

Steve watched him go, an affectionate smile lighting his face.