He had only gone a couple of steps when an idea hit him and he turned back to the payphone, his eyes widening with satisfaction. There was metal shelf at the bottom of the box and on it was what looked like a very thin phone book. He crossed back to the box quickly, glancing around to see if he was being watched. He couldn't see anybody but he also knew that didn't mean there weren't several pairs of eyes watching his every move.

He pulled the phone book out as if to consult it; it was chained to the shelf through a grommet in the top left corner. He ran his hand over the part of the chain he couldn't see under the shelf and felt a small bolt snap hook. Gritting his teeth as he tried to get his fingers around it, he finally managed to get a grip on the gate and pulled it down. He felt the link slip free and quickly pulled the chain through the grommet, folded the thin book and stuffed it under his arm.

He turned quickly and started back down the street towards the diner, a soft smile on his lips.

# # # # #

The general store was open when he passed it again so he went in, well aware once more of the scrutiny. Keeping his sunglasses on, he stopped just inside the front door to pick up a newspaper, keeping the purloined phone book stuffed under the arm of his jacket and hoping people were paying more attention to his face than what he was carrying.

He tossed the newspaper on the counter then stepped back and surveyed the shelves of candies and other confectionary items. He picked up three packs of gum and two chocolate bars: a Milky Way and a Butterfinger. As the young man behind the counter stared at him, he smiled as he reached into his pocket for his wallet.

"Ah, that'll be sixty cents," the kid said finally and Steve took out a dollar bill. The kid picked up the single and turned to the cash register. "You want a bag?"

Steve shook his head, putting the wallet back and picking up his purchases. He put the candy in his pocket and stuffed the newspaper under his arm, hiding the phone book. He took the change with a nod and a smile and left the store.

The smile lingering, he took the paper and the phone book, folded them so the phone book was completely hidden, then stuffed them back under his arm. Then he continued on to the diner.

# # # # #

The garage the motel manager told him about came into view on the other side of the street. Steve could see a large, dirty, beat-up tow truck parked at the side, its thick, imposing chains dangling down from the wheel lift. He swallowed involuntarily, picturing his beloved, babied Porsche dangling from the threatening apparatus.

He sighed, closing his eyes. He really didn't have much of a choice, he knew; Mike's car was definitely out of commission and 'Charlie's Gas & Go' didn't have service bays. Exhaling loudly he crossed the street and entered the small office.

An older man with short grey hair, a grease-stained coverall and a welcoming smile nodded in salutation. "Good morning. What can I do for you?"

"Good morning. Ah, are you Dennis?"

The older man chuckled. "Me? No, sorry. Dennis is my mechanic. I'm Gary, I own this place."

Steve nodded with a slight smile. "Oh, sorry. Ah, I'm, ah, I'm staying at the motel," he gestured vaguely in that direction, "and, ah, well, my car wouldn't start this morning. The manager told me Dennis would be the guy in town here to have a look at it for me."

"What kind a car?"

"Ah, it's, ah, it's a Porsche Targa…" Steve said softly, trying to soft pedal the impact.

Gary's eyes widened and he whistled. "Wow, we don't get those around here too often."

Steve shrugged slightly, almost apologetically. "Ah, so would Dennis be able to make a.. well, a house call, so to speak? I'd rather not have to get it towed."

The garage owner was nodding. "Yeah, I can understand that. But there's a bigger problem than that, son. Dennis is in Hawaii. He and the missis left on their annual winter vacation two days ago. He won't be back for a week." He smiled in commiseration. "Sorry."

Steve froze, unable to believe his ears. "A week?"

Gary nodded.

"Is there anybody else in town…?" Steve stopped mid-question; Gary was already shaking his head. He nodded softly with a creeping inevitability beginning to seep into his entire being. "Great…" he mumbled to himself.

"Sorry," Gary repeated, shrugging. "There's a great mechanic in Hesperia, but that's over fifty miles from here. You'd probably have to get your car there on a flatbed."

"Is there a flatbed in town?" Steve knew he was grasping at straws but his choices were quickly disappearing.

The owner shook his head with a contrite smile. "Sorry. But they can send one out from Hesperia. It'll end up being a two-way trip anyway, won't it?" He was trying to sound optimistic.

Steve nodded slowly. Visions of dollars bills floating out of his wallet were starting to flash before his eyes. "Okay…. Ah, well, thanks for the advice. I'll, ah, I'll think about it and let you know." He turned away from the counter then spun back, his eyes falling on the the black phone on the desk behind the counter. "Hey, ah, I really need to make a phone call… about my car, you know. The payphone down near the grocery store isn't working and…"

Gary had already moved to the desk and picked up the handset. He held it towards Steve, who's heart jumped with relief. As he started to step around the counter, Gary shook his head and raised the handset even higher, punctuating his look with raised eyebrows. Steve froze. There was no dial tone. The garage owner shrugged. "It's not workin' this morning. Happens sometimes. We never know how long it lasts, sometimes it's hours, sometimes it's days."

Steve deflated, nodding with a frustrated smile as he turned away.

"Sorry," Gary called after him genially as he disappeared through the door.

# # # # #

He sat in a small booth at the back, hidden from the large front window and, hopefully, prying eyes. The diner was almost empty, the few patrons clocking his progress across the floor to the booth, and he could feel the surreptitious glances, usually over cups of coffee, as he ordered breakfast from the pleasant, middle-aged waitress.

He had covered the phone book with the newspaper on the table in front of him, ostensibly reading the front page. In reality, he was trying to work out his next move. He figured that most, if not all, of the town knew exactly who he was by now, from every indication, so there wasn't much to be gained by pussy-footing around. It was time to take the bull by the horns and find out exactly how many people, if any, were willing to talk to him.

He figured he just needed one, and he would start with the waitress.

He slipped his wallet from his back pocket and took Gerry O'Brien's card out. He could hear her approach with his coffee and palmed the card. He wanted to wait till she delivered his bacon and eggs so he could hopefully have her undivided attention for a couple of minutes at least.

The coffee was remarkably good and he decided to ask for one to go when he left; Mike would appreciate a good cup.

There was nothing on the front page of the newspaper, which had turned out to be yesterday's L.A. Times, that mentioned anything about a murder in Eldred, of course; at least not on the front page. Watergate seemed to be the focus of most of the articles, and he made a mental note to read them later, when Mike was finished with the paper.

He wondered how his partner was feeling this morning. He hoped the tensor bandages had helped and that the older man had been able to get a good night's sleep. He knew both Mike and Jeannie were hurting, not just physically but because of their separation. They hadn't seen each other since the assault, and though they were both putting up a good front, the need to see and hold each other was a physical ache that nothing could assuage, he knew. And he promised himself that he would do everything in his power to make that happen.

He heard the waitress approach again and looked up, smiling warmly. As she put the hot plate on the table in front of him, he glanced at her name tag; Doris. "Would you like a little more coffee?" she asked.

"I'm okay for now, thanks," he replied.

She nodded and started to move away. "Enjoy your breakfast."

"Ah, listen, ah, Doris, is it?"

She stopped and nodded. "Umh-humh."

He held up the business card. "Doris, my name is Gerry O'Brien and I'm representing a man who's being held in the jail here on a murder charge." He saw her eyes widen slightly and knew immediately that she knew damn well who he was, even if she didn't know his name. She looked at the card then at him. "I don't believe he did it and I need to prove that. Would it be okay if I asked you a few questions?"

If she was flustered, she did a good job of hiding it. "I, ah, I don't know anything about that, Mr. O'Brien. I don't know what I could tell you."

Steve flashed his most charming smile as he put the card away, trying to remain casual even thought his heart was pounding. "Oh, I know you don't know anything about the murder, but Eldred is a small town…. I'm sure you must be acquainted with the victim. Johnny Seddon?"

She flinched slightly at the name and he knew he had struck a nerve. She hesitated for a beat. "Everybody knows Johnny Seddon."

Trying to hide his excitement, he said softly, "That's what I thought. I'd just like to ask you a couple of questions about him. It won't take long." He gestured graciously at the bench seat opposite him.

She froze for a long second, shot a quick glance back towards the kitchen, then slipped into the other seat without a word.

Steve nodded. "Thanks." She looked nervous, so he knew he had to be quick. He shrugged slightly, engagingly. "So, ah, what kind of guy was Johnny Seddon?"

She stared at him without moving for so long he thought she wasn't going to respond, then she smiled wanly. "He's… I guess you could call him headstrong. He doesn't play by the rules, if you know what I mean." Her sudden smile seemed more than a little artificial. She stared at him for an uncomfortable second before her smile disappeared. "Oh… I guess I should say 'was' now, shouldn't I?"

Steve smiled with vague sympathy. "Ah, was he popular in town?"

A quick frown washed over her face, as if she wasn't sure how to answer him. "Well, I guess it's what you mean by popular. He was never alone, if you know what I mean." When he raised his eyebrows with a facial shrug, she inhaled deeply. "There were some fellas about his age he hung around with, you know, but… well, a lot of people thought he was… well, he was a handsome boy and he knew it, and I guess that made him… a little aggressive…" She looked down at the table.

"Aggressive in what way?" Steve asked gently, not wanting to spook her as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"Well, he was a bit of a… well, a bit of a rake with the young ladies, if you know what I mean. Some of them liked it, but some of them didn't…"

"Was he ever violent with them?" he tread lightly, keeping his voice low and steady.

"Doris!" a deep male voice roared from the back of the diner and she looked up and past him, her face suddenly stricken.

"I've gotta go," she said quickly, scrambling to her feet and hurrying towards the kitchen.

With a frustrated sigh, knowing he would get nothing more from her, for now at least, he looked down at his rapidly cooling breakfast and unrolled the paper napkin holding the knife and fork.

# # # # #

She had come by his booth once more with the coffee pot, and he had wordlessly accepted a refill and asked for a cup to go and his bill. She returned several long seconds later with the to-go coffee and the bill, which she slapped on the table facedown in front of him.

He reached for the bill to turn it over as he slipped his wallet out of his back pocket then froze slightly when his hand touched a small folded piece of paper beneath it. Realizing it was a note, he palmed it as he picked up the bill, took a five out of his wallet and tossed it on the table, gathered the newspaper and phone book and headed for the door.