Steve chuckled softly. "Well, you didn't actually think this was going to be easy, did you?"

His blue eyes staring almost sadly at the map and the very large area within the thick black border, Mike snorted. "We're gonna need a lot more information, Smiley. There's no way you and I are going to be able to knock on every door inside that circle all by ourselves," he sighed.

"Ovoid," Steve corrected quietly.

Knit brows turned in his direction. "What?"

Pointing vaguely at the map, Steve stuttered, "Ah, it's, ah… it's a not a circle… it's, ah… it's an ovoid." He swallowed heavily, wincing not in pain but anticipation.

"An ovoid…"

"Yeah, uh… an ovoid…"

There was a long uncomfortable silence as the older partner stared unblinkingly at the younger, then turned slowly back to the map. "Well, I'm glad one of us went to college."

Steve laughed and Mike smiled with an easy chuckle, then he sighed again.

"Well, I don't think we can really start until we hear from the IRS about the history of 'Daniel Harrison', don't you? Then we'll have a ballpark timeframe to work with."

Steve nodded. "Unless we get really, really lucky and something drops into our laps that we don't know about…"

Mike chuckled again. "I admire your optimism."

The younger man got up. "You want another coffee? I can put a fresh pot on." He glanced out the front window; it was getting dark. "We've got to start thinking about what we want to do for dinner."

With a heavy sigh, Mike nodded. "Yeah, coffee sounds good." Steve had just disappeared into the kitchen when there was a loud knock on the door. "I'll get it," he called out as he got gingerly to his feet. His ribs were giving him fits again and he knew he was going to have to take another pill.

He opened the heavy front door to reveal a smiling Inspector Tanner, a brown leather briefcase in one hand. "Special delivery." He hefted the briefcase and watched Mike's eyes widen.

"You got them already?"

"I did."

"Come in, come in." Mike took a step back so Tanner could walk past him into the living room.

The younger man crossed to the coffee table, frowning at the map and calculator.

"We'll explain all that some other time. You can put the case down on the map, don't worry about it," Mike waved at him, stepping deeper into the room.

Hearing a familiar voice, Steve entered from the kitchen. "Bill, what brings you here?"

"Ah, he, ah, he did a little job for me today." Mike nodded at Tanner, who set the briefcase on the map and opened it. He took out four fairly thick tan folders, which Steve immediately recognized as very old police department files. With a triumphant smile, he held them out for Mike to take, who glanced down at his immobilized left arm and raised his eyebrows quizzically. Realizing his mistake, with a self-conscious chuckle Tanner put the files on the map, closed the now empty briefcase and put it on the floor.

Frowning, Steve looked from the files to his partner. Mike smiled enigmatically. "I'll tell you – both of you – about it when, and if, my hunch pays off."

Glancing at Tanner, Steve chuckled evilly and shook his head. "You and your hunches…" He looked at Tanner. "You want to stay for a coffee?"

Tanner cocked his head. "I wish I could but I gotta get home. I've got a dinner date with my wife tonight," he grinned. "First time in over a month, and I am not going to keep her waiting."

"Good for you," Mike laughed as Steve walked with their colleague to the door, slapping him on the back and nodding at him approvingly with bobbing eyebrows.

Tanner turned back at the open door. "How are you guys doing, anyway?"

Both of them nodded. "Good, good," Mike replied. "Getting better all the time."

"Good to hear," the black inspector smiled as he stepped out onto the stoop. "It's good to have you home."

"It's good to be home," Steve agreed with a smile.

Mike stepped closer to the door. "Thanks again, Bill. Great work, I mean it."

"You're very welcome," he waved over his shoulder as he started down the concrete steps. He paused briefly. "Oh, ah, Robby Benson says to say hi!"

Mike laughed. "Thanks. I'll give him a call." He could see Steve frowning at him when he closed the door and turned back into the room. "What?"

"Robby Benson down in Records?"

"The same," Mike confirmed as he crossed to the sofa and sat, putting on his reading glasses before picking up the top file.

Brow furrowed in curiosity, Steve moved closer to the coffee table. "So what's with the old files?"

Mike glanced up and smiled. "I told you I'd tell you when, and if, my hunch pays off… remember?"

"You're not even going to give me a hint?"

Mike had started to rifle through the top pages of the first file and he didn't look up. "Nope."

Steve watched him silently for several long seconds then quietly cleared his throat. "So, ah… so am I to take it that I have inherited the map… and everything it represents…?"

Still looking down, Mike nodded. "Umh-humh."

"Oh, good," he muttered sarcastically to himself with a soft shrug. "Ah, I guess I'll, ah, I'll figure out something for dinner…" he continued to mumble as he turned towards the kitchen.

"Sounds good," Mike said automatically, not lifting his eyes from the file.

# # # # #

Mike had moved to the easy chair and Steve was leaning over the map on the coffee table. The detritus of their dinner, two empty aluminum Hungry Man trays, were stacked on one of the endtables; Steve had found them in the back of the freezer.

Making another note, the younger man dropped the pen on the map and sat back with a wince, running a hand over his tired face. He glanced at his watch. "Good lord," he said quietly in disbelief, "it's almost 11."

"Humh?" came an indistinct grunt from the armchair.

"Time to go to bed," Steve said, getting carefully to his feet, a hand on his ribs; he'd been sitting in the same position for too long.

Tearing his eyes away from the file, Mike looked to his left, groaned in frustration and rolled his eyes; his watch was on his right arm. He dropped the file to his lap and twisted his wrist. "Oh, geez, you're right." He tossed the file on the coffee table and started to stand, pushing himself up with his right hand, his eyes squeezed shut.

Steve watched him with a concerned frown. "Okay, from now on we both have to get up every once in awhile and walk around so we don't stiffen up so much."

Mike chuckled as he headed for the stairs.

"So, have you found what you're looking for in those files?" the younger man asked as he followed his partner slowly up the stairs after he had turned all the lights off on the first floor.

"Oh, I'll let you know tomorrow," Mike said vaguely. "What about you, come up with a plan to cover all that ground?"

"I'll let you know tomorrow."

They both laughed.

# # # # #

"Yeah, if you could let me know as soon -… Thanks… Yeah, I know… Okay, thanks a lot." Mike hung up the phone, then jumped slightly when a throat was loudly cleared behind him. He looked in that direction to see Steve, dressed and shaved, standing on the bottom step of the staircase.

"What time did you get up?" There was a concerned frown on the young face.

Mike, still in his bathrobe and slippers, shrugged as best he could. "Just a little while ago. I, ah, I had an important call to make…"

"Unh-hunh…" Steve didn't sound convinced. "How did you sleep?"

"Good, good," the older man assured, getting to his feet and trying not to wince. "How about you?"

"Fine. Good, actually, when I finally got my brain to slow down."

Mike chuckled. "Yeah, me too." He started towards the stairs as Steve meandered in the direction of the kitchen. "Oh, ah, I haven't put the coffee on yet."

"I'll do it."

As the older man disappeared up the stairs, Steve detoured to the coffee table and the notepad that was sitting beside the phone. He leaned over the table to read what was on it. In his partner's handwriting, there was a name: Stanley Kovalev.

It meant nothing to him.

# # # # #

A coffee cup at his elbow, Steve was leaning over the map again, rapidly making notes. Mike, now dressed, came into the living room from the kitchen, a mug in his right hand and a small plate with toast in his left, which was protruding through the middle buttons of his shirt.

Steve glanced up and froze. "Are you supposed to be doing that?" he asked, nodding towards the exposed left hand and the plate.

With an annoyed grunt, Mike continued towards the armchair, putting the mug on the endtable before sitting carefully, balancing the plate. "I'm getting really sick of only being able to use my right hand. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt. I'm only using my hand. I still can't move my shoulder."

Shaking his head and chuckling, Steve returned to the map.

"What are you doing?" Mike asked as he picked up a piece of toast.

Steve sat back slightly. "Well, I've been thinking that if Lonsdale's parents are trying to keep a low profile, like their son did, they probably won't move to a big city, or large town. Do you think?"

Chewing, the older man gave the idea some thought. Eventually he nodded. "Yeah, you may be right. But cities and bigger towns'll have their own police forces, which means we can get in touch with them and ask them for assistance."

"Right. I've asked Bill to try to track down as many pictures of Lonsdale's parents – newspaper clippings, old DMV photos, that kind of thing – so we have an idea of what they looked like back then. And if we get ones that I think'll help, I'll sent out APB's to all the local forces in our search area."

Mike nodded again. "Good idea. So what's the list?" He nodded at the legal length pad on the table.

"Well, I'm making a list of all the smaller towns, the ones that probably don't have local forces so will be patrolled by state police. I'll notify them too and tell them which small towns we're interested in."

Mike was frowning slightly, continuing to nod as he chewed. "That's a mighty big net you're throwing out there, you know."

Steve sighed in frustrated agreement. "I know… but hey, it was your idea, wasn't it?"

The older man chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"No guessing, I am right."

The phone rang and they both jumped slightly then laughed self-consciously. Steve reached for the receiver. "Hello… Yeah, just a sec." He handed the receiver to Mike, who put the plate on the table before leaning forward slightly to take it.

"Hello… Yeah, yeah, thanks, John… Okay… Really? Still?..." He chuckled softly. "Yeah, I guess that's true… Okay… Yeah, yeah, well, I guess that's what I've gotta do… Yeah, thanks again. Really appreciate it… Yeah, goodbye." Staring into space, his expression unreadable, he handed the receiver back to his partner to hang up.

Steve watched him silently for a couple of seconds. "Well…?"

"Humh?" Mike's eyes slowly turned in his direction.

Steve shrugged slightly, raising his eyebrows. "So…?"

"Oh, ah," Mike smiled suddenly, "I guess you're going to get a chance to drive my new car."

"What?"

The older man raised his eyebrows and his shoulders, biting his bottom lip like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Ah, we've gotta go on a little road trip…"

"A little road trip…?"

Mike nodded vigorously.

Frowning, Steve's head went back slightly. "To where…?" he asked hesitantly.

"Ah… San Quentin."