The black phone rang once before the receiver was snagged. "Captain Olsen."

"Ah, yes, Captain, ah, this is Sheriff Lassiter from Crocker. We're a town upstate near Eureka… ?" It was more a question than a statement.

"Okay, Sheriff, what can I do for you?"

"Well, ah, Captain, I'm calling from St. Joe's Hospital in Eureka… Ah, we have one of your guys in the hospital here, got into a… a barroom brawl in Crocker last night."

Olsen, who had been making notes in the file he'd been studying when the phone rang, now froze, every cop instinct on full alert. "One of my men…?" he asked carefully, trying not to emphasize the number as suddenly everything he had discussed with Mike in a phone call the day before came flooding back.

"Yeah, ah," Olsen heard what sounded like the sheriff stuffing the receiver into the crook of his neck, "ah, yeah, I got his card here… ah, Lieutenant Michael Stone. He's one of yours, right?"

Olsen could feel the blood pounding in his ears as a thousand questions swamped his brain. "Ah, yes, yes he is. So, ah, what happened exactly, Sheriff?" He needed this information but he was also stalling for time as he tried to recall exactly what his old friend had told him. Something about Lassiter, he remembered…

"Well, we're not sure exactly. When my deputies and me got to the bar after we got the call, the place had emptied out and the lieutenant was lying on the floor of the poolroom."

"How badly is he hurt?" Where's Steve? Why isn't he making this call?

"Well, the doctors tell us he was stabbed in the belly with a broken beer bottle and it looks like he was kicked in the head. He's had surgery to stitch him up but he's still unconscious."

Olsen closed his eyes, his hand tightening on the receiver. He knew he had to keep his tone controlled and even, but it was proving to be a struggle.

"Listen, uh,' Lassiter continued, "do you have any idea why your lieutenant would be up in Crocker? I mean, are you guys investigating something up here?"

"Ah, no… no, not that I know of, Sheriff. Look, ah, I'm gonna send some of my men up there. Will you be at the hospital when they get there?"

"No, ah, I gotta get back to Crocker but the Police Chief here in Eureka, he's here at the hospital right now and he can come back when your guys get here. Name's Scott Ryan. Look, ah, if your men wanna come on into Crocker, I'll let 'em know what we've figured out about what happened."

"All right. That sounds like a good idea."

"Look, ah, I'll give you my office number so you and your men can get in touch with me…"

As Olsen copied down the information, his mind was racing. He thanked the sheriff and hung up, then picked up the receiver again and pressed a couple of numbers. "Roy?... Grab Dan and Norm and get up here fast. We've got trouble."

# # # # #

His hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, Sergeant Dan Healey glanced across the front seat at Lieutenant Roy Devitt, who was staring silently through the front window, then met Sergeant Norm Haseejian's worried eyes in the rearview mirror. The loud wail of the siren was making conversation difficult as the moss green sedan shot up the 101 with the red cherry flashing on the roof.

They were making good time but none of them seemed to notice. Their thoughts were with their colleagues, one in the hospital, the other who knew where.

The meeting in Olsen's office had been as brief as possible as the captain filled them in on what little he knew about the goings on upstate. They had been told about the investigation Mike and Steve had been working on – the three missing young men – and about how little they had managed to uncover.

Olsen told them of the suspicion that Patches Bar & Grill in Crocker had seemed to be the common denominator in the disappearances, and that the town's sheriff, Barry Lassiter, might somehow be connected to the drug trade that seemed to be thriving in the small town. There were possibly bikers involved as well, though no one knew how as yet, and they were told of Mike's hunch that none of the missing young men had been involved with drugs in any way.

They had hit the road as soon as possible, all of them going home to briefly pack bags; they didn't know how long they would be upstate but they knew it would be longer than just overnight.

Stopping only briefly for gas and to get some lunch to go, it was barely five hours after they left The City when they spotted the first mileage sign for Eureka. The fact that they were that much closer brought them both relief and trepidation. They had no idea in what condition they would find Mike, and the worry about Steve was compounding.

Reaching the outskirts of the small city, Healey turned off the siren and Devitt opened the window and grabbed the cherry, turning it off and putting it under the seat. He turned to the others. "So we'll go to the hospital first, find out what's going on with Mike, and then I want you two to head into Crocker. I'll stay here with Mike."

Both sergeants nodded.

"Now remember, nobody mentions Steve. If Lassiter is a crooked cop, and he doesn't know about Steve, I want to keep it that way. It might be the leverage we'll need later on."

Continuing to nod, Healey frowned. "Yeah, that's what's been bugging me. Steve had to have been with Mike. I pretty sure Mike wouldn't have gone to a bar in another town on his own. So what the hell is going on?"

Devitt nodded gravely. "Let's hope we find that out sooner than later. So let's play it close to the vest and see what they give us before we offer anything, okay?"

Another round of nods.

"Oh, and I was also thinking about accommodations. I'll stay here in Eureka until Mike is released so I'll find a hotel room or something. And we're not going to remain anonymous, even though that's what Rudy told us Mike and Steve were doing when they went into Crocker; I want us going in there full-blown San Francisco homicide detectives, okay? That might get more lips flapping.

"So you two might as well take over the two motel rooms Mike and Steve were using in Colville. That seems to be the most practical solution. What do you think?"

Nodding, Healey snapped the turn signal on and steered the Galaxie into the large parking lot, stopping at the ticket kiosk. He fished his badge out of his pocket and flashed it at the attendant, who, eyes widening, punched a button to open the boom barrier.

With an almost satisfied snort, he glanced at the others. "Sometimes it pays to be a cop."

# # # # #

The three detectives exited the elevator and strode down the corridor towards the nurses station. Devitt took his star and I.D. out of his pocket as he approached the counter. He smiled grimly. "Hi, ah, I'm Lieutenant Devitt from the San Francisco Police Department." He nodded over his shoulder; his companions had their I.D.'s in hand as well. "Sergeants Healey and Haseejian." They nodded. "We're here to see –"

"Lieutenant Stone, yes," the middle-aged brunette nurse interrupted gently with an encouraging smile as she got to her feet and crossed to the end of the counter. "We've been expecting you gentlemen. Please, follow me."

Pocketing their I.D.'s, the cops fell into step around her. "How is he?" Devitt asked.

She shook her head once with a slight grimace. "I'm afraid he still hasn't regained consciousness, but our neurosurgeon is pretty confident that should happen soon. He's starting to show signs."

They had reached a closed wooden door with the handwritten name STONE on a piece of white paper taped under the room number, and she paused. "You gentlemen can stay for as long as you like. Police Chief Ryan asked me to give him a call when you got here. It won't take him long to come back; he was here most of the morning. And the doctor will be in to see you shortly."

"Thank you very much," Devitt smiled as she pushed the wooden door open and three men stepped past her, almost hesitantly, into the room. "I'll let you know when Chief Ryan gets here," she said quietly as the door closed.

Mike was alone in the room; he was lying flat, an I.V. line in the back of his left hand. Even from the door they could see how swollen and bruised his face was. They approached the bed slowly. Healey caught his breath.

A gauze bandage encircled the lieutenant's head, anchoring the dressing on his right temple. His right eye was swollen shut and turning purple, and a stitch was visible on the right side of his bottom lip, which was bruised and twice the size.

Healey sighed. "Christ, it looks like he went a round with Ali."

Devitt's eyes travelled from his colleague's ravaged face to the light blue sheet over his stomach. He reached out and gently touched Mike's right arm. He felt helpless and angry.

The door behind them opened and all three turned to see a grey-haired older man in a white lab coat enter the room. He smiled pleasantly at the three visitors. "Ah, Lieutenant Devitt?"

"That's me," Devitt answered with a nod, taking a step forward and extending his right hand. Nodding at the others, he made introductions. "Sergeant Haseejian, Sergeant Healey."

"Doctor Cavanagh," the physician said personably as he shook their hands. He took a step closer to the bed. "As bad as it looks, your lieutenant is a very lucky man. He'll have a concussion, of course, which is going to take awhile to heal, but so far there's no sigh of a subdural hematoma… bleeding into the brain… even though he's still unconscious. And his pupils are equal and reactive, which is an excellent sign. The rest is… superficial and will disappear in time."

He glanced at them, smiling encouragingly. "As for his stomach wound, that's a little more serious."

"He was stabbed with a broken beer bottle?" Haseejian asked, trying to keep the disbelief and anger out of his voice.

Cavanagh nodded sadly. "Yeah. We see that a lot more than we should but it's a product of inebriation and short fuses. I guess it could be worse… I guess drunks could be carrying more guns. But it doesn't make it any less… horrific." He glanced at his patient. "From what I could tell, and I've dealt with similar cases, he was initially stabbed and then the bottle was twisted."

The three detectives reacted with subdued horror: Healey inhaled sharply and turned away; Haseejian looked down, his hands balled into fists in his pockets. Devitt looked at his colleague in the hospital bed and set his jaw; he could feel his anger beginning to seethe.

"There were a lot of perforations to his small intestine, and shards of glass imbedded in the wound. We're pretty sure we located all the pieces of glass and we repaired all the holes in his intestine but we're going to have to keep a close eye on him for several days. The chance he could develop peritonitis is… well, let's just say he's not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot."

Cavanagh nodded grimly as he looked at the three concerned detectives then smiled reassuringly. "He's doing as well as can be expected right now, considering the condition he was in when he arrived. And when he wakes up, we'll know even more. I'd tell you not to worry, but I know that's unlikely, so all I can say is stay positive, okay?"

Devitt nodded gratefully. "Thanks, doc." His eyes slid back to the occupant of the bed and he swallowed heavily.

"Look, ah, I've got a surgery coming up, I have to go," Cavanagh announced, crossing back to the door. "I'll drop back in later." With a nod at them all, he pulled the door open and left the room.

The three detectives stood close to the bed, silently staring at their injured colleague. Eventually Devitt cleared his throat. "Listen, ah, you guys better get going. We still gotta find Steve, and I'm beginning to have a very bad feeling about that."

Nodding slowly, almost reluctant to tear their eyes from the bed, Healey and Haseejian moved towards the door. Healey glanced up at Devitt. "You'll let us know…?"

"I'll call Sheriff Manley's office as soon as I know anything. Get the phone number for the nurse's station here in case you need to get in touch with me." He inhaled deeply and glanced back at Mike. "Find Steve, will ya…?"

After the door had closed behind the sergeants, Devitt stood silently for several seconds beside the bed. He knew he had to call Olsen to fill him in on the lieutenant's condition, but he decided to wait for a few minutes; he had to get his simmering fury under control first. He pulled a nearby stool closer to the bed and sat. With a heavy sigh, he picked up Mike's right hand and squeezed.