Trying not to increase his pace as he crossed the diner towards the exit, his heart pounding against his ribs, he was pushing the door open when he noticed the small newspaper rack beside the entrance and paused. 'The Eldred Gazette' the banner said; it was obviously a local weekly. There was a sign on the back of the rack that said '10 cents' and a slot in a small metal box. He fished into his pocket for a dime, dropped it into the box and picked up a paper.

He was a block away before he slowed down enough to take the small note out of his pocket and open it. In blue ballpoint pen it read: '15 Elmira St, 7 tonight. Use the back door. Be discreet.'

He folded the paper and put it back in his pocket, his mind racing. He increased his pace; he wanted to get to the police station as soon as possible, but he had one more stop to make.

# # # # #

The coffee in the cardboard cup was almost cold by the time he walked through the police station door; he hoped Mike would appreciate the thought if not the actual brew. Dottie greeted him a little louder than what would be normal and Hogan exited his office, obviously alerted. The tall chief stared at him with a smirk. "I thought you'da been here a lot earlier, considering how serious this all is."

A large paper bag in his hand, Steve moved to the gate. "My car wouldn't start. I had to walk."

"Aw, really? Hell, that's too bad. Well, Dennis can fix that for you." The concern in the words was belied by the flat, almost sarcastic tone of the voice.

Steve was starting across the bullpen towards the back door as Dottie opened a desk drawer and took the keys out. "Dennis is in Hawaii," he said without breaking stride or looking back.

"You don't say? Well, ain't that a bummer."

Like Edith Bunker, Dottie had jogged across the bullpen to catch up with him. He heard Hogan clear his throat loudly and pointedly. He stopped and turned, eyebrows raised expectantly. The chief nodded at the bag. With a sigh, Steve stepped to the nearest desk and put it down. Hogan crossed the room slowly and pulled the top of the bag open, looking in.

He raised his head languidly, the smirk intact. "So, what? You writing the great American novel?"

"I need to take notes. You have a problem with that?"

Chuckling dryly, Hogan took a step back and nodded at the bag. "Fill your boots."

With a soft growl, Steve picked up the bag. Dottie was holding the door open and he strode by her into the cell room. He waited patiently until she had opened the cell door, falling into the routine of standing just inside the door and not making eye contact with the occupant, who was lying in the cot once again, before she left the room.

As the door closed, Mike sat up as quickly as he could, pushing the blanket away, beaming. Steve crossed towards him with a smile, holding out the cup of coffee. He cocked his head. "It was hot when I paid for it," he chuckled apologetically as Mike took it.

"It feels warm," the older man grinned as he took the plastic lid off and dropped it to the floor next to his feet. He took a sip. "It's still warm. Thanks!" He held it up slightly and nodded.

"You're welcome," Steve laughed softly as he put the bag on the bed. "You've given up on the sling."

Mike's left hand went automatically to the tensor bandages under his shirt. "It feels pretty good today, I don't think I need it." He took another sip. "So did you see Jeannie again?"

Steve took a step back and shook his head. "Afraid not. Not yet, anyway. I'm gonna spend some time with her this afternoon for sure, find out what she remembers, see if she can add anything to what you told me."

Mike frowned slightly. "So what have you been doing?" he asked as his ran the fingers of his left hand over his now week-old stubble, trying not to sound judgmental.

Shaking his head, Steve glanced around the cell, his eyes settling on the other cot. He dragged it closer to his partner and sat. "You are not going to believe what I've been through since I left here last night."

There was just enough lightness in the younger man's tone to let Mike know he should be concerned but not worried. "Do tell," he responded in kind, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he took another sip of the tepid but still most welcome coffee.

The younger man ran his hands over his face. "Jeez, I hardly know where to start." He shook his head in frustration. "Okay, so, when I left here last night I went straight back to the motel to call Roy -"

Mike's eyebrows shot up. "So how did that go? Are they coming down?" he cut in and Steve glared at him through wide eyes, raising a forefinger.

"Don't interrupt or this'll take all day."

Looking mildly contrite, the older man bobbled his head, hiding behind a sip of his coffee.

"And it didn't go well, just so you know, because the phone in my room wasn't working. So I decided to go to the office and use their's but, of course, the office was closed. Now, this is the interesting part - it was open when I got there, so in the, what, minute that it took me to get into the room, drop my stuff and start to make a call, whoever it was in the office got the hell outa there."

Mike's brow had furrowed.

Steve shrugged. "A little suspicious, obviously, but it still could have been a coincidence." He paused for the inevitable snort and wasn't disappointed; he swallowed a smile. "But I couldn't shake the feeling I was being watched, so I took my .38 out of the car and brought it into the room with me, figuring I'll use the office phone first thing in the morning."

"Good idea," Mike mumbled cautiously. "Did you get any sleep?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. Anyway, up early this morning and straight to the office, which was open, thank god, but, guess what? The phone in the office is for motel employees only. But, as I was told by the always helpful Chief Hogan, there's a payphone outside the grocery store, which, of course, is on the other end of town. So I jump into my car and…" He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

If it was possible, Mike's brows knit even further. "What? It didn't start?"

Steve nodded once, the gesture laced with frustration.

"What happened to it?"

"I have no idea. I couldn't see anything wrong with the wiring and the battery but then again I'm not a mechanic." He sighed heavily. "The oh-so-accommodating motel manager told me there is a mechanic in town - a guy named Dennis - who could look at it for me." He closed his eyes briefly and shuddered.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mike couldn't entirely suppress his amusement. He knew how much Steve doted on his prized possession. The smile, replaced by a concerned frown, disappeared the instant the younger man opened his eyes. "Do you think someone tampered with it?"

Steve frowned. "I don't think so. The trunk locks with a key, and I don't think you can jimmy it. I mean, a thin person could've gotten underneath it but…" He shrugged. "Anyway, I charged all the way across town to the payphone at the grocery store, still determined to make the call. And you'll never guess…" he prompted, raising his eyebrows.

"That phone didn't work either?" Mike ventured slowly.

With a mirthless smile, Steve nodded. "According to little kid on the bike, it hasn't worked for a long time."

"But didn't Chief Hogan tell you…?"

"Yes, he did. And I'm having a hard time believing he didn't know."

"Yeah…" Mike was rubbing the top of the coffee cup across his bottom lip, his gaze suddenly far away.

"Anyway, thwarted once again, I headed back towards town in my quest for a working phone that I would be allowed to use. And I figured I'd go to the diner near the motel - where I got our BLTs last night - for breakfast and maybe talk to a couple of the locals. On the way there I happened to pass the garage I was told about and went in to talk to Dennis about my car."

Having long caught on to the thread weaving its way through the narrative, Mike almost cringed. "And…?"

"And Dennis is in Hawaii. He started his annual weeklong vacation with his wife two days ago."

"Son of a gun…" Mike mumbled dryly.

Steve snorted. "Yeah, that's what I said." They both chuckled softly. "The garage owner… Gary… suggested I have my car put on a flatbed and take it to another town god knows how many miles from here and have them look at it."

"Unh-hunh…"

"But, on the upside, the garage had a phone. He was all set to let me use it, before he told me the line was out. Happens sometimes, he said; could last hours, could last days…"

Mike stared at him without expression. "Geez, do you think they still have party lines in this town? What decade are we in…?"

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking." Steve sighed heavily; their desperate, 'grasping at straws' attempts to make light of the situation fading away. "It's more than just coincidence, Mike, that's obvious. But there's something… I don't know. Something I can't put my finger on just yet." He stared at his partner worriedly and Mike nodded slowly, mirroring the look. The younger man attempted an encouraging smile. "Anyway, undeterred and remaining stubbornly optimistic, I finally made it to the diner."

Mike smiled. "Good for you. Did you have any luck there?"

"Well, they didn't have a phone the public could use, and I didn't even bother trying to ask to use the one in the office - I could read the writing on the wall pretty good by then… but I did have luck in another area."

Leaning forward carefully but eagerly, the older man raised his eyebrows in anticipation.

"My waitress's name was Doris. I told her who I was - well, I told her I was Gerry," he shrugged, "and asked her if I could talk to her about Johnny Seddon. That seemed to hit a nerve but she said yes. I didn't get to talk to her for long, she was called back to the kitchen. But she did tell me everybody in town knew who he was and that he had a reputation as a 'rake', as she put it, with the ladies… and that he was 'aggressive' - her word."

Mike's stare narrowed slightly.

"I didn't get a chance to ask her anything else," Steve continued, "but when she brought me my bill, she slipped me this." He reached into his jacket pocket and handed Mike the note.

He read it and looked up, his eyes wide. "What do you think this means?"

"I think it means there's more she wants to tell me, but she wants to do it on the sly."

"Yeah…. You gonna go?"

"Of course."

"Bring your gun."

Steve smiled. "I will."

Mike looked back at the note, frowning. Steve could feel the worry that was already emanating from his partner so he leaned forward and picked up the paper bag. "So anyway, I have lots more I need to do today, but before a I go…" He dumped the contents of the bag on the cot beside him. "I need you to do some investigative work for me. Do you feel up to it?"

Mike's face brightened. "Me? You bet I do. What do you need?"

Smiling, Steve picked up a large ruled pad and two ballpoint pens and handed them over. He tossed the L.A. Times on the cot beside Mike with a, "That's for later, when you've finished your work," and a chuckle.

Then he picked up the local newspaper. He had stuffed the phone book inside, in the hopes that Hogan wouldn't notice it when he looked in the bag; he hadn't. He slipped the phone book out, held it up and grinned like a naughty school boy. "I, ah, I 'borrowed' this from the phone booth."

"Okay…" Mike said slowly. "So what do you want me to do with that?"