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