Steve looked up from the notes he was making on the pad on his desk; Healey and Haseejian were in Mike's office and the door was closed. The lieutenant was in the process of being updated on all the open cases from the assigned detectives, and it was the sergeants turn. Healey was leaning against the door, Haseejian in the first guest chair. In shirtsleeves, Mike was sitting back in his swivel chair, listening and frowning.

Steve glanced across the half-empty bullpen; Collier was at his own desk, furiously making notes. It would be his first time reporting to the boss in his new position, and even though he knew it was early days and that Steve would be doing most of the talking, he wanted to make sure he was on the ball should the lieutenant throw any questions his way.

Sitting back with a soft smile, Steve inhaled deeply. He remembered his first case in Homicide, and chuckled to himself. 'That's a lie,' he thought, shaking his head slightly. The first case was a blur; he had been so nervous he'd survived on raw nerve ends and copious cups of coffee. Luckily, Mike had seen beyond the tense and overly enthusiastic young Vice cop turned Homicide investigator and knew there was an exceptional detective in the making.

His brow furrowed as he furtively stared at the lieutenant through the glass wall. He wondered if Mike was starting to slowly back away from the streets, maybe beginning to gradually distance himself from his partner so that when he did make the decision to take the captaincy they kept offering, the transition wouldn't be as difficult for either of them.

Steve let his eyes drift to the notepad on his desk as he slowly exhaled. He certainly hoped he was wrong.

# # # # #

Mike knocked softly on the door, entering the small room when invited. He smiled broadly as he closed the door. "Wow, that was fast." He sounded impressed as he took the step to the small desk, too excited to sit but trying not to show it. "I couldn't believe it when I got your call."

Marilyn smiled warmly. "Well, I knew you were anxious, and I had some time -" She stopped herself and laughed almost derisively. "What am I saying… when you left yesterday, I was so charged up I started working on it right away. You have no idea how exciting it is to someone like me when I get a challenge like this. I usually just sit here and draw what people tell me - it's pretty cut-and-dried. But what you wanted me to do? That took real…. I don't know, detective work on my part." She bit her bottom lip and smiled with a little shrug, and for a split second the almost matronly, middle-aged woman looked like an excited little girl.

Mike chuckled. "Well, glad I could make your day."

"And then some," she laughed, picking up a letter-sized manila envelope and holding it out. She raised her eyebrows at him and nodded.

Meeting her knowing stare with a pleased smile, Mike took the envelop and started to open it.

"I've got your paperwork here," she said, tapping another envelope on the corner of her desk, watching his hands as he carefully slid out the piece of heavy drawing paper. He stared at the composite silently for several long seconds. Her eyes drifted up from the paper to his face. "Is that what you expected?"

He didn't move. "I don't know what I expected," he said quietly. His brow furrowed. He was staring at the pencil portrait of a woman in her late thirties, early forties, with shoulder-length dirty blond or light brown hair parted in the middle. She was slightly overweight, with a visible double-chin, and her nose was a little crooked; it looked like it had been broken and poorly reset. Nothing about her was remarkable.

His eyes shifting from the paper in his hand to Marilyn's eyes, he smiled. "Wow, this is great. Thank you."

"You think you can use it?"

"Are you kidding?" he chuckled, sliding the picture back into the envelope. "This is exactly what I need." He smiled at her. "So… what is this gonna cost me?" he laughed.

She grinned and leaned back in her swivel chair. "This is a freebie, Mike. It was fun. I don't get to have much fun in this job. Just do me a favor, will ya, and if she's the one that caused your accident, well, she might do it again… so get her off the street, okay?"

Beaming, Mike winked as he stepped to the door and put his hand on the knob. "I will. Thanks, Marilyn." He opened the door and she stopped him by calling his name. She was holding out the other envelope.

"Don't forget these," she chuckled, holding it out. "Your paperwork…?" she prompted when he looked at her with a furrowed brow.

"Oh yeah," he laughed self-consciously, grabbing the envelope. "Thanks."

She was still chuckling affectionately when he closed the door.

# # # # #

He was sitting in his car on Clay. The sun was starting to go down; the lights were coming on in the restaurants up and down the street, and the red Chinese lanterns strung between the streetlights were starting to glow.

He had knocked on the door of the apartment above the restaurant over an hour earlier, receiving no reply. But rather than return to the office, he decided to wait. The mouth-watering smells wafting through the air were tempting but he had managed to fend them off, at least so far.

He was perplexed. He had expected her to be home and when she wasn't, he wondered where she was. She was on her own now, with her brother going to jail; she had no income. And now he was going to add to her burden, he just knew it. He didn't want to, but he had to know what really happened.

He flexed his left wrist absent-mindedly.

# # # # #

They had decided to try a different tack, so instead of dress pants, sports coats and ties, they had changed into jeans, boots and Polo shirts. Steve wore his black leather jacket and a black pork pie hat he had borrowed from a friend in Vice, Collier a jean jacket and baseball cap, hoping to hide his surfer dude blond hair.

They had parked on 16th, wandering past Castro Camera on the way to Belmondo's. The flyers covered almost the entire front window of the popular photography shop, and Steve knew that flamboyant owner and political activist Harvey Milk was more than likely behind the little prank.

The detectives swallowed expectant smiles, exchanging a beleaguered yet resigned expression as they strode past, surprised and a little heartened when none of the young men and women loitering in front of the camera shop appeared to recognize them. Their stride increased and they were around the corner and out of sight of the store before they dared look at each other again. "Whew," Steve exhaled exaggeratedly and Collier chuckled.

They continued towards Belmondo's, feeling a little better about walking back into the lion's den.

# # # # #

He spotted her walking down the sidewalk toward the Chinese restaurant. She was carrying a white plastic bag and holding the lapels of her coat together against the strong, cool wind blowing in from the Bay. She opened the green painted door on the right side of the restaurant and disappeared inside. He waited, his attention turning to the front window of the apartment above. Seconds later, a light went on behind the sheer curtain.

He got out of the car and crossed the street. The green door wasn't locked and he climbed the stairs to the second floor. There were three doors on the small landing; he knocked on the one on the left.

There were soft footfalls and the door opened a crack; the chain was on. Dark, suspicious eyes stared at him through the small gap. He smiled. "Hello, Judy. It's Lieutenant Stone. Could I come in and talk to you?"

She stared at him for a silent beat, then nodded and shut the door. He could hear the chain rattle then the door opened again. She took a step back as he entered and she closed the door behind him.

It was a very small apartment, basically one large room that doubled as a living area and kitchen, and there were two doors visible, no doubt a bedroom and a bathroom. The bag she had been carrying was on the small kitchen counter beside a head of bok choy and a bunch of carrots.

She gestured shyly at the small sofa that had seen better days. Mike took off his fedora as he sat, and she perched on the edge of an old leather armchair. "How are you doing on your own?" he asked softly, knowing he was responsible for her current circumstances.

Her face lit up and she looked at him from under a lowered brow. "I have a job." She sounded almost as surprised as she was pleased.

"You do?" He beamed at her and she raised her head, smiling proudly.

She nodded. "At a grocery store on Stockton…. Li Hing's."

"Well, good for you. That's great news. Do you like it?"

She nodded again, this time with more enthusiasm. "Oh yes, very much. I have my own money now. It's not much, but it will allow me to keep this apartment and to feed myself."

"Well, that's very important. Good for you."

Her hands clasped in her lap, she smiled at him proudly, continuing to nod. "Do, ah, do you have any news about my brother?"

Snapped back to reality, Mike leaned forward slightly and cleared his throat. "Ah, no, I'm here on another matter." He put the fedora on the seat beside him and reached into his inside jacket pocket, taking out the composite drawing. He unfolded it. "Do you know this woman?" He turned the paper in his hand and held it out towards her.

Her eyes left his and dropped down to the pencil drawing of the unknown woman. When her eyes widened in surprise and the blood drained from her face, Mike knew he had his answer.

# # # # #

Belmondo's had filled up quickly, even this early in the evening. Tuesday was obviously a big night for the popular bar, as the detectives found out. They had been 'ratted out' quite soon after their arrival but then things settled down when the regulars, all friends of Robert Connors, realized why they were there.

It seemed like people were lining up to talk to them. The grief was still palpable amongst those who had heard the news before, but some had been unaware of the murder and were just now discovering that a beloved member of their community had been taken from them in such a heinous way.

But as much as people wanted to talk, none of them had anything new to add to what they already knew, which was Robert Connors left Belmondo's to buy cigarettes and was bludgeoned to death with a baseball bat on the sidewalk outside the store.

They ended up at the table where Connors sat every Tuesday night with 'his boys', mostly men younger than him with whom he felt the most comfortable, they were told.

Steve, nursing one of the super-sweet 'drinks with umbrellas', listened as they spoke about what a lovely man Bobby was as they consoled each other.

One of the young men looked around, frowning. "I'm surprised Jason isn't here tonight…" he said softly, his red-rimmed eyes bright with tears.

Steve paused, glancing around. "What?" he asked, leaning a little closer, not sure what he had heard in the growing din of the crowded bar.

"Jason… he's always here. He and Bobby were tight. He should be here by now."

On full alert, Steve glanced around the table; everyone was nodding. "When was the last time you saw him?"

The others looked at each other, frowning and shaking their heads. "Oh," one of them said suddenly and looked at Steve. "It was last week. He went with Bobby to get cigarettes…" he began excitedly then seemed to realize what he was saying and fell silent.

Steve and Collier looked at each other.