"Wow, that has been a couple of rough weeks, hasn't it?" Mike smiled to himself as he tilted his head to the left, trapping the receiver between his ear and his shoulder as he reached for the bowl of peanuts on the endtable beside him and transferred it to his lap, picking one up, snapping the shell open and taking the peanut out. "That's for sure," he agreed softly as he popped the nut into his mouth. "And just after you left to go back to school."

"Well, I hope you're going to keep an eye on him."

"On Steve? Of course, why wouldn't I?"

He heard his daughter chuckle softly. "I know you will… I'm just saying…" Her laugh sounded apologetic and he matched her tone, effectively taking her off the hook. "Geez, I don't know which is worse… getting set up by that, that Sydney woman or having to kill that guy…" she offered rhetorically and he snorted.

"Yeah," her father breathed in agreement. "He was pretty stung after being set-up. I'm just glad I figured it out in time -"

"Do you think she would've killed him?" Jeannie asked in a rush, a tinge of fear in her voice and he winced, realizing he had said more than he had intended. He hadn't given her all the details but she was a cop's daughter; not much got past her and she could read things in his words and his tone that everyone else, except maybe his current partner, would never have noticed.

"No no, of course not," he lied, hoping he sounded convincing, and there was an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line before he heard her exhale softly. He popped another peanut into his mouth and she could hear the crunch as he bit down.

"What are you eating?" she asked flatly and accusingly, and he closed his eyes and exhaled softly, knowing he had, momentarily at least, distracted her.

He chuckled. "Peanuts."

"Have you had dinner yet?"

Anticipating the reprimand that he knew was coming, he glanced at his watch. 8:43. "Ah, no, not yet. I told you, I just got home."

"What are you going to eat?"

Here it comes, he thought, drawing in a deep breath: the inevitable lecture on his eating habits. "Ah, I'm not sure yet. Ah, something leftover, I'm sure." He tried to make it sound exciting but failed miserably.

"What do you have left over?" she persisted, her voice remaining expressionless. He could picture her disapproving frown, a look she had inherited from her mother.

"Ah, I think I have some spaghetti -"

"Leftover spaghetti!" she interrupted in horror and he froze, his jaw snapping shut. "Mike, for the love of god, you can't eat leftover spaghetti - that's disgusting!"

"I've done it before," he ventured softly, only to hear her snort in disgust again.

"Please don't tell me that. How could you? My god, are you serious? Spaghetti is what? Five cents for a handful? I left you a bunch of jars of sauce…. Please, if you're going to have spaghetti again tonight, throw out last night's and make it fresh…. Please… For me…"

She sounded so plaintive and pitiful that he started to laugh. "I didn't know you were so passionate about spaghetti…"

Her warm chuckle wafted over the line and he felt his heart soar. "It's not the spaghetti…" she said softly and the brief silence that followed warmed both their souls.

"Okay, you win, I'll make myself some fresh spaghetti, I promise. So, enough about me, how are your classes this year?"

They spent the better part of the next twenty minutes discussing her professors and the upcoming semester while he continued to munch on the occasional peanut. "Speaking of which," she said finally, knowing they both needed to end the conversation but reluctant to do so, "you better have dinner and get a good night's sleep for a change and I've got a couple of things I've got to read before my classes tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, I guess…" He was always reluctant to end their calls.

"You, ah, you look after that partner of yours, you hear? Sounds like he might need someone to lean on in the next little while, whether he thinks so or not."

Mike chuckled. "That's what I'm here for."

"Yeah, you're the best, Daddy…" she said softly and suddenly the back of his throat constricted and he couldn't speak. After a couple of silent seconds, he cleared his throat.

"Well, ah, you, ah… enjoy your classes and lectures, if you can… and good luck in that bike race this weekend, you hear?" His voice didn't sound as strong as he wanted it to and he knew she'd notice.

There was a brief but knowing pause then Jeannie chuckled softly. "Thanks. I'm out of shape so I don't think I'll do very well but it's supposed to be a gorgeous day and the route through the desert is pretty spectacular so it should be fun."

"I bet."

There was another fleeting silence. "Love you , Daddy."

"I love you too, sweetheart. I'll call you next Sunday night, okay, and you can tell me all about the race."

"You got it. Goodnight, Mike - and make some fresh spaghetti!" she laughed as she hung up.

"I will!" he bellowed as he took the receiver out from under his ear and dropped it on the cradle. He stared at it for several long beats before he put the bowl of peanuts on the endtable and got out of the recliner, heading towards the kitchen.

# # # # #

"Well, you're in early this morning," Mike chuckled cordially as he crossed the bullpen towards his office, the black topcoat over his arm.

His jacket off and sleeves rolled up, Steve raised his head and leaned back in the chair, tossing the pen on the desk in front of him, his green eyes following his partner's progress. "Yeah, I couldn't sleep last night so I got up early and decided to come in and get a head start."

Mike glanced at his own desk for messages as he hung the coat on the rack, the fedora joining it a beat later. "Get a head start on what? We wrapped the Rodriguez thing yesterday. We didn't get a case overnight, did we?" He reached up to loosen his tie and undo his collar button as he crossed back to his partner's desk.

"No no," Steve reassured quickly, shaking his head. "I thought I'd go over the file on the, ah, the Lundberg murder."

Mike stopped beside the desk, freezing mid-motion as his brow furrowed. "Lundberg…?" he whispered, trying to place the name. Steve waited, a faint smile playing over his lips, knowing the older man didn't need any coaching. Suddenly the blue eyes widened and he snapped his fingers. "That Swedish tourist… stabbed to death on Fisherman's Wharf middle of the night about… five years ago…?" He tilted his head, eyebrows raised, and waited for confirmation.

Chuckling, Steve leaned forward and gestured at the file open on his desk. "That's the one."

Laughing, Mike sunk down on the corner of the desk, pleased with himself but not insufferably so. "That was before your time, buddy boy. What made you want to look into that one?"

The younger man shrugged. "I don't know. I heard about it when it happened, of course, and I know it wasn't solved." He paused and glanced down, as if uncharacteristically reluctant to say more. "And things have been a little slow the past couple of days. I knew we were wrapping the Rodriguez case and I… well, I didn't want to just… sit around, you know…"

Mike knew what he wasn't saying, that Sydney Bruce and Jerry Schilling were still overwhelming his every waking thought, for different but equally disturbing reasons. The older man reached out and squeezed his shoulder; Steve looked up and they shared a brief but very knowing look. "Listen, ah," Mike gestured at the file, "you couldn't have gotten this from Records this morning…?"

Steve chucked self-consciously. "Ah, no, I asked for it yesterday afternoon while you were going over my Rodriguez report. I found it on my desk this morning."

"Oh, I see." He pointed at the file again. "So, found anything yet?"

"Oh god no," Steve snorted with a quick laugh, "I just started."

Mike glanced over his shoulder at the still almost empty bullpen and leaned closer to the younger man. "Ah, I think Dan is still a little… upset that he didn't solve it. You might want to keep it under your hat until you can feel him out on what he thinks about you reopening one of his unsolved cases."

Steve met his stare and nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're probably right. Good point."

With a chuckle, Mike patted his partner's shoulder once more and got to his feet, heading back to his office. He had just gotten to the door when the phone on his desk rang. Glancing over his shoulder with a loud sigh and shake of his head, he crossed around the desk, picking up the receiver on the way. "Homicide, Stone…. Yeah…. Yeah, okay. We'll be there in a half hour… Okay, thanks." As he dropped the receiver back on the cradle, he looked up through the glass wall of his office; Steve was watching him. "Well, stuff that file in a bottom drawer, buddy boy," he growled as he stepped to the coat rack and grabbed his coat and hat. "We've got a body."

"Already done," the younger man sighed as he closed the large bottom drawer and got to his feet, snagging his jacket from the back of his chair. "Where to?"

"Ellis and Jones."

Steve chuckled mirthlessly as he followed his partner across the bullpen to the anteroom door. "Ah, the upscale part of town."

"Yeah," Mike laughed dryly as he pulled the door open.

# # # # #

Two impossibly young-looking uniformed cops pushed a small crowd of onlookers off the street to allow the tan Galaxie to pass through the temporary blue wooden barriers that blocked each end of the short block. Three black-and-whites and, surprisingly, the black coroner's wagon, it's double back doors standing open, were parked haphazardly in the middle of the street.

Mike stared at the M.E.'s van as he got out and slammed the passenger side door. "How the hell did they get here before us?" he asked, not quite rhetorically.

Steve chuckled to himself as he followed his still frowning partner to the entrance of the alley where all the action seemed to be taking place. He knew from long experience that, for some reason, it irked the older man when the coroner beat them to a murder scene.

Charging ahead, not even taking the time that he usually did to nod in acknowledgement to the officers already in attendance, Mike strode into the alley; Steve, still trailing, managed to make eye contact with several of the ignored patrolmen and nodded with a slight smile, hoping to make up for his partner's brusk indifference.

Bernie, a clipboard and pen in his hands, was kneeling over the body of a scantily clad woman, face down in the muck and mire of the alley. The medical examiner glanced up when he heard the rapidly approaching footsteps, a smile on his face as he turned to face the frowning lieutenant, as if in anticipation.

"How did you get here so fast?" Mike asked, not even glancing down at the victim.

Bernie's eyes almost danced. "I got the call at home. I came straight here." He pointed with his pen at one of his assistants on the other side of the body. "Brian brought the van."

Seemingly satisfied, Mike stared at the coroner for a beat then exhaled loudly and looked down. "So, what have we got?"