For once, fortune had favored the two weary detectives and the meeting with Olsen entailed nothing more than a fair warning that Conden was planning on putting on a news conference that evening to update the public on the serial killer case.

Unfortunately, it would also highlight a painful lack of progress, something that bothered Steve greatly.

But key evidence and indicting witness statements weren't things that could be forced. All of the above had to be obtained legally; by using patience, diligence and good old street smarts.

As such, Steve had made a few more calls; one being to his old Literature professor at Berkeley, shamelessly running some of the phrases used by his Morley Bar suspect by the other man in hopes of finding the exact book the masked stranger was referencing. Although Professor Steward did agree on his hunch of a certain Shakespeare theme, no mention of a thread of justice could be found anywhere in the famous writer's plays.

His next call had gone out to an old friend, who was deeply involved in the theatre scene of San Francisco. Steve's hope, albeit faint, had been that he was aware of the peculiar individual and could point him into the right direction for an interview.

Although Mike had made a very valid, and downright scary point that Erin McMillan could be as much considered as a murder suspect as her power-hungry brother, neither one of the two fit well into the profile and MO of their killer.

Eric was too streamlined in his thinking, too much after the grand prize to worry about an intricate murder scheme.

Erin on the other hand, a strange character, a lost child of sorts who used unbelievable imagination, creativity and compassion when teaching her students, seemed like a more fitting suspect, and yet, something wasn't quite right. At this point, without better evidence pointing toward the teacher, their hands were tied when it came to bringing her in for further questioning; thankfully though, that didn't exclude another friendly visit to Abraham Lincoln High School.

But he agreed with Mike on that one; putting the pressure on Erin to get her to trip up would be one of their last moves, a direction that might give away their hunch if pursued too early. It was a trump card that for now would have to be kept closely guarded.

Instead, their latest trip sent them across town, to the outskirts of Golden Gate Park on a day where most reasonably sane people would rather curl up on the couch, covered in a thick blanket and enjoy a hot cup of coffee.

According to his friend Tristan, another actor for the San Francisco Academy of Fine Arts had mentioned a sighting of the illusive masked bar hopper. And that friend was supposed to be working at a local coffee shop along the beach.

Even though it wasn't a strong lead, it was better than staring at case files for days on end, and possibly having to deal with more drama from the brass, or the McMillan clan for that matter.

"You never told me where you learned so much about choking people.", Steve finally nudged to make small talk, his glance drifting over to his brooding partner for a moment, before focusing back on the dense traffic along Geary.

Mike had kept to himself for most of their trip so far, eyes off in the distance, his mind even farther away. Steve couldn't be sure if it was the conversation with Eric McMillan still wearing on his nerves, or the public pressure building up around their case.

"I learned a lot of things out in the Pacific.", the seasoned Lieutenant finally said quietly, a hint of sadness in his voice, "Not always something I wanted to learn. But there were days when it was…do or die."

Reading the somber message between the lines, Steve nodded understandingly, before joining his partner in the quietness, as they continued their journey west.

With the relentless cold mist, a thick fog had moved in off the Bay, enveloping many of the city blocks in its oppressive nothingness, even concealing the skyscrapers that made up downtown altogether.

And just like the fog, the politics surrounding their case began to isolate the two detectives from the rest of the world, pulling them into a twisted reality of half-truths, narcissism and immoral powerplays. Forced to rely on their own beliefs, and the deep foundation of trust connecting both partners, Steve knew that the winding road ahead would test each one of them to the core, more so than once.

"When we get there, I am going to give Cappy a call, maybe he's seen somebody by now."

Mike's soothing voice pulled him out of his daydreams and Steve nodded, smiling faintly at the creative bypass the Lieutenant had used to put a stakeout on Morley's bar, without a single uniformed officer involved.

Cappy had been a trustworthy stoolie for a while, and the promise of a couple bigger bills for sitting in a coffee shop across the street for the next twelve hours gave them a chance of getting closer to their killer, despite the lack of leads and without the need to jump through inter-departmental hoops of fire.

"Sounds too good to be true after everything that's been going on.", Steve sighed in defeat and turned left toward Fulton, "Hopefully this…this Pippin that Tristan put us onto will be of some help too. Maybe more than we envisioned."

His words made Mike glance up in surprise, then narrow his eyes in confusion.

"More than we envisioned? What's on your mind, Buddyboy?"

Clearing his throat, Steve shook his head dismissively, struggling to formulate his thoughts on a hunch that was so far out even he still had his doubts.

"It's just that…I guess I don't know how to put this…Mike, we haven't been able to come up with a good connection between our three victims, right?"

"Right."

"Well, and Rudy McMillan's murder happened around the time that Ramon Peterson was killed too."

"Correct…?"

"What if our killer singled out these people intentionally at random, in some contorted compulsion of fitting them into a…story. Something…dramatical, like a literature play. Maybe our killer barely knew them, possibly only watched them from afar for a while. Mind you, we still don't know where they were killed, only where they were dumped."

Turning around in the front bench of the Galaxy to face his partner, Mike frowned theatrically, before placing the back of his hand against his partner's cheek.

"You do feel a bit warm to the touch…"

"Aw, come on now, you wanted to know what was on my mind, so I told you. I might be…way off, but what if I'm not? The theatre mask, the funny terms used, all these disguises could just as well be used to confuse our victims, to…heck, I don't know, pretend that our killer is some sort of lost traveler, an artist trying to make ends meet. If we're dealing with some estranged actor here, it's just as possible that he or she knows just how to sway people, get them to trust him or her."

"Like Eric or Erin McMillan?"

Mike's off-the-cuff comment made him grunt in frustration, as Steve pulled into a parking spot along Fulton, barely able to see the neon sign for Craig's Coffee House.

"You know what? Just forget about it, ok?"

He was about to reach for the door handle, when Mike grabbed his arm to pull him back into place.

"Easy now, take it easy, Buddyboy.", with a soothing smile, the Lieutenant reached over to tap the case file resting on the dashboard, "I never said those two theories are mutually exclusive. It could just be that either Eric or Erin McMillan have some…some fancy hobby on the side, like to play dress up and talk funny, make themselves feel important at the local bars. It's also just as possible that we're looking down the wrong rathole altogether. All I am saying is, let's be careful and not dig too deep, until we know where that tunnel is going to lead."

Swallowing the irritation that had flared up surprisingly fast, Steve nodded and exhaled slowly, enough of a reaction for Mike who turned around to exit the Galaxy, when suddenly, his glance got stuck on something across the street.

As he noticed his partner's body language become increasingly tense and distant, Steve leaned over, trying to discern what had caught the Lieutenant's attention.

The raw horror in those blue eyes glazing over at the sight of the fog covered lawns and trees of Golden Gate Park was enough to tell him that Mike's mind had made some sort of connection to those frightening nightmares that had plagued him for weeks now.

And slowly but surely, with each day they were getting closer to the truth, Steve was beginning to share that same foreboding worry.