"That's a relief to hear, Roy, thanks. Yeah, so, ah, we're heading over to the bar in a few minutes, start to interview everyone that was working that night." Healey was in a phone booth down the street from the Crocker Police Department, not wanting his conversation to be overheard by anyone other than his partner.

Paranoia was contagious.

"Great. Listen, I got a description from Mike of the biker that stabbed him." Devitt read him the details and Healey, the phone tucked under his chin, took notes while Haseejian watched, brows raised.

"That's great – we'll ask around, see if anyone knows who he is."

"Yeah, Mike says there was a second guy, the guy that kicked him, but he can't remember anything about him yet."

"That's okay, this is a good start. Listen, ah, we'll call when we get finished at Patches and see if Mike's come up with anything else, okay?"

"Sounds good."

"Okay, thanks, Roy, talk to you later." Healey hung up and looked at his partner. He held up the notebook. "Mike remembered what his attacker looked like."

Haseejian smiled and nodded.

# # # # #

"Yeah, I was here from four until closing – well…" the pretty young brunette giggled, "well, until they found that guy all bleeding and everything in the poolroom. Everybody left then and we were sent home."

She looked from one detective to the other, not at all intimidated, it seemed, by their presence or the questions they were asking.

"So you were here when the man who was stabbed came in?"

"Oh yeah, I saw him come in. He was here once before… Tuesday, I think…" She screwed up her face as she tried to remember.

"Was he alone?"

"Yep," she nodded, "just like Tuesday. He asked for a beer and then he headed into the poolroom and… started to play, I guess. He was in the middle of a game when I brought him his beer and chili the other night."

Haseejian glanced at his partner and leaned forward slightly. "He was alone all night? No one came in to join him?"

She shook her head with a facial shrug. "Nope, nobody. He was all by himself."

"Okay," Healey said softly, making a notation in his book with a vague half-smile and a furrowed brow. "Now, those bikers that came in –?"

"Oh yeah, those guys," she interrupted, rolling her eyes. "What a bunch a jerks."

"You didn't know them? You've never seen any of them before?" Haseejian asked, his eyes never leaving her face.

She shook her head, pursing her lips. "Unh-unh, I've never seen any a them before. They were real jerks, all grabby and stuff, and none of 'em gave me a tip." She sounded genuinely angry.

The partners glanced at each other. "Well, thank you, Joan," Healey smiled, "if we have any more questions, we'll be in touch, okay?"

With a beaming smile and a curt nod, the waitress got up from the booth and headed towards the kitchen. Flipping his notebook shut, Healey looked at Haseejian and sighed. "Well, that's the last of 'em."

The Armenian sergeant nodded. "Yeah… it was like they were all reading from the same script, wasn't it?" he said softly, looking around the room as the staff members they had just interviewed were readying the place for their noon opening.

"You got that right." Healey took a deep breath. "Norm, I'm getting a really weird feeling about all this. I want to talk to Manley again. I have some more questions for him… but I don't know if he's the one with the answers."

# # # # #

The head of the bed had been raised and Mike was sitting up, supported by several thick pillows. A wheeled table had been rolled over the bed and he was taking small spoonsful of a clear broth and sips of clear tea.

The door opened and Devitt came into the room.

"Any news?"

The grey-haired lieutenant shook his head. "Norm and Dan are at Patches interviewing the staff right now, but they don't think they're going to get anywhere. It weird, it's like someone got to them and, if you believe Lassister – and I don't, by the way… and I haven't even met the guy… you were in Patches playing pool all by yourself. Nobody's mentioned Steve at all. And our guys haven't either; they're waiting to see how this all plays out. See if they can find out who's behind it."

Mike had stopped eating and was staring at his colleague with his one good eye. "It's like he disappeared off the face of the earth," he said quietly.

Nodding slowly, Devitt approached the bed and sat on a nearby stool; the armchair, almost too big for the small room, had been pushed into a corner out of the way. "Well, we know he didn't… we'll find him."

"Where? We haven't been able to find the other three."

Devitt cocked his head. "Do you think Steve was snatched by the same… whoever are responsible for the other three?"

Mike stared at him for several seconds then lowered his head. "I don't know… he really doesn't fit the rundown. I mean, the other three were young, good-looking white boys, and Steve is that, there's no doubt about it… but they were nineteen, two the them anyway, and the other one was twenty… he's a bit older than that, he's twenty-seven."

"If that's the only difference, it may be no difference at all, if you know what I mean."

Mike nodded. "I do, but… the other disappearances were months apart. If Steve was taken by the same… person… it's just over two weeks since Craig Steen disappeared. It just seems too soon."

Devitt shrugged. "Maybe it was a matter of circumstance… and opportunity…"

"Yeah…" Mike blinked slowly then stared at his colleague. "God, I wish we'd found out more…"

Devitt smiled encouragingly. "We'll get him back, Mike… Look, ah, you better finish your soup if you want to get better and get outa here, right?"

"Right," Mike agreed, but there was no conviction in his voice or his actions as he picked up the spoon again.

# # # # #

Carole looked up from her desk behind the tall counter. "Oh, I'm sorry, fellas, but the Sheriff just went out on a call. There was a break-in on the other side of town." She had gotten up and crossed towards them; she lowered her voice and glanced around the otherwise empty office before continuing, "We're getting a lot them now because of the drugs… they need the money, I guess…"

Both detectives nodded in understanding. "Ah, do you know when he'll be back?"

"Oh, shouldn't be too long; these things usually don't. Come on in and have a seat while you wait." She opened the bridge flap so they could enter the bullpen.

"Listen, ah," Haseejian asked as they moved deeper into the room, "can we use a couple of phones? We want to set up some interviews?"

"Oh, of course, be my guest," she smiled as she gestured towards the unoccupied desks then returned to her own.

"Thanks." Healey slid his notebook out of his pocket as he sat and flipped it open. Haseejian took Steve's notebooks from his inside pocket and dropped them on a nearby desk then pulled a sheet of paper from his outside jacket pocket, folded it and tore it in half. He handed one piece to Healey.

Picking up the black receiver and tucking it under his chin, Haseejian dialed the first number on his half of the list. He waited while the line connected. "Yes, ah, may I speak to Johnny Mitchell, please?... Yes, I can wait."

He heard Healey. "Hello, yes, I'm looking for Chris Miller?... Thank you…" He met his partner's eyes.

They knew they needed answers, and they needed them quickly.

# # # # #

There was a light knock on the heavy wooden door and Devitt got up from the armchair in the corner and crossed to it quickly. Chief Ryan, his service cap in his hand, was standing on the other side. He beckoned Devitt with his head and, with a quick glance back towards the bed and its sleeping occupant, the San Francisco cop stepped into the corridor and let the door softly close.

"How's he doing?" Ryan asked as they began walking towards the waiting room.

"Good, really good, all things considered. They've even got him started on some clear soup. But he's, ah, he's worried about his partner."

"That's not surprising…" Ryan stopped him before they got to the waiting room. "Look, ah, something's happened that I think you should know about. My boys just came in with a couple of bikers who were run off the road not far from here."

"Run off the road?" Devitt asked quickly, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"Just like the end of 'Easy Rider', it looks to us. Deliberate. They were sideswiped by a car or a truck and run off the road. One of them hit a tree, the other went into the ditch. The one that hit the tree died in the ambulance on the way here. The other one's pretty busted up but the docs think he's going to make it."

Devitt cocked his head. "What does that have to do with us?"

"That description you sent around, about the bald biker, the one who stabbed the lieutenant? It matches the description of our dead biker to a T."

# # # # #

"Thanks for coming in, fellas. We really appreciate it." Healey dropped onto a grey metal chair on the far side of the long grey metal table in the Colville police station; Haseejian was already seated, smiling genially at the three young men facing them.

"Can we get you a Coke or a coffee or something?"

All three shook their heads. "Ah, no, sir, thank you," the slightly overweight blond with the military buzzcut shook his head with a nervous smile.

"Chris Miller, right?" Healey asked with raised eyebrows and a calming grin.

"Yes, sir."

Healey looked at the other two. "Johnny?" Another nod. "So you must be Charlie Burke?"

The handsome young man with the long, well-kept blonde hair and the soft blue eyes nodded carefully. His brows were knit and he was biting his bottom lip.

"Relax, fellas, you're not in trouble," Haseejian chuckled. "We just want to ask you a few questions about Patches."

"But we already talked to the other guys…" Mitchell offered, his nervous eyes snapping back and forth between the two detectives.

"We know," Healey nodded, "but, ah, well, I'm sure you've heard something about what happened there the other night, right?"

There were three hesitant nods from the other side of the table, three pairs of eyes that never left their own.

"We had nothin' to do –" Miller blurted out; Healey stopped him with an upraised hand.

"We know, don't worry. It's not about that. We just want to know what you fellas can tell us about what goes on at Patches?"

The three friends looked at each other, frowning in confusion. "What do you mean?" Mitchell asked tentatively.

"Well, ah, we know you guys visit there a little more than just… once in awhile, right? I mean, you like to go drinking there and shoot some pool every now and then, right?" When there was no immediate answer, he chuckled again. "Come on, fellas, we know there's not much to do here in Colville for you young people. Hell, if I was living here, I'd be in Crocker every night."

Miller was the first to smile, and he looked down quickly trying to hide it.

"Chris…?" Haseejian prompted.

The young man glanced at his friends then looked at the police sergeant. "What do you want to know?"

Healey leaned forward, putting his forearms against the edge of the table and smiling amiably. "So, ah, what do you fellas know about that biker gang that showed up at Patches the other night? Are they regulars, do they hang around there a lot?"

Miller snorted and both Mitchell and Burke glanced at him and smiled slightly. "Regulars? You can say that again. They're always there. They run that place."