Mike pulled another piece of pizza free from its neighbour, holding it high enough for the strings of cheese to snap, then dropped it on the plate. "So the Chevelle was parked in the Carlton garage on the night Trammel was killed…?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Okay, that makes no sense to me whatsoever… Does it make any sense to you?"

They were sitting at the small kitchen table, the pizza box between them.

Chewing, Steve shook his head. "It doesn't make any sense to anybody," he said after he swallowed, "unless it was done deliberately."

"But why would it be done deliberately?" Mike took a bite.

Steve shrugged. "Just one of the little mysteries we have to solve, Lieutenant," he chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess…" Mike nodded absently, staring into space as he chewed. "Did Lee get anywhere tracking down the wife yet?"

Steve shook his head. "Not yet, but he's still working on that. He's still got a lot of hotels and motels to call. And then we have to find out who Goodman had dinner with the night before Trammel got killed. I think that's going to be a big reveal, but it was so long ago now, I doubt very much the restaurant staff is gonna remember, especially since whoever it was paid cash. Bill's checking it out tonight."

"That's good. You know, that's a good point about maybe the Chevelle being painted before it was parked at the hotel…"

"Does that screw up all the info you got today?" Steve asked with a frown. "I mean, it now makes the timeframe for the painting a little wider…"

Mike shook his head. "No, I was pretty broad with my questions with regards to time… but nothing… I'll finish up with the dealerships sometime tomorrow so… fingers crossed…"

They shared a companionable silence for several seconds then Steve chuckled. "You know as disgusting as I find Trammel to be, I'm really intrigued by all this… I mean, it seems like Goodman went to a lot of trouble to cover up what he did… and he did a really good job of it until, of course, you know, he bragged to his buddy back in Palm Springs…"

"Yeah… thank god most criminals are stupid, hunh?" They shared a laugh.

Mike let another hush settle over them for a few beats then he asked quietly, "So, ah, have you talked to Mel at all since we got back from Palm Springs?"

Picking up another piece of pizza, Steve froze momentarily then shook his head.

Mike nodded slowly to himself. "You know, of course, that you're going to have to at some point… for both your sakes…"

Still looking at the pizza, Steve nodded. "I know," he said quietly.

The older man took a deep breath. "Have, ah… have you made up your mind?"

The younger man took his time freeing another piece of pizza and putting it on his plate. He nodded slowly, looking down and inhaling loudly. "Yeah… yeah, I have…"

Trying not to wince, Mike reached across the table with his left hand and cupped the back of his partner's neck, squeezing gently and affectionately. "Good," he said softly.

# # # # #

"Get a good night's sleep tonight, you hear," Mike instructed with a chuckle as Steve stepped out onto the landing.

"I will."

"And, ah, and I'll keep a better eye on the time tomorrow, I promise," Mike raised his right hand, his index, middle and ring fingers extended in a Boy Scout salute.

Chuckling, Steve started down the stairs. "No problem… actually, that pizza was really good."

"Call me if you uncover anything that I should know about."

"Of course." Steve stopped partway down the steps and turned back. He met the older man's eyes evenly. "Thanks…"

Mike smiled warmly. "Anytime…" He stood in the door watching until the LTD disappeared down the hill.

# # # # #

"Got her!" Lessing crowed, almost jogging towards Steve's desk when the inspector walked into the bullpen.

Tossing his jacket on the back of his chair, Steve looked up with a frown. "What?"

"Carole Goodman - or actually, Rochford - I got her… well, sort of... She was here in The City for two days before Trammel was killed, staying in a motel in South San." The young black inspector shook his head with a sigh. "I think I phoned every place on the peninsula; my dialing finger is sore."

"You can commiserate with Mike," Steve chuckled. "So what have you got, sort of…?"

"Now I have to confirm that it really was her but a woman named Carole Rochford checked into the Sunset Motel on Mitchell Avenue on June 24th and checked out the morning of June 26th… the morning of the day Trammel was killed… Coincidence?" he asked facetiously with a sly grin. "I think not…"

Steve snorted. "I think not, too. So what's next?"

"I'm gonna head over there this afternoon with a picture of our Mrs. Goodman, nee Rochford, and see if anybody remembers her. Their front office shift change is at 4 so I'll be there before then and catch both the ones coming and the ones going."

"Great. Do me a favor and bring a photo of the Chevelle and see if anyone remembers it – in either cherry red or dark blue?"

"The Chevelle?"

"Yeah, we're thinking that maybe it plays a bigger part in all this than we first thought."

Lessing nodded. "Will do. And just so you know, I'm gonna keep trying to find out where she went after the 26th… I still haven't heard from the bank yet so I don't know if she's made any withdrawals lately, and there's no credit card that I know of right now…" He shrugged. "And I'm also trying to track down members of her family to see if they've heard from her recently or if she has any connections here in the Bay Area."

"Great, keep me informed."

With a nod, Lessing headed back to his desk. Steve wandered over to Tanner's desk, whose occupant was on the phone. By the time he sat in the guest chair, his colleague was hanging up. "Another dead end," Tanner sighed, nodding at the phone.

Steve gestured with his chin towards Lessing. "Lee's tracked down Carole Goodman, sort of..." He brought his temporary partner up to speed on what they'd learned about her.

Tanner frowned. "Hmmm, that's very interesting. I wonder how she fits into all this… I mean, besides having an affair with Trammel and leaving her husband for him and then getting dumped by him," he finished with a mirthless chuckle.

Steve grunted in accord. "Yeah. So, ah, got anything on those prints yet?"

Tanner sat to attention. "Ah, yeah, got four sets identified. Goodman's, of course – and we got his prints from his Palm Springs house. I mean, up until he murdered Trammel, he led an exemplary life – no prints on record anywhere… Anyway, his were all over the car, of course, but that's not surprising. But two of the others are very interesting. They both come back to guys who have extensive records for Grand Theft Auto in the Bay Area."

Raising his eyebrows, Steve leaned forward, very interested. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Tanner said slowly, drawing out the word, "but I don't think they're a part of the Goodman investigation."

"Why not?"

"'Cause their prints were only found on the driver's door… so I'm thinking these guys, either separately or together, were casing the car to steal it, and they tried the door to see if it was open."

Steve slumped back in the seat with a snort. He shrugged. "Yeah, that makes sense. So what about the fourth set of prints?"

Tanner started to laugh. "Remember that patrolman Sergeant Brown told us about – the one who ticketed it and wants to buy it?"

Nodding, Steve snorted. "They're his…"

"They sure are. They were found on both doors and the hood. I'll bet he opened it to look at the engine," Tanner speculated, continuing to chuckle. "So I think we can write those off too."

"Yeah… Well, let's hope some of the other prints pan out. So what happened with the North Beach restaurant?"

Tanner shook his head. "Nobody that was working last night remembers, but that's not surprising. It was almost a month ago and it's a busy place. But the waiter whose table that receipt was for wasn't on duty last night but he does have a shift tonight so I'm going to go back."

Steve nodded, thinking. "Do me favor, will ya? Bring that DMV photo of Mrs. Goodman with you too, okay?"

Tanner's head went back slightly. "Mrs. Goodman…?"

"Yeah… I'm taking another page out of Mike's book and playing a hunch…"

# # # # #

"Bingo!" came the excited voice over the receiver. "I hit one out of the park, Smiley!"

"Okay, great, so what have you got for me?" Steve couldn't stop the grin; it had been a long time since he'd heard his partner so excited. He was holding the receiver awkwardly with the limited mobility of his left fingers; with his right he pulled the pad closer and picked up a pen.

"Okay, so Stewart Chevrolet in Colma sold one gallon of base coat, three gallons of 'Fathom Blue' top coat and two gallons of clear coat on July 20th. That's enough paint, by the way, for a car the size of a Chevelle, so I was told."

Writing furiously, Steve asked, "How long does it take a car to dry?"

"With all those coats? About twenty-four hours, maybe a little longer."

"Great. And you got a name I'm assuming…?"

"Well, that's where it kinda goes off the rails…" Mike's voice faltered slightly. "It was sold to a Martin Bayner. B-A-Y-N-E-R. I've got the credit card number but no address, I'm afraid."

"That's okay…" Steve said, continuing to write, "give me the number." When Mike finished, he continued, "I'll call and get that info as soon as I can." He leaned back and looked at the name he had just written. "So who the hell is Martin Bayner?"

"Yeah, that's what I've been asking myself. Great," Mike chuckled dryly, "somebody else to track down. And, to be honest, Steve, I'm not even sure if he's involved. He just might be some guy who wanted to paint his car."

The younger man laughed. "Well, let's hope not, okay? This might be the first solid lead we've gotten in awhile. So, what are you going to do next?"

"Well, I still have a few more dealerships to call – this might not be the only 'Fathom Blue' paint sale recently. And I had a rather lengthy conversation with the chief mechanic at the dealership… you know, about painting and all that. He told me the equipment you'd need if you want to paint a car yourself, and he also gave me a list of places that sell that kinda stuff. So I'm gonna call them as well."

Impressed with his injured partner's stamina and initiative, Steve chuckled warmly. "That sounds great but do me a favor and don't wear yourself out, okay? You're supposed to be recuperating, remember? I want you back in the office… we all want you back in the office, understand?"

There was a short, almost uncomfortable silence on the other end then Mike said softly, "Yeah, I understand… Don't worry, I'll pace myself. Hey, ah, you're still coming by for dinner, right? I thawed out a couple of those pot roast meals Jeannie left for me. How does that sound?"

"That sounds great," Steve chuckled, hoping Mike could hear the warmth in his tone over the phone. "Hey, ah, this is really good. I'll start the work on I.D.'ing this Martin Bayner guy right away and I'll let you know what I turn up."

"Okay, that sounds good."

"Hey, ah, thanks a lot, Mike."

"Anytime… anytime… I'll, ah… I'll see ya tonight."

"You bet." He hung up, sitting there for several seconds and staring at the receiver with a warm smile. Then, looking at the name on the pad in front of him, he picked up the Rolodex and brought it closer, flipping through it till he found the number he needed, snagged the receiver again and dialed.