Benny's Bar was a cozy small diner a couple blocks north of Bell Street and closer to downtown, the perfect spot for an intimate conversation, or in their case, confidential interview.

Ensuring that they were seated away from the windows and against a back wall that overlooked all entrances seemed paranoid, and yet, past events had begun to shine a concerning light onto their investigation, making them take several extra steps to ensure the safety of any witnesses, and themselves.

Roger Ellis didn't look like the homeless man Mike had envisioned when Dixon had talked about him.

Lacking any sort of alcohol on his breath and dressed in particularly decent clothes all things considered; Ellis was a guy who'd fallen on hard times after losing his business in a fierce competitors' battle and eventual market changes, leaving him so deep in debt that homelessness had been his sole option.

Despite the three-day beard and unkempt hair, Ellis looked to be no older than mid-forties, his skin surprisingly smooth and his fingernails trimmed and clean considering he was living out on the streets.

"Could this be the lady you saw running out of the car?", Mike asked softly, then handed a photo of Milan over to their witness, who stared at the picture for many long moments.

"The hair seems right. But I couldn't speak for the rest. It was dark and happened so fast. I am sorry, Lieutenant."

Accepting the picture back, Mike nodded faintly, then leaned back in his chair, close enough that the rim of his fedora almost touched the backwall.

"Did she scream? Say anything? A name maybe?"

Another headshake answered his question, causing both partners to look at each other for a fleeting moment, sharing the same notion of defeat.

"Rog, can you remember anything else about the car? Or the guys perhaps? You can trust these two men here, they came highly recommended. If anybody can put these guys behind bars, I'm sure it's them." Dixon tried with an encouraging nudge, using his rapport with the homeless man to bridge any potential insecurities.

"Well, I told you everything I saw…", the other man muttered before glancing down at his untouched hamburger and milkshake, "There's nothing more I don't think…"

An uncomfortable silence spread between the four men, interrupted only by a waitress who brought over another round of waters, then scurried away when she noticed the tension.

With a dreadful sigh, Ellis shoved a handful of French fries in his mouth, chewed on them deep in thought, exuding a certain sense of guilt for not being able to help the two San Francisco detectives who had driven so far to find answers.

Then, suddenly, he gasped, causing Mike to fear that he'd choked on his food. Instead, Ellis glanced up from his hearty meal, a bright sparkle in his blue eyes and a broad smile lighting up his features.

"There was something else, Lieutenant Stone! On the two guys who went after the girl. I may have not seen their faces when it happened, but one of the guys…he was African American! The other one was white."

Mike clenched his jaws at the confirmation he sensed would be found in that quaint town just north of Santa Rosa.

Meeting his partner's determined green eyes as his mind began to piece the information together, he nodded unperceptively and reached for the black notepad in his dress coat. With a sigh of mixed emotions, relief and excitement being flooded by worry and disdain, Mike dug his pencil out of the plastic coils, and began to scribble down a phone number, before tearing the paper off and handing it over to their homeless suspect.

"Mister Ellis, how would you like to spend the next couple of weeks far away from the cold and damp roads and crowded shelters, in a hotel, with all the free food you'd like? Because we really would love to have you in our witness protection program."