Strong hands were keeping him pinned against the musty wall, fingers digging into the back of his neck unrelentingly, ensuring that he couldn't move a single muscle as he was stripped of his revolver, handcuffs, ammo and police badge.

Next to him, Tanner was receiving the same treatment, the African American Inspector's hands stretched out to either side, as four guys searched him top to bottom.

"We're police…officers…", Steve gasped pleadingly, when a woman appeared in his line of vision, one half of her face droopy, her greasy hair pulled back in a tight bun.

"The law's different out here, sweet cheeks."

Using her good left hand, she ran her fingers down this side, stopping near his belt as if to search for additional weapons, then proceeded down his leg, before switching sides.

"We're still in San Francisco…", Steve continued when his wrists were pulled back and handcuffed, before being yanked toward the center of the room, "Which makes us the law. What you're doing is considered a federal offense."

"And how would you bring up charges if there are no…witnesses to the crime, hm?", the lady countered smugly and ran her hand through his hair, before reaching for his chin to force him to look at her, "You might as well drop the act. It doesn't work out here. In case you two haven't noticed yet, no black and whites come down here. Ever. Like I said, the law is different here."

Sharing a worried glance with Tanner, Steve decided to remain quiet, too outnumbered and vulnerable to continue the charade.

"So, what's a pretty boy like you doing in this neighborhood anyways?", the lady continued before reaching for his tie and playfully loosening the knot.

"We work for San Francisco Police, Homicide. We're here to ask some questions. About a man you might know. He was murdered."

"I know who you work for.", she sneered and gestured toward his badge in one of the other guys' hand, "Who was murdered?"

Glancing back over at Tanner and receiving a faint nod, Steve cleared his throat.

"A guy by the name of Reverend Joe."

The reaction was as immediate as it was unexpected.

A tense silence spread through the group of scoundrels, worried glances were exchanged, the atmosphere changing from oppressive superiority to heartbreaking grief.

"R…Reverend Joe, you said? Are you sure?"

As his handcuffs were released at once, Steve spent a moment to rub his sore wrists, then glanced across the entire group.

At least a dozen oddballs greeted the two San Francisco Homicide Inspectors, ranging from late twenties to early seventies judging by the unkempt faces staring back at them. Their clothing varied from torn shirts and pants to nearly-new second-hand rags that could dub as theatre-outfits.

It certainly seemed as though they had found a whole new world of its own right here in the Bay City.

"We believe so, yes.", Steve answered carefully, his eyes drifting back and forth between Tanner and the supposed leader of the group, the Bell's Palsy lady herself.

"Well…how…how was he murdered?"

Drawing in a deep breath and once again taking in the group, looking for signs of insincerity, twitches, lowered eyes or nervous fidgeting, Steve shrugged.

"His neck was broken, as were some other bones. It's possible he was beaten badly, or thrown out of a building. Then somebody buried him at the Mission Dolores Cemetery. We'd like to find out who that person is."

A communal gasp went through the group, followed by the female leaders' vehement headshake.

"I…I can't believe this. We thought he'd moved on."

"Moved on to where?"

"Chicago.", she answered matter-of-factly and pointed east, "The Windy City. He wanted to start anew. See new faces. Breathe different air. That sort of thing."

Pretending to understand what she was talking about, Steve nodded apprehensively.

"Was he travelling with anybody? When exactly was the last time you saw him?"

"Oh honey, it's been months. We…we never gave it a second thought until you guys showed up. If anything, we figured some television show over in Chicago would pick up on all his…good deeds and maybe put him on their show. We had no idea that…that this happened."

Not skipping a beat, Steve accepted his handcuffs, badge and gun back, shoving the .38 into the holster on his left hip as he spoke up.

"He often wore a cassock, correct?"

"That's right, honey."

Strike One.

Glancing over at Tanner subtly, Steve clenched his jaws, that busy mind working overtime.

"We also know he frequented the homeless shelters and soup kitchens. Even put on a car wash to help older people pay for their rent."

"That is true. Reverend Joe was a true blessing for this neighborhood."

Strike Two.

Feeling his heart beginning to race at the hint of a case break, Steve licked his lips.

"Let's pretend he wasn't murdered. If I wanted to find him, where would I look?"