Eve: Chief... Chief, I'm worried.
Ironside: Well, why not call Matthew? He could tell you where Jan is.
Eve: I tried. Neither Matthew nor Luke are taking any outside phone calls. Why should she leave so suddenly?
Ironside: Oh, to get away from all those finger-snappers. What is this new thing? (to Mark) Okay, I'm asking.
Mark: Oh it's only with that particular trio, Chief. Solid adoration, that's their bag, like The Beatles had their screaming females, this group's fans show no outward emotions but inside it's all love, love, love.
Ironside: Ironside. Yes, Ed.
Ed: Chief, I'm at the morgue. No identification of the victim as of yet.
Ed: Caucasian, early 20's, brown hair, beautiful or was, stabbed several times and the sweet smell of marijuana still clings to her clothing.
Ironside: All right, stick with the ID.
Ironside: That's it, a quincunx.
Mark: A what?
Ironside: Quincunx, an arrangement of five objects in a square or a rectangle, one at each corner, one in the middle.
Mark: Five's on the dice.
Ed: Ten the hard way.
Ironside: Mark, draw a line from Sacramento to Santa Clara. Then one from Santa Rosa to Modesto. Do they intersect at a town?
Mark: On the nose, Oakley.
Ironside: It's almost to pat. Annie... Oakley.