"This is it," Lester said, stopping in front of a psychedelically painted door between a record shop and a hairdressers. There was an ancient-looking intercom panel at eye level but all the names had been scratched off or removed and some of the buttons were missing. Lester grabbed the doorknob and twisted and the door opened easily.

Steve exchanged a frown with Collier; obviously security was not a big factor for this establishment.

Lester stepped over the threshold, the detectives close on his heels, and started up the narrow staircase lit with a very weak yellow bulb on the upper landing. The smell of body odour, cigarette smoke and marijuana filled the air; Collier coughed softly and cleared his throat. Lester chuckled.

There were four doors visible off the dank and dark hallway. The small man with the wild hairdo continued on to the last door on the left then stopped. "Here."

Steve stepped to the door and knocked. They all froze, listening intently. Other than some loud Pink Floyd coming from one of the other apartments, they couldn't hear anything through the door. Steve knocked harder. Still nothing. He looked at Lester. "What's Jason's last name?"

Lester shrugged and shook his head quickly. "I have no idea. Sorry, man."

Steve banged on the door again. "Jason! Jason, it's the police! We need to talk to you!" He pounded again. There was still no response but down the hall the Pink Floyd suddenly stopped.

Lester shifted nervously, obviously growing more worried.

"You wouldn't have a key, would you?" Collier asked, half in jest.

Lester spun to him, guilt quickly flashing across his face.

"Do you?"

The smaller man shook his head quickly. "No… no, man, but I know where he stashes one…" His dark, sheepish eyes snapped from one cop to the other then, with a heavy sigh, he took his hands out of his jacket pockets and moved closer to the newspaper-covered window at the end of the hall. He reached up and ran his right hand across the top of the frame. He picked something up then held it up to the weak light; it was a key. He shrugged. "I crash here sometimes… when I'm too wasted to get home…" Not meeting their eyes, he stepped to the door and inserted the key into the lock as the detectives shared another look, this one with a soft smile.

The tumblers clicked over and Lester opened the door. As he began to step into the apartment, Steve grabbed his arm and pulled him back out into the hallway. "You stay out here," he ordered as Collier pushed past him.

As they moved deeper into the small apartment, Steve pushing the front door closed behind him, both of them reached to the back of their belts and slipped out their .38's, holding them barrel up as they moved slowly and silently through the dark and cluttered living room of the very small apartment.

"Jason!" Steve called out again as he crossed to the lamp he could barely make out in the dim glow coming in from the lone window. He snapped the light on.

The small apartment was cluttered but surprisingly neat and well-maintained. A curtain of beads separated the living area from the small kitchen; against the far wall were two doors. Nodding towards the door on the right, Steve led the way towards it. "Jason!" he called out again as he approached the door, Collier a few feet behind him and closer to the centre of the room so they weren't one big target.

Exchanging a quick glance, Steve reached for the doorknob and turned it as quietly as he could. The door opened away from him and he took a couple of quick steps into the room. It was a bedroom, as he had expected. He reached out to his left and felt along the wall till he found the switch and snapped on the ceiling light. Though the bed was unmade, the room was otherwise quite neat.

Collier stepped into the room behind him, both sets of eyes taking in everything quickly and efficiently as they stood motionless, listening intently. After a couple of beats, Steve took a step towards the closet door and was just reaching for the knob when a soft, strained whimper floated through the air. He froze, looking back at Collier, who raised his eyebrows and nodded at the closet, taking a silent step closer. Both .38's trained on the closet, Steve grabbed the knob and yanked the door open.

Jason, both trembling hands raised over his downturned head, was crouched in a corner, whimpering. "Don't shoot, don't shoot, don't shoot…" he cried over and over again.

"We're not going to shoot," Steve assured quickly, sticking his revolver in his belt. "We're the police, Jason, we're the good guys," he almost chuckled as he reached for the slight, visibly shaking young man and pulled him to his feet.

Collier had backed away from the closet and lowered his gun. "Anyone else here?" he asked, his eyes raking the room once more.

Jason, who was even smaller than Lester, was a thin, very pale young man with long dirty blonde hair and a short, well-kept beard and moustache. He shook his head vigorously. He looked terrified, and stared at both of them through wide, red-rimmed eyes.

Taking a page out of Mike's book, Steve smiled warmly. "Your friends at Belmondo's were worried about you, Jason. Lester brought us here." He took the young man's arm and began to lead him into the living room. "We just want to talk to you about Bobby Connors."

Jason, who was allowing himself to be led out of the bedroom, stopped short and his frightened eyes snapped to Steve. "You know about Bobby?" he asked breathlessly, his eyes brightening with tears.

Still smiling softly, Steve nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, we do. But we haven't been able to catch whoever killed him. And we were hoping you might be able to help us."

Jason swallowed heavily, the frightened look replaced somewhat by guilt. He nodded slowly.

Taking the gesture as a sign of acquiescence, Steve started to lead him into the living room again. As they walked through the doorway, Steve glanced back at Collier and nodded towards the front door. While Steve led Jason to the sofa, Collier continued on to the front door and opened it, silently inviting a surprised and very relieved Lester into the apartment.

Jason looked up as he sat and met Lester's eyes. They both smiled vaguely then Lester turned and pushed his way through the beads into the kitchen. As Steve sat on the sofa beside Jason, Collier moved closer, perching on the far end of the large heavy coffee table, giving the frightened young man some space. They could hear Lester in the kitchen filling a kettle and putting it on the stove.

Steve had taken out his badge and I.D. and held it out for Jason to see. "I'm Inspector Keller, this is Inspector Collier." He gestured at his partner, who nodded. "But you can call me Steve, Jason."

The frightened blue eyes stared into him then looked at the blond cop, who nodded with a soft smile. "Ethan."

Collier reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small notebook and golf pencil. Steve stared at him with a curious frown. Collier shrugged self-consciously. "Habit…" he answered softly.

With a barely perceptible shake of his head, Steve refocused. "Just for our notes, Jason, can you tell us your last name?"

"Ward… Jason Ward."

Steve nodded encouragingly. "Are you from San Francisco?" He knew that starting out with softball questions would help soften the ground, so to speak, for the harder questions.

The young man shook his head. "No… Montana… Helena…"

"When did you move here?"

"About two years ago…" He paused and looked down at his hands in his lap. "I, ah, I couldn't be myself in Montana… you know what I mean?"

"Yeah… yeah, we do," Collier said quietly, and both Steve and Jason looked at him. The cop's eyes drifted to Steve's and he smiled slightly. Steve smiled back; Collier was a quick study.

His attention returning to the still frightened young man, Steve leaned forward slightly. "Is that when you met Bobby?"

Jason shook his head. "Not right away, not till I started going to Belmondo's, about a year-and-a-half ago."

Nodding, Steve took a beat before asking, "Were you lovers?"

Jason's eyes shot wide and he shook his head. "No… no, we were just friends. He was like a father to me." He raised his right hand and rubbed his forehead, looking away. He took a deep breath. "I have other friends…"

Steve nodded understandingly. He took another few seconds before asking, "Jason, the guys at Belmondo's told us you were with Bobby Connors last Tuesday… the night he was attacked. Is that true?"

The moist blue eyes bored into him for a very long few seconds before he nodded, swallowing nervously. "Yes…" he said softly.

"You went to the bodega with him?"

"Yes…"

"Did you see what happened? Did you see who attacked him?"

Jason looked down. His hands were on his knees and they tightened, his knuckles turning white. He didn't say anything. They heard the beads rattle and the cops looked up to see Lester approaching with a tray in his hands. He put it on the coffee table beside Collier. There was a teapot, four mugs, a couple of spoons and a small milk jug and sugar bowl on the tray and Lester crouched down beside the table. Without making eye contact with any of them, he began to pour the tea.

The very presence of this friend seemed to have an instant relaxing effect on the frightened young man and Jason stared at Lester with a grateful smile. Steve watched silently until Lester handed Jason the first cup.

"Did you see who attacked him?" Steve asked again after Jason had taken his first sip.

Staring at the cup, Jason nodded. "Yes…" He stared into space, wrapping both hands around the mug as if he couldn't feel the heat.

"What happened?"

Dragging a deep breath into his lungs, Jason slowly closed his eyes. "We had gone to the bodega for cigarettes… Bobby only smoked those awful Gauloises. They smell horrible and he loved them… They were his one indulgence…" His snort was soft and melancholic. "When he was going through the door when we got there, this guy was coming out… a big guy… and they bumped into each other. Bobby apologized but the other guy went ballistic… he starting yelling at Bobby, 'Why don't you watch where you're going, you faggot!'" His jaw clenched and he dropped his head, his whole body starting to shake once again.

Lester, who had finished handing the cops their mugs of tea, straightened up, both hands at his sides balled into fists, staring at the top of his friend's downturned head.

Jason took another deep breath. "Bobby ignored him… he always did that. He said it was the best way to diffuse a dangerous situation. So, ah, so we went into the store and he bought his cigarettes. We talked to the owner for a couple of minutes, and then we left. There was no one on the street, it was a cold night and it was getting late… and we just started to walk down the sidewalk when someone yelled "You god damn faggot" and I saw something moving fast through the air and I heard a loud crack… and Bobby fell…" He gasped and held his breath, squeezing his eyes closed, his entire body trembling.

Steve leaned forward even more and reached out to put a hand on the young man's forearm. "What did you do, Jason?"

A strangled cry came from between the thin lips and tears started to slide down the hollow cheeks. "I ran… oh god, oh god, I ran… I left him there and I ran…"