"Hello?"

"Steve? Yeah, it's Roy. Just wanted to let you know Mike and I are home."

"Why isn't Mike calling me?" Steve asked, a wave of worry suddenly rushing over him. He put the glass of Coke on the coffee table as he sat on the couch, trying not to grimace with the effort. "Is he okay?"

"Sure, sure," Devitt assured quickly, "he's sore and tired. I made him go to bed as soon as we got in and he's sleeping. But he's okay, believe me." He paused for a beat. "But just so you don't have to worry, I'm gonna spend the night with him, okay?"

Steve exhaled loudly. "Yeah… okay," he replied almost absent-mindedly. "You sure he's all right?"

"I'm sure. Listen, ah, did you hear from Bob or Phil today?"

"Yeah, ah, Phil called this afternoon." He filled the captain in on what Garabaldi had told him.

"Okay, good. I'll let Mike know when he wakes up." There was a pause over the line. "Ah, I think I hear Mike getting up. I'm gonna make him some soup. I found a can in his cupboard," Devitt chuckled. "Thank god, 'cause I can't cook. Listen, I'll have him call you tomorrow morning, okay? Not tonight. I want him to forget all about Jeffrey Lonsdale tonight."

"Sounds like a good idea."

"Yeah… Hey, ah, how are you feeling?"

"Slow but sure. Still hurts like hell but a little better every day."

"Yeah, that's the way it works, isn't it? I'll talk to you tomorrow. Have a good night."

"You too. Tell Mike I'm glad he's home."

"I will. Good night."

"Good night." Steve dropped the receiver onto the cradle and sat back. Damn, he muttered to himself; he forgot to ask Devitt exactly how they had gotten home.

# # # # #

Mike closed the door and engaged the lock then stood stockstill for a few long seconds, breathing slowly. His ribs were aching a lot more this morning, a development he had successfully kept to himself.

But now that Devitt was finally heading home, he could allow his discomfort to show. Gritting his teeth, he made his way back up to the bedroom and got the small bottle of pain pills out of the paper bag he'd brought back from the hospital. He took the bottle down to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water.

He returned to the living room and sat on the sofa, pulling the phone closer, and dialed a very familiar number. "Yeah, Bill, it's Mike… Yeah… No, I'm feeling pretty good… Yeah, Roy talked to him last night… Actually, there is. It's gonna take a bit of digging but, ah, how friendly are you with the guys and gals down in Records?..." He chuckled. "Good to hear, 'cause I need a favor from them too… Yeah, you can use my name… Okay, here's what I need. It's four files, one from 1952, one from '54, and then two from the '60's…. The two from the '60's will have my name attached to them, the two earlier ones won't… Got your pad ready?... Good, here's the names…"

# # # # #

There was a light rap on the front door. Frowning, Mike got up from the easy chair, clenching his teeth against the pain, and shuffled towards the door. He looked through the peephole and sighed loudly, dropping his head in frustration as he opened the door. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked his smiling partner, who was standing on the stoop with an overnight bag in his right hand.

"Well," Steve began lightly as he pushed past the bigger man into the house, "I know Roy went home awhile ago and I figured, well, you're not allowed to leave your house…" He stopped and spun back with a glare. "Your promise, right?" He didn't wait for a reply and continued further into the room. "And if we're going to work on this together, then we have to be… oh, I don't know, together, don't you think?"

"So you're moving in," Mike stated simply, closing the door but remaining at the entrance.

Steve had stopped at the couch and dropped his bag to the floor beside it. "Well, what else would you suggest? You could move into my place… There are fewer stairs, that's true, but only one bedroom. You said Jeannie's not home for a couple of weeks… so hopefully we'll have this wrapped up by then and I'll be out of your hair… or your beard..." He beamed at his partner with a goofy close-mouthed smile.

"Don't do that, you look maniacal," Mike muttered under his breath as he walked away from the door. He glared at the younger man again. "What about the calls you're going to be getting from Bob –?"

"And Phil? Already called them this morning and gave them your number. Told Bill too." The smile remained.

His expression still neutral, Mike eased himself down onto the easy chair. "I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I?" he mumbled, looking everywhere around the room except at his partner, who was still standing near the coffee table.

Steve frowned. "What? You don't think this is a good idea?" He sounded uncertain all of a sudden.

Mike's eyes finally slid in his direction and stopped. "I think it's a great idea." He smiled slowly. "I'm glad you're here."

Chuckling and shaking his head, Steve lowered himself slowly onto the couch, his right hand on his left ribs.

"Are you okay?" Mike asked, frowning in concern.

Steve nodded quickly. "Yeah, it's getting a lot better but every once in awhile…" He cocked his head and shrugged carefully.

"Oh, tell me about it," Mike snorted. "I have to admit, when I got back here last night, I was in a lot of pain. But it's a little better now. It was great to get a good night's sleep in my own bed, let me tell you. And I took one of those pain pills they gave me. Boy, do they work!"

"Yeah, I know." They shared a soft laugh then Steve's head came up quickly. "Ah, yeah, ah, how did you and Roy get home yesterday?"

Mike's face lit up. "Oh, ah, yeah…" He got up again slowly and crossed to the front door. "Come here, I'll show you." He opened the door.

Frowning in confusion, Steve stood and crossed slowly to stand beside his partner at the front door. Smiling, Mike nodded towards the street. Steve stepped onto the landing and looked around but didn't notice anything that stood out, as far as he was concerned. "What am I looking for?"

Mike pointed across the street, to a row of cars parked diagonally to the curb. "This side of the Volkswagen…"

"The green Monte Carlo?"

Mike smiled and nodded.

"They gave you Lonsdale's car?" He sounded surprised and confused.

Sagging slightly with a short, frustrated sigh, Mike shook his head. "It's not Lonsdale's."

"Oh… well, what then? Somebody lent you a car?"

Shaking his head, the older man started to chuckle. "Nope. Somebody… well, a lot of somebodies, actually…bought it for me."

Silently, Steve's head turned slowly towards him, his eyebrows raised. Mike nodded again.

"Come on back in and I'll tell you all about. You want a coffee?"

# # # # #

They had spent what was left of the afternoon going over their plan of attack. As frustrating as it was, they were in a waiting game. They had yet to hear anything from Sacrament and the IRS, which would help them figure out when 'Daniel Harrison' came into existence. And in the same vein, they were still waiting for the LAPD to talk to the owner of the Palms Blvd. house Lonsdale was renting – he was on vacation in Hawaii and scheduled to return at the end of the month.

Mike was just about to pick up the phone to order a pizza when it rang, briefly startling him. "Might be Jeannie," he chuckled as he picked up the receiver. "Hello. Oh, hi, Phil… Yeah… Yeah, it's a real beauty, it really is. Like I said, I can't thank you - I know, I know, just arrest Lonsdale… Yeah, he's here… Well, you can tell me too, you know…" He laughed. "I know, I know, you were told to call Steve so you're calling Steve… Okay, just a second…" He held the receiver out, chuckling, and Steve crossed the room to take it with a soft laugh. "He said I told him to call you so he's calling you…"

"Hi, Phil, what've you got?" Steve raised his eyebrows, smiling. Suddenly his smile disappeared. "You're kidding… Seriously… And they had the work order?... Great, just a sec, I gotta get a pen…"

Mike disappeared quickly into the kitchen, where they had been brainstorming at the kitchen table over coffees, and returned with a pad and pen in his right hand. He handed them over and Steve dropped the pad onto the coffee table, trying not to wince as he stuffed the receiver under his ear against his shoulder. "Okay, shoot," he barked into the phone, then began to scribble words and numbers on the pad. It didn't take long. Finished, he sat back slightly. "Thank you, Phil. Great work… Yeah… Yeah, Mike and I'll take it from here… Yeah, the landlord, right… Okay, whenever you get it… Yeah, thanks. Okay, have a great night, say hi to Bob for us and, wow, Phil, thank you very much… Yeah… Good night."

Steve set the receiver on the black cradle and sat back, exhaling loudly before he looked up into the expectant eyes of his partner. He smiled triumphantly. "That little idea of yours, about the mileage? Well, it paid off."

"It did?" Mike asked almost breathlessly, sitting slowly in the easy chair, not taking his eyes off his partner.

"Yeah. They got more info from MasterCard today and they found a charge for a garage from seven weeks ago. They paid it a visit this afternoon and they got their hands on the work order for the appointment… and you were right. The garage made note of the mileage."

Mike's smile was getting larger. "We already have the mileage on his car now, don't we?"

"Yes, we do." The younger man grinned back.

"Do we have a map?" Mike asked, his eyes dancing.

Steve nodded. "I had Bill pick one up when he brought the MasterCard faxes over yesterday. How's your math?"

"Not as good as yours, I'm sure. I think Jeannie has a calculator up in her room. I'll go look for it."

"I'll get the map."

They headed off in different directions.

# # # # #

They had spread out the map of the western states on the coffee table and put the long legal-length pad and the calculator on top of it. There was a small pile of notes scattered on top of the map and two pairs of intense eyes staring at it all.

"Okay," Steve began slowly, "so what was the mileage from Lonsdale's house to the bar and back again?"

Mike picked up one of the pieces of paper. "Ah, one point three miles."

"Okay… So what do you think? He goes to the bar, what, five times a week?"

After a beat, and with a facial shrug, the older man nodded. "Well, while we were there he showed up almost every night so… yeah… let's go with five. How many miles is that?"

Steve punched the numbers into the calculator. "Six and a half."

"And how many weeks ago was the garage visit?"

"Seven." He hit three more buttons. "45.5."

"Okay, round it off to 50."

Steve made the notation.

"Okay, so that covers the bar but he obviously used the car for other stuff. So… seven weeks… say, ballpark it at 200 miles, you think, or is that too many?"

The younger man shrugged. "Who knows? Sure, why not?" He made another note then started to punch more buttons on the calculator. When he finally finished, he looked up at his partner. "Okay, making all the deductions, there are fourteen hundred and eighty miles unaccounted for. So we divide that in half…" He hit three more buttons. "And that leaves us with 740 miles." He glanced up and smiled sheepishly. "I know how to divide by two but I just wanted to be sure…"

Mike chuckled and playfully swatted him on the arm.

Steve picked up the pad and calculator and set them on the couch. They both leaned over the map. Checking the map scale, Steve took a black marker and made a large dot near the California-Oregon border.

"What do you think?" Mike asked. "Give ourselves a hundred mile buffer around the 740 mile limit?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah…" He drew a circle, delineating a large area in the centre of the map.

They both sat back. The black line extended from Redding in upstate California to just south of Eugene, Oregon, and from the Pacific Coast in the west into northern Nevada and the border of Idaho to the east.

"Holy crap," Steve breathed, dropping the marker in frustration.

Mike was staring at the map and nodding slowly. He took off his reading glasses and tossed them lightly on the table. "Wow, that's a lot of real estate," he whispered to himself. He turned to his partner and shrugged apologetically.