Crocker stood over the body like a sentinel. Scribbling in his notepad, he didn't notice the arrival of Lieutenant Kojak.

"Crocker, what do you have here?" Kojak bellowed, startling his young detective.

"Another strangulation, sir. Just like the first five. This is Andrew Partain, a wealthy trust fund baby. He has no work history. Just filthy rich because his father was a successful real estate developer.

"Same as the first five victims, right?" Kojak asked as he bent down to study the body.

"Yes sir, that's right."

"The jewelry wasn't stolen –the Tiffany ring, the gold necklace, the tie clip…"

"Yes, that's true. Just like the previous murders. Nothing is stolen that we can tell. There's a wallet full of credit cards, $500.00 cash."

Stavros walked up. "We've searched the house, Lieutenant; nothing appears to be missing. This guy collected old war memorabilia, knives, and bayonets. It appears to all be intact, no holes in the displays."

"Does he have any family that can come and confirm that nothing is missing? Does he have a wife?"

"An ex-wife," Crocker said.

"Get her down here Crocker. Have her look in every nook & cranny."

"Yes sir. I've already done that. She had no information about his possessions, only that he was possessed with the military memorabilia. That's why she left him. He was buying a lot of it and running out of room in the house to display it."

"This is a real stumper Theo," Stavros said.

"A normal thief would go for that military memorablia," Kojak said

"Yeah, this guy isn't normal," Crocker said.

Kojak nodded in agreement. "The wealthy of Park Avenue are getting nervous, fellas. We must catch this thief."

"Yes sir," answered Crocker. "There's no connection between the victims but for one thing."

"What's that?"

"They are all members of a ritzy club on the east side of Central Park, on 103rd street."

"Stavros, you and Bobby wrap this up and return to the precinct. I'll meet you there. I'm going to visit 103rd Street. There's only one club there, right?"

"That's right Lieutenant, you can't miss it. Marble columns, statues, copper cupola."

The lieutenant stepped from his Buick in front of the Ambassador's Club. He marveled at the apparent wealth that it took to build the building. Inside, he was greeted by a young pretty hostess.

"Can I help you," she asked.

"Maybe. Kojak flashed his badge. "One of your members was murdered in his home last night."

"Oh my. We seem to be plagued with that."

"The victim was a Mr. Partain. Do you know him?"

"Of course, I know all of the members."

"Was there anything peculiar about Mr. Partain?"

"No. He was a collector of military memorabilia. That's what he talked about all the time."

"May I question your members?"

"No sir. Not without a warrant. We protect our members privacy."

"I see. Well then good day miss," The lieutenant said as he tipped his hat. "Perhaps I will see your pretty face again. I certainly hope so."

The young lady walked the Lieutenant to the door. She wasn't going to let him sneak around her.

Back at the precinct, Kojak went straight to his captain's office and knocked.

"Enter," said Captain McNeil.

"Frank, we're going to need a warrant to question the people at the Ambassador Club. All of the victims were members."

"And you're expecting the next victim will hold up his hand and announce, 'talk to me, I'm the next victim.' Being a victim is becoming a club within a club."

"I'm trying to find the thing that connects the victims. What did they talk about at the club, who did they know."

"Well, you may pursue that warrant but I have something here from LA."

Kojak furrowed his brow. "Fruit & Nut Land?"

"Yeah. They have a lieutenant Columbo that wants to come out and help with this case. He may know a thing or two about it. He was following an identical ring of thefts in west Hollywood. Those are the ritzy folk of LA."

"I know who lives in west Hollywood. So, a murderer in LA has moved east to New York City?"

"Apparently. I think you need to work with this Columbo. I know you are not going to like it Theo, but we don't need to be embarrassed by not being able to solve these murders." Here's a photo of him.

"Kojak frowned. "Don't they teach cops in LA how to dress professionally? If one of my men came to work looking like this, I'd send him home to redress."

Captain McNeil laughed. "Things are little more laid back in LA. He's a lone wolf, Theo. Has his own techniques.

"Okay, He must be good to pass himself off as a cop looking like that. So, when is he arriving?" Kojak asked

"This afternoon at Kennedy." McNeil handed Kojak the itinerary. "Have someone pick him up."

"Sure."

Kojak walked into his office and opened his door onto the squad room. "Crocker!" he yelled.

Crocker appeared at the door, "Yes, sir, lieutenant."

Kojak handed the paper with the itinerary to his young detective. "Go pick up a Lieutenant Columbo at Kennedy this afternoon." Here's his picture.

"Columbo? Isn't he the weird one?" the young man asked.

"I don't' know him. He's coming out from LA. Please be kind and respectful and provide him with anything he wants. LA never fails to heed our calls for help."

Bobby smiled and ducked out of the office closing the door behind him.

When Lieutenant Columbo stepped off the jetway into the cool lobby he knew immediately he was not dressed appropriately. Everyone had on shorts and tank tops and here he was in his rumpled raincoat and it wasn't raining. He followed signs for baggage claim, knowing that was where he would find whoever had been sent to collect him from the airport. He had one small carry-on bag.

A young, clean-cut young man in a crisp suit approached him, a polite smile plastered on his face. "Lieutenant Columbo?" he asked, his voice had a strong New York accent. That voice reminded Columbo of the old Bowery Boys movies. He had loved the Bowery Boys. Especially that kid that would say 'I depreciate that' when he meant 'I appreciate that.' That guys name was Slip or Skip. There was a Sage, a Whitey and a Bobby and some others. "I'm Detective Bobby Crocker, from Manhattan South. Lieutenant Kojak sent me to pick you up."

Columbo's own smile was slightly crooked. "That's awfully nice of him, Detective. Just Columbo will do. And you can call me anything you like, just don't call me late for dinner," he chuckled, patting his raincoat pockets absentmindedly. "So, Bobby, is it? What part of New York City are you from?"

"I grew up in Jackson Heights. That's in Queens."

Columbo nodded his scruffy wild-haired head and smiled.

Crocker, used to the hard-boiled detectives of his own precinct, found Columbo's unassuming demeanor a bit perplexing. He'd heard the rumors about the LA detective; a master of his craft, cloaked in eccentricity. Now, seeing him in person, he wasn't sure what to expect. He led Columbo to a waiting unmarked blue car. He opened the trunk and Columbo threw his luggage in.

"Is it hot and humid here all the time?" Columbo asked as he took off his raincoat and draped over the back of the seat.

"In the summer sir. It feels like the deep south. Sometimes it feels like Bermuda but it isn't nearly as much fun."

The drive was mostly silent, Columbo content with watching the city's streetscape unfold outside the window, a cacophony of yellow taxis, towering buildings, and hurried pedestrians. Every now and then, he'd hum softly to himself, the tune a barely audible melody that seemed to trail off into nothing. He caught Crocker glancing at him in the rearview mirror and gave him a small, almost apologetic, smile. "Sorry, Detective, just thinking."

They arrived at Manhattan South precinct and were greeted by the usual controlled chaos: phones ringing, detectives shouting into the receiver, and the ever-present smell of stale coffee and decades of dust. Sharply dressed Kojak, bald head gleaming under the fluorescent lights, was a stark contrast to Columbo's disheveled appearance.

"Columbo," Kojak boomed, his voice deep and authoritarian. He offered a hand. "Good to see you made it. Hear you've got your eye on something."

Columbo shook the hand. "Lieutenant, it's a pleasure," Columbo replied, his own voice a bit softer. "I was just reading about the 'Manhattan Strangler' over my morning coffee. Saw a few things, little things, that bothered me. Figured maybe I could offer a fresh perspective."

Kojak raised an eyebrow. He wasn't one for outside help, especially from a West Coast cop. But something in Columbo's tone, the quiet sincerity, kept him from outright dismissal. "Perspective, huh? What kind of perspective?"

"Well, you see," Columbo started, fiddling with a button on his raincoat, "it's just that... you know, the way the bodies were found, they seemed too... deliberate. Not just random, you know? Like there was something specific the fella was looking for." He paused, letting the thought settle in the room, then brought out his own small, well-worn notepad. "And the patterns, too. They're awfully interesting."

He unfolded a page, pointing to a series of seemingly random dates and locations. "See here, Lieutenant? They're spaced out in a way that looks, almost like, a countdown. Or maybe a check list of some kind?"

Kojak leaned closer, his skepticism slowly giving way to a flicker of curiosity. Crocker, too, was now paying closer attention. This wasn't the bumbling fool he'd expected.

For the next hour, Columbo talked, not with arrogance or command, but with a quiet, persistent logic that was hard to ignore. He pointed out inconsistencies in witness statements, patterns in victimology, and the strange absence of certain items at the crime scenes. He didn't accuse or lecture. He simply observed, drawing connections that no one else had seen.

By the time Columbo had finished, the cynicism in the room had dissipated. Kojak, with a newfound respect in his eyes, leaned back in his chair. "Alright, Columbo, you've got my attention," he admitted, his voice still gruff, though not unkind. "What do you suggest?"

"Well," Columbo began, as he pulled a cigar from his pocket and unwrapped it, "I was thinking, we could just go back over everything, from the beginning. Sometimes, you know, when you got it all laid out in front of you, you find things that you missed the first time around." Lieutenant Kojak offered Columbo a light with a flick of his matchbook."

They started with the first victim. They revisited the scene, this time with Columbo asking seemingly trivial questions. He wanted to know about the streetlamps, the trash bins, the delivery schedules – things that everyone else had overlooked in the urgency of the investigation. He questioned the witnesses again, by phone, mostly wives and ex-wives, not with interrogation but with a carefully crafted, unassuming manner that made them feel at ease, causing them to reveal information they'd previously held back. Columbo focused on whether the victim smoked or not. "Did they have a pack of cigarettes or cigars in their pockets?" He asked, not looking at any one in particular.

Stavros answered, "Yes sir they did. "

"Okay, so did you notice matches or lighters?"

Stavros looked sheepishly at Bobby who glanced at Kojak. Bobby spoke, "We didn't see any matches or lighters but there were ashtrays in the home."

"Well fellas, it's always the obvious thing that isn't seen. Some luxury lighters are worth over $10,000 if they are made of gold. It all depends on the manufacturer, the year of production. You see a wealthy man of the class that is represented by these victims would probably have a diamond encrusted lighter in his pocket."

Slowly, painstakingly, a picture began to emerge. It wasn't a picture of a random serial killer, but of a man acting with a chilling purpose. The "countdown," as Columbo had called it, seemed tied to a valuable held by the victim that had been stolen. The "Manhattan Strangler," it appeared, was a collector of something rare and specific.

The final piece of the puzzle came in an unexpected way; During a lunch break, while Columbo was examining a seemingly unimportant photograph, he looked up at Crocker and stated in his unassuming manner, "The victim's watch… Did anyone ever find it?"

Crocker was puzzled. "No, Lieutenant, there were no watches. Why?"

Columbo's eyes widened slightly. "Look here at this photo. The mans tan stops at his watch. You can clearly see the shape of the watch."

Kojak slapped Bobby on the back of the head, startling him. "Should a noticed that kid."

"Yes sir."

Columbo smiled and said, "You'll see it next time, kid. Maybe, just maybe then, that's the item. What if that's the item he was taking all along? The victim would have to report a valuable item like a luxury lighter or a luxury watch. The killer is killing to prevent the victim from being able to report the theft."

The realization was a rush, and now, they knew where to look. A certain auctioneer had the reputation of selling rare and expensive watches and luxury lighters, and the detectives went to pay him a visit. They found him standing on a platform in front of a crowd of seated people about to sell the latest stolen watch that had been registered to Mr. Partain. The auctioneer, seeing himself about to take the rap for something he didn't do, fingered the thief who was sitting in the audience. Crocker and Stavros jumped down off the platform and chased the suspect who was slowed on his retreat by other patrons. Crocker caught up with him and brought him down in the lobby. The young detective quickly put the handcuffs on the thief and pulled him up into a standing position. Kojak clapped Columbo on the back, a rare sign of his genuine appreciation. "You did it, Columbo. You actually did it."

Columbo, however, remained unruffled, his attention focused on a stray piece of lint on his raincoat. "Just a bit of luck, I suppose, Lieutenant. And some good police work by you and your team," he said, his voice soft. "It's always good, you know, when justice is done."

He looked up, a small, almost shy smile playing on his lips. "Well, I s 'pose I should be heading back to that Los Angeles, now. My wife, see, she… well, she worries, you know."

Kojak nodded, understanding. He knew Columbo wasn't interested in accolades or credit. He was a man driven by a quiet dedication to justice, a relentless pursuit of truth, hidden beneath a facade of unassuming charm. And in the gritty world of police work, that kind of dedication, Kojak knew, was something truly rare.

As Crocker drove Columbo to the airport, Columbo just watched the city go by with a contented smile. He was just another unassuming cog in the wheels of justice. He had done his part, and that was all that mattered. Bobby asked him," does getting credit for arrests not matter in the LA police department?" Columbo eyed Bobby calmly. "Son, getting credit does matter in the LA police department, but I'm kind of outside the department. Credit wrangling is a constant activity. I guess it serves its purpose of giving the bigwigs something to point to when they hand out bonuses, raises and promotions. That makes it easier on them because there are some concrete non subjective criteria, don't you agree?"

"Yes sir, of course. I've just never met a cop that didn't care at all about money and promotions."

"Well, there was a time when I did care. That's how I earned the lieutenant's badge. I just no longer have any need for credit. I'm exactly where I want to be. I'm not pushing on anybody ahead of me."

"Yes sir." Bobby pulled up to the drop-off curb at the airport. He jumped out and quickly retrieved Columbo's bag out of the trunk. "I was honored to work with you sir." He put out his hand and shook Columbo's offered hand.

"Same here son. We may meet again. I suspect you'll be a lieutenant on that day." Columbo smiled and slapped Bobby on the arm.

Bobby smiled and shrugged. He put his hands in his pockets, leaned against his car, and watched Columbo until he entered the building. He thought, no one would ever think that man is a detective. He looks like a traveling salesman.