A Port By Any Other Name A Columbo/Quantum Leap adventure By Donald Allen Kirch   One of the most unusual TV hits of the '80s was Quantum Leap, a weekly sci-fi morality tale with enigmatic metaphysical undercurrents. The hero, Sam Beckett, was a somewhat befuddled time traveler who through scientific or possibly supernatural means was fated to "leap" from one body to another, across the temporal span of his lifetime. The final season of this cult favorite (still viewable on the Sci-Fi Network) revealed some of the curious rules of the alternate continuum in which Beckett and his wisecracking, cigar-loving (hmmm) holographical sidekick Al moved -- and affected significant change. The meaning of Beckett's mission became blindingly and breathtakingly clear at the conclusion of a 1992 episode inserting Sam into Lee Harvey Oswald as he prepared for that fateful day in Dallas (the closing revelation is a Sixth Sense whopper). Therein lies Donald's newest tale. If you could leap into the past and alter the destiny of any Columbo adversary, who would it be? Grace Wheeler, the wistful former star with the terrible secret? Tommy Brown, the gospel-singing, skirt-chasing paradox of a country boy? Most fans, judging from Ted Kerin's Columbo Forum, would opt for wine aficianado and meek milquetoast Adrian Carsini, he of the fiery temper, fierce family pride, and inability to fend off his amorously blackmailing secretary. Wouldn't it be great if we could head off his horrible act of fratricide, save his soul and his wine collection in the bargain?   Well, take heart. Sam Beckett is on the case, leaping into the early 1970s and the lives of Adrian Carsini and Lt. Columbo. Be prepared for a surprise or two as Donald (Kirch, not Pleasance) weaves time travel and detection into a possible requiem for a wine lover, a do-over, as the kids used to say. And as an added bonus, he takes gentle aim at the "two Columbos" fans have become familar with -- and occasionally groused about. Ready? Set? Leap!  Donald Allen Kirch is the author of Ka-Re, an historical horror novel about the Titanic available at Amazon.com. His newly completed novel deals with religion, politics, science, and terrorism.

            Theorizing that one could time travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett lead an elite group of scientists into the desert to develop a “TOP SECRET” project known as QUANTUM LEAP.  Pressured to prove his theories or lose funding, Dr. Beckett prematurely stepped into the Project Accelerator – and vanished!   He awoke to find himself in the past suffering from partial amnesia and facing mirror images that were not his own, driven by an unknown force to change history for the better.  Fortunately, contact with his own time was maintained through brainwave transmissions with Al, the project Observer who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam could see and hear.   And so Dr. Beckett finds himself Leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong and hoping each time that his next Leap will be his Leap home…

Los Angeles, CA – May 28, 1973

            The familiar blue flash possessed Sam’s existence once again.   He hated it and loved it at the same time.   This was adventure! That was, until, you found yourself in a world of trouble.

            The first thing Sam noticed was the body on the floor.

            “Oh, boy!”

            Sam noticed that he was holding a cigar box, which appeared to be of the kind he remembered his grandfather having on his desk, as a boy.   Made of metal, overbearing, and way to fancy for the act of holding tobacco. 

            The office appeared empty.  The man on the floor was passed out, grabbing onto his head.   Sam noticed that the young man was bleeding, badly.   It was obvious that the man he had leaped into had just had a fight with the unfortunate man on the floor.

            A white light that only Sam could see suddenly interrupted the room’s macabre appearance.  It was Al.

            “Sam, where the hell did you ever pick up Gooshie?” the Admiral said, smoking a cigar.  “His breath could kill a T-Rex! Jeez!”

            The Admiral suddenly realized what he had walked into.   He froze.

            “Sam?” he asked,  “What the hell’s going on here?”

            “I don’t know.”  Sam insisted, placing the cigar box on a nearby desk.  “Where are we?”

            Al started punching information into the hand unit; a small computer, which looked like a dozen gummy bears smashed together in the form of a calculator.   “Well, according to Ziggy, we’re in L.A. – 1973.   The man on the floor is Ricardo Carsini.   Hey, an Italian!”  Al paused, reading the information on his pad.   “Oh, this don’t look good, Sam.”

            “What’s wrong?” Sam asked, still, trying to get his bearings.

            “Ricardo, or, Ric, as he was called, dies in two days.”

            “And?” Sam asked, knowing that there was more.

            “And,” Al explained, hitting the hand unit several times, trying to read it.  “You, or, I should say, Adrian Carsini, is arrested for his murder three weeks later.   Sam, you are Adrian Carsini.”   Al paused, as if remembering something.   “Carsini?  I know that name, Sam.”

            Sam studied Ric, who was starting to come to.   “Al, I think he’s all right.”   Sam bent over the man who had been assaulted.   “You okay, buddy?”

            Ric Carsini looked up at Sam with a terrible hate.   Hate only shared by rivaling siblings.   “You sick old bastard!” Ric mumbled, passing out again.

            “Carsini!” Al shouted, remembering.  “Adrian Carsini was once one of the most celebrated wine makers in North America.  Now, I remember!  I have a couple of his vintages in my cellar!  Oh, Sam, this guy really knew how to stomp on a grape.”   Al started punching up information on his computer, puffing away on his cigar.

            “Al, I think he’s going to be okay.”  Sam checked the injury.  “I really see nothing here that would indicate he’s going to die in two days.   Are you sure about this?”

            “Hey, I just read what I see, Sam.”

            “Could the computer be wrong?”

            Al gave Sam a “you must be kidding” look.

            “Sorry I asked,” Sam corrected.

            “Ziggy still says there is a one hundred percent chance that Ric will die in two days.  We can’t change that.”

            “Then, why am I here?”

            Al shook his shoulders, puffing his cigar.   “What?  I know these things?”

            “Mister Carsini?” a female voice echoed into the office.

            Both men were startled by the intrusion.   Al noticed a speakerphone on Adrian’s desk.   “Sam! Over here.”

            Sam followed Al’s lead, pushing a button-down on the antique communication device.  “Yes?”

            “The gentlemen from the Wine Merchant’s Industry are still waiting in the main gallery.  What shall I tell them?”

            Al punched away on his computer, hitting it, when he did not like what he saw.  “Oh! Sam, Carsini is about to be named Wine Merchant of the Year.   They’re waiting for him right now.   You better go!”

            Sam started to panic.  Uneasy.   “Al, I know nothing about wine.”

            “Well, sniff it before you drink it, and say ‘salud’ a lot.”

            Sam made a face.

            “Gooshie knows a little about the subject.”   Al stated,  “I’ll track him down, give him a box of Tic Tacs, and we’ll talk.   In the meantime, you better get going.”

            “What about Adrian Carsini?”

            “I’ll give him a talking to in the chamber.”   Al motioned with his hands, directing Sam’s attention to a prepared tray of wine.  “Take that with you.”

            “What do I do, Al?”

            “I don’t know.  Why don’t you let one of the stiffs in the gallery decant the wine for you?   Say it’s to honor the occasion, or some such thing.”

            Sam shook his head, accepting.  He picked up the tray of glasses and wine.

            “Okay.”

            “Good man!”

            A bright white light filled the room once more.   Pushing a series of buttons on his computer pad, Al gave Sam a healthy wave of goodbye.  “I’ll check in with you soon, buddy!”

            Like the closing of a door, the room turned back to normal.

            Sam was alone.

            “Oh, boy!” was all Sam could bring himself to say.

* * *

            Adrian Carsini woke to find himself in a strange room, surrounded by a bright white light, dressed in a tight-fitting white body stocking, and to see someone else’s reflection looking back at him from a tiny mirror.

            “Where?” Carsini started to say, but stopped.   Inside such a huge room, alone, there should have been some kind of an echo.  There was none.

            A door slid open.

            Al walked in.

            “Where is this place?”  Carsini demanded,  “Who…who are you, sir?”

            This was the part of the Quantum Leap project Al hated.  The time when he had to confront every Tom, Dick, or Mary that inhabited Sam’s body.   With every leap Sam was to take, the “personality” of the person Sam was to become would bounce back to Sam’s normal time, inhabiting his body until the next leap.   Al, like Sam, always hoped that during the next leap, it would be Sam, himself, waiting to be released from the chamber.

But, today, at least, that was not the case.

            “Where…where am I?” Carsini asked, a bit shaken.

            Al paused.  The explanation had to be given.

            “Mister Carsini, I’m Admiral…” Al paused, biting his lip.   Stupid!  He always seemed to start this act the same way, and could never seem to get it right, or use to it.  “My name’s Al.”

            “Al?” Carsini question, noticing his own appearance for the first time.

            Carsini approached a small reflective well, located in the middle of the chamber, staring hard at his own reflection.   His hands, shaking, kept playing with his face, tenderly, as if he touched it too hard it would break.   He looked up at Al, his eyes filled with a controlled terror.

            “What have you done to me?”

            “Mister Carsini…”

            “What have you done to me!”

            Al, gingerly, took Carsini by the hand, motioning him to take a seat at a nearby bench.  How many times had he had practiced at this?  He couldn’t say.

            “Sir, be assured that you are safe.”  Al started off, “No one here is out to harm you in any way.   However, for the sake of our shared…project, you must remain in this room until all returns to normal – for you, that is.”

            “Project, you say?” Carsini asked, confused.

            “You are sharing the physical body of Doctor Samuel Beckett.” Al continued.   “His consciousness is currently located in your body.   That explains your appearance.”

            Carsini laughed, quite disturbed by what he was hearing.   He started to pace the room.   “What is all of this?”

            “This is no joke, Mister Carsini.”  Al confirmed, serious.  “You are no longer in Los Angeles, California.   Nor, are you in the year 1973.”

            Carsini’s pacing stopped.  “What do you mean I am no longer in the year 1973?   Have you been drinking?  Are you insane?”

            “Sir, you are the unfortunate participant in a project involving a top secret experiment in time travel.  Dr. Beckett is currently in the year 1973, in your body, trying to right what went wrong.  At least, that is the prevailing theory.”

            “Trying to right what went wrong, you say?” Carsini’s face lit up with sarcasm.   “What is he?   The Lone Ranger?”

            “Something like that.” Al said, starting not to like Carsini’s attitude.   “Whatever you need, while you stay here, sir, please do not hesitate to ask.  My staff will see to your comforts.”

            “Thank you.”

            “Oh!” Al said, smiling, “Would you care for some wine?”

            “Not right now, thank you.”  Carsini said,  “You say…”

            “Al’s my name.”

            “You say, Al, that I’m no longer in the year 1973, is that correct?”
            “Yes, sir.”  Nervous, Al pulled out a cigar, biting off the end.

            “Pray, what year am I currently in, then?”

            Al started to light his cigar.  “I can’t tell you that, sir.  It’s classified.”  Lighting his cigar he started to puff away.  His nerves began to settle.

            “You cannot tell me.”  Carsini repeated,  “You can tell me that I’m an unfortunate victim in a time travel project, but you cannot tell me where I am.”

            Al blew out a satisfying cloud of smoke, smiling.   “No need to tell you.  You already know.  All you have to do is think about it.”

            “Think about it!”  Carsini raged,   “I was about to be named Man of the Year in my given profession, and then I end up here, in Wonderland…”

            “Wonderland!” Al laughed, interrupting.   “That’s hilarious!  Wait till I tell Gooshie!”

“Al, I seem to know what you’re telling me, but what does quantum physics and sharing the conscious of a living participant in Doctor Beckett’s time stream have to do with readjusting the leap accelerator, so that reflux destination can be obtained?”

            “You ask good questions, Mister Carsini.” Al stated, flipping ashes off his cigar.

            Carsini paused.

            “How did I know all of that?”  He asked,  “Just as I seemed to know that I had a brother who was killed in Vietnam.”   Carsini started to panic again.   “Al, I only have one brother, and he sure as hell did not die in Vietnam.” Carsini started to rub his head – he had a headache.   “What’s happening to me?”

            “When Sam leaps with another, it causes parts of each participant’s memories to be combined into one.  For one split second, you and Dr. Beckett share the same times and space.   The aftereffect causes what I like to explain as a Swiss Cheese effect on the memory.  You have some of Sam’s knowledge, and he has yours’.   It’s temporary, and upon leaping back, you will remember nothing.”

            “That’s comforting.”  Carsini said, retaking his seat on a bench.

            Al, uneasy, started to move on to the second part of his reason for the visit.

            “Mister Carsini, when Sam first leaped into your body, he and I became aware of the fact that you had just assaulted your brother, Ric.”

            “Half-brother.”  Carsini corrected,   “The roue wants to sell our father’s land.   He wants to offer it to the damn Moreno Brothers.”

            “Moreno Brothers?”  Al asked,   “You mean the winery that makes all those cheap wines that bums buy?”

            Carsini never said a word.  He just shook his head, letting out an ironic moan.

            “Well, I’d whack him on the head, too.”   Al puffed on his cigar.

            “Why do you ask, Al?”  Carsini motioned Al to take a seat next to him.  “I was rude and violent with my brother, yes.   But, we have these episodes all the time.   That’s why we both have dedicated ourselves from seeing the other as much as possible.”

            “Well, according to our records,” Al paused, “You killed him.”

            “Killed, Ric?” Carsini huffed.  “Ridiculous!”

            Al stopped.  He knew, from experience, that he was going nowhere.

            “Well, for now, I’ll see about giving you some chow.   It has been at least ten hours since your body has eaten.   You must be hungry.”

            “Starving, thank you.”

            Al left the room more confused than he was when he had entered.  

            For now, all was normal.

* * *

            Sam’s hands were shaking terribly.  He was starting to sweat.

            “Can’t let them see you like this, Sam,”   he said to himself.

            Placing the tray of wine and serving glasses on a nearby table in a hallway, Sam noticed a mirror.  He looked at himself for the first time.

            Sam was a distinguished middle-aged man of definite British stock, bald, and with a keen set of eyes looking back at him with an eagle-like certainty.   Sam’s first impression of Carsini was a simple one: He was not a killer.  Certainly, he was the type to panic and tie up a bigger and stronger brother, in the hopes of calming him down, but not a murderer. 

            Sam wiped away the sweat forming on his forehead, and placed his handkerchief back into his suit’s vest pocket.  Which, he marveled, was of the finest quality!

            “Mister Carsini?”

            Sam was taken by surprise.

            A middle-aged woman, about his same height, was standing in the hallway, looking at him rather oddly.  She had red hair, and kept it up in a bun.   Spinster-looking, and every bit the professional woman Sam remembered from his youth, the woman smiled at him with deep feeling.

            “Your guests are waiting, Mister Carsini.” The woman motioned toward the paneled doors off to Sam’s right.

            “Ah, yes.  Thank you.”   Sam picked up his tray and headed into the room.

            The woman continued to watch until Sam was gone.

            Her face turned hard.  “Bastard!” she whispered.

* * *

            Ric Carsini blinked his eyes hard, trying to fight the blur.   He was surprised at the level of anger his brother had exhibited, after being told that he was going to sell their father’s land to the neighboring Moreno Brothers.  Adrian had one hell of a temper!

            “Oh, my head,” Ric said, fighting the stabbing pain.

            This was a bittersweet moment.  But, business was business.  After all, he had a new wife to be thinking about.

            Stumbling to his feet, Ric headed for his brother’s desk.

            He was going to call the police.

            “How’s about a police record, big brother?” Ric laughed, picking up the phone.

            The office door opened.

            “Oh!” the voice said.  “I’m sorry.   I thought…”

            “Do not worry yourself, Ms. Fielding.” Ric waved his brother’s secretary into the office.  “Everything’s under control.”

            Karen Fielding walked into the room, studying Ric’s features.   Her eyes showed a great deal of concern.   Ric always suspected that she and Adrian had a “little something” going on, on the side.

            “My God, Mister Carsini, you’re bleeding!”   Karen said, pointing to the dripping blood running down Ric’s face.

            “I know.”  Ric confirmed.

            “What have you two been doing?”

            “The little bastard’s gone off the chain this time, Ms. Fielding.”   Ric dialed for the operator.   “I’m going to press charges against him.”

            Karen’s eyes narrowed, staring hard at Ric.   “After all he’s done for you?”

            “What’s he’s done, is piss me off,”  Ric changed points of view, paying attention to his phone call.   “Hello, Operator?  Get me the police.  I need to lodge a complaint.  Yes, ma’am!   Assault.”

            Karen’s blood began to boil.

            “Please, Ric.  Consider what you’re doing.”  She paused.   Her eyes began to tear.  “You got what you came here for.  Adrian gave you your airfare.  Now, please, for everyone’s sake – just leave.”

            Ric, flabbergasted, hung up the phone.

            He started to laugh.

            “Just who in the hell do you think you are, lady?” he rubbed his forehead, wiping away the blood.  “You think you run things here?”

            “I was just….”

            “You do not!” Ric insisted, walking toward the secretary.   “You’re just the hired hand around here.”

            “Unlike you, sir, I care for your brother’s welfare.”   Karen started to cry.

            “Yeah,” Ric said, brushing off his jacket.   “I just bet you do.”

            Ric headed back toward Adrian’s desk, picking up the phone again.

            Karen’s blood started to boil.  “You do this every time you visit Mister Carsini.   Always asking for money, always threatening, and always making Adrian wish that he was born an only child.”

            “Lady, I got business to take care of.  Now, would you please leave?  I have a winery to sell.”

            “You wouldn’t?”  Karen gasped.

            “Baby, the papers are going to be signed first thing in the morning.”   Ric motioned for the secretary to leave.   “Get out.  I have to recall the police to have that bastard of a brother arrested before I leave.”

            Ric started to dial up the Operator again.

            “I’m going to sell this land, and make sure that little bastard never has anything over me, ever again,” he huffed.

            Karen walked up behind him, her thoughts foggy.   She centered her attention on a table behind Ric, holding several trophies the Carsini Winery had won over the last twenty-five years.   They represented all the hard work and dedication Adrian had placed into the business, and none of Ric’s loyalty.   Ric only seemed to care about the money.   Keeping a log of all expenses Adrian ran up.   Times were hard, and you had to spend money in order to make money.  Adrian had sacrificed everything – Ric sacrificed nothing!

            Karen would not allow Adrian to become the butt of Ric’s greed.   Not now!  Not when she was really starting to care for him.

            “Mister Carsini, please reconsider,”  Karen begged picking up one of Adrian’s many trophies.

            “Not on your life, little darling.  This time, I’m going to be in charge of the money.   Let’s she how big brother loves coming to me for the cash!”

            “That day will never come, you little shit!”

            Before Karen knew what was happening, the trophy crashed into Ric’s skull, caving it in.  Blood splattered everywhere.  The huge man, quivered for a moment, on his feet, and then, simply, collapsed.

            Dead.

            In her horror, Karen dropped the trophy, dripping with the blood of her victim.

            “Oh, my, God!” she whispered,  “What have I done?”

            Her mind started to race with a thousand possibilities.   The body?  What to do with the body?

            The wine cellar!

            Karen started to clean up the office.  All the while, she thought of nothing but Adrian Carsini’s welfare.   A plan started to build.  A plan, so brilliant, that it almost horrified her as much as the murder she had just committed.

            “Adrian, my darling!” Karen whispered, opening up the entrance into Carsini’s private wine cellar.  “No one will be able to blame you for this.  You have witnesses.  You were in a meeting, being honored, for Man of the Year.”

            Karen, with great difficulty, started to pull Ric’s body into the wine cellar.   Blood trickled, leaving a guilty trail.

            “I’m sorry, Mister Carsini.”  Karen said to Ric.  “But, this is Adrian’s life we are talking about here.   He’ll be blamed for your death, but he will not be charged.   I’ll see to that.”

            A little laugh escaped the prim secretary’s mouth, as she heaved Ric Carsini’s body, one last time into its hiding place.  

            There was a bloody mess to clean up before her boss returned.

* * *

            “Gooshie!” Al screamed, running down one of the many hallways, leading to the quantum accelerator.  “Where the hell are you!”

            Several of the government employees knew best when to get out of the Admiral’s way when he was in a hurry.  This was one of those times.

            “Gooshie!”

            Gooshie, one of Sam Beckett’s most trusted colleagues, poked his head out from the entrance to the project’s cafeteria, and ran smack into Al’s grumpy face.

            “What is it, Admiral?” he asked, chewing on a steak sandwich.

            Al handed the man a box of Tic Tacs.

            “You can start by downing a few of these babies.”

            Gooshie complied.  He loved Tic Tacs!

            “Gooshie,” Al said, tapping out information on his hand unit.   “Sam’s a wine merchant in 1973.   He knows nothing about the stuff, and you do.   What can you teach me in three minutes?”

            Gooshie noticed that the Admiral had placed his hand unit on record function.   This was the first time the Admiral had asked him for anything outside the quantum leap chamber!  He was suddenly taken aback.

            “What, sir?” was all Gooshie could say.

            “What can you teach me about wine in three minutes?”

            “Admiral, what I know took over a lifetime to acquire, myself.”

            “Okay,” Al calmed himself down,  “Perhaps we can start with the basics.”

            “Shoot.”

            Al turned on his hand unit, again.  The Rear Admiral silently motioned Gooshie to speak into the unit’s mike.  “How can you tell a great wine from an average wine?”

            Gooshie laughed, dryly.  “Admiral Calavicci, you’re an Italian.  How could you go through life without…?”

            “How can you tell a great wine from an average wine!” Al shouted.

            “By, Ah…” Gooshie paused, chuckling.  “By the price, sir.”

            Al looked up, flabbergasted.  “That’s it?”

            “Pretty much.  Yeah.”

            Huffing and puffing, Al turned off his hand unit, thundering down the hallway, back toward the waiting room and the Quantum Leap chamber.  

            “Those Tic Tacs are coming out of your pay!” Al promised.

* * *

            “May our enemies never know the happiness we share at this moment,”   Sam toasted, raising his glass.   It was the only thing he could think of to say.   He had heard his father repeat it on more than one social gathering as a child.

            The three gentlemen seemed to appreciate the gesture, raising their glasses accordingly.  All was well.   There were no questions about wine, and no one was the wiser.   Still, Sam’s thoughts kept drifting back to Carsini’s office – there was the matter of his brother to tend to.   He only hoped that this time, upon Al’s return, Ziggy, the Parallel Hybrid Computer that ran the Quantum Leap program, would be able to educate him on why he was in Carsini’s body in the first place!

            “What a wonderful vintage!” one of the men marveled.   The man was named Falcon, and was slightly taller than Sam.

            Sam thought up a lie.

            “This wine was wisely put aside by my grandfather, who bottled it the very year he started producing wine.  I keep a case or two in my cellar, guarding them with great care.”

            “Care?” another gentleman, asked.

            Sam winked,  “If I do not guard them, I would drink them all up, myself.”

            Everyone laughed.

            The room turned silent.  Awkward.

            “Adrian,” Falcon stated, “We have a surprise for you.”

            “Yes!” a bearded gentleman continued,  “It is our great pleasure to award you the Man of the Year Award for our industry.”

            Sam tried to act surprised.  “Gentlemen, you honor me beyond my accomplishments.”

            A blinding white light started to fill the room.   As if a magical door was suddenly opened, and then closed, Al appeared to Sam smoking another cigar.

            “Okay, pal,” Al stated, “I have the stuff from Ziggy.”

            Sam silently motioned Al to wait until he had excused Adrian’s guests.

            Sam and the three men left the room, momentarily.   Al waited until Sam’s return.

            “What’s going on here, Al?”  Sam asked, as he re-entered the room, closing the door behind him.

            “It’s Ziggy’s opinion, that you are here to prevent the arrest of Adrian Carsini, for the murder of his brother.  Ziggy believes that there is a forty-eight percent chance that he never committed the crime.”

            “That’s not much of a foundation to proclaim a man’s innocence on,”   Sam added.

            “Hey!  I just do what the all-knowing cube tells me,”  Al joked.   “In any case, Ziggy goes on to say, now that you are here - screwing up the time continuum anyway - those odds have now risen to…” Al paused, reading his hand unit, smacking it several times to make sure it was working.  “The odds are now seventy five percent that you will succeed!   Hey, that’s great, Sam.”

            Sam made a face.  “There’s something wrong.”

            “What?”

            “How should I know?”  Sam started to clean up the wineglasses, placing them on his serving tray.   “It just doesn’t feel right.”

            “In any case, we better go see how Ric’s doing.”   Al read his hand unit again.   “Ziggy still says that there’s a chance that Ric will be killed.   But, those odds are no longer at one hundred percent, they’ve dropped to…” Al paused, his eyes began to bug wide.   “Sam, Ziggy now states that there’s over a one hundred percent chance that Ric’s going to die!”

            “But, that’s impossible, Al.”  Sam pointed out;  “I’ve been in here for over forty minutes.  I never left the room.”

            “Follow me.”  Al stated, walking through one of the walls, toward Carsini’s office.

            Both men entered the office.

            It was empty.

            “Where’s Ric?” Sam asked.

            Al started to type away on his tiny computer.

            Ziggy, the most intelligent computer ever created by the mind of Man, had no answers.

* * *

            “It’s two o’clock in the morning, ma’am,” Lt. Columbo said, fighting back a tired yawn.  “In any case, this is homicide.  What you’re looking for is missing persons.”

            Columbo blinked his eyes open, staring at an attractive young woman.   She was dressed in a rather liberal white dress, which, by his humble opinion, was showing off more than it should.   Still, fashion aside, the detective could see that she was an emotional wreck.  Normally, he would just close up shop, point toward missing persons, and head home to a cold chicken diner.  But, there was desperation on this woman’s face that seemed to touch the core of his professional curiosity.

            Exhaustion aside, Columbo decided to help.

            “I’m sorry, sir,” the lady continued,  “But I’ve been trying to get help all day, and no one seems to be pointing me in the right direction.”

            Columbo smiled, inviting the lady into his office.   “Well, let’s see what I can do.   Please, take a seat.”

            “I’m sorry I’m such a pain.”

            “No!  No, pain.   Who needs sleep?” Columbo joked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.   “Would you like a cup, ma’am?”

            “No, thank you.”

            Columbo took a seat at his desk, drinking his coffee.   He’d need it: He was running on fumes anyway.

            “Now, tell me what’s troubling you.”

            “My fiancée and I were to start a trip to Mexico later this week.   However, I received a very strange call from him, earlier today, stating that his older brother, Adrian Carsini had attacked him, and that he was injured.”

            Columbo held up a finger, silently asking the woman to stop what she was saying.  He fumbled through all of his pockets until his found his notepad, then, repeating the action, until he found his pencil.

            “Better write all this down,”  Columbo explained,  “Could be important.”

            “Anyway, that was the last that I heard of him.”

            “Have you checked the hospitals?”

            “Yes, sir.  First thing.   Nothing.”

            “Have you called your fiancée’s home?”   Columbo suggested,  “Could be he’s safe and sound, sleeping away the event.   That has been known to happen.”

            “No, sir.”

            Columbo stopped his writing, letting out a deep breath.

            “Ma’am, I do not wish to appear uncaring, but, really, this is something missing persons should look into.  I’ll tell you what, I know a guy down there, Sergeant Kawasaki, I’ll let him know everything, and in the morning we’ll see what we can do for you.   Okay?”

            “I’m just concerned, Lt.….?”

            “Columbo, ma’am.”  Columbo paused, uneasy,  “You see, I’m in homicide.   There’s nothing I can do, until…”

            “Until a body’s found,” the woman concluded.

            “I didn’t want to say it, ma’am, but, that’s correct.”

            The lady paused, uncertain.  “I understand.”

            Columbo smiled, placing his notepad back into his coat pocket.   Picking up his coat, resting it on his arm, the homicide lieutenant silently motioned the woman to follow him outside his office.

            “I’m sorry that there is nothing I can do for you, at this time.”

            “It’s nothing, sir.  However, I do appreciate your time.”

            Something in the woman’s voice caught Columbo’s good nature.

            “In the meantime, do you have a picture of your fiancée?”  

            Eagerly, the woman dove into her purse, pulling out a picture.   She handed it to him, her hands shaking.   “This picture was of the two of us, and was taken about three weeks ago.”

            Columbo studied the picture.  “Oh, he’s an all right-looking guy.”

            “Thank you.”

            “No wonder you’re worried.  By your paperwork here, I see he’s Italian, and we Italians need to stick together.”   Columbo paused, confused.   Again, he studied the picture.   “He’s blonde.   You sure he’s Italian?”

“His name’s Ricardo Carsini.”

            “Well, you can’t get any more Italian than that.   But, blonde?”

            “His family is originally from Milan.”

            “Oh, yeah! They grow them blonde up north.”   Columbo closed up his office.   “As I say, I’ll give this to missing persons in the morning – first thing.  Don’t try to worry yourself, so, ma’am.  I’m sure all will be all right.”

            “Thank you, Lieutenant Columbo.”

            Columbo stayed by his office door, watching the woman, until she disappeared down the hallway.  Shaking his head and smiling ear-to-ear, he re-entered his office.   He was going to have to call his wife and tell her he was pulling another all-nighter.

            “Who needs sleep, anyway?” he whispered.

* * *

Karen Fielding took Ric’s car keys, finding his red sports car, and stealthily parked it in the winery’s spare service garage.   All was going well.  At this time of the week, there were no other workers in the service area, so no one would be able to spot Ric Carsini’s car, assuming that Adrian’s brother had picked up his money, leaving shortly thereafter.

            “What do I do now?” she cried.

            There was a small chance that Adrian would be blamed for this murder, and Karen knew it.  Still, she also knew that he had been in a personal meeting at the time.   If all worked as planned, Adrian would be cleared.   If not, she would testify that she had seen Ric leave before Adrian’s meeting, clearing him of any wrong.

            That is, if all worked as planned.

            She locked up the car, placing the keys in the glove compartment.

            Leaving the service garage, her thoughts turned to other things: she had a trip to New York City to plan.  Mister Carsini had expressed great interest in going to a wine auction in the Big Apple, and she was going to do her part to see to it, that he was going to have a good time.  Perhaps, just perhaps, she could get him to pay more attention to her as well?

            She would think about what to do with Ric’s body upon her return.

* * *

            “Sam, Ziggy has uploaded the Carsini Murder Trial into my hand unit.   It seems that the officer in charge of the case, a Lieutenant Columbo, was the driving force behind his conviction.”

            “Is there any way we can convince this man that Adrian no longer lives here?”   Sam said, pointing toward his body.

            “I don’t think so, Sam.  This Columbo guy seems to be very good at his work.   He has a fantastic and dedicated service record with the Los Angeles Police Department.  Even received a few commendations from both the chief of police and the president.   Impressive.”

            Sam sat at Adrian’s desk,  “How can we stop a man like that?”

            “Find someone just as smart, and just as dedicated as he is,” Al suggested.

            “Who?”

            A moment of silence filled the room.

            Al snapped his fingers.  “I’ve got it!”

            “What?”

            Al pushed a few buttons on his hand unit, opening up the bright door, leading away from Sam, and back toward the waiting room at the Quantum Leap project.   He started to rush through it, poking his head back at a very nervous Sam Beckett.

            “Sam, just go with the flow.” Al reassured,   “I don’t know how much time this will take, but, I’m going for some help.  Be back as soon as possible.”

            Al disappeared, closing the bright door behind him.

            “Oh, boy,”  Sam huffed, realizing how large Adrian’s office was for the first time.

* * *

            “Gooshie!” Al screamed.

            Gooshie was standing near the quantum particle magnification unit, aligning it, hopefully, before Dr. Beckett’s next leap.   He heard the admiral’s wail, and rolled his eyes.

            “Over here, sir.”

            Punching a few buttons on his hand unit, Al approached Gooshie, forgetting the way he had treated the man earlier that same day.

            “Gooshie, I need you to find someone for me.”

            “Who?”

            “A police officer, who worked, or is still working for the LAPD homicide division.  A man by the name of Columbo.”

            Gooshie’s mind started to wonder.  “Why?”

            “After he’s cleared by the NSA, the man’s going to take a trip.”

            Gooshie dropped his wrench.

* * *

            Al jumped into his Corvette, turning on his personal tracking device, which would show him the best route to take to Los Angeles, California.   From Stallion’s Gate, New Mexico, to L.A., it was an eighteen-hour drive.  Gooshie had informed him that Columbo was still on active duty, and was still in homicide.   The man’s record of arrests was fantastic!   Even Al had to admit that, but this was Sam’s fate.   Sam would suffer.  The only person who could stop Columbo from doing his job was Columbo.

            Al’s only problem was to get the LAPD detective to believe him.

* * *

            The trip to New York City was a disappointment to Karen.   Adrian was still frigid, still unresponsive, and still not hers.  Every so often, she would notice him looking off into space, as if waiting for someone to appear.   Was she so repulsive?  What was it that she was not doing, which would cause him to not notice her?  Twelve years she had worked for this man, giving her all, just for his happiness.   And, now, she had killed his brother so that he could keep his world from crumbling down around his ears.   Should that not give her at least one kiss?

            The winery was deserted. 

            She entered the main office buildings, heading straight for Adrian’s office.

            Entering the private entrance to her boss’ cellar, she found the dead body of Ric Carsini glaring back up at her with dead eyes, near the corner of the dusty room. 

            With all her strength, she pulled Ric’s body back into the main office, heading toward the maintenance exit, leading out to the service garage, and into Ric’s sport’s car.

            She would get rid of the body the only way she knew how.

            Ric Carsini was about to have a terrible diving accident.

* * *

            “Rear Admiral Al Calavicci, Office of Naval Intelligence, National Security Agency?”  Columbo read the business card with great curiosity and surprise.  “Are you sure you want to talk with me, sir?   My captain usually talks to men such as yourself.”

            “Lt. Columbo, you’re the guy I need to see, and, please, call me Al.”   Al took a seat next to Columbo’s desk.

            Columbo started to light a cigar.

            “You smoke cigars?” Al smiled.

            Columbo gave Al a sly look, as he slowly lit his cigar, puffing and savoring every moment.  “I think better when this thing’s lit.”

            Al shook his head with a profound understanding.

            “What may I do for you, Admiral?” Columbo asked, sitting down.

            “Please, call me Al.”

            “Okay, Al.  What can I do for you?”

            “Lieutenant, Uncle Sam needs your help.”

            “Ohhhhhh!” Columbo said, surprised.

            “No joke, sir.” Al turned serious.  “I am in charge of a secret oversight committee, dedicated to the execution of a temporal scientific project, focusing on Albert Einstein’s theory of…relativity.”

            “Uh-huh?” Columbo said, rubbing his forehead.   “That’s all impressive, sir, but, could you please tell me what that means, in English?”

            “Ever read H.G. Wells’ novel The Time Machine?”

            Columbo’s eyes slowly started to dart away from Al, and towards the office of the department psychologist.  “Ah, yes sir.  As a boy.”

            “Me, too.” Al lit his cigar, puffing.   “Does the name Adrian Carsini mean anything to you?”

            Columbo was taken aback.  He looked away from the psychologist’s office, back into the admiral’s eyes.   Al noted that Columbo’s face turned sad at the mention of the wine maker’s name.

            “Yes, sir.  I know Mister Carsini.”

            Al produced a simple piece of paper.  “Columbo, you have jailed many murderers in your distinguished career.   However, our records indicate that there has been only one of those incarcerated that you, personally, visit on a regular basis.   Adrian Carsini.  You have visited him, in prison, at least once a year, since he was convicted.   Indeed, you two are secret friends, of a sort.”

            “Sir,” Columbo stated, turning defensive.   “My personal life, outside my work, is, if I may say so, none of your business.”

            “No need to explain, sir,” Al said, offering up his hands in a peaceful gesture.   “All I wish to know is why?”
            “He was a nice man forced into a terrible situation, and, duty aside, I respected the man.  Not for what he did, but, for the love he had in his way of life.   Passionate people sometimes do stupid things.   Mister Carsini, sad to say, has spent the rest of his life paying for his actions.”

            “Do you regret what happened to him, Lieutenant?”

            “Yes.”

            “And, if you could change all of that?  As if it never happened?”

            Columbo’s brow, again, started to knit a silent question.

            “Time travel,” Al stated.

            “Sir?”

            “That is what I’m talking here, Columbo.   I am involved with an experiment in quantum time displacement.   A friend of mine, Doctor Sam Beckett, is currently a passenger in this project.”

            “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Columbo smiled.

            “Yes, sir!” Al huffed,  “Doctor Beckett is an unwilling passenger in this project, unable to leap back home because of an unknown force, or program, that requires him to right the wrongs of the past.”

            Columbo’s eyebrows darted up.  He said nothing.

            “Doctor Beckett is now involved with your case.   Adrian Carsini.  It is our belief that Mr. Carsini did not commit the murder he was charged with.  There was an unknown factor that you were never aware of.”

            “Are you saying I convicted an innocent man, sir?” Columbo’s eyes turned dark.

            “You were not at fault, sir.” Al reassured,   “That is why Doctor Beckett is involved with the case.   That is why he has leaped into Mr. Carsini’s body, back in 1973.”

            “If true,” Columbo asked, “Why can’t I remember anything different from the facts about the case?  If your man is back in 1973, he should have changed something.”

            “I don’t know.” Al grumbled,  “I’m a fighter pilot.  I don’t know from time traveling.  You want to help change a wrong that was done to a man you respected, or what?”

            Columbo crushed out his cigar.

            “Captain!” Columbo shouted.

            An elderly gentleman, slightly balding, stuck his head outside a neighboring office.  “Yes?   What is it?”

            “Going to be away for a few days.”

            “Where you going?”

            Columbo turned to Al.  “Where we going?”

            “Stallion’s Gate, New Mexico,”  Al stated, smiling ear-to-ear.  “Shouldn’t take more than a few days.”

            “And then?”

            “Columbo, if we’re successful, you will never remember this conversation.”

            “Sir?”

            “If we succeed, the timeline will change.   This event, by your point of view, will never take place.”

            “Well, sir,” Columbo said, nervous and confused.   “Let’s hope for a success.   My captain hates it when I leave the office.”

            Al put out his cigar.

            “Lieutenant, let’s hurry.  Time is of the essence.”

            “Ah, yes, sir.”

            Both men left the office.  Columbo’s captain returned to his office.

* * *

            Lt. Columbo entered the Carsini Labs looking for Adrian Carsini.   His gut was starting to kill him.   He had just come from informing Ric Carsini’s fiancée of his drowning, and now had to inform his brother.   This was the only part of his job that he utterly hated.

            “Hello, Mister Carsini?” Columbo meekly asked, trying to keep the volume of his voice at a minimum.

            “Yes?” Sam said, turning away from a technician.

            “Are you Adrian Carsini, sir?”

            “Yes.  What do you want?”

            “Sir, may I have a private conversation with you, please?”

            “If it’s an offering for a job, sir, the employment office to located in the back of…”

            Columbo produced a police badge, showing Sam that he was not there to obtain a job.  Quite the contrary.

            “This is police business, sir.”

            “Let’s go to my office.”

            Sam was terrified.  This was it!  The wheels were starting to turn against him.  If he did not watch his moves, he would find himself in prison before Al could come back to save him.  Sam knew, through the process of elimination, there would come a case where he would not be able to right the wrong.  Gooshie, Al, and Ziggy all plagued themselves with the question: “Would Sam leap if he failed?”  Honestly, no one knew the answer.

            Sam guided Columbo back to his office.

            “Is something wrong, sir?” Sam asked.

            “Sir, I’m here on official business.”

            “I gathered that from your badge, sir.”

            “You have a brother by the name of Ricardo Carsini, do you not?”

            Sam clinched his fists.  “Yes?”

            “Sir, it’s my sad duty to inform you, that your brother’s body was recovered from the beach today.  Apparently, it was a drowning.  Very tragic.   I offer my sympathies, sir.”

            Sam remained calm.  He did not know how to respond.

            “Now, I’m surprised, sir.” Columbo managed to say, never allowing his emotions to show.

            “How’s that?”

            “I just informed you that your brother has been found dead, and you never even flinched.”  Columbo paused, drilling his gaze into Sam’s eyes.  It was obvious that the police officer suspected foul play, where there wasn’t even a clue of guilt.  “You’re not surprised?”

            “Not at all,”  Sam calmly said.   Inside, he was terrified, but, until Al returned, he had to play the man, as he thought best.

            “Maybe you didn’t understand, sir,” Columbo stated, reaching for his badge again.  “I’m Lieutenant Columbo, of homicide.  Your brother is dead.”

            “You’ve informed me, sir.”  Sam sat down at his desk, folding his hands on top one another.   “Ric was a daredevil at heart.   None of this surprises me, sir.   He took things way too hard.   Auto racing.  Ski diving.  Underwater swimming.   It was only a matter of time.”

            “I see.”  Columbo’s features tightened.  He took out a thread-bare cigar, never lighting it, chewing it, as if he were deeply troubled.

            “Would you care for a light, Lieutenant?”

            “No, thank you.  Just thinking.”

            Sam remained as calm as possible.  Desperate, he started scanning the room.   Where was Al?  Why wasn’t he here to help him?

            “Was your brother on any type of strange diet, sir?” Columbo asked, getting out his notepad, fumbling through it.

            “What?”  Sam asked,   “What was that you said?”

            “Coroner tells me that when they performed an autopsy on your brother, they noticed that he hadn’t eaten in over two days.   Now, why would a man not eat for two days, and then go scuba-diving?”

            “Beats me, sir.”  Sam chuckled,   “Then, that was Ric.  If it were harebrained, or worse, you could bet your last dollar he would have given it a shot.”

            Columbo started writing in his notepad.

            “Excuse me, sir,” the detective meekly apologized.

            Sam sat at his desk, watching the police officer write in his book.   Sam was starting to like this man – he was more intelligent than he at first let on.

            “Why would he dive in the rain, sir?”

            “Doesn’t really matter if you’re under the water, would it, Lieutenant?”

            Columbo smiled, closing his book.  “I guess not.”

            “Is there anything else?” Sam asked, nervously smelling the flower in his suit’s lapel.

            “Just one question, sir.”

            “Yes?”

            “Where were you last Tuesday?”

            Sam gave the question some thought.  “Well, let’s see. I was in New York.”

            “New York?”

            “Seven days in fun city, Lieutenant.  I was a guest speaker at a wine auction, as well as a bidder on some rather rare vintages.”

            Columbo’s eyes darted upward.  “Wine auction, sir?”

            “Yes.  An auction.   I personally purchased a bottle of wine for five thousand dollars.”

            “Five thousand…” Columbo stopped, cupping his mouth, trying his best to hide a smile.  “My father never made five thousand dollars in a year’s time, let alone in one night.   Could you imagine drinking a year’s pay in one night?”

            Both men laughed, dryly.

* * *

            Gooshie approached Al, cautiously, going over some new equations. What Al was asking was dangerous – sharing the same “possible” fate as Doctor Beckett was currently suffering from!  He knew that.  That was why Gooshie tried to be diplomatic.

            “Admiral, this is a stupid idea!” the scientist shouted.

            Both Gooshie and Al were waiting outside a dressing room, which had only been used once before, in the entire Quantum Leap project.   Columbo was in the room, changing into a special “leap” suit, which only Sam had worn.  Al was preparing another traveler.

            “You got a better idea?” Al asked.

            Gooshie, uneasy, said,  “The first time, you honestly ask me, and I….” He cut himself off.

            “If it’s any concern, I’m just as terrified as you are.”

            “You?” Gooshie asked, dumbfounded.

            The dressing room door open and Columbo came out.  

            Like a spider, Columbo’s arms were outstretched, and uncomfortable.   The detective was walking funny – he wasn’t used to the suit.   Dressed in a white body suit, the policeman looked at both Gooshie and Al, smiling.

            “How’s the suit, Lieutenant?” Gooshie asked.

            “Very interesting, sir,” Columbo laughed.   “But…”

            “But, what?” Al asked.

            “Well, sir.  I feel like a teabag.”

            Al looked at Gooshie, and laughed.

            “You’ll do fine, Columbo!” Al motioned for the policeman to follow him.   “Now comes the hard part.”

            “Ah, yes, sir.  About that…”

            “No problem.”  Al said, motioning Columbo to pay attention to Gooshie.

            “Gooshie.” Al added.

            “Yes, sir.”  Gooshie popped another Tic Tac, continuing.  “Mister Columbo, you will be involved in a rather disorienting adventure.   In theory, all will run smoothly.”

            Columbo stopped walking.  “In theory?”

            “Well, yeah.” Al coughed, smoking on his cigar.   “If the leap accelerator is off, even slightly, you and I could spend who knows how long, leaping in our timeline.”

            “Like Doctor Beckett?” Columbo asked, slowly moving back toward the dressing room.  “I don’t think…”

            “You will do fine, Lieutenant,”  Gooshie added, grabbing the retreating cop.

            “Could you please explain to me, again, what we plan on doing here?”

            Gooshie and Al took Columbo into the main chamber, allowing Columbo to marvel at the heart of the project – Ziggy.

            Columbo’s mouth dropped open in utter amazement.

            Ziggy, the huge computer that ran the project, gleamed in a shy blue brilliance, scanning all three men as they entered the room.   Her programming was going ahead as projected, and Columbo’s entire DNA strand was added to her circuits.   It was safe to say that Ziggy knew more about Columbo than Mrs. Columbo!

            “Good morning, Lieutenant.” Ziggy said, her voice filling the entire cavern of the project’s room.  “How was your trip?”

            Columbo gawked.  He kept looking from Ziggy to the gleaming faces of Gooshie and Al.   “You weren’t kidding!”

            “No, sir.”  Gooshie assured him.

            “This looks like something from that movie… Forbidden Planet.”

            “A great motion picture classic, sir,”  Ziggy stated, opening the passageway to the quantum accelerator.

            “Will this hurt?” Columbo asked.

            “I hope not.” Al nervously gulped.

            “Al is doing an incredibly brave thing!” Ziggy proclaimed,   “Which is totally unlike him.   I can’t imagine what ulterior motive he may have.”

            Al gave Ziggy a cruel look.  “Watch it, sister.”

            “Kinda speaks what’s on it’s mind, doesn’t it,”   Columbo observed.

“Doctor Beckett wanted Ziggy to think on its own, so, he programmed the damn thing with the personality of Barbara Streisand.”

            “Ohhhhhh,” Columbo moaned, choking down a laugh.

            “Yeah.” Al said.

“Admiral,” Gooshie meekly asked, “Are you sure about this?”

            “It’s all we have.  This is Sam we’re talking about.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Columbo, meekly, entered the Quantum Leap accelerator.

* * *

            “Lieutenant,” Sam promised, “There is no possible way you could get locked up in here.  To me, this is a very safe room.”

            Columbo, curious, had asked Adrian Carsini to show him his wine cellar.   He had a theory: That Carsini had somehow knocked his brother out, locking him up in the wine cellar and killing him, once he returned from New York.  There was a hot day during that week Carsini was away.  Wine was a delicate thing.

            He had a plan!

            “Gee, sir.  This place reminds me of that Edgar Allan Poe story – what was it?   I know the name.  Started with an A.  The Cask of…”

            “Amontillado,” Sam concluded.

            “That’s it!” Columbo confirmed.  “This place reminds me of that!  And a vampire movie I watched last Saturday.   Are you sure no one could get locked in here?   I mean, on accident, or anything?”

            Sam laughed.

            “Tell you what, Lieutenant, I’m going to go back to my office and close the door behind me.  You try to open the door.  Would that convince you?”

            Columbo meekly smiled.  “Yes, that would, sir.”

            “Good.”

            Sam left the cellar, closing the door behind him.

            Columbo opened his raincoat, looking for a bottle of wine.   All was going as he had planned.

* * *

            Sam stood outside the entrance to the wine cellar, waiting for Columbo to figure out, that, all he had to do was push on the door to open it.

            A white light filled the office.  Like a magical door opening, and then closing.

            “Al!” Sam almost screamed.  “I’m actually glad to see you.  What have you been able to come up with?”

            Al/Columbo acted strange.

            “Ah, Doctor Beckett?” he asked, scratching one of his eyebrows with his thumb.

            “Of course.” Sam said, sarcastically.  “Al, what’s wrong with you?”

            Al/Columbo took out his hand unit, holding it upside down.   He started pushing a few buttons, accidentally causing the waiting room’s door to open and close wildly.   Sam had to guard his eyes as the white light kept blinking on and off at the opening and closing of the magical door.

            “Ah, shouldn’t you fix that?” Sam asked.

            “Sorry, Doctor Beckett.”  Al/Columbo said, “I’m new at this stuff.”

            “Al?”  Sam asked, “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

            “Ah, I’m not Al, sir.”

            Sam looked confused.  “Who are you, then?”

            “Lieutenant Columbo, LAPD, Homicide, sir,”   Al/Columbo said, smoking his cigar.   “Admiral Calavicci is in the waiting room, in my body.   I’m here to help you, sir.”

            “With what?”

            The wine cellar’s entrance opened, and Columbo came waltzing out, smiling.   “You’re absolutely right, sir.   Safest room I have ever been in.”

            Al/Columbo pointed his cigar at the young police officer, smiling.   “To protect you from him, sir.”

            Al/Columbo, still trying to get over the fact that he was living and thinking in another man’s body, stared at his younger self.

            “Doctor Beckett, you have to tell him the truth,” Al/Columbo said, putting his hand unit back in his back pocket.

            “What?” Sam said, shocked.  “He’d never believe it.”

            Columbo looked around the room, confused.   “Believe what, sir?”

            “You better tell him, Doctor Beckett,”  Al/Columbo warned.

            Sam took a deep breath.  “Lieutenant Columbo, I’m about to say something that you’re going to find to be rather amazing, if not quite insane.”

            “Yes, sir?”  Columbo asked, scratching his eyebrow.  Sam noticed the body language – Al/Columbo just did the same thing!

            Sam looked in Al/Columbo’s direction.

            Al/Columbo, reading his reaction, waved his cigar in a friendly salute.   “Yes, sir!  One and the same.”

            “Columbo, I’m not Adrian Carsini.”

            Columbo smiled,  “You’re not?”

            “No, sir.”

            “Well,” Columbo couldn’t help but laugh.   He took a seat in a nearby chair.   “Who are you, sir?  If I may ask?”

            “Be careful, Doctor Beckett,”  Al/Columbo warned.  “He’s not going to believe you, and quite possibly will be insulted by what you’re about to say.  Be careful, sir.”

            “My name’s Doctor Samuel Beckett.  I’m an unwilling participant in a quantum timeline experiment, which has caused me, in this moment, to inhabit the body of Adrian Carsini.   I’m innocent of the crime you will soon convict me of, sir.   Otherwise, I would not be here.”

            Al/Columbo slowly let out a stream of smoke, paying close attention to Columbo.

            “Sir.”

            “Tell him you can offer proof, Doctor Beckett,” Al/Columbo insisted.

            Sam turned to the image of Al/Columbo, knowing full well that Columbo’s future self had somehow been transferred into Al’s body, so that the brainwave transmission could allow the future LAPD detective a chance to communicate with him.   Al was in a waiting room, somewhere, in another body, hoping that when this whole affair was over, all would be back to normal.   As normal as traveling through time could be, that is!

            “I can offer you proof, sir.”  Sam repeated.

            “Ask Columbo to open his raincoat.” Al/Columbo coached, smiling, pointing a knowing finger at the police officer.

            “If you have proof, sir, I’m waiting,”  Columbo said.

            “Open your raincoat,” Sam ordered.

            Columbo looked up at Sam.  The detective started to turn nervous.  He shyly rubbed his hands together, wishing, silently, to avoid the request.

            “Tell him that you know what he has planned,” Al/Columbo ordered.

            “I know what you have planned, Lieutenant,”   Sam smiled,  “Now, how could I not know that, if I were not from the future?”

            “Sir, I don’t understand,”  Columbo pulled his raincoat tight.

            “Tell him that you know that he has, hidden in his raincoat, a vintage port – Fierier 1945.  Tell him you know that the wine is oxidized, and that you will not fall for his scheme,”   Al/Columbo laughed, enjoying every moment.

            Sam repeated the requested.

            Columbo, shocked, opened his raincoat, bringing out the 1945 vintage port.   “This is a first, sir.  You have beaten me.”

            “It was never my intention to beat you, Columbo,”   Sam said,  “I only want you to know that I’m telling the truth.   I have here, standing by my side, someone who knows you very well.”

            Columbo looked around the room.  He saw no one.  “Who? May I ask?”

            Sam pointed his finger at Columbo,  “You.  That’s who.”

            “Me?” Columbo paused, letting the idea set in.   “I thought I heard you calling this invisible person by the name of Al?”

            “That’s correct.  You have leaped into my friend’s body, allowing him to communicate with us.   With me.  With you.”  Sam chuckled,   “Kinda gives new meaning to the phrase ‘Talking with yourself’ doesn’t it?”

            “Yes, sir.”  Columbo said, rubbing his forehead.  “It does, indeed.”

            Columbo paced the office, allowing this rather odd series of events to sink in.  Was Carsini telling the truth?   Was he, in fact, a time traveler named Sam Beckett?   Possible.  Then again, Carsini could have seen what he was doing, in the wine cellar, via a closed circuit camera.

            “You say that my future self is in contact with you, Mr. Beckett, if, that is your real name?”

            “Watch yourself, Sam,” Al/Columbo warned.

            “Yes, sir,” Sam insisted. “That is my claim.”

            Columbo smiled.  “What’s my first name?”

            Sam looked in Al/Columbo’s direction.  The holographic image stared at his younger self with an almost fatherly pride.  Al/Columbo walked over to Sam, motioning to whisper something in his ear.

            “If you repeat this to anyone, I’ll find you and arrest you personally,” Al/Columbo gave Sam his answer.

            “Well?” Columbo said, waiting.

            Sam motioned Columbo over to his desk, whispering the name in the detective’s ear.

            Columbo’s jaw dropped. 

            “I’ll be goddamned,” the detective said, catching himself, covering his hand with his mouth.  “Sorry.   You really are who you say you are, then.   Well, sirs, how far in the future are you from?   What am I asking?  You’re talking to me, from the future, so, that being the case, it can’t be too far.”

            “I’m glad you understand, Lieutenant,” Sam said, relieved.

            “Understand, sir?” Columbo mulled around with the thought for a moment, “I’m the last person who understands what’s going on here.   For instance, if you didn’t kill Ric Carsini, who did?”

            Al/Columbo typed out a few things on his hand unit, hitting it to work harder.   “Sam, Ziggy says that the odds on me, I mean, Columbo in arresting you, have dropped to only fifteen percent.   As for who could have done it, Ziggy believes that there is a seventy three point eight percent chance that the murderer was Carsini’s secretary, Karen Fielding.”   Al/Columbo paused, remembering.   “That’s right! The woman tried to blackmail Carsini into marrying her, in order to back up his alibi, if I remember correctly.   She ended up doing a five- to ten-year sentence for aiding and abetting.  Sad thing, Sam.”

            “What about Karen Fielding?” Sam asked.

            Columbo accepted Sam’s proposal.  He had noticed the way the secretary had acted, when she was looking at Carsini, when no one else thought they were looking at her.   There were emotions there.

            “Possible, sir.”

            “But, there’s no proof.”

            Columbo raised his hands in a “tell me what I don’t already know” gesture.

            Suddenly, something caught the detective’s eye.   It was behind Carsini’s desk.   Something out of the ordinary.   Something that did not belong.

            “Ohhhhhh!” Al/Columbo said, catching Sam’s attention.   “Looks like he’s got something, Sam!”

            “What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” Sam asked.

            Columbo approached the table behind Carsini’s desk, looking at each of the winery’s trophies with great care.  Closing one eye, the detective placed his cheek on the table, eyeing each and every detail.  Sam looked at the detective with curiosity.  Al/Columbo looked at his younger self with great pride.

            “Jez, was I ever that young?” Al/Columbo marveled.

            “Come look at this, Doctor Beckett,” Columbo waived the man over.   “Do you see these four trophies?”

            “Yes?”

            “Anything about them that you find fascinating?”

            Sam studied them.  “No.   They all look recent.  They seem honorable.  Nothing.”

            Columbo pointed to each trophy, explaining in kind.   “These trophies have dust on them.   This one, nearest your desk, however, does not.”   Columbo paused,  “Dust. Dust. Dust. No dust.  Someone has dusted this trophy.  Why?  You see, Doctor Beckett, in my profession, a dusted trophy, at the scene of a murder, is a fascinating thing.”

            “Naturally.” Sam concluded.

            “Ten will get you five, that trophy is the murder weapon,”   Columbo mused, pulling his bottom lip, thinking.   He took his cheek of the table, raising to eye level with Sam.   “Trouble is, I knew how to make Carsini confess.   How do we get her to do it?”

            “I don’t know, Lieutenant.”

            The office turned silent.  Sam watched each detective smoke his cigars in unison.   A young Columbo, wanting nothing better than to capture his killer, and the older detective, in Al’s body.   Sam, to pass the time, poured himself a glass of white wine.   Not much of a drinker, Sam had started to obtain a great respect for the beverage since occupying Carsini’s personage.

            Columbo’s head suddenly popped up from his deep smoke, and he snapped his fingers, quite loudly, in the air.  “I got it!” he smiled.

            “An idea?” Sam said.

            Columbo, pointing somewhere near Sam, at where he surmised his older self was standing, invisible to all but Doctor Beckett, saying.   “Do you got it?”

            Sam looked at Al/Columbo, who like him was confused.

            “Don’t look at me, Sam,” Al/Columbo stated, throwing his hands up in a surrendering gesture.  “I don’t have it.”

            Columbo left the office.  “Be back soon!” he shouted.

            The LAPD detective started whistling a chorus of “This Old Man.”

            All was right with the world.

* * *

            Karen Fielding awoke to hear a knock on her apartment door.   She had a full day’s work, and had fallen asleep on her couch, waiting to watch a movie.

            Answering the door, her face turned dark.

            “Oh, Miss Fielding, I’m sorry if I woke you.”

            “Not at all, Lieutenant.” Karen unlocked the chain on her door, allowing Columbo to walk in.

            “Oh, my! What a lovely apartment,”  Columbo smiled.

            “Please, Lieutenant, make it fast.  There’s an Alan Ladd movie coming on, and I do not plan on missing it.”

            Columbo raised his hands, silently, puffing away on his cigar.   Taking out his note pad, he fumbled through a few pages, paying particular attention to a note he had forgotten he had written.   “Gee, I forgot to pick up my wife’s laundry.   Boy, she’s going to kill me.”

            “Lieutenant, please,” Karen sighed, tired.

            “Right,” Columbo said, closing his note pad.   “Miss Fielding, I just needed to tie up some loose ends on this case, before I make my conclusions.   My captain, he’s rather strict, and requires us to ask all possible questions.  You understand?”

            “Of course.  How may I help you?”

            “Well, the guard at the gate was a hard individual to track down.   I finally found him at a local bar, eating his lunch.   He stated that he never saw Ric Carsini leave the winery, the Sunday before his death.”  Columbo paused, slightly smiling.  “He checked his entire log sheet for that day.   He logged Mr. Carsini coming into the winery, but he never logged him out.  Strange?   Isn’t it?”

            “Not at all, Lieutenant,” Karen tiredly laughed,   “Our security guard is Carsini Brothers’ greatest customer.   The only reason Mr. Carsini keeps him employed, is that he knows the poor man couldn’t get a job anywhere else.”

            “Oh, I see,”  Columbo said, writing the information in his ever-present note pad.   “Have a nephew that feels the same way about a few of his men.   Owns a construction company in San Francisco.   Well, that’s not your problem.   Any way, I have no way to prove that Ric Carsini ever left the place, after seeing his brother.”

            Karen’s eyes started to fill with panic.   “That’s ridiculous.”

            “How’s that, ma’am?”

            “I saw Mister Carsini leave, myself.”

            “You, ma’am?” Columbo asked, pointing his stub of a pencil at her.   “You saw him drive away?”

            “Yes,” Karen nervously confirmed.  “I saw him arrive, and, later, I saw him leave.   After all, he was in a hurry to be wed the next day, in Mexico.”

            Columbo smiled, closing his note pad.  “Well, now, that’s it!  I’m closing this case.”

            “Good.” Karen said, greatly relieved.

            “May I use your phone, please?”

            Karen pointed towards her phone.  “By all means, Lieutenant.”

            “Thank you.”  Columbo picked up the phone.  “What movie are you waiting to see?”

            “Oh, This Gun For Hire.”

            “That’s a good one,”  Columbo said, dialing his number.  “That’s the one where Alan Ladd breaks his wrist.” Columbo paused.   “Mister Carsini?  Lieutenant Columbo, here.  I just got through talking with your secretary, and she has provided me with a few clues I wasn’t aware of sir.  I’m closing up the case.  Yes, sir.  Your brother’s body should be ready for pickup tomorrow, sir.”

            Columbo turned, noticing a sly smile on Karen Fielding’s face.

            “To make it up to you, sir, I wish to take you and Miss Fielding out to diner.   My treat.”

            Karen’s face started to fill with questions.

            “Yes, sir, I’ve heard of the place.  Tomorrow night would be fine.  Look forward to it.  See you then, sir.  Goodnight.”

            Columbo hung up the phone, heading toward the apartment door.

            “Boy, I wish that I could stay and watch the movie with you, Miss Fielding, but, hey, maybe I can catch the last few minutes when I go home.”

            Karen opened the door.  “Well, good night, Lieutenant.  See you tomorrow night.”

            Columbo stopped at the edge of the apartment’s entrance, giving her a long and concentrated stare.  “Yes, ma’am.  Good night.”

            Columbo left.

            Karen Fielding started laughing.  She had fooled them all!  She had gotten away with the whole affair, and the police department was honoring her wit with a “free” dinner.  She couldn’t help but ponder the ridiculous irony!

* * *

            Sam wasn’t quite aware of Columbo’s entire plan, but had been informed by Al/Columbo that the odds on Carsini’s arrest had lowered to almost four percent.   He was sure that it wouldn’t be long before he leaped, seeing once more the cold electric blue glow of the quantum leap accelerator.  

            It would not be long!

            Giving his keys to the valet, Sam escorted Karen Fielding into the restaurant Columbo had instructed him to take her to.

            “Mister Carsini, are you all right?”  Karen asked.  “You seem quite distant.”

            “It’s nothing.  Just thinking about Ric.”

            “Oh, I understand.”

            Before they could enter the restaurant, Columbo met them at the door.   His face held the look of a man with no good news.

            “Lieutenant Columbo?”  Sam asked,   “Is something wrong?”

            “Well, I’m afraid so,”  Columbo explained,  “It appears that Ric Carsini’s fiancée has demanded a full investigation.   We will not be allowed to release the man’s body.   I’m sorry, sir.”

            “That’s ridiculous,”  Karen huffed.   “You said Mister Carsini had nothing to do with Ric’s death.   What’s the delay?”

            “Well, ma’am, the coroner noticed that the head injury Mister Carsini had suffered carried with it a rather unusual mark.   Something other than you run-of-the-mill rock assaulted him.   Also, the fiancée has stated, that since Ric owned the land the winery sets on, she should be entitled to the professional trophies, and the like, that the two brothers have earned.   I will be sending a man out for them in the morning, sir.”

            “This is all rather awkward.”  Sam blurted out.

            “Still, something we have to do, for the time being.”   Columbo explained,  “I suggest that we postpone this dinner until all our business is complete.   Shall we say, next week?”

            All parties agreed.

            Columbo waited in the restaurant’s doors, until he was sure all were well on their way.  Clapping his hands together he walked to his car, hoping that it would start.

            He had work to do!

* * *

            Karen entered Carsini’s office tiptoeing.   She couldn’t explain why she was tiptoeing, but thought it best to do so.  She reached Carsini’s desk, picking up the trophy she had used to kill Ric.

            To her surprise, the lights flicked on.

            Karen dropped the trophy.

            “Good morning, ma’am.”  Columbo said, lighting a new cigar.

            “Lieutenant Columbo,” Karen huffed, trying to catch her breath.   “What are you doing here?”

            “Waiting for you.”

            “What?”

            “Dusting off the trophy,” Columbo explained.   “That’s what did it for you.   At first, I would have bet my dog that Mister Carsini was the man who murdered his brother, but then I saw the trophy.”

            Karen started to nervously shake.  The secretary had trouble standing.

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she huffed, sitting down at Adrian’s chair.  “I only came in to ready…”

            “You came here to get rid of the evidence.” Columbo’s eyes narrowed.   Slowly, he reached for the trophy, picking it up.   He looked at it for the instrument that it was: the taker of life.  The murder weapon.

            “Columbo, you’re mad,”  Karen cried.  “Everyone knew that Adrian hated his brother.  In fact, I saw…”

            “You saw Ric Carsini leave the winery, Sunday, last.   Did you not?”

            “I…”

            “You were lying, ma’am.”  Columbo smiled.  “I know.”

            “I love Adrian.”

            Columbo’s eyes fell to the floor.  “I know, ma’am.  I know.   But, what you did was not love.   In fact, taking a human life is quite possibly the most selfish thing a person can do.  Ric was his brother.  All else aside, you robbed those two men of the chance of healing their wounds.   You robbed them of their…brotherhood.   Hate or love, it’s no longer there.   Think about that, now.”

            Karen started to cry.  She buried her face into her guilty hands.

Columbo flicked the ashes from his cigar, noticing Sam standing by the office doorway.  The detective knew that it was his duty to take the woman in for questioning, and to later, obtain a confession – if possible.  But, as guilty as Miss Fielding was, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

            “I see that you’ve got your killer.” Sam said, holding back his own tears.

            “Yes, sir,”  Columbo confirmed. “It appears so.  And what of you?”

            A magical white door opened, that only Sam could see.

            “Hey, Sam.  What gives?”

            Sam looked at Al, and could see, just by the Admiral’s appearance, that he was once more, his normal self.

            “Al, you okay?”

            “Why shouldn’t I be okay?” Al asked, confused.

            “Where’s Columbo?”

            Al clicked a couple buttons on his hand unit.   “Who?”

            Before Sam could react, an electric blue flash filled his vision.   He slowly started to feel the persona of Adrian Carsini slipping away.

            “Oh, boy….” Sam whispered.

* * *

            “Now, you behave yourself,”  Columbo said, battling a wave of affectionate licking from his dog.   “This is an important thing we are doing here.   I have to see an old friend, and I don’t want to hear that you’re causing trouble.”

            Dog wagged his tail, taking his rightful place next to his loving master.

            Columbo left the windows down, knowing that Dog would enjoy the smell of the grapes.  “If you’re good, we’ll go get some ice cream in a few.  Okay?”

            Dog barked joyfully.

            Columbo approached the office door with a nervous excitement.   Every year, on this date, he always managed to feel the same thing – nervous.  And, every year, he enjoyed the encounter that much more.

            Of all his cases, this one was his favorite.   Favorite, because, he had been wrong.   He had almost arrested the wrong man.   And that’s what he had to be reminded of, so that he could keep his feet on the ground, and so that he could “will” himself to become a better detective.

            Columbo had been wrong, and he thanked god every day.   Ironically, the mistake built the most rewarding friendship he ever had.

            Columbo was greeted by a secretary.  They seemed to get more beautiful and younger every year.   “Hello, there, ma’am.”

            “Good morning, Lieutenant Columbo.”

            “Is he in?” Columbo asked, pointing toward the office door.

            “Yes.” The secretary smiled,  “He has been waiting for you.”

            “Wonderful.”

            Columbo turned around, and was greeted by the kind eyes of his dear friend Adrian Carsini.  Both men hugged, complimented each other, and headed into Mr. Carsini’s private office.   They would laugh, talk of that dreadful day many years now past, of Karen, and of course, about wine.

THE END

Any comments, please direct to:
Donald Allen Kirch
311 E. 91^st Terrace
Kansas City, MO 64114