Thank you all to the amazingly positive feedback and support over the past few stories. Please know that writing these stories is as much of a cathartic experience for me as it is for you to read them. Times aren't getting any easier, that's for sure. I deal with people one-on-one a lot throughout the day and I see the emptiness in their eyes. It's heartbreaking. That said, this once again is a story I wrote a couple years ago. I sincerely apologize if the German in me comes through. Sometimes, late at night, the olde home-country grammar kicks in and despite some editing and such, mistakes can be overlooked. Add in some old head trauma and things can be quite interesting. At least I am glad I am not writing in French, there'd be even more funny symbols than you Americans have to offer, LOL. This plays in early season 2. Enough for Mike and Steve to be comfortable around each other, but there's still some edginess to both of them.

ACT I

Despite his dark sunglasses, Steve squinted against the bright rays coming through the freshly polished windshield of the Galaxy. Heading west on California with his sirens parting the afternoon traffic on either side of the busy road like Moses parting the Red Sea; he skillfully navigated the tan sedan around the intersection at 11th Avenue, noting the assortment of Black and Whites parked askew amidst the residential area.

Feeling a certain sense of dread at the sea of emergency flashers and yellow crime scene tape awaiting him, the young Inspector pulled the Galaxy toward a parallel parking spot on the right, slowing down when a lady with a stroller blocked his path, her gaze completely focused on the covered-up body sprawled out in the middle of the road.

The sound of his siren dying down followed by squeaking brakes seemed to finally pull her out of her trance and she looked over at him with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment for her shameless gaping, before pushing the stroller back onto the sidewalk and disappearing around the corner.

The call had come in twenty-five minutes ago, barely giving him enough time to gear up and drive across town; and yet it had been ample enough for several large crowds of onlookers to gather around the crime scene, possibly compromising evidence and blocking access for emergency personnel.

Grunting at the boldness of a heavy-set male who'd pushed past the emergency tape to get a better look at the body; Steve put the Galaxy in park and reached for a piece of gum in the breast pocket of his elegantly-tailored black suit, hoping to get rid of the smell of curry and coconut soup on his breath.

As he got out, his eyes automatically scanned the entire scene, recognizing the coroner's van parked on the other side of the street. The sidewalks were crowded with residents and gapers alike, hoping to catch a glimpse of the unfortunate soul lying in the middle of the road. Off in the far corner, a traffic officer had blocked the opposite end of 11th Avenue to any thru-traffic.

Four black and whites had answered the initial call, each squad car carefully parked to form a makeshift circle around the crime scene, the picture reminding Steve of the wagon trains in the old west. Except this time, they weren't shielding themselves from mad natives, but the careless and downright intrusive eyes of the blood-thirsty public.

The breeze coming off the bay had picked up since this morning, threating to blow his sandy hair all over the place at the next gust.

"Police, step aside please …", Steve mumbled sternly, unable to hide the annoyed undertone in his voice as he brushed past several onlookers, one hand instinctively reaching for his back pocket to retrieve his badge.

A couple of the people had the nerve to grunt at him for intruding their afternoon entertainment, and the young Inspector fought the urge to reprimand them, knowing well enough that it would only feed the beast that was public disrespect, an issue that seemed to get worse year by year.

When he finally pushed his way through the assortment of sweaty and scantily clad people the recent heat wave had produced; Steve ducked the emergency tape and flashed his badge at the by-standing patrol officer; a man in his mid-twenties he recognized as belonging to Scott Sorrensen's Squad.

As the scene opened up, the young Inspector swallowed hard when he noticed the bloody skid marks stretching out several feet, before ending at the lifeless figure below the white sheet. The hand sticking out from underneath was delicate, two of the fingers were broken in multiple spots, the thumb missing entirely. Several raggedy, multi-colored wrist bands caught his eye, possibly indicating concert visits or affiliation with certain groups. And yet, without any letters or numbers on them, he was left to guess for now.

"Homicide's here…", a nearby patrol officer announced, causing the small group of professionals that had gathered around the body to turn toward him.

"Stephen, welcome to the Holiday Squad."

Bernie's sullen voice had a hint of humor in it today, a much-needed coping mechanism in their difficult line of work. Still squatting down as he examined their latest victim, the ME greeted him with a fleeting smile, before his eyes drifted back to the crumpled mess below the sheet.

"What'd you do with the Lieutenant?", Scott Sorrensen asked curiously and stretched out his strong hand to shake his, "Here, I thought you two were inseparable."

"Not if there's some mosquito infested creek full of trout between us.", Steve joked and cordially nodded at Bob Larson, Traffic Control Officer for the California Street corridor.

"I guess there's worse ways to spend the 4th of July.", Scott noted and put his thumbs back in his gear belt, before pointing his chin at their victim, "Like that."

"Just wait until he gets back into the office tomorrow, and we all have to suffer the complaints about the fish that got away and all the campers disrupting his peace…you might change your mind."

The stocky Sergeant chuckled and nodded understandingly, before lifting his peaked cap and running a hand through his damp brown hair.

"I guess you're going to win this round, Kiddo. I've known Mike too long to disagree with you."

Shoving the badge back into his rear pocket, Steve drew in a deep breath through his mouth, hoping to bypass the odor of blood, sweat and heat surrounding the area, before crouching down.

"So, Dispatch said this was a hit and run?"

"I think it's a combination thereof, Steve."

Pulling the sheet back farther for him to see the body, Bernie pointed at the extent of the trauma, his long fingers shaking slightly.

"Female, Caucasian, mid to late twenties. A witness found her lying in the street an hour ago. Judging by her body temperature, time of death occurred shortly before then. Multiple fractures to the mandible, left clavicle, radius and tibia. Deep tissue contusions all over her left side. I can't be sure until I do the autopsy, but I am suspecting a lacerated liver and spleen, possibly even bowels. Severe internal bleeding. The 5th to 10th rib on the right side are fractured in multiple spots, likely puncturing her lung. I'll know more with x-rays. There's an obvious fracture in the temporal region on the right side, likely what killed her."

Steve tried to concentrate on Bernie's explanation, as he let his green eyes drift across the mangled body in front of him, estimating that more of the young woman's blood was on the dirty asphalt than inside her body. As the large chunk of skin missing from the right side of her face and the sticky, crimson-stained blonde hair threatened to raise his stomach contents, he carefully reached forward to check his victim's jean pockets for an ID but found none.

"Do we have any idea what type of car hit her?"

His question was directed at Bob, who shook his head in disappointment.

"No eye witnesses on the car at all. Nobody seems to have seen or heard anything. There are no skid marks from the tires on the asphalt either. Whoever hit her, did so deliberately. They never stopped until…well…we believe she got shoved underneath the vehicle at one point and the driver backed up and fled the other way. We found a chunk of her scalp several feet down the road."

The peppermint flavor of his gum may have overpowered the surrounding odor but not the sight, and Steve stood back up to refocus, Bernie following suit.

"Are the injuries you found consistent with the hit and run?"

Much to his surprise, the seasoned ME shook his head and reached for a set of sunglasses from his dark green coat pocket, hoping to protect his eyes from the relentless rays.

"The right side yes, not the left side, Steve. The contusions I found came from what looks to be a fist, and also a long object, 2 inches in diameter, my guess is a metal pipe."

"Somebody worked her over good before running her down…could be a domestic issue."

"Not necessarily at the same time. I'll be able to give you a better timeline, but I think the beating happened around two to three hours pre-mortem."

"When you take a closer look at her, could you check for any signs of rape, please?"

"I will do the best I can. There's a lot of damage to this body…in every definition of the word unfortunately. Some of the trauma may be severe enough to hide other evidence."

Despite everything he'd been taught about staying neutral, Steve couldn't help but stare at what was left of the innocent looking face at his feet, envisioning the unbelievable pain she must have endured prior to her violent death.

Swallowing the nausea building up in the back of his throat, he let his eyes drift over the bloody skid marks ahead, trying to clear his mind and forget for a few precious moments that he was indeed looking at the remains of a human being.

"For her to get dragged along underneath the chassis like this, the car had to have been sitting low. So we're likely looking for a sedan, station wagon maybe. Regular wheel base if he hit her straight on. There's some rust stains on her upper arm right here, let's run those thought the lab, see if they came from the car and if it might help us narrow down the make and model."

His monologue was disrupted when Steve noticed two young boys pushing past the police barrier, smiling and pointing at their crime scene. When his stern glance didn't frighten them off, he reached over to tap Larson's arm.

"Bob, see if you can get these kids away from here. They don't need to see this. Extend those barriers out a bit more if you have to as well. This isn't a freak show."

His orders received several disapproving grunts from the assortment of spectators nearby, some people even complaining about being bothered to take a few steps back.

"You see why I prefer dealing with the dead?", Bernie chuckled when he noticed Steve's scorn now aimed at a middle-aged individual in swimming trunks and a sweat-stained white tank top, who was entertaining the masses by reiterating every gory detail he was able to discern from his position.

"Yeah, I do…", the young Inspector muttered, ready to approach the gray-haired man with the unkempt pony tail, but turning around to face the remaining officers first, "Scott, can I have the report on my desk in a couple of hours? Pretty please?"

"You got it, Steve, no problem.", the Sergeant replied with a faint smile on his suntanned face and pointed at his squad car, "We were just finishing shift change when the call came in. I will get that to you as soon as possible."

"Bernie…how backed up are you? When do you think you'll get to her?"

The ME shook his head, his expression carefully guarded.

"I am open, Steve, but like I said, the body is pretty…well, the damage is extensive. And the lab is closed for the holiday. I can get you something tomorrow morning, if that works. Maybe a preliminary late tonight depending on what I find."

"It's going to have to do.", Steve answered curtly, having reached the end of his patience with the surrounding gapers, as he briefly excused himself from the group and marched toward the provoking bystander in unquestionable authority.

Adjusting his belt buckle as he approached the anxious crowd, Steve made a point to take off his sunglasses to look each person in the eyes, wondering what would possess somebody to be so pathologically intrigued with human tragedy.

"Sir…", he addressed the middle-aged man, who seemed excited about the exchange and licked his lips in eager anticipation, "I am Inspector Stephen Keller with San Francisco Police, Homicide. I noticed you talk about this case over here, so I was wondering if you witnessed anything that might help us in our investigation. What is your name, please?"

"Well, Inspector, see, well my name is Walter Morris. I live over here in the Fairmont Apartment Complex, have been for the past eighteen years. Retired from the print shop down on California in 1970."

When Steve didn't show any signs of being impressed with the introduction, the man reached forward to grasp his upper arm; an uninvited gesture that only raised the young Inspector's ire on that hot afternoon.

"Inspector, I am just a worried and alert citizen. I want to know what's going on in my neighborhood. I live here, you know?"

Symbolically brushing the sweaty hand off his black suit coat, Steve clenched his jaws and shook his head in obvious disgust.

"So, in other words, you didn't see anything. Any of you, right? But you felt it necessary to stand around here and stare at a dead body like it's some sort of exhibition piece in a museum, all the while hindering police efforts to solve this murder case. Does that sum it up good enough for you?"

"Well, you little prick cop.", the man shot back, having lost all of his previous politeness, as he stepped toward him, ignoring the yellow caution tape stretched across his chest, "My taxes pay your salary. How dare you judge me? Or any of these people? For your information, it's our constitutional right to know what's going on. To keep an eye on the police too. Don't you dare to think you're above any of us. You're what? Twenty-five? Walking around in these fancy clothes my hard-earned salary bought you. What life experience have you got to judge us? What makes you think you're better?"

Steve was about to answer when he felt a strong hand grasp his elbow from behind, unceremoniously dragging him back to the gathering of police cars. Turning around, he saw Sorrensen's stern features giving him the wordless "I told you so" reprimand, as he pulled him away from the angry flash mob that was growing increasingly vocal.

"Would you believe these people?", Steve huffed out of frustration, grateful to have the strong fingers that were digging into his muscles removed, "What has society come to these days?"

"Society? Or gapers, Steve?", Scott asked in an even tone of voice and slowly steered him back to the waiting Galaxy, "You gotta remember, for every sad thing that happens around this town, there are hundreds of people who love to watch on and feed off a stranger's tragedy. Always has been that way…always will be. Remember when Officer Fanning was shot and killed during a traffic stop a month ago? You tell anyone that a cop is down and half the town descends upon the murder scene. It sucks. And we have to deal with this a lot more than you plain-clothed guys, believe me. So just…you just relax. Let us handle it. You go back to your desk and handle the investigative angle, kiddo."

Glancing over at the Sergeant wise beyond his years, Steve nodded in both, obedience and gratitude when he felt the other man's hand gently squeeze his shoulder.

"You're right, Scott. Sorry about that. I guess the heat got to me."

"That's what you get for sitting in those cool offices all day.", Sorrensen teased and pointed at the tan sedan next to them, "Like I said, I will get you that report shortly so you can get started. If anything else comes to mind, radio me. We're probably going to remain on site for another hour or so to clear everything out, check some of the alleys, then send the biohazard crew through."

Biting his lip, Steve held onto the doorframe of the Galaxy, his head lowered as the gears in his mind were beginning to turn.

"I am not liking this one at all, Scott. A young woman…beaten like that…then ran over. That's beyond…heinous."

"It's human nature, my friend. Mike will tell you the exact same thing tomorrow.", Scott answered matter-of-factly and rested his right hand over the carefully holstered service revolver by his belt, "Remember, in the olden days, they used to have battles of humans against lions and tigers just for grins and giggles. Sick entertainment. Humanity is one big pile of dysfunctional lunatics. And us guys wearing a shield get to hold this thing together somehow, trying to stop everyone from killing each other. At least we can rule out the lions and tigers this time around."