Steve could hear Linus' nervous chitchat as he entered the interrogation room, a notepad in one hand and a glass of water for his guest in the other.

It was his plan to slowly break through Ricky's mile-wide defensive wall by being courteous and understanding- one could hope at least.

Closing the door behind him before heading toward the table in the center of the room, Steve tried to ignore Linus sniffing the ground while his owner stared ahead stoically, never even acknowledging his presence.

"Richard Jarvis, aka Ricky the Raccoon Guy…", Steve announced with a hint of pride in his voice, grateful that the fingerprints they had taken off the Galaxie's rear door handle had come back so fast; a door handle they had meticulously cleaned beforehand for that very purpose.

"Two years in San Quentin for embezzlement. Says here you were pretending to solicit donations for the homeless veterans of San Francisco."

Dropping the file next to the tape recorder, Steve reached forward to hit the record button, then pushed the glass of water toward Ricky.

"It was one of my…less prestigious ideas…", the intriguing man replied evenly, his eyes never moving behind the dark-shaded glasses and yet Steve knew he was keenly aware of his presence.

"So, last time we talked to you about Reverend Joe, you were a bit vague on quite a few details. How about we start at the beginning this time around and skip all the religious rhetoric. When and how did you guys meet?"

"Or what?", Ricky countered with a smug grin, "You'll threaten to kill Linus again?"

"No.", Steve said too fast, his eyes automatically searching for the busy vermin somewhere below the table, "Let's just say that was also one of my less prestigious ideas. But we have an agreement. And we really need to figure out how Reverend Joe died and who murdered him."

"Everyone dies sooner or later…", Ricky began, once again trying to evade his direct question when Steve leaned halfway across the desk, close enough to smell the other man's less than appeasing body odor.

"Not everybody gets murdered. We know he didn't die of natural causes. And we also know that you and Albert were the last ones to be seen with him. So why don't we cut to the chase here."

A faint smile spread on the other man's lips as he reached forward to put his hand on top of Steve's, forming small circles with his bony thumb.

"Calm down, my young friend. There is no point in getting upset. Just…relax. I won't hurt you."

The gentle words along with the perplexing touch did exactly that, throwing Steve for a loop momentarily as he looked down to follow Ricky's calming hand on top of his.

The strangely intimate move had yielded both, a complete reset of roles during the interview, while reigniting Lenny's words about Ricky being a savior of sorts, a man who had witnessed so much evil that he had made it his life's goal to spread joy and kindness- all the while clouding his mind with the power of a gentle touch.

Upon noticing the success of his gesture, Ricky pulled his hand back again, then interwove his fingers on the desk.

"You see, aggression such as this yield little in life.", the nearly blind man lectured patiently, "If you want to befriend a doe in the woods, you don't come charging at her, wielding your gun. You learn her patterns and approach slowly, offering nothing but trust and gentle kindness."

Steve shook his head, wanting to get rid of the enchanting words that seemed to make it straight past his innermost defenses, trying to sway his opinion and cloud his clear thought.

"How did you first meet Reverend Joe?", Steve tried again, growing tired of the circular charade when suddenly, Ricky surprised him once again.

"I first met Lester at Golden Gate Park. We were both travelers at that time, wandering here and there to find ourselves. That was long before he made the Dolores neighborhood his main spot."

The important information so cunningly sandwiched between odd behavior and metaphysical talk made Steve snap awake again and he added a brief note on his piece of paper, before facing Ricky again.

"How long ago was that?"

"A few years ago."

"When you talked to us the other day up at the wharf, you said you didn't even know Reverend Joe's real name, but you do. Care to explain that?"

"No.", Ricky answered smugly and took a moment to pet his racoon, "Your job has you living in a world of black and white, young man. Truth or lie. Fact or fiction. As you go through life, one day, you will find out that things are never black and white. They're grey at best. Sparks of color breaking up the haze and enlightening the clouds of doubt and hatred that fill our hearts so often."

And so he added another slice of bread to his sandwich.

"You also said that you guys met when you were going through different homeless shelters.", Steve continued undisturbed, desperately holding on to the few pieces of viable information they'd been able to pry out of the other man, "Was there anybody in particular that could have had reason to kill Lester? Maybe somebody he upset? Somebody who didn't share his religious beliefs?"

"Quite honestly young man, I believe the person who killed him didn't even know him."

Feeling his heart skip a few beats at the information slowly bubbling to the surface, Steve absent-mindedly glanced at the recorder, making sure the tape was still rolling, before asking his next question.

"So, you saw the murder? Is that what you are saying?"

"Seeing is not what I would call that, being that I am visually impaired, in case you hadn't noticed…", Ricky said smilingly, once again evading his question, "And whether or not Lester was truly murdered is also up for debate."