"He ain't your man, Mike, I can promise you that much."

Lieutenant Timothy Doyle's expression was that of sincere interest and kindness, as he greeted the two Homicide Detectives downstairs at the temporary holding cells.

"He may have been incarcerated when her murder happened, but he still remains as the person who was last seen with Sarah.", Mike countered sternly and made room for his partner to slide through the double-pane metal door leading to the entrance area.

"Stephen, good to see you again. Still sore that Stone stole you from us, but glad to see you, my man! You're looking great."

"You're not looking too shabby yourself there, LT!"

Standing back as both, Doyle and Steve shared a brief handshake, rekindling the old professional relationship, Mike smiled in both, pride and maybe even a little bit of gleefulness.

As he turned back around to face the Lieutenant, Doyle hesitantly scratched his bald head for a moment, a worried frown on his face.

"So, Mike, what are you thinking? That he hired somebody to kill her? Give himself an alibi? He's a small-time crook. We've known him for a long time, he doesn't fit your MO. No history of violence, no priors relating to murder or even manslaughter. Nothing that should get you guys interested at all."

"Well, let's put it this way, Tim…", stopping completely, when they reached the sign-in area manned by a lonesome patrolman, Mike put his hands by his sides, as he eyed the Lieutenant of Vice in fierce determination, "He's our only link at this point. And he may be able to point us toward her actual killer. We need every bit of information that we can get from him. Because until we find out where this…this nudist hippie camp is that Sarah Roberts visited before being murdered, our investigation is at a complete standstill."

"A nudist camp you say?", Doyle's eyes narrowed for a moment, as he glanced down, seemingly going through every piece of information in his mind that made a bell ring at the mentioning of Roberts' last whereabouts, "I swear I heard about something like that before. Some sort of artist gathering, isn't it? Maybe recreational drugs?"

Upon both of the Homicide detectives' eager nodding, Doyle pulled out his notebook and pen, before writing himself a memo.

"Tell you what, Mike, you squeeze out what you can out of Luigi; I have to run back upstairs for a meeting with Conden, but afterward, let me look something up in my files that might help you two out."