Steve leaned against the car as Mike bid the Dean goodbye. They were both happy to be rid of him. Something was off about George Stein, but neither man could quite put a finger on it. Mike walked back to the car and pulled the envelope from his pocket, handing it to Steve. "Open it, I don't have my glasses."

Steve opened the flap, removed a single sheet of paper and several photographs. He handed the pictures to Mike and flattened out the hastily scribbled note on the hood of the car.

Lizzy,

When I stayed over at Todd's a couple of weeks ago, something weird happened. I was taking a shower and I heard a guy come in. Todd and whoever it was really got into it. I think they even took a couple of swings at one another. I don't know who it was, but the whole thing scared the shit out of me. I stayed in the bathroom until I heard the door slam and then I slipped back into the bedroom and got dressed. Todd just about threw me out of the apartment. I grabbed my bag off the floor and got the hell out of there.

I really didn't think any more about it. Todd can be such a wack job sometimes, especially after a few tokes. When I was cleaning out my bag after I got home, I found an envelope with these pictures in it. All I can think is they must have dropped into my bag from the coffee table when Todd and whoever were scuffling around in the living room.

I don't know, maybe I'm paranoid, but I think something is going on. When I was at school, I asked Todd if he was missing any photos and Jesus, he freaked out, I thought he was gonna slug me. He said he needed to get them back and asked me to bring them to him. He kept bugging me about them, but you know me, I just kept forgetting to take them to school. That's when the hang up phone calls started. Last week he threatened me. If I didn't return the photos, he was going to report me to the school for my "extracurricular" activities and their relationship to my grades. What a joke, I would have rolled on him to the Dean so fast it would have made Todd's head spin. I guess he thought his rep made him bulletproof.

I don't know what to do, heck I don't even know what the pictures mean. I wanted to talk to you this morning, but you needed to get to class. When I went to school and Eichenmuller canceled class, I was just going to give them back to Todd and be done with it, but I don't know, I just kept them. My locker seemed as good as any place to stash them until we can talk.

If you're reading this, I assume you got my key in the invitation, maybe you can figure out what these are.

Pam

Mike flipped through the pictures, handing them one by one to Steve.

"What do you think they mean?" Mike asked after Steve looked at the final shot.

"No idea, they look like photos of paintings, but there is some kind of stamp in the corner. Pretty good paintings, maybe expensive paintings? Maybe the reason for the break in and maybe a reason to bring Walters in for questioning?"

"Absolutely."

"Why would somebody get so worked up about pictures of paintings?"

"I don't know," Mike said as he put the pictures and letter in his trench coat pocket, "but I think we need to stop at the gallery before we head to Kohler's apartment."

Steve and Mike left the car in the lot and walked one block to the Charles Campbell Gallery. It was a little after 11 am. The lights were on inside, but the entrance was locked up tight. Mike rapped on the door and after a few moments, Lilian Applebee peeked out through the window. She looked at Mike and nodded, unlocking the door.

"Back so soon, Lieutenant? And you brought a friend, how lovely." She tuned and gave Steve a thousand megawatt smile. Steve returned her smile with a weary grin. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his shield.

"A cop, geez, now I've seen everything." She sounded disappointed. "You sure don't look like any cop I've ever seen."

"Name's Keller. Miss…"

"Applebee, but call me Lilian."

"Lilian, can you do us a favor?"

Her smile came back. "Anything love, shoot."

Mike shook his head as he reached in his pocket and pulled out the pictures. "These mean anything to you?"

Lillian laid the photos in a row on the counter and gazed at them for a few moments.

"Where'd you get these?"

"Is it important?"

"Kinda. These are photos of Todd Walters' paintings. Our next installation is going to be a big show of his work. It's really good stuff, probably his best to date. I was surprised when I saw the paintings because frankly, his work over the last 5 years or so was crap, he's been selling on his reputation. With this new stuff, he might pull in a couple hundred thousand or more. No one is supposed to have reproductions right now, at least not until the presale catalogue comes out."

Steve looked at Mike with a raised eyebrow, Mike nodded his head. Steve asked a follow up question. "Do you recognize the imprint on the corner?"

"Nope, never saw it before."

Mike thanked the young woman, adding, "Do us a favor Lilian, don't tell anybody, even Mr. Campbell, you saw these for the time being, ok? We'll get back to you."

"Sure, no sweat."

They left the gallery and walked to the car in silence. Mike spoke first. "I saw that look. What are you thinking?"

Steve looked at the ground and put a hand through his hair. "Second oldest reason in the book for murder: money."

"Keep going."

"I don't know, maybe I'm way off, I'm so tired I don't even know what I'm saying. Kohler was an artist, right. Sells paintings to tourists at the wharf, but he keeps painting his important stuff on the side. He's a nobody, can't even sniff a gallery show. Along comes Walters, big name, big reputation. I don't know, maybe he sells the work to Walters for cheap, or Walters steals them, and passes them off as his own. Kohler gets wind of the show, comes to the apartment and calls him on it. Maybe that's what Pam heard."

Mike picked up Steve's thread. "Kohler brings the photos of the pictures and what? Threatens to expose him as a fraud, says he'll go to Campbell. The little conversation at the gallery?"

"Walters kills him to shut him up. He kills Pam, or she falls when he corners her to get the evidence back, then he searches the apartment. If he killed her, he would have access to her apartment key. Seems like a lot of ifs and maybes, Mike. And where do Anna Kearns and Ted Brooks figure in?"

"Kearns worked at the gallery. Could she have found out somehow and told Brooks about it?"

"It's possible. Now, how do we prove it?"

Mike was silent for a moment. "We need to look around Kohler's apartment and we need to identify the stamp on the pictures. You think Grisko would recognize it?"

"Could be, she knew him. You know, if she can identify the mark, we can haul Walters in and sweat him. You know, we probably need to put her someplace safe until we can get it all worked out."

Mike got behind the wheel of the car as Steve slid into the passenger seat.

"This makes sense, buddy boy. Actually, it makes a hell of a lot more sense than a string a killings based on an obsession with a perfectly ordinary art student."

"Where to first?" Steve asked.

"What time did Grisko go to work?"

Steve looked at his watch. "She should be there now."

"Then I think we're taking an early lunch at Fisherman's Wharf."

00000

Mike pulled the LTD up to the curb. It was a little early for the lunch, but the Pier was swarming with tourist. The smell of raw fish, salt water and diesel exhaust slightly nauseated Steve as he followed Mike into the restaurant.

"The middle-aged hostess saw them coming and greeted Mike at the door. "Well Mike Stone, long time no see, and who is this handsome young fella with you?"

"Morning Mary, he's my partner. It has been a long time. I'm looking for Lizzy Grisko, is she in yet?"

"What she do? She's such a nice kid, hard worker, too."

"Nothing Mary, just need to ask her a quick question."

The hostess departed. "Do you know everyone in San Francisco, Mike?" Steve commented with a chuckle.

"No, wise guy, but I've been here plenty, even though it's a tourist spot, they have great food. Helen used to love this place." A small smile crossed Mike's face.

Lizzy followed Mary to the hostess station. "Steve, Lt. Stone what's going on?"

Steve spoke up. "Nothing really, we just have some pictures for you to look at." He didn't want to scare her by letting on how important they might be.

Mike pulled the envelope out of his pocket and handed her the pictures. She took a moment and flipped through them.

"Where did you get these pictures of Gary's paintings? He didn't really show them to anyone."

"How do you know they are Gary's?" Mike asked.

She gave him a quizzical look. "Well, first I've seen them at his apartment, he showed them to me the last time we went over there for a beer and second, that's his imprint on the photo, why?"

Steve chimed in, "You're absolutely sure?"

"Yeah Steve, I'm sure. Why all the intrigue?" She was starting to get irritated, despite how helpless she came off last night, she knew what she was looking at.

"What do you want to do about her?" Mike directed his comment to Steve.

"She's probably ok right now, nobody knows we have the pictures except Lilian and she said she'd keep it on the down low. Maybe bring her into Bryant Street?"

Lizzy put her hands on her hips, "Uh, fellas, I'm standing right here, and I'm not going anywhere. I already missed a shift. If I want to eat, I need to work, so forget about me leaving."

Mike looked a Steve, who shrugged his shoulders. Lizzy's stance and attitude was very reminiscent of another young college student they knew. "Ok. I get it," Mike said, "but let's get a cruiser over here to keep an eye on you and the restaurant, not much of a stretch on a busy Sunday at a tourist spot."

Steve and Mike turned to leave. Confused, Lizzy nearly shouted at them as they walked away, "Hey, wait a minute, does this have anything to do with Pam?"

Steve trotted back to the young woman, "Geez, keep it down, will you. It might, we don't know yet. Until we find out, I need you to stay put. We will have someone on the pier to keep an eye on you. Hopefully we can get a handle on this before long. Ok?"

"Ok. Sorry. Will you be around later?" She wasn't technically afraid, but for some reason, the whole situation was easier to wrap her head around when Steve was present.

"Sure, what time do you get off?"

00000

Gary's Kohler's apartment was a third floor walk-up in one of the seedier neighborhoods in the San Francisco. Despite being a few doors up from an infamous adult entertainment house, O'Farrell Street was not a nice place to live. The Tenderloin was the home of cheap housing, derelict buildings, and the illicit sex and drug trade. It was also rapidly becoming the home to a host of Vietnamese refugees.

Mike pulled up to the curb at 842 O'Farrell Street.

"Third floor." Mike said as they entered the building He had taken the time to retrieve the keys from evidence before they left Bryant Street.

"Of course it is, nice smell by the way." Steve commented as they trudged up the dark staircase.

The crime scene tape had been torn away from the entrance, but it was still locked, or relocked, Mike thought. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and carefully grabbed the knob as he unlocked the door, not wanting to disturb what he assumed were Walters' print on handle.

Both men peered in the door. "Uh, Mike, we might need to get the lab back out here."