A/N: Chapter two, for those of you that've been waiting for it. which isn't many. But I can't complain, this show is 30 years old. And, a thank you, to my beta, Hannaford.

Disclaimer: Happy Days and all related characters belong the the brilliant creator of that TV show, and not I.

"Alright, Fonzarelli, how'd you get in here? Police officials only behind the yellow tape," Kensington asked, annoyed. Arthur Fonzarelli always did what he wanted, when he wanted, and somehow never managed to break any laws. This annoyed the hell out of him.

"Please, call me Fonzie," Fonzie replied, disregarding the question that was asked of him.

"Alright, Fonzarelli, you've got two seconds to --" Kensington started, but was interrupted.

"That's enough, Barry," Hunt said, and put his arm across his underling's path to prevent him from lunging at Fonzie. "What makes you so sure this was a murder, Fonz? You haven't even seen the crime scene!"

Fonzie snickered. 'Barry?' he thought to himself, and suppressed a chuckle. Regaining his composure, he replied, "Call it Fonzarelli intuition, sir."

"Alright, let's see some proof, smart guy," Kensington piped up, and Hunt sent him a glare that said 'Watch it, or you're fired.'

"Sure, gentlemen, if you'll follow me," Fonzie replied, and walked over to the body. "Now, you'll notice the victim has scratch marks on his hands that are consistent with the jagged edges of the broken champagne bottle.

"I thought you said there were no signs of struggle?" Hunt asked Kensington.

The Lieutenant was at a loss for words, so Fonzie answered for him. "Apparently, Mr. Kensington here needs a refresher course in evidence gathering, or whatever the technical term is."

Needless to say, Kensington started fuming. But, before he could start mouthing off to Fonzie, The Fonz started up again.

"Now, you'll also notice that his hat was pulled down over his face, in a desperate attempt to hide the fact that the victim had a scared expression on his face. Now, if you can tell me why someone would look scared during a suicide, then I'll walk out of here right now and not so much as cross your paths again," Fonzie challenged.

Kensington cursed under his breath. The one chance he had to do away with his nemesis, and they both knew that there's no good reason for a suicide victim to look scared.

"Alright, Fonz, we've established that it was a murder, not a suicide. What next?" Hunt asked. The surrounding police force was shocked. Hunt was always the one giving orders, no matter how harsh. Now he was taking them from an amateur? It wasn't right.

"Well, I saw Malph walkin' down the hall in a state, so I figure he was the one who found this scene. And dollars to donuts you interviewed him already. Am I right?"

"Amazing, Fonz!" Hunt exclaimed, "How could you possibly know all that?"

"Like I said, Fonzarelli intuition. Anyway, the next step would be to interview some of the residents, try and find out who this guy is. I'd like to start out with Chachi, since he knows the owners of these apartments."

"Alright, let's go, then," Hunt said, standing up. "Stay here, Kensington," he said, as Barry stood up, "Try to learn something about crime scene investigation off of these guys," and pointed at the workers collecting evidence and taking crime scene photographs.

Kensington mumbled something under his breath, and then skulked over to one of the new recruits. His voice faded as Fonzie and Hunt left the room. "I don't think we've been introduced."

"I'm new. Name's Horatio Cai. . ."

The voices could no longer be heard as the duo closed the door behind them and headed for Chachi's room. They knocked, and the door was opened, though bolted on the other side. "Oh, it's just you, Fonz." Chachi breathed a sigh of relief. He then unbolted the door and let him in.

"Alright, Chach, I guess you know what happened down there. Have you seen it?" Fonzie asked, in a comforting voice, so as not to frighten his young cousin.

"Well, no, I haven't seen it. It's kind of gruesome, isn't it?" Chachi asked, maintaining his composure for now, but Fonzie could tell he was about to start sobbing.

"Well, not really, you think you're up for a look? We need to know who this guy is, and you're our best bet if he lives here." Fonzie asked slowly.

Chachi's eyes widened, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He really didn't want to see that place. Just the thought of a killer in their midst sent shivers down his spine.

"That won't be necessary, Fonzie," Hunt piped up. "Kensington's good for something, after all." He proceeded to pull an old leather wallet from his pocket. "Found it on the guy. There's no ID, but there's a picture of the guy. Son, do you think you could look at this for us?"

"Well, that'd be alright," Chachi breathed a sigh of relief. He studied the picture for almost thirty seconds. "Nope, never met the guy," he stated after his thorough examination.

"Thanks, kid, we'll be in touch," Fonzie told Chachi, and the two men left.

"If the guy didn't live here, then why was the body here?" Hunt asked nobody in particular.

"If he didn't live here, then the killer did. That's why."