Look me in the eye

 

 

 

 

Prolog in three parts:

One

 

Evelyn Jackson looked at the young man sitting in the chair on the other side of her desk.

He was attractive; she had to hand him that. And he had a look in his eye that almost dared her to refuse to make the changes to loan he had applied for.  She looked at the sheet of figures on her desk and stole another look at him.  He had obviously made an effort to impress. He was wearing tan slacks; a pale blue shirt and darker blue tie and a smart blue blazer with four – count them Evelyn – four buttons on the cuff. Her mother had instilled in her the rule about the number of buttons that gave the status of gentleman; mom would love him! He smiled slightly and his mouth lifted up to the left as his eyes twinkled. She forced herself to look again at the columns of figures he had prepared to justify the difference in the payment schedule.”

“I hope I’ve set it out right.” He said.

“Yes; your presentation is very impressive.”

‘In every sense’, she thought a she glanced at him again. He was apparently studying the reproduction painting on the wall.

His salary figures were good; she didn’t know that cops earned that well. She looked at the title on the sample pay slip; “detective second class” she read aloud. “I’m not familiar with the structure; does this put you above or below a detective first class?”

“Above; it’s just about the same as a sergeant. My partner keeps saying I should go for lieutenant but I don’t like studying that much.”

His partner…shame…

“Thing is, he says he won’t go for it unless I do too; so I guess we are going to finish our careers on the street and not behind desks.”

She hoped he didn’t hear her sigh with relief.  She looked at the figures again. His savings account was excellent; he put a regular amount to one side every month. She checked to see if there were any outstanding debts. He’d taken a small loan a few years ago for a car; but it was marked as “repaid in full” two years before it was due. His savings account reflected a withdrawal at the same time.  He was a serious young man; a good risk. Except…  “On the street?”

“Yeah; we work undercover most of the time.  Robbery Homicide Squad.”

She felt her excitement and hoped that she wasn’t blushing.

“Everything is in order; I see no reason why I shouldn’t authorize the change.”

She leaned forward and handed him a pen; he took it with his left hand and signed the loan agreement. As he did so the beeper in his pocket made an increasingly noisy claim on his attention. He took it out and frowned; “excuse me, this is urgent, is there anything else I need to sign?”

“No,” she found this unexpectedly exciting and was sorry to see him go, “no…you need copies of this though…all you need to do is confirm the final date twenty four hours in advance and we’ll transfer the money to the escrow account.”

He was already standing up; “thanks.”

 

 

Two

 

Doctor Weissman prided himself in his ability to judge someone by the contents of a room or a desk.  He was standing in the doorway of the Robbery Homicide Squad Room in the Metro Division’s Ninth Precinct; he saw what he was looking for and walked over to the two desks that had been pushed together to form a table – or, more appropriately, a partners’ desk.  ‘Interesting,’ he said to himself, as he walked over the two desks and sat in one of the chairs.

He sat at the desk and looked at it carefully. The surface was almost invisible; it was covered with files and scraps of paper. A list of calculations on a legal pad indicated that this cop was trying (unsuccessfully it would seem) to tally his expenses. An empty sandwich package and a mug with congealed black coffee finished Weissman’s overall impression of the man who sat here.  He opened the top drawer and stared at the jumble of pencils and ball-point pens in varying states of uselessness. The next drawer revealed a well-thumbed student’s copy of a Shakespeare play and a box of bullets. He shook his head. This was not his man.

Weissman looked at the desk opposite him.  The files were neatly arranged in the basket to one side of a blotter. The piggy bank gave him his first clue. He opened the top drawer and smiled.  Everything was neatly arranged; and he noted that this drawer was to the left of the desk. The next drawer revealed a couple of magazines; one of them was a catalog of equipment for making scale models. Under the magazines he found a book. This was his man.

 

A door opened behind him and Weissman stood up to find himself face to face with an overweight black man who growled “I guess you have a reason for being there.”

The doctor introduced himself and Dobey led him into his office.  “The chief told me about your new unit – but I’d like you to run it past me again.”

 

 

Three

 

Ken Hutchinson was going to spend his day off with Chico his ‘little brother’. He had hoped that Starsky would join them to go fishing off the end of the pier but his partner was being very secretive recently and he suspected that there was a new woman in his life. There was certainly something in his life.

Both men needed a break from the seemingly interminable round of crime in all its variations that filled their working days. Their last case was a downer; it had opened a door into the morass of sleaze that shocked even Starsky. Child prostitution entwined with snuff movies, and the case had hit a wall. An impression that the case was full of loose ends rankled with the two cops who prided themselves on finishing their investigations.  Both of them had taken a couple of days of well-earned and long-overdue leave with the feeling that the file was not entirely closed. Starsky said before he drove away from precinct garage “I get the feeling the crowd is whistling, Hutch; this isn’t over yet.” Hutch knew what he was referring to. Starsky played high school football; when the opposition suckered him he heard the crowd whistle when the ball was in the air. It was a signal he never forgot and nine times out of ten when Starsky heard the crowd whistle their troubles were far from over.

 

Chico had just arrived with a picnic basket prepared by his mother.  Hutch knew that the tamales would be just perfect. He took a couple of cans of soda and two more of beer out of the fridge and put them in the cooler he kept to take on camping trips. They were about to leave when the phone rang. Hutch was ready to ignore it but Chico dove across the room and grabbed it before the third ring. He handed it to Hutch “I guess we won’t be going fishing.”

Dobey’s voice growled from the phone.” No you won’t be going fishing! Get down here now; and if you can find Starsky bring him.”

“And if I can’t?” Hutch couldn’t resist irritating his Captain.

“You’ll get down here even faster!” The line went dead.

Hutch shook his head. “Sorry Chico; another time I guess.”   Chico was used to this. He was kind of proud that he had a cop as his ‘big brother’ but sometimes he wished he just had a real big brother; and he had a secret image of that big brother being more like Starsky than Hutch.

Hutch dialed and listened to Starsky’s phone ring, and ring; he gave it ten (in case his friend was in the bathroom) and hung up. Chico let himself out of the apartment while Hutch put away his fishing gear and grabbed his holster.

 

 

 

Chapter one

 

Starsky ran across the road from the bank to where he had left the Torino; he slid in behind the wheel and checked his mirrors. He was only a few blocks from the crime scene; he flicked the radio switch and asked to be patched through to Dobey.

“I’m on my Cap’n”

“Good, I got Hutch just before he left his place so he should be there soon too.”

 

He got there first.

A cordon of uniform cops was struggling to keep it under control. Starsky marveled at how quickly a crowd like this could gather. One report on the radio and here they all were. Experience told him that some of them were cranks who did nothing but monitor the emergency service airwaves hoping to get the chance to take a macabre photo they could sell to the TV or a paper. But in every crowd like this there was also the possibility that there was an eye-witness.

A woman was crying on another woman’s shoulder. Starsky recognized her as the victim’s latest accessory. The coroner’s team had a gurney and a body bag ready but they were waiting for the forensics officer to finish photographing the body in situ before taking it away. Starsky walked over to take a look at the damage. Johnny Hanson looked smaller in death than his larger than life reputation indicated. He was lying on his back with an ever increasing pool of dark blood spreading from behind him.  The forensic lab officer was an old friend. “Hi Starsky, on your way to a wedding?” Starsky grinned; he had forgotten that he wasn’t exactly dressed for work, he had to think fast. “A bris.”

“Ouch!”                                       

Starsky dropped down in one smooth movement to crouch next to the dead man’s head; he was balancing on the balls of his feet as if he wanted to keep his loafers out of the blood.

“What do we have here apart from a dead disco king?”

“I’ll tell you about the bullet when the ME finds it. Looking at the damage I’d say it was a professional finger on the trigger.

Starsky straightened up and spotted Hutch moving through the crowd. “Hey Hutch; over here!”

 Hutch arrived to look down at Hanson’s body. He shook his head “I can think of a better way to end your career.”

“Some people would say his career was already dead.” It was a woman’s voice. Starsky and Hutch turned to see a tall woman in a neat trouser suit smiling at them; she held a microphone with the steady hand of an assured and experienced reporter. All her attention was on Starsky. Hutch looked at his partner and seemed to notice the smart jacket and slacks for the first time. He raised an eyebrow and Starsky grinned. Whatever else the way he was dressed made the reporter think that he was in charge. She went on: “of course dying is going to do wonders for the sales of his most recent album. Someone is going to inherit a fortune.” The three of them looked at the weeping woman who was now arranging her face in what a romantic novelist would probably call a brave smile as the cameras focused on her.

“Tell us more.” Hutch said to the reporter.

“That’s Melanie May; she may or may not be his widow.”

“May or may not be?” This time it was Starsky who asked the question.

“Yes. According to some of the gossip rags they got married last year. The only problem is that the same magazine jackals are still feasting off the remains of his last divorce…which as far as I know still hasn’t been declared final.”

“Hell hath no fury…so we should maybe start with the ex or maybe not so ex Mrs. Hanson?”

“I doubt it. The only thing sticking the divorce was visiting rights for the kid; his money is peanuts compared with hers.” She saw that neither of them had any idea who Hanson had been married to. “Does the name Divinia Divine mean anything to you?” Both men grinned.

Divinia Divine was one of the biggest porn stars in the business; big in the sense of a bust measurement that needed custom made lingerie. Hutch blushed and Starsky chuckled. “Only in the line of duty, ma’am.”

 

They stayed until the body had been removed; took a few names and addresses and promised to call the too-willing witnesses who had provided them. Both men knew that they would have to sift through the vicarious ‘I was there’ accounts just in case someone saw something that would give them a lead.

Phil was at Starsky’s side again. He pointed to a tree about twenty yards away. “The killer was probably up there.”

 Starsky squinted into the sunshine and studied the tree for a moment; he shrugged and started to walk over to the tree. Hutch thought he saw him shudder. He went over to join him.

“Found something?”

“No not really; except that the killer wasn’t this close. The wound is too small.”

“How can you be sure without knowing the caliber?” Hutch was doubtful; the tree seemed good to him.

“Because I know; that’s all.” Hutch almost recoiled from the coldness of the way Starsky said it. Starsky was staring up at a building across the plaza. A big banner advertized office suites to let.

 “It’s more likely that the shot came from up there.” He and Hutch organized a couple of uniform cops to go over and find out what was behind the windows on that side of the building and to run a check on them. Starsky snapped at one of them in passing “and don’t touch anything; if you see anything of interest call one of the lab technicians.” The cop muttered something about ‘stating the obvious’ and Hutch stepped over to calm things. “Just be careful, Ok?”

 

Dobey was waiting to hear what they had.

He noted that Starsky was not dressed in his habitual skin tight jeans but decided not to pass comment. The men had been off duty, after all and he was sure that Starsky had a good reason to look like a model for a menswear store.

“What do you have?”

“A dead disco singer, a maybe widow, a would-be widow and a widow-maker who knows how to shoot.” Starsky said flatly. Dobey looked to Hutch for some kind of explanation. “That just about sums it up, Captain. The victim was…”

“I know who he was; I’ve had every jackass reporter in Hollywood on my phone asking me for statements.”

“Johnny Hanson may have been married to the woman with him. The trouble is that his divorce might not yet be finalized so we don’t know which woman is the widow.”

Dobey took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. He glowered at Hutch; “and the widow-maker?”

Starsky cut in. “It was a professional job. One shot from long distance; a straight angle. And the rifle would have packed a kick too. We left a couple of uniforms checking out the building across the way.”

“So what are you waiting for? Write up your first report then get out on the streets and find this killer.”

 

They walked out into the squad room. Starsky stopped and stared at his desk; “someone’s been through my stuff.” Hutch and the other cops in the room picked up the ominously steady tone in his voice. From where Hutch was standing the desk looked just as Starsky had left it the evening before. Everything was neatly arranged in place.

“Maybe they were looking for Whiteout,” Hutch said quietly.

“I don’t use Whiteout.” Starsky’s voice stayed low but the anger was almost visible: “I don’t need Whiteout.”

Hutch had to agree with that. Starsky was a fast an accurate typist; Hutch, on the other hand, sloshed so much of the stuff on his reports that sometimes he had to prise the pages apart.

“Why don’t I go get us some coffee while you start the report?” Hutch was already sniffing suspiciously at the pot on the warming plate. He made a face and rejected the possibility that its contents were coffee. He settled for the lesser of two evils and found the necessary coins for the machine in the hallway.

 

Starsky sat at his desk and continued to stare sourly at the drawer. He was rolling a report form into his typewriter when the phone on his desk rang. He grabbed it and listened before standing up. “Yes sir, I’m on my way.”

He met Hutch in the doorway. They did a quick don’t-spill-the-coffee two-step. “Chief Ryan wants to see me.”

“You want me to come up there with you?”

Starsky smiled. “Nah, I can’t think of anything I’ve done that you haven’t. I can look after myself but you get to type up the report.”

Hutch sighed and sat at his desk and watched Starsky disappear up the stairs.

 

Fifteen minutes and two report sheets later Hutch had finished. He had also absent-mindedly finished Starsky’s coffee too and the sugar had left a sour-sweet taste in his mouth. He scribbled a note: “I’m at The Pits,” and left the building.

 

*********************

 

Starsky deliberately chose to take the stairs; the three flights up to Ryan’s office would give him time to try to remember if there was anything he (or he and/or Hutch) had done recently that the Chief might object to. He smiled to himself, at least he can’t complain about the way I’m dressed. He knocked on the door and went in.

Dobey was already in place and Starsky reflected that the Captain must have walked straight out of the hall door of his office and into the elevator the moment he and Hutch had gone. The other chair was taken too. Starsky looked at the man sitting in it and tried to remember where he’d seen the face before.

Dobey held his breath; the office was the same layout as his and he was hoping that Starsky wasn’t going to use the coat-stand as a support while he leaned against the door handle. He didn’t need to worry; Starsky perched one hip on the water-cooler stand at sat with an expression of respectful attention on his face.

Ryan stared at Starsky for a moment before he cleared his throat; “Doctor Weissman; perhaps you’d like to explain your idea for us now that we are all here.”

Starsky remembered where he’d seen the man before; it was in a report about a case upstate, something about a busload of kids being held hostage and the driver remembering a license plate while under hypnosis. He wondered why Weissman was here; and, more to the point, why Hutch wasn’t.

Weissman explained that he was setting up an experimental unit to work with witnesses who had difficulty with testimony. He had apparently been involved in something similar in Texas and with the upstate bus case.

“And looking at Detective Starfeld’s…..”

Three voices chorused ‘Starsky!’

“…Detective Starsky’s file it would appear that he is a candidate for the new team.”

Dobey braced himself for the storm. He sensed Starsky tense behind him and he caught the same reaction on Ryan’s face.

“I already work in a team.” Starsky said softly. Too softly. Dobey and Ryan both knew that when Starsky spoke low and slow like that it was the very brief lull before what could be one hell of a storm. “I have a partner, his name is Hutch and I don’t work with anyone else.”

Ryan held up a finger. “You will still be working with Hutchinson, but you will also be a member of the special team.”

“I have question.” Starsky sounded less hostile. “Why isn’t Hutch on this special team too?”

Weissman answered (and the two senior cops wished he had left it to them to handle the potentially explosive situation). “I read his file too; he is an excellent police officer but you have certain capacities that he doesn’t appear to share.”

Starsky leaned forward and stared at Weissman. “Was that before or after you went through our desks?”

Dobey and Ryan looked at one another, each man hoping that the other knew what Starsky meant. Weissman looked embarrassed. “Do I need to answer that question?” He moved as if he was going to stand up.

“You do if you want me to work with you.” The intensity of Starsky’s stare made Weissman shift in his chair.

“In that case, the answer is ‘before’.”

Starsky seemed satisfied with that. “I guess I’m willing to give it a try.”

Weissman suggested that they meet so that he could explain the idea in detail and the two of them arranged the when and the where. Starsky stood up. “If that’s all, Chief, I’d like to go home and slip into something more suitable for work.” Ryan chuckled “And there I was hoping you’d decided to dress like a cop.”

“No, cops only dress like this when they work behind desks.” Starsky sketched an ironic salute and left the room.

 

 

Hutch wasn’t in the Squad Room and Starsky picked up the note.

 

Huggy did an exaggerated double take when Starsky walked up to the bar. “I’ll bet you had them eating out of your hand.” Starsky grinned; “I got the changes.” He looked up at the mirror behind the bar to see who was there. Huggy served him a beer and nodded to the back of the room where Hutch was playing darts. Starsky hesitated; he had seen a snitch he thought was still out of service; when he looked again ‘Ferret’ was gone. He took his glass and walked up behind Hutch who had just raised his arm to throw his last dart. Starsky blew gently on the back of Hutch’s neck; the dart went wild and ended up embedded in the back of one of the booths. “If you’re aiming that well the bad guys won’t stand a chance.” Starsky lifted his glass in a toast and sipped. The angry expression on Hutch’s face melted as he caught the twinkle in his partner’s eye.

“Where were you?”

“Dobey and Ryan held me hostage but when you didn’t come to rescue me I broke out all on my own.”  

“What did they want?”

“Aw, you know…” Starsky was a great poker player but when it came to Hutch he was a lousy liar, “…the old thing, someone mistook the Torino for a stolen car!”

Hutch wasn’t convinced but he knew better than to say so. He decided that whatever Ryan wanted couldn’t have been serious or Starsky would still be fuming.

They went to perch on stools at the end of the bar and wait for Huggy to find the time to talk to them. Starsky was still scanning the place for Ferret when Huggy walked over.

“Hey Hutch?” Huggy was passing his hand in front of Hutch’s face; Hutch seemed to be staring into space.

“Did you see Ferret?” Starsky asked.

“Huh? Oh no..;I….uh…I thought I saw someone I knew; a ghost.”

“A ghost; oh come on Hutch, the only spirits in the place are in bottles and they ain’t no genies. A lady left you this;” Huggy gave Hutch a paper napkin and went off to serve more thirsty clients

Starsky looked in the direction that Hutch had been watching. A couple of men were trying to get the attention of a hooker who worked the bar regularly.

“I don’t see any ghosts either, a couple of dead drunks, maybe, but no ghosts.”

Starsky nudged Hutch and chuckled.

 

“I’m going to call it a day.” He said to Hutch. The truth was he had plenty of things to do at home and with this case and Weissman he might not have as much time as he was counting on.

 

Hutch fingered the napkin and made a decision. He went up to the street and after checking that Starsky was no longer around he ran across the road to a phone booth. His hand trembled as he slipped the coins into the slot and dialed.

 

“Hello.” Her voice hadn’t changed much.

“It’s…uh...it’s me, Ken.”

“I knew you’d call.”

“I uh….uh….”

“Still stammering?”

As he drove to the hotel it crossed his mind to wonder whether it was coincidence or whether she had known where to find him. He might ask when he got there, and then again, he might not.

 

 

Chapter Two

 

Starsky parked outside the apartment above a double garage that he had been renting since the day he understood that there was a limit to how long an up and coming young detective in Bay City’s elite Robbery Homicide squad could go on living in a rent free apartment owned by Bennie Goldberg.  Goldberg was one of the city’s underworld bosses with a lucrative line in numbers and protection. He treated his protégés well; and Dave and his cousin had been his best team. They knew how to get results without hurting anything more than their client’s pride. Starsky’s army record, and John Blaine’s sponsorship canceled that out and the city’s Chief of Police had no qualms about allowing him to join the Academy. As soon as he could, Starsky moved out. Goldberg approved; he didn’t want to compromise Dave’s career; he was proud of the kid.

Starsky picked his way round the cartons and piles of stuff waiting to be sorted into ‘keep’ ‘dump’ and ‘goodwill’. It was time to move on. His precious privacy had been invaded twice since he moved into this place; once by his own choice when he sheltered Sharman while she dried out and once when Bellamy had broken in and poisoned him. He didn’t have time to think of that now. He got to work. He stopped and fingered the mane of the rocking horse that sat by the counter dividing his kitchen from the living area. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to let go of everything.

“Not yet.”

 

**********************

The car jockey gave the battered LTD a suspicious look as it approached the marquee. Cars like that meant no parking tip most of the time but on the other hand there were one or two celebs who like to take on a veil of eccentricity when pursuing the activities they didn’t want the press to find out about. He scrutinized the tall blond driver, wondering if he needed to pretend to be impressed by a vaguely familiar face; he didn’t.

 

Hutch crossed the spacious lobby and approached the desk. The concierge was one of those snooty types who had spent six months at a hotel school in Switzerland and thought that it qualified him to adopt a fake French accent and the sneer to match. Hutch smiled and ignored the concierge’s indignant shout of ‘Sir?’ as he walked to the elevator.  The elevator had an attendant too – it was that kind of hotel. Starsky had once made a scatological joke about the services in hotels like this and if Hutch were to be brutally honest with himself he would have to admit that his partner had a point; these places worked on the assumption that if you were rich you paid someone else to do all the more unpleasant tasks in life.

 

The elevator door sighed open and Hutch stepped into the hallway.  The carpet was as thick and lush as the grass on the rough at his father’s Country Club golf course. He stopped outside the door and automatically checked his zipper before running his hand through his hair to smooth it as best he could.  He knocked and waited.

The door opened and his past came back to greet him.

 

 

 Back when Hutch was in High School there were rules. Rules about how a Hutchinson behaved in public. Rules about who a Hutchinson kept company with (or was it ‘with whom’? He no longer gave a damn). Shanda was against the rules.  Her mother was not a DAR; and there was no knowing who her father was. This would never have been raised in the Hutchinson family if Ken hadn’t met Shanda at a party. The first thing he noticed was the way her straw blonde curls brushed her shoulders as she moved her head. The second thing he noticed was her clear blue eyes; and the third thing he noticed was the way his best friend, Jack Mitchell, was looking at her too.

Jack nudged him. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were related.” Hutch glared at him convinced that Jack was just trying to get to her first. “No, seriously, look at her.” Hutch looked at her again. “Go find someone else to play with,” he told Jack, “I saw her first.”  He grabbed a glass and filled it with punch and made his way to her side.

 

They dated regularly.  For the first few weeks he kept it from his parents. But one day word got back to his mother that Kenneth had been seen with “that Travis woman’s daughter.”

His mother waited for her moment and it came after her husband had ‘forgotten’ to meet her at the club for supper one Wednesday evening. The next day at dinner the discreet clicks of silverware on porcelain was punctuated by his mother’s comment. “I believe Kenneth has a girlfriend.”

“Oh really,” his father was doing his best to sound interested. “Perhaps you should bring her to the club on Saturday to meet us.”

Hutch felt the blood rise in his cheeks; he knew he was blushing and the words were sticking to the tip of his tongue and refusing to leave his mouth. “I – uh – I -….”

His mother didn’t give him the chance. “Oh I hardly think so; she’s the Travis woman’s daughter.” His father dropped his knife on the plate with a clatter and grabbed his wine glass. Hutch understood that his mother had sent one of her poison darts across the table; but he had no idea why.  His father’s reaction was abrupt and violent.

“I forbid you to see her again. Do you understand?”

Hutch opened his mouth to protest but his tongue was still trembling and sticking; he took a deep breath and managed “b-b-but …”

“Go to your room.”

Ken recognized the tone of his father’s voice and knew better than to provoke him.

 

Two days later his father was waiting at the school entrance. “Get in the car!”

“I have baseball practice.”

“Get.    In.     The.    Car.” The boy did as he was told.  They drove home in silence.

His father delivered a grim warning:  “listen to me very carefully. I do not want you to see that girl again. I do not want you to speak to her again. Break that rule and you will be sent away to finish your schooling as far away from here as I can find a place that will take you at short notice.”

He left the room and Hutch wondered why his father was so determined that he shouldn’t see Shanda Travis again. He decided not to risk being sent away from his friends. He avoided Shanda at every occasion when they were in the same place at the same time.  Jack Mitchell was only too happy to step into his place; by the time the two of them went to college and found new girlfriends Shanda had disappeared. Rumor said that she had gone to Chicago and, according to Mrs. Hutchinson, was ‘no better than her mother’.

 

 

When the door opened Hutch saw that Shanda Travis hadn’t changed much.

“I don’t even know why I agreed to come.” He said as he followed her into the room.

 

She closed the door and passed in front of him leaving a waft of perfume that even Hutch’s jaded nose recognized as Arpège. She sat in the armchair; Hutch looked for a seat and saw that all the other chairs in the room were cluttered with shopping bags. Shanda had obviously taken the Rodeo tour. He had no choice; he sat on the end of the bed and waited for her to explain why she had contacted him.

 

 “How did you find me?” He was fighting the memory of the first time he’d seen her lick her lip like that – before his father put an end to the relationship.

“I watch the television, Ken. You and your partner made the headlines.” She flashed him her best pompom girl grin. Hutch knew she was referring to the court hearing after Starsky shot a teenager. Prudholm had seen it on the TV too and that led to a whole lot of trouble. The outcome of the case, and the murder of three police officers concomitant to it, had also made news all over a country caught in one of its periodic waves of hysteria about police brutality and racial discrimination.

“Ok, so you found me. I guess the next question is ‘why were you looking for me?’ and I’m not too sure I want the answer.”

“I wouldn’t have come to you if …oh I don’t know where to start.”

“If my partner was here he’d say ‘the beginning’s nice’; so try it, OK.”

She stood up and walked over to the mini-bar and selected a miniature of scotch. “Can I offer you anything?” She smiled the perfect hostess smile; for a moment Hutch was willing to believe that her expensive clothes and perfume came from a Country Cub wedding and not from…he had to stop his thoughts. Whose word did he have that Shanda was anything other than an honest young woman who found the right man or job?

He took advantage of the pause while she sipped direct from the bottle.

“Start with telling me what happened to you after you left.” He said gently.

She looked at the bottle in her hand and shook her head. “Let me find a glass first; OK.”

He handed her the glass on the nightstand and as he did he smelled the faint aroma of gin.  Shanda had started early; or finished late last night.

 

“After I left? Oh you mean when mom and I were paid to get out of town.”

Hutch’s astonishment was so physical that he nearly fell off the edge of the bed.  She shook her head gently; “there are a lot of things you didn’t see back then Ken. Now you are a cop you would probably smell the rats before they did any damage. But back then you were kind of innocent and your family was one of the ones in control. You know what I mean.  The Travises were no match for the Hutchinsons and the Mitchells. I mean those people controlled everything; and they controlled it with the one thing they had that we didn’t – money. Women like your mom and the DAR – but there was a Travis in Jamestown, did you know that?  Yea, maybe we go back even further than you do.  But we didn’t have the money and the power and so when the Hutchinson money said ‘jump’ that’s what mom did. We had enough for an apartment in Chicago but I had to work my way through school.  Does that surprise you Ken? Shanda the tramp went to college? I even graduated.  I saw you take in my dress; I guess you wondered if I paid for it with my earnings – well yes I did, Ken.”

Hutch tried to hide his embarrassment. He swallowed and felt the rush of hot blood to his cheeks. “I - uh – uh- I was told that you went to Chicago alone; I guess I didn’t even think about your mom.”

Her face told him that he’d put his foot in it again.

“No, I don’t suppose you did. I mean she just cleaned offices, right? The woman in the office building late after the other partners and employees had gone home. Your father raped her the first time. Pushed her over the desk and took what he wanted. Then he paid her to give it to him whenever he wanted – and Ken; it wasn’t always the nicest route for her if you know what I mean. He can be a very cruel man. She kept the job as long as she did as she was told; and she had a child to look after. She cleaned his office and gave him what he wanted for sixteen years to feed me.”

“I know.” He mumbled. “I mean I didn’t know about that, but I do know about his cruelty. I guess I thought he kept it at home.”

 

 

 

Starsky’s voice echoed in his head. They were starting out as partners and Hutch was still having trouble dealing with the uglier parts of the city. Starsky alternately teased him and chewed him out about it. One lecture had been along the lines of just because they are poor doesn’t mean they are all abusers you know – it happens in Bel-Air too. He hadn’t said anything; bowed before his partner’s superior knowledge of what he called ‘the real world’. But Hutch did know that wives and children in the best areas could be beaten too or treated with a subtler, harsher cruelty; and hide it behind a cool exterior as his mother did.

 

He was tempted by Shanda now, he could feel the blood rising to his face and he knew she saw him blushing.

 “Oh Ken.  I’m not coming on to you; I just want to show you that it doesn’t matter. We survived.  Mom found a good man who loved her and gave her the best he could; they were killed in an auto accident eight years ago.  I don’t know if she ever told him about my father. I went back to Duluth first and I heard that you were married and had left town.”

Hutch returned from his bad trip down Memory Lane; “I married Vanessa when I finished with college and I was ...” he shook his head,”…finding myself.”

“Vanessa; oh yes. I’m sure your parents were delighted that you both made appropriate choices.”

Hutch laughed. “Turned out we didn’t. She was always scratching for more than we had after I dropped out and when I decided to be a cop she walked out on me.”

“Poor Ken. She always was a bitch. Mom said that if you scratched the surface of that branch of the Hawksworths you’d just find a worthless hawk.”

They laughed together for a moment before falling silent.

“Tell me why you are here,” he said as he ran the edge of his thumb along her cheekbone.

“Later; let’s catch up a little first.”

 

 

Chapter three

 

Dobey was almost reassured to see Starsky walk into the squad room the next morning dressed in his habitual thrift shop chic. His jeans looked like they had been sprayed on and the way the denim was worn was bordering on the obscene; his blue T-shirt emphasized the deep blue of his eyes. He grabbed a mug and poured himself a generous cup of the coffee that was still fresh in the pot. He followed Dobey into his office.

Starsky sat down and sipped his coffee in silence while Dobey finished reading the night shift’s reports.

 

The door opened and Hutch walked in dressed in exactly the same clothes as he had been wearing the day before. Starsky licked his lips and winked. Hutch blushed and sat in the chair next to his partner; he reached over and took Starsky’s mug.

“Hanson’s agent wants to talk to us. Hutch, you get over and see what he has. Starsky, Chief Ryan wants you to follow up yesterday’s information.” Dobey leaned back in his chair and looked from one to the other. “What are you waiting for? Get out of here!”

 

Starsky stopped to mockingly usher Hutch out of the office; he hooked the door with his foot and let it slam.

They drove off in opposite directions after agreeing a meeting place for lunch. Starsky won the toss – pizzas.

 

Hutch’s appointment was on the same Plaza where Hanson died; in one of the high rise office blocks that housed agents and the lawyers their clients needed. He drove into the garage beneath the building and flashed his badge at the attendant.  He went up to the foyer and looked at the board to see which floor he needed. The office was on the tenth floor and both elevators were in use. He waited and watched the comings and goings in the lobby. A couple of faces seemed familiar but the names didn’t come to him.  The elevator arrived and Hutch was swept aside by a group of men surrounding a woman in black. This time he did recognize the face; it was the would-be widow. He nodded to her and she pulled a black lace trimmed handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed her eyes dramatically. Hutch wasn’t fooled. He stepped over and showed her his badge. “Save the routine for the cameras Miss…”

“Mrs. Hanson to you.” She almost spat it in his face.

“Apparently there is another claimant to the title ma’am. Please don’t leave the city until we have had a chance to …” this time she cut him short by slapping his face and stalking out of the building before he could react.

He took the elevator up to the tenth and walked into the agent’s office suite. The effect was like walking into an iceberg. The air conditioning was set high and the white walls, furniture and thick carpet finished the effect.  A tall blonde dressed in white stepped out from behind her desk to greet him.

“May I help you?” The expression on her face made it plain that she thought he was a hopeful searching for an agent and a break. Once again Hutch produced his badge. “I’m expected.”

“Please take a seat; Mr. Delorio will be free in a moment.”

Hutch ignored her and walked to the door that was partly open behind her desk. “I tried to stop him, Mr. Delorio” she said as Hutch closed the door in her face.

Delorio was still powdering his nose. Hutch sat down and watched the ridiculous spectacle of a man with a rolled fifty dollar bill in his nose snorting up a line of powder from the highly polished desk. 

Delorio finished his snort and looked up. “Tell me you’re not the cop.” He said eying the traces of his habit.

“I could, but I’m a lousy liar.”

“Shit!”

“Looks more like coke to me.”

Delorio rolled his eyes; “very witty.”

“I do my best. You said you had information for us.”

“I have information. And I have a price.”

Hutch leaned across the desk and grabbed Delorio’s wrist. “If you have something worth telling me I’m willing to pretend that you just have a bad cold.”

“Johnny had a bad habit; worse than mine. He was up to five grams a day minimum and only the best was good enough for Johnny. He was buying pure stuff from people who did not give credit.”

“And you think they had him killed?”

“Someone had him killed. Of course there are plenty of other people who won’t be sad to see him dead.”

“I need a list.”

Delorio swore he didn’t have one.

******************************

 

Starsky parked in the parking lot closest to the building housing Weissman’s office. He was still locking the door when a campus cop drove up alongside. “You can’t park there.”

Starsky shrugged. “Looks like I just did.”

“This is faculty parking only. Visitors’ parking is over there.” He pointed to a lot about fifty yards away.  Starsky leaned into the Torino and pulled the red Mars lamp out from under the passenger seat. He placed it on the roof and grinned. “Looks like I have a permit to park wherever I want.” The campus cop was still protesting when Starsky walked into the building.

 

Weissman’s office was everything Starsky thought it would be right down to the plant that looked like it hadn’t been watered for at least a year. He looked at the seating options and decided against the couch. Weissman smiled as Starsky settled into the chair opposite him.

“Thank you for agreeing to take part in this experiment.”

“I haven’t agreed yet. I’ll decide when I’ve heard the whole deal.”

Weissman took ten minutes to give Starsky an outline of the ideas behind the scheme.

“Most of the information is here,” he tapped a thick spiral bound file that looked like a doctoral thesis. “It is somewhat dry but….”

“I didn’t go to college, Doc; but I’m not dumb.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment, Sergeant. But to be honest even I find it pretty boring at times;” he risked a smile, “and I wrote it.”

The corner of Starsky’s mouth flickered as he took the file. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve read it.” He placed the file on the desk in front of him and sat back. Weissman felt the full force of Starsky’s piercing gaze for a second time as he sat back again. “Why me?”

“I’ll answer that with a question if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead.” His eyes had turned to deadpan and Weissman didn’t feel any more comfortable.

“Have you ever been hypnotized?”

“No.”

“Has anyone tried?”

Starsky smiled. “Yeah, once, when I was a kid; my dad took me to a vaudeville show and there was a guy claimed to be a hypnotist. He did the usual tricks and then he asked for volunteers from the audience. Dad and I went up there. The guy did his hocus pocus and didn’t fool me. Dad didn’t know whether to take me home and spank me for cheeking the guy or treating me for getting the better of him.” Weissman caught a wistful look in Starsky’s eyes. “And?”

“I got ice cream,” he sounded dreamy for a moment, “…chocolate.”

“Tell me about your father.”

This time Starsky’s voice was gruff. “I thought you’d read my file Doc. Don’t try those tricks with me.”

Weissman tried another tack. “Have you ever been in therapy?”

“Physical or mental? No, I figure you’ve read that bit of my file too.”

“No. I’ve seen your police record and a few personal details but nothing about therapy.”

“My army record?”

“No.”

“OK, the answer is ‘yes’ to physical therapy and ‘sort of’ to the mental. I was injured in Nam. I had to learn to walk again. As you see, I did. I was a high school football player so the learning to walk needed a little mental support too. Enough?”

“Yes. Thank you Sergeant.”

“Doc.”

“Yes?”

“If we’re going to work together, call me Starsky, OK?”

“I take it that means you have decided to join the team.”

Starsky stood up and picked up the file. “I’ll let you know when I’ve read this. I’ll call you when I have.”

Weissman watched him leave and reflected that Starsky had already taken control of the situation.

********************

Starsky drove straight to the pizza joint and waited for Hutch in the parking lot. He was tempted to start reading Weissman’s file but he didn’t want Hutch to see it. He couldn’t explain that to himself but it had something to do with not wanting his partner to feel hurt or left out of this; whatever it was. He switched the regular radio on and listened to the Beach Boys singing about his first car.

Five minutes later he heard Hutch’s car before he saw it. He slipped the file under the passenger seat and was already on his way to the door when Hutch parked alongside of the Torino.

They found a table by a window and Starsky went to the counter and ordered: a vegetarian special ‘go easy on the onions’ for Hutch; a double pepperoni with all the extras and a chili-sauce topping for Starsky. He also ordered a Dr. Pepper for himself and orange juice for Hutch.

Starsky sat down, chomping happily on a breadstick. “So what did Mr. Tenpercent have to tell?”

“His name is Delorio.”

Starsky grabbed another breadstick and grinned. “And?”

“Hanson had more than one bad habit and a few enemies.”

“Bad enough to want to kill him?”

“Could be.”

The pizzas arrived and Starsky cut a big triangle out of his and picked it up trailing hot cheese with it. “Apart from drugs, what other bad habits did he have?”

“According to Delorio he played the numbers and was into big debt.” Hutch forked a little of the vegetable topping and looked at it suspiciously. “Starsky; this pizza has broccoli on it.”

Starsky opened his eyes wide. “Starsky; I don’t like broccoli.” Starsky suddenly seemed fascinated by the way the cheese was hanging from his fork. “Starsky, did you tell them to put broccoli on my pizza?” His partner went for the “who me?” innocent look; but Hutch wasn’t fooled. “You ordered a broccoli topping on my pizza!” Hutch’s finger was within a half inch of Starsky’s nose.

“Put that finger away or I’ll bite it! Yes I ordered a broccoli topping. You know why? I’ll tell you.” As he spoke Starsky delicately lifted a piece of the offending greenery from Hutch’s pizza and popped it in his mouth. “I ordered it because I like broccoli ….but not on a pepperoni pizza.”  Hutch was speechless. He sat wide-mouthed while Starsky continued to remove the broccoli from his pizza. “OK now it’s a broccoli-free zone. Eat!  And tell me about the numbers.”

“All Delorio knows, at least all he says he knows, is that Hanson played the ponies as well as his habit. He had a numbers tab that was getting to big for the bookie.”

“Did you get a name?”

“No. Delorio swears he doesn’t know.”

“OK, what about the dope?”

“Delorio had just finished a couple of lines when I walked in. I’d say he and Hanson went to the same store.”

“Delorio may have been supplying Hanson. Or it could have been the other way around.” Starsky folded the last piece of pizza into his mouth and smiled at Hutch. He took a coin out of his pocket and fingered it, flipping it into his palm and then making it roll between his fingers. “Heads or Tails?”

“Heads for the bookie.”

Starsky tossed the coin and slapped it to the back of his hand. A slow smile spread across his face. He patted the coin onto the table. Hutch stared at the eagle and wondered for the umpteenth time how Starsky did it.

“Be careful.” Starsky touched Hutch’s arm, just above the elbow, inside sleeve, where he knew that his friend would understand what he meant. Hutch put his own hand over his partner’s gentle slender fingers and smiled back. “Don’t worry, buddy; I won’t let them get me this time.”

 

Starsky drove home; he knew who to call, and when.

He showered and dressed in comfortable sweat pants and a zippered sweatshirt and padded barefoot to the kitchen to set the kettle to boil for tea. While it was heating he wandered to the ‘phone attached to the wall at the back of the apartment and watched the comings and goings of the suburban street while he waited for his cousin to answer the ‘phone.

“Hi Harvey, how’s the family?” He grinned and leaned against the window. “She did? …Did Uncle Al eat it?.... Aw shit!...Ok tell her I promise to come soon – but only if she promises to make roast chicken! Yeah…” Starsky chuckled. “Lookit Harv, I need a lead.  It might not be one of Bennie’s but a guy by the name of Hanson…yeah that’s right…his agent says he was in big trouble with the numbers…OK, thanks…No I’ll call you, I have stuff to do.” He put the phone back on its cradle and then changed his mind and hooked it to block all calls.

The kettle was whistling fit for Casey Jones when Starsky returned to the kitchen. He made a pot of tea; found a packet of cookies and went to do his homework.

He cleared a place on the low table that was still cluttered with objects that he hadn’t gotten around to packing – or deciding their fate. He poured his first cup of tea and started to read.

Weissman was right; it was dry at times but Starsky didn’t find it boring. He was fascinated. He only stopped reading to make another pot of tea and grab an apple from the bowl on the counter. When his alarm started buzzing at six in the morning he put the file down and stretched. He went to find his jogging shoes and hooked the phone back on its cradle before setting out for a run.

Just under twenty minutes and four miles later he returned to the apartment and started striping sweaty clothes off as soon as the he was inside. He showered; allowing the water to stream down his body and relax his muscles.

Starsky had just pulled his jeans on when the phone rang. It was Hutch. “I’ve got a lead.” Starsky looked at the accumulated evidence of his move. “What do you have?”

“A name I’ve never seen before…Amboy; I’ll drive by and collect you.”

“No; I‘m …uh…going over to the family this evening; I need my car; I’ll meet you there.”He caught himself in time; “give me the address.” Hutch confirmed the information he already had.

 

Starsky was half way to joining Hutch when his beeper went off. He pulled over and wriggled to get it out of his pocket, a woman at the bus stop nearby looked at him with an expression of fascinated horror. His gyrations to get a dime for the call made the woman decide to go elsewhere to catch her bus. “Minnie, it’s Starsky.”

“Hi sweetie. I have a message for you.”

“OK.”

“It’s a little strange…”

“Minnie…”

“Sorry sweetheart; the message is “tell Starsky he’s eating chicken tonight.”

 

 

Amboy’s house was a mixture of Hollywood Tudor and mobster bad taste; except that it was too far from Tinsel Town to attract any star. Starsky drew up alongside Hutch’s battered LTD and let down the passenger side window. “Anything?”

Hutch got out of his car and ran round to join Starsky in the superior comfort of the Torino.

“No-one’s been in or out since I arrived.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Do you think they ordered pizza?”

“We could find out.”

“I’ll do the honors.”

Hutch returned to his car while Starsky parked the car fifty yards further along the street. The houses were set well back from the sidewalk and had rolling lawns and shrubberies to provide some screening from passersby. Starsky made his way to the side of Amboy’s house. Running low and using the greenery for cover, he zigzagged to building and flattened himself against the wall. He inched his way along to where he could get a line on the front door without being seen. When he was satisfied with his position he signaled to Hutch to make his move.

Hutch climbed over to the back of the car and after a few seconds he found what he was looking for: a pizza box left over from the last time they had done a stakeout. He lifted the lid and sniffed; and regretted it immediately.  Balancing the box as if it was hot, he walked up the pathway to the front door. The doorbell chimed the first few bars of My Way; Hutch grimaced and listed to approaching footsteps.

The man who opened the door didn’t look like the type to order a pizza. Hutch smiled and held the revolting package out.

His smile faded when he saw the gun.  He thrust the pizza box up and forward hoping to gain a couple of precious seconds to go for his own gun; but he was out of luck. The gun was against his gut and he froze.

“H-h-h-hey man; d-d-d-did I get the wrong house?”  He was still hoping for the hapless deliveryman routine.

“No-one here ordered a pizza!”

“O k-k-k-k-Kay, I g-g-guess this isn’t n-n-nineteen twenty t-t-two West Meadow.”

This is East Meadow. Now take your pizza and get out of here before I make you eat the box.”

 

Starsky was pressing himself against the wall, poised to come to Hutch’s aid. He had to fight to suppress the urge to giggle at his partner’s performance. He waited until he heard the door slam before scuttling back to join Hutch; Starsky leaned on the roof and stuck his head in through the window; he was chuckling. “I thought you were in trouble there.”

“Not as much as I could have been if he’d opened the box.”  Hutch grinned as he lifted the lid revealing a triangle of something that might once have been pizza but now had a covering of what looked like green moss. The stench was even worse. “How could you have that in your car?” Starsky said wrinkling his nose, “one of these days you’ll get food poisoning from the crap you eat.”

“Listen to who’s talking.”

“Hey, what I eat is hot, fresh and wholesome…”

“And totally devoid of any nutritional value most of the time.”

“Hey wait a minute, there’s good cheese and meat and even salad in a cheeseburger – that’s a balanced diet. Not like your seaweed and butterfly wing shakes. And what’s more I never eat stuff that hasn’t been stored properly – in the fridge not the back of the car!”

“OK OK I get the point. If you don’t mind me changing the subject,” Hutch flung the offending package into the back of the car again, “what do you suggest we try now?”

 

Starsky grinned. “The direct approach. Watch this.”

 

He sauntered up to the front door and rang the doorbell. This time the door was opened by a woman wearing a maid’s uniform.  Hutch watched as Starsky appeared to have a quick and intense conversation with her. She disappeared for a few seconds and Starsky waited until a short pudgy man in his mid-forties swaggered to the door. Hutch couldn’t hear what Starsky was saying but the other man nodded a few times and then walked with Starsky to the garage at the side of the house. He opened the door and Starsky stepped back in a gesture of awe. Hutch strained to see what this pantomime was all about. All he could see was the reflection of light on a black car hood.  Five minutes later Starsky was walking to the Torino, grinning. Hutch started his car and pulled away from the curb to join his partner in a turn up ahead.

“How did you get him out of the house?”

“When I was getting into position I looked into the garage. The guy has a thirty-seven De Soto in almost perfect condition in there. I took the risk of pretending I’d driven past and seen him working on it.”

“Trust you to get a contact with a car.”

“You should try taking an interest buddy. Cars are a great opener. Now do you want the bonus or not?”

“Bonus?”

“Yeah; while I was waiting I got to see the layout of the place and I also got to see where the alarm is wired.”

“Are you suggesting….”

Starsky gave him a wide-eyed look. “Who me? What else, dummie?  But not tonight. We’ll give him a day or two to forget that some idiot tried to deliver a pizza to the wrong address.”

He drove away before Hutch had a chance to reply.

 

 

 

Chapter Four

 

Shanda was waiting for him. She had named the restaurant and insisted on paying the tab.

“I don’t know what a cop earns in this town but I’ll bet it is a lot less than I do.”

She stood up and smiled as Hutch made his way round the tables to join her. “You dressed up especially?” She touched his tie and he gulped back another memory. “I didn’t think you’d want me to appear in the jeans and shirt I wore all day.” He grinned, “and I don’t they would have let me in here if I did.  Good thing I thought to wear a tie.”

“They would have lent you one.”

The bottle was already in the ice bucket by the table and as soon as Hutch sat down a waiter appeared at his elbow to serve them. He poured the pale gold wine into the larger of the two glasses and Hutch moved the glass gently to allow the wine to take a little oxygen then sniffed before tasting. The aromas of flowers and oak wood gave way to a smooth taste of berry fruits and the tang of grape and apple. He stole a look at Shanda; she was holding the glass by its stem, Hutch quickly corrected his error. It wasn’t that he was out of practice so much as the fact that given the choice he had always been more at home with a beer.

The waiter was back and Hutch realized that he hadn’t even glanced at the menu – a big thick cream double page with the choices engraved, not printed, on its surface. He ran an eye down the possibilities and blushed. Shanda must have tipped off the staff; his copy was the one without prices.

“I’m happy to eat whatever you choose.” He said quietly.  Shanda gave the waiter her order and raised her glass again. “To us, and to what we left behind.”

Hutch laughed. “I think we are both happy not be there anymore.” The wine was good. So were the food and company. Hutch forgot to wonder why Shanda had reappeared in his life; she was here and he was happy to see her – but the question was still burning in his mind. He had to ask.

“Shanda…I…uh…..”

“What Ken?”

“When my dad found out I was seeing you he was furious.”

Her eyes held a sadness that Hutch couldn’t fathom. She was keeping something from him.

They finished dinner and Shanda handed Hutch the car valet tab. “You can collect your car tomorrow.” 

 

 

 

Hutch woke with a feeling that something was wrong. He reached out sleepily, hoping to draw Shanda back into their sexual reunion; but she wasn’t there. He sat up and listened; hoping that she was in the bathroom. Her clothes were still strewn across the floor and the chair where she had left them. The suite wasn’t big enough for her to be far away. Hutch slipped out of the bed and pulled the sheet around him in a makeshift toga. Shanda was sitting on the couch…and she had his gun in her hand.  Hutch hesitated. She wasn’t the first woman who had found his revolver exciting; when he was given the choice of firearms it had never occurred to him that the big Colt Python with its six inch barrel would be seen as a symbol of his sexual prowess. Shanda was stroking the barrel and Hutch couldn’t help feeling anxious. He was lazy about cleaning his gun and Starsky was always giving him lectures about ‘keeping your equipment clean’. It was Ok for Starsky – the Army had drilled that into him; he cleaned his gun as a matter of routine. And Starsky took the clip out of his pistol when he got home; Hutch rarely emptied his revolver.

Then it occurred to him that what was really worrying him wasn’t that Shanda was fondling his gun, or that it might be loaded; but the fact that she was handling the gun with ease…the familiar and casual manner of an expert.

“Shanda?”

“Oh you woke up at last.  I couldn’t resist it. This is a beautiful gun.”

Hutch put his hand around the barrel and took it from her hand. “You seem to know about these things.”

“It’s a hobby. Does that shock you?”

“No.  I guess not. It’s just that, well I have to carry a gun for my job but ...” he laughed nervously, “I don’t really like them that much.”

“Have you killed anyone?”

He sat down and took her hand. “Yes, and I hated myself for it every time. Even when it was him or me; or when it was to save someone else’s life.”

“What about your partner?”

“He was in the war…but he hates it just as much, maybe more.”

 

************************

 

Rosa Kaufman opened the door and started gushing before her nephew had a chance to say ‘hi’.

“Davey darling it’s so long since we saw you are you eating right how’s your job did you call your momma ….” He waited until even she would have to stop for breath and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“I’m fine Aunt Rosa, yes I did call mom, I do every Friday, and yes I eat right.” He grinned at her and risked another kiss. His mother’s sister had taken him in when he was in danger and he loved her like a second mother – he figured that over the years he had built up a natural immunity to the dangers of her cooking. The salad bowl was already on the table and Starsky sighed with relief to see that it only contained lettuce and tomatoes. The salad sauce was in a jug next to the bowl; he risked dipping a finger into it. “Mmmm, hey Aunt Rosa what did you put in this?”

“I bought it in the new deli round the corner. You’re just in time to help me with dinner” Starsky was happy to help; over the years he had developed two lines of defense against Rosa’s culinary mayhem. One was to learn to eat out of the house as often as possible; and when he was younger his budget didn’t go much further than burgers, dogs, pizzas and the deli.  The other was to learn to cook. He hadn’t really had much chance for that until he lived in his own place, but he enjoyed making meals and his mom had sent him a copy of her favorite cookbook.

He busied himself helping his aunt to prepare chicken and vegetables; he gently took over the kitchen encouraging her to ‘go freshen up’ and ‘put your feet up’. By the time his uncle and cousin arrived from the used car lot they owned, the house smelled of roasting chicken and Starsky and Rosa were sipping from glasses of the wine he had brought.

 

“So what’s for dinner, pizza?”

“You were there?”

Harvey answered with a wink.  “Bennie wants someone to keep an eye on him!”

Starsky settled back in his chair and waited while Harvey lit a cigarette; “nu?”

“He’s ambitious but he isn’t going to give Bennie any grief. Most of his numbers operation is down round Mousetown, if you get what I mean.” Starsky raised his glass in acknowledgment. “But he’s also getting a foothold in Ventura and that’s too close to Bennie’s territory.”

Goldberg had a hold on the areas from the coast to the studios and the business center of the city; he joked that he never went out of town because the countryside made him nervous.

Ventura came too close to Bennie’s city limits.

 

After dinner they went to a bar down the street and settled in a corner where no-one could hear them above the noise.

“Amboy’s into a lot of stuff that Bennie wouldn’t touch.”

“Such as?”

“Dope and young girls. Sometimes both.”

“How young?”

“Statutory rape. He has a stable of teenage runaways. Gets them hooked then puts them on the street to pay him for his kindness. If they try to rebel he makes sure the bruises don’t show in public.”

Starsky swallowed his beer and got up to get another one. “I may have to sleep in my old room tonight,” he said as he plunked a jug down on the table. “Tell me more.”

Harvey detailed Amboy’s operation with the girls. “He has a woman who finds them at the bus depot and the station. I only know her first name: Dolores. She offers to find them a bed for the night – usually Amboy’s. He’s a pig, Dave. I stayed over a couple of times,” he looked at the bottom of his glass, “I should have stopped him…”

“What?”

“The other night, he had a new girl. She was begging him, crying and telling him she was virgin. When he’d finished he called Dolores and told her to ‘clean her up and give her something to stop it hurting’. Dolores took her into the bathroom and when they came out the kid still had the cord round her arm. I guess I don’t need to paint a picture.”

Starsky didn’t need to answer.

They drank in silence for a moment. “What about Hanson?”

“He was a client…for all Amboy’s services. But Amboy didn’t want him dead. He needed him”

“Needed?”

“Yea. Hanson was his best mule.”

Starsky nearly choked on his beer. “You’re kidding.”

“No; I heard it from Desi, he’s Amboy’s enforcer. Not like our operation, Desi’s a psycho; he likes hurting people. Seems that about six months ago Hanson told Amboy he couldn’t pay so they did a deal. Hanson went all over for gigs so it was obvious.  He did a tour of Florida last month. Apparently he has a big following in South America and they came over for the show.”

“So that’s where that bad stuff was coming from.”  This time it was Harvey who paid for the jug.

 

Starsky slept in his old room.

 

He woke before dawn and left the house as stealthily as he could. He crossed his fingers that the Torino’s throaty growl wouldn’t wake the rest of the family and drove home. He showered and gathered up Weissman’s file and the notes he had taken and drove work. He sat at his desk to read over his comments before slipping them into an internal delivery envelope. He put the envelope in the top drawer of his desk and started to type up yet another information report on Hanson’s murder and filed it. Hutch still hadn’t appeared and he started to re-read the file. The team that went over to the empty offices had found something: a black lace glove.

A lace glove. He’d seen that somewhere before.  He ran out of the room.

 

“Minnie, I need a favor.”

“Is this private or police work?”

“Aw Minnie, you know me better than that.”

“Yes Starsky and that’s why I’m asking you if this is for a case or because you saw a pretty woman in a car and couldn’t get her to stop and talk to you.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Trashy boy!”

“Cheesecake!”

“And there I was hoping for beefcake.”

Starsky grinned; “now who’s being trashy?”

“Ok, tell Minnie what you need.”

“I’m looking for a shooting, about six months ago in San Diego. A naval officer; all I know is the case wasn’t solved.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He kissed her and she patted his butt.  As he walked away Minnie adjusted her glasses and muttered ‘that’s prime beef.’

 

An hour later Hutch still hadn’t checked in. Starsky was getting worried; the memory of finding Hutch strung out in an alley was fresh in his mind. He decided to go over to Hutch’s place and find him.

 

Hutch’s car wasn’t outside the house. The shades at the windows were down and Starsky went straight to the hiding place where Hutch kept his spare key. A duck quacked and Starsky nearly jumped out of his skin.  He took a deep breath and told himself to get his act together. He knocked. There was no reply. Something wasn’t right. He considered going back to the car and calling for backup; but dismissed the idea. He used the key. Starsky took his pistol out of the holster and checked the safety; he held the gun high, middle finger across the trigger guard and the other fingers flared away, the forefinger ready to close on the trigger if need be. He leaned against the door and listened again.  Nothing. He stepped back from the door and leaning against the wall for cover he used his right hand to push it open. He waited. Nothing. Either there was no-one in there or someone was waiting for him to make his move. He swung into the house, legs wide apart to brace him; gun held out in front of him ready to fire if he had to. The room was empty.

By the looks of things Hutch hadn’t left in a hurry. Starsky sighed with relief when he opened the closet and the hook on the back of the door was empty.  He checked the bathroom; Hutch’s shaving stuff and toothbrush were missing too. He chuckled and chided himself for jumping to the conclusion that something bad had happened to his partner. He was just enjoying himself with a ghost!

 

Weissman had gathered the members of the team that was going to work on his project. Starsky filled a mug with coffee and took a chair next to a female officer from the fifth precinct. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and wondered if she remembered the last time they had met. She whispered, “nice to see you again,” and the tone of her voice suggested that she meant it. Weissman made the introductions and they set to discussing the background of the project. Starsky raised his hand. “How can we be sure that there is no coercion?”

Weissman answered. “Of course the possibility has been taken into account; but you were all selected on the basis of your records.”

One of the others snorted. “Some of us can be more persuasive than others if what I’ve heard is true.” Starsky recognized Pete Carmichael; he was close to retirement and had worked with Blaine a few years ago. Long ago enough to have been around when Blaine had turned a blind eye when two young men left a bookie’s joint by the back window just as a raid went down. Starsky smiled with his lips but not his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I heard that you and your partner are pretty expert at ‘good cop, bad cop’ and that sometimes it’s hard to tell which is which.”

“We play by the book.”

“Which one?”

“The one that says ‘innocent until proved guilty!”

There was a tense silence until Carmichael laughed and said “John taught you more than I thought he did.”

Starsky blinked and looked away.

Weissman coughed. “Detective Starsky’s question is a good one. This is a difficult area after all.”

The female officer, Starsky remembered now, her name was Jacquie something, nodded.

“I heard that there are therapists using this technique and they are convincing people of things that never happened.”

Carmichael chipped “I wish someone could do that in reverse for me sometimes.” They all laughed; but Jacquie wasn’t going to let it go. “This is serious, I mean in the case of a rape allegation or child abuse or something like that.”

“I don’t think we should be touching that kind of thing,” Starsky said, “excuse the pun”

“Exactly; but don’t worry, you may be called to elicit witness testimony but in a case like abuse only trained therapists would be allowed to intervene.

Another hand went up. “How will we know if the subject isn’t pretending?”

Weissman smiled; “Detective Starsky, I need your help here.”

Starsky stood up and went to site opposite the doctor as directed.

Weissman started to explain and demonstrate the technique that they would be using. He turned to the others and smiled. “Under normal circumstances I could now ask Detective Starsky to carry out a task that he would not remember later.” He paused. “Under normal circumstances; that is to say with any one of you…although with all of you the procedure I have just demonstrated would take a little longer because of your capacities.  However Detective Starsky is one of the rare people who are totally resistant to my…uh…charms.”

The others laughed politely at first; then they laughed out loud when Starsky stood up and took a sweeping bow before saluting Weissman and winking.

Weissman asked him to sit facing the others. “Let me explain; Starsky would you roll your eyes up as far as you can please.” The effect was a little bizarre as Starsky’s left eye seemed to resist following the right. “The first thing you will observe is that David has a slight strabismus – the result I believe of an injury?”

“Yeah.”

“However this is not the reason why he is resistant. I hope you don’t mind continuing to look up for a moment, Starsky.”

“It’s Ok but not for too long; I’m beginning to feel dizzy.”

“The important thing to note is that when Detective Starsky rolls his eyes up you see very little of the white under the pupil; the more white of the eye that is visible, the less resistant the subject.” He told Starsky that he could return to his place.  “I advise you to use that test before going any further. A resistant subject will either refuse to cooperate or he will do what he thinks will please you…and answer your questions with whatever he thinks you want to hear; or lie to protect someone else.”

Weissman then demonstrated a few more techniques and distributed a handbook for them to study.

 

 

Chapter Five

 

Hutch was still AWOL with his ghost and Starsky was fighting annoyance. He sat staring out of the window for a while and hoped against hope that fate wasn’t repeating itself. Hutch had been hooked once and both of them knew that he would never be totally safe from addiction. Starsky’s sixth sense told him that he was right to worry; but he couldn’t put his finger on why. The vision of a lace glove kept floating through his mind. His hunch was right and Minnie’s research had found the shooting in San Diego. The victim was killed with a single shot; the same caliber as the bullet removed from Hanson’s body. The San Diego PD sent a copy of the ballistics report and it looked like the two bullets came from the same weapon. SDPD was no further forward with the investigation two years on; but there was one other clue in common: a lace glove, found where the killer must have been standing

 

Starsky was reading through the witness testimonies that SDPD had sent with the ballistics report; none of the witnesses had seen anything significant as far as he could tell.

He looked up when he felt rather than heard Dobey standing behind him. “We have a lead.”

Starsky followed him into his office.

 

Dobey explained that he had been contacted by the principal of a school to say that one of the children might have seen something “Get over to this address and see what you can do.”

Starsky looked at the address and stared at Dobey. “Why does she think that?”

“It seems that this kid draws a lot; the same thing over and over for the last couple of days; a crowd and a man lying on the ground. When the teacher asked what it was the kid drew a picture of a gun.  The mom had made an appointment with the pediatrician the day of the shooting and the office is in the same building as Delorio’s office.”

Starsky nodded. “But is it OK for me to see the kid at school without the parents?”

“I checked that out. The father walked out when the kid was three; the mom works at two jobs and she gave the school permission to call us.”

It was an old story; a mother working her chops off to get by with a kid with problems and a father who walks out the moment they realize something is wrong. Life, Starsky reflected, was rarely as rosy pink as in the novels Aunt Rosa read.

 

“Oh Starsky…”

He knew what was coming.

“”Where’s Hutch?”

“I wish I knew Captain. I really wish I knew.”

Dobey motioned for him to sit down again. “What do you mean?”

“He had a date.  Yeah I know, he’s a big boy and he can look after himself. Except maybe he can’t.”

“Starsky stop talking in riddles.”

“I can’t help it Captain; he’s gone off canoodling without a forwarding address and I can’t help thinking about Jeannie and….”

“Do you want me to put out an APB?”

“No. If he doesn’t get home by midnight his pumpkin might turn into a real car!” Starsky laughed. “I’m sure he’s Ok. He can work overtime when I find the woman of my dreams.”

 

 

************************** 

 

Hutch woke up and this time Shanda was in the bed next to him. She smiled and pulled him on top of her. Hutch decided that he had leave owed to him so he might as well take it. Starsky could handle the investigation. He buried himself in Shanda’s embrace; inhaled her perfume and fell in love all over again. They made love, slow sensuous sexual ballet wrecked the bed-sheets and their pas de deux ended on the rug by the bed. Shanda lay in his arms as Hutch fell into a deep satiated sleep.

 

Shanda waited until she heard the distinctive steady breathing. She eased herself out of Hutch’s embrace and stood up. If she had calculated correctly Hutch would be asleep for another three or four hours; time enough for her to do what she needed to do and return to his side.

Hutch murmured her name as she was dressing; she stooped down to touch his cheek and whisper ‘I’m right here.’ He reached out and grabbed her wrist. She held her breath for a moment of anxiety before reminding herself that she was safe to leave. She closed the door and locked it from the outside and ran down the service stairs and out onto the street to find a cab. She walked around the block and called for a cab from a phone booth. “Take me to the station; I have a train in thirty minutes.”

 

The man at the information booth took a moment to find the envelope but he handed it to her in silence; she slid the key onto the palm of her hand and returned to the street. The next cab took her to the Greyhound station where she retrieved a sports bag from a locker and threw away the key.

 

She went to a car hire desk and took the first thing they had to offer.

“I’ll be driving to Seattle, can I return it there?”

“It will cost more.” The agent sounded ready for a refusal and gave her a new price.

“That’s no problem.” She put down a roll of bills. “That should cover it and refill the gas tank.”

 

 

****************************

 

 

At exactly nine fifteen Delorio walked out of his house. At nine twenty he was lying in a pool of blood on the sidewalk.

The killer checked that no-one was around and walked over to the body to drop the lace glove calling card.

 

 

*************************

 

The Marshall Center for Exceptional Children was a hive of activity. The school buses were arriving from all over the city and the surrounding areas. The kids getting out of the buses were a mix of ages and some were chattering and laughing while others were quiet and withdrawn.  A few members of the staff were standing on the sidewalk ready to organize the groups that they would be working with during the day. Some of the kids had to be coaxed out of the buses every morning – as if each day was the first day at school. Others were too boisterous with uncontrolled energy and it was not unusual see one of the teachers running to grab a child before he or she ran into the street or hugged a total stranger. Not all the students came by bus.  Mothers (and some fathers) were unloading their children from cars and walking with them into the schoolyard.

 

Starsky parked across from the gate and waited for a moment before getting out of the car.  He decided that it would be better not to be wearing his gun so he slipped it out of the holster and locked it in the glove box. He walked across the schoolyard and made his way to the director’s office.

Starsky walked along the hallway thinking how schools all seemed to smell the same wherever you went. A strange mixture of childish sweat and rubber soled shoes and lunch room and disinfectant. He saw a child sitting alone in the cloakroom; whether it was because he noticed that Starsky was there, or whether it would have happened anyway, the child suddenly screamed and hurled the shoe he was holding across the room.

 

Calm down Davey, you won’t learn to do it if you get mad every time. Here let me show you… He was about three years old and throwing yet another temper tantrum because he couldn’t tie his laces.

 

“You need some help there?” Starsky said softly as he retrieved the shoe and walked to the bench. The little boy sniffed and started making a strange moaning sound. Starsky sat down next to him.  As he did so, the little boy picked up the other shoe from beside him and flung it across the room. Starsky smiled and sighed. “One at a time, OK?” he went on untangling the laces and opened the shoe so that he could slip it onto the child’s foot. He stopped as if he had suddenly noticed something. “Hey, are you a leftie? I’m a leftie too. I guess that’s why doing shoelaces is so tough. They make everything for those weird people who do things with the wrong hand.” The little boy stopped keening and the silence was heavy in the air. He held the shoe in front of the child’s foot.

“Want me to show you how I do my laces?”

Slowly the child turned to look at him; Starsky slipped the shoe onto the boy’s foot. He leaned back and raised his foot and untied the laces of his trainers. “See it’s easy, you have to tie a half knot first. Do you know how to do that? Left lace over right lace and under and pull.” He demonstrated as he spoke. The child was watching his fingers but made no move to copy the movement.  Starsky continued the lesson. “Then you have to make two loops. This is the tricky part, keeping one loop while you make the other. Oops,” he deliberately let one of the laces fall, “that’s better,” he made the loop again. “Then you wrap the left loop around the right loop and pull through and …see: a perfect bow.” He turned and smiled at the child. His infectious lop-sided grin had the desired effect. The child smiled back.

Starsky stood up to retrieve the other shoe. As he did so he said “why don’t you try while I get the other shoe?”

The child started to make the first knot but his fingers were clumsy and uncoordinated and Starsky arrived by his side just in time to defuse the inevitable explosion. He put his fingers over the child’s and guided his hand until the laces were tied in a floppy but recognizable bow. Starsky made an almost imperceptible gesture with his eyes, “see you can do it, how about trying the other?” The child silently took the second shoe and pulled it onto his foot. It took a minute or so but he managed to tie it himself. Starsky sat back and grinned broadly. The child sat silently next to him, as if he was waiting for the next move. Starsky sat quietly and waited. A small hand found his. “I forgot to ask you your name Lefty.”  The child smiled up at Starsky and said ‘David.” Starsky shook his hand and chuckled. “Guess what? That’s my name too; but my friends call me Starsky. Take your pick.”

 

 

Little David allowed Starsky to take him by the hand and led his new friend to his classroom. He pulled Starsky over to a chair and pulled out his pictures. Starsky looked at them. He’d seen something like this once before; a British artist, he couldn’t remember his name, who drew matchstick men in industrial scenery.  David’s pictures showed thousands of matchstick people swarming over fortresses or climbing trees.

Starsky was studying one of the pictures. The figures were all standing outside a high rise building and they all seemed to be facing the center of a circle. In the center of the circle a figure lay on the ground and the only color on the page was the small red patch by its head.

He looked up at David who was rocking back and forwards keening softly again.

“This is a great picture. Did you know that lots of the great artists are lefties like us?” The child stared at the picture.  Starsky put a finger under the little boy’s chin and raised his head so that he could look into his eyes. “Are you in the picture David?”

The child’s eyes flickered and he looked away. Gently, Starsky returned his face to center; “is this you, David?” He thought he already knew.  In the front of a group of figures one smaller figure seemed to be turning to one side, not looking at the figure on the ground. The child pointed to his self-portrait.

“What are you looking at?” This time the child made a gun with his fingers.

Starsky looked at the picture again. He traced a line from the figure on the ground to the child then followed the axis on the page. His finger stopped at one of the buildings on the edge of the page. David had clearly drawn a head at one of the windows; a woman with shoulder length hair.

“Thank you David.  May I borrow your picture? I promise to bring it back; but I need to show it to a friend of mine.”

“Yes.. lefty.” He started keening again.

 

 

David’s teacher had come out of the staff room in time to see a scruffily dressed man with the most unruly hair she’d seen in a long time go over to sit by little David Pierce. She witnessed the whole scene in spellbound silence. When he had joined her class six months earlier it took over a week for him to accept her enough to even acknowledge her presence and this stranger had broken through in less than five minutes.

She watched until the moment when little David spoke again and cleared her throat and the stranger looked round to see her standing there. He stood up and she made an effort not to stare at his skin tight jeans. He walked over and she had to remind herself to breathe. He had the bluest eyes she had ever seen; she pushed clichés about drowning in them out of her mind and said, “I’m David’s teacher. I’ve never seen him react like that with a stranger before. He’s autistic, and communication is never easy with children like him.  Are you a therapist?”

Starsky’s lopsided grin took its toll. “No, I’m a cop.”

“A cop?” She couldn’t disguise the amazement. She had done her studying at Berkeley in the late sixties – old attitudes die hard.

“Yes ma’am. Detective Sergeant Starsky at your service.” He bowed slightly and his grin spread across his face and into his eyes. “I came to see a kid who might have witnessed a shooting.”

“And you found him; you must be a good cop.” She couldn’t resist teasing him; his eyes sparkled and she wanted to see him smile again.

“Yeah…well that was kind of a fluke I guess.”

 “I was watching. I’ve…I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m his teacher.” She took the hand that was extended and shook it, “Terri Roberts.”

“Good morning Terri Roberts; may I have your ‘phone number?”

She stared at him. “I..uh…I …” This was ridiculous, she was tongue tied and behaving like a teenager; and all he wanted was information about David.

“OK.” She finally managed to get a word out. She wrote it on a page torn from her notebook and he put it his pocket.

Terri went back to the staff room. She joined her best friend Claire who was staring out of the window at Starsky as he walked back to his car. She appeared to be mesmerized by his distinctive slightly bow-legged-limping gait.

“Who is that man?” she said.

“His name’s Starsky and he’s a cop.”

“A cop?  What do I need to do to get arrested?” Claire laughed.

The two young women fell against one another giggling.  The Torino’s engine growled as Starsky drove off and they started laughing again; “my god, what kind of cop drives a car like that!” Claire exclaimed.

“A very sexy one.” Terri whispered.

 

 

******************

 

 

 

Chapter six.

 

Hutch woke up and immediately wished he hadn’t. His head weighed at least a ton and it felt like his eyes were glued together with some kind of industrial adhesive. He tried to sit up, but nausea pushed him back and he decided not to fight it. He groaned. He tried again. This time he managed to prise one eyelid open. The room was unfamiliar. Panic began to override reason as he remembered the way Forrest and his henchmen had reduced him to a gibbering junkie in the space of twenty four hours. He knew that he would be vulnerable to attacks like that for the rest of his life. And now he was trying desperately to work out who else could know. He forced himself to sit up and stared at his arms. The right arm was OK; now for the left. He wished he hadn’t looked; there it was: a tell-tale needle mark. He lay down again and another wave of nausea swept over him. He felt cold, but he knew that he wasn’t. He rolled over and reached for the bedside lamp. As he did so something fell to the floor. He leaned out of the bed to retrieve it; he fell out of the bed and his brain left the confines of his skull. He couldn’t stop the tears.

 

Somewhere in the room a voice was floating near the ceiling. The siren call of addiction drifted into his ears and settled in his brain. The nurse is wearing gloves. I need to remember this. I need to keep my brain with me. She is wearing gloves. So what? Nurses wear gloves don’t they. Yes but there is something wrong about hers…what is it?

 

As the room swung in and out of focus he located the ‘phone. It was on a table by the bed; the other side of the bed. A thousand miles away; it was going to be a long crawl to freedom. The effort was too much for him and he fell back into his stupor.

 

He dreamed of gloves.

 

 

*******************************

 

Starsky looked at his watch. He had things to do; and dammit, if Hutch was going to play hooky so was he. He had come to an arrangement with the owner of the new house that he could start to move in and do the work he wanted before the final papers were signed.

This meant that he had already given his notice to move out of his apartment and the deadline was this weekend unless he wanted to pay another month’s rent and he couldn’t do that once the mortgage repayments started. He had already arranged to rent a U-haul.  He didn’t want to leave the Torino at the U-haul depot so he drove over to the lot. Harvey and Al weren’t there but Rosa offered to drive him to the depot.

“Why isn’t Hutch doing this Davey?”

“Because he doesn’t know yet.”

His aunt glanced at him, “why not?”

“I dunno; I guess it has something to do with how he’ll react. See he doesn’t have the savings I have…and then there’s his ex-wife. He doesn’t have to pay her alimony but she pretty well cleaned him out with the divorce.”

Rosa wasn’t a car dealer’s wife for nothing; she shook her head, “well that explains his dreadful cars!”

There was more. “And, well it’s kinda hard to explain, but this will be the first place that really is mine. I can decorate it how I want to and….” He hesitated, “I’m sorry Aunt Rosa, that wasn’t meant to sound ungrateful.”

“Davey, you were thirteen, you wouldn’t have been able to make your room all your own if you’d stayed with your mom either.”

“I know…I…” tears burned his eyelids when he remembered how kind and gentle his aunt and uncle had been with the rebellious and unhappy kid they’d sheltered. She put a hand on his thigh. “I love you; your mom loves you and, sweetheart, we know how much you love us. That’s all that matters Davey.”

“Yeah.” He blinked and watched the traffic as they drove to the depot.

“Call when you return the truck and one of us will come to get you.”

He kissed her and walked into the office to sign the papers.

 

 

He parked the truck at the bottom of the steps and climbed up to his apartment.  The boxes were everywhere now. All that was left to pack was the stuff he’d used for breakfast, a few clothes and his wash-bag. He filled the last box and stuffed the last of his belongings into his old army duffle. It took an hour to get everything into the truck.  All he needed to do was come back and give the place a good clean before handing the keys back to the owner. That could wait a day or two.

 

The new house was in a leafy dead end off one of the canyons that led away from the city and into the surprisingly unspoiled outskirts. The street was on a rise and the house was in a bend about halfway along it. Starsky had spotted it one day when he and Hutch were called to a body found in an arroyo a little further up the canyon. He had to turn the Torino to return to the city and saw the realtor’s board in the rearview as he did so. Later that day he drove by again and noted the realtor’s name. He went straight to the office, convinced that the house would be beyond his budget but curious to see what it was like anyway.  The price was fine and the realtor agreed to a visit there and then. Starsky fell in love with it the moment he walked through the front door with its little window that meant he would be able to see who was calling, before they saw him. A huge eucalyptus tree grew in front of it giving the impression of a tree house; and when he was a kid Starsky had always dreamed of having a tree house. Even a tree to climb would have been nice. Later he had spent more time in precarious tree perches than he cared to remember and that had contributed to his fear of heights. This was just fine, though. The deck at the back looked out over the valley and he could see the lights and hear the hum of the traffic on the freeway. It was perfect. The owner didn’t live there and the house had been rented out for a while; it needed work and Starsky managed to talk the price down a little; he was looking forward to doing the work himself. The owner was happy with that and as soon as the bank agreed his loan Starsky signed the initial papers. He still didn’t know how he’d managed to keep the secret from everyone but his family; but he had. The sale would be finalized on Wednesday; the house already felt like home.

He unloaded the U-haul and left most of the stuff in the garage below the house. He had already set up a chute from the bathroom down to the laundry area. Once he had finished arranging everything there would be plenty of space for the Torino and a shop area where he could work on his latest renovation project. He touched the tarpaulin covering it as he walked past and promised himself that as soon as this case was over he’d start work on it.

 

In the kitchen, the light trailing through the window flickered with the reflections of the leaves on the trees that surrounded the house; Starsky stood and breathed in the feel of the place. It was his house, it didn’t belong to anyone else, well OK he had a mortgage but he had an insurance policy that would take care of that if…no he wasn’t going to think about that possibility; not now.  For so many years the sounds of silence had scared him. He grew up with the noise of the city and the first true silence he knew was a terrifying split second as if someone had thrown a big switch and cut the sounds of everything else around him. A silence shattered by the single shot in an alley; or by the staccato chatter of machine guns and sniper fire.  He’d split that silence more than once in his life but it didn’t make it any easier to live with the echoes. But this was different; the silence wasn’t total; the highway whispered to him in the distance; cars drove along the canyon, dogs barked and birds sang in the trees. It was perfect.

He got to work; he fitted the shade in place and set out his paints and brushes. He worked for an hour, not noticing the time go by. He found the box with groceries and put together a potluck meal of saltines and canned tuna and chocolate chip cookies washed down with a beer. He looked at his watch. He had four hours before the truck would cost him another day’s rental.

Huggy and Harvey appeared thirty minutes later. The three of them worked quickly, they had been a team since they were kids. There wasn’t much furniture; Starsky’s beloved peacock chair took pride of place by the rough-hewn wooden cabinet where he kept his modeling equipment. They arranged his eclectic collection of ornaments and objects in the available surfaces – but many stayed in the boxes. Starsky took out his grandmother’s old Menorah and placed it carefully on a small table by the window; he stood back and looked at it for a moment. It had come a long way from Europe to here.

Huggy was in the kitchen making them a well-earned pot of coffee. He whistled, “Starsky you’re not Chagall but man that’s pretty.”

“Shag all, not a bad nickname for my cousin,” Harvey winked

Starsky threw a cushion at him.

 

They returned the truck to U-haul with fifteen minutes to spare. Tired, with aching backs and limbs, they returned to the house. Huggy and Harvey left Starsky to finish settling himself into his new home.

“I didn’t see the horse.” Huggy said as they walked to their cars.

“It’s there someplace.”

“Do you think he’ll ever get rid of it?”

“I don’t know; but if he does he’s gonna need all our love and support.”

“Yes.”

Starsky watched them drive away before he slipped down to the garage and pulled out the old rocking horse. He tugged at its mane and sat on its back; tears streamed down his cheeks. He couldn’t leave everything behind….not yet.

 

 

*********************************

 

When Hutch woke he was relieved to find Shanda sitting up in bed beside him. She was stroking his forehead; “you were having a nightmare Ken, is anything wrong?”

“My head feels bad. I don’t remember drinking much last night but I guess I did.”

She smiled down at him stroked his face again. “Well it certainly didn’t inhibit your performance.” She straddled him and let her hair hang down over his face. “I know a good cure for a headache.” She began to move her hips and he felt his cock harden beneath her. She leaned down and ran her tongue round his navel then darted the tip into it making it tingle. He pulled her down and took a nipple in his mouth, sucking and kissing as he did. His cock came to its full length and she guided him into her. He took refuge in her and tuned her to ride to his climax. She came in perfect synchrony with him. Lying together they shared a cigarette and Hutch raised himself on one arm to look at her face again. “I wouldn’t have believed it, but whoever told you about that cure was right!”

She followed him to the bathroom. He was going to take a shower but Shanda had a better idea; they made love on the bathmat while the tub filled with scented foam.

Shanda left him in the bathroom to shave. He wrapped himself in one of the thick terry hotel robes and wiped the last specks of lather off his upper lip before joining her in the bedroom.

Shanda was replacing the ‘phone as he walked in. “I hope you were ordering breakfast.”

Was it guilt? The expression in her eyes was strange. “No, I had to make a business call. I’m here to work, remember!”

“Yes. Do you have to be somewhere?”

“No, I was just checking my messages.”

Room service provided complimentary newspapers with breakfast. Hutch picked one up and stared at the headline. “Looks like I have to go back to work.” He said folding the page to show the photo of Delorio’s body on the sidewalk outside his house. Then he saw the gun.

 

“Shanda?”

Dammit she’s smiling

“Shanda, be careful with that thing.”

Now I sound like an idiot!

“Don’t worry, Ken, I know how to handle this.” She released the safety catch and tightened her grip on the handle.

Hutch sat transfixed. He was still groggy from whatever had given him nightmares; or maybe it was just après-sex; the lethargic reawakening after an orgasm.

He had no idea if he had only just woken from that sleep or if time had moved on without him.

Either this was a new game in her sexual panoply and the gun was empty or, no he didn’t even want to think about that possibility.  He decided to try to laugh it off; bluff his way through.

“OK, if that’s what turns you on.”

“Turn me on? Oh it used to, you know, at first, the feel of the gun in my hand and the power of the kick when it fired; but now,” she cupped her left hand under the right to steady the gun, “now, I guess it’s like any other job.”

Slow realization spread across Hutch’s face; he hoped he didn’t look as sick as he felt. He was staring at the barrel of his own Colt Python and Shanda was not playing games.

She sat back in the chair, the gun still aimed at his heart.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to get to this. Oh sure screwing with you was fun; for old times’ sake but that’s all. Does that hurt? Does that offend your masculine pride? Or maybe you thought I was just doing what comes naturally.  Like mother like daughter? Is that what you thought? When you saw my fancy clothes and the hotel I’m staying in.  It’s a reversal isn’t it? Here we are in my expensive hotel suite that probably costs more per night than you earn in a week. So what did you think? How did you think I earned all this money that you don’t have?”

 

Hutch couldn’t help it, he blushed. It was true; he had jumped to a conclusion about her apparent wealth. He tried to stammer an excuse but his tongue was paralyzed with fear.

 

“I was telling you the truth when I said I studied. Oh I had some very good teachers; the best.

You should ask your partner sometime; he had the same teacher, only back then Mac was in the Army. Mac called me when he saw the news about Hanson, warned me that one of the cops on the case was the best pupil he ever had. I couldn’t believe my luck; the best ticket out of here I have is using you to keep your partner off my back.”

Hutch rubbed a hand over his face. “How to you intend to use me then?”

“Finish it Ken….’as if I haven’t been used enough’…isn’t that what you were thinking? Well you haven’t been used enough, not yet. I have a few other issues to even out before I let you go.”

“You can’t blame me for what my father did?”

“No of course not, Ken. But I can punish you for dropping me like a good daddy’s boy. On the other hand I had some fun with Jack and he could give me things even you couldn’t afford.”

Hurt rushed through Hutch’s arteries, hit his brain and ran away to his heart. “I didn’t want to drop you; I wanted you. But he..he…,” he couldn’t admit to it all, “threatened me; he said he’d send me away.”

“And you couldn’t bear the thought of that could you?  I guess you’ve learned a little courage now you’re a cop. Let’s see if you have.”

She aimed the gun carefully and Hutch didn’t need to calculate to know that she was targeting his head. He wanted to duck but pride, and the knowledge that if she needed him as a hostage she needed him alive, stopped him. She moved the gun slightly and the world stood still.

 

 

*********************************

 

 

 

Starsky left the rocking horse in the garage and went back up to his new house. He arranged the bathroom and took a shower before collapsing onto the bed. The ‘phone woke him at seven the next morning. Dobey’s was growling before Starsky had a chance to say hello.

“I’m on my way Captain….no I hadn’t forgotten the case…” he sighed, “Tell you the truth Captain, I was moving house all weekend…Yeah…of course I’ll give the address to personnel…I just didn’t want to tell anyone until I was in here….no I haven’t heard from him…” He managed to hold the phone between his ear and shoulder as he struggled into his clothes.  “Give me time to shave, OK?”

 

Forty minutes later he was in Ryan’s office.

“When did you last see you partner Starsky?” The Chief of Detectives looked more worried than annoyed.

“Uh...Wednesday evening when we left here.”

Ryan’s face was a picture, a confusion of annoyance and worry. “Don’t tell me you two have had a fight!”

“No, hey …” Ryan cut him off. “I’m just trying to work out why you aren’t worried about your partner if you haven’t seen him for four days.”

Starsky sat back in his chair, pressed his fingers together and stared at the ceiling. “We don’t live together Chief, I’m not his guardian.”

“No, but, I you are the senior member of the team; and your partner is AWOL.” Ryan smiled. “I know you both cover each other when there’s a girl in the picture but after the last time.”

Starsky stopped staring at the ceiling and turned fiery eyes on his boss. “You think I’m not worried. I went over to his place and he wasn’t there. The only thing that made me feel better is that he’s got his gun with him this time. Sure I’m worried, but I had things to do this weekend.”

“So I heard from Dobey.  Look Starsky, find Hutch and get this case cleared will you. I have the Mayor on my back because a sniper took out two showbiz names and I have the gossip press hounding me for snippets of anything I can give them.” He relaxed a little. “So what do you have?  I heard you charmed the kid and his teacher.”

 

“The kid drew me a picture of a woman at a window; the thing is Chief, the window was a direct line to the body he’d drawn on the ground. I went back there and checked it out. It’s the empty office they found the glove in and no-one saw or heard anything. I’m going back there today to see if anyone else can remember anything.”

“Let Dobey know what you have as soon as you get it.”

“Yes sir.” Starsky stood up to attention and flipped a half salute.

“Get out of here!”

 

 

He drove to the building in the business area where the little David’s window was located. The woman at the desk was in her mid-thirties and looked like the type who didn’t miss a thing. Starsky showed his badge and explained why he was there. “That was so awful. I had last week off and I’m glad I wasn’t here; I mean we could all have been in danger with a killer on the loose.”

She excused herself and turned her attention to a young man who was standing beside Starsky. Starsky listened as she gave him a set of keys. “Be sure to bring them back as soon as you and your client have finished.” He watched the young man go over to another man waiting by the elevators.

“That man, who was he?”

“That’s John Gainsborough, he’s a real estate agent. That’s the third client he’s had for the offices on this building.”

Starsky had a sudden inspiration. “Does he handle all the space for rent here?”

“Yes... Now you come to ask me, he took a lady to see the offices that the police say the sniper was in; let me see, it must have been the Friday before, yes it was Friday because I had to stay a little late to let them out”

“Thank you.”  Starsky almost skipped over to the waiting area and settled into a comfortable chair to wait for Gainsborough to reappear.

Half an hour later the realtor returned to the lobby with his client. They talked for a while and shook hands and the client left. Gainsborough went to give back the key and chat with the receptionist. He turned to look at Starsky and walked over to him.

 

“Carrie says you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yes, she said you showed a young woman the office up on the sixth floor last week. Can you describe her?”

“Sure. She was in her mid thirties, blonde, shoulder length hair, nice blue eyes and very expensively dressed.”

“I’d like you to come and see if we can make a portrait up.”

“OK, I have an appointment right now but I can come along straight after. Where do I go?”

“Parker Center, ask for me at the desk; my name’s Starsky.”

 

John Gainsborough followed Starsky into the squad room and whistled. “Wow, just like the TV.” Starsky shook his head. “Not really, it takes us more than forty minutes to solve things.” He showed Gainsborough to his desk and opened the ID kit. They worked for about ten minutes and Starsky slowly put together a portrait. “Are you sure that’s her?”

“Definitely; I was thinking about her on the way over here. I remember what she was wearing.”

I’ll bet you were; and wondering how she would look without the clothes

“Go ahead.”

“I recognized it because my wife was drooling over it in a magazine the other day; when I saw the price tag I nearly fell off the chair. I could buy myself two or three suits for that.”

He went on to describe it in detail and Starsky took notes.

“Thank you, Mr. Gainsborough; where can I contact you if I need to check anything else?”

Gainsborough gave him his card.

 

Starsky sat and stared at the portrait that he’d built with the kit by matching eyes and eyebrows, noses, mouths and hair until Gainsborough was sure of what he’d seen. The woman’s face seemed familiar and it was nagging at the back of his brain. He decided to kill two birds with one stone and go see Huggy; maybe The Bear had news of Hutch.

 

In the car he understood what it was about her – she reminded him of Hutch.

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

 

“I haven’t seen him since you were both here last week.” Huggy said while he wiped a glass. “I think he decided to call the lady who left her number for him. Man that was one classy chick.”

Starsky perched on a stool and drained his beer. “You got a better view of her than I did. I thought Hutch was hallucinating when he said he’d seen a woman he thought he knew.”

“She was there all right; I wondered why she was here, kind of slumming, then she focused on Hutch and I knew she was expecting him to be here.”

“Can you describe her?”

“Blonde, around our age, pretty.”

Starsky put the portrait on the bar.

 “That’s her! Hey….”

But Starsky was already half way up the stairs.

 

 

Starsky sat in the Torino and thought for a moment. The woman had known that Hutch would be there. How? She was someone Hutch thought he knew. Who? But most of all, why was she looking for him? A horrible thought came to him; she needed him. He grabbed the radio.

“This is Zebra Three patch me through to Captain Dobey please.”  Within seconds Dobey’s voice seemed to fill the car. “What is it Starsky?”

“I think Hutch is in danger. I got a description of a woman who might be the killer. And I think Hutch is with her.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know, Captain.  What I do know is that the lady seems to have money; I’m going to start checking the best hotels.”

“I’ll put an APB on Hutch; give me a description of the woman too in case they are together.”

Starsky told Dobey what he had. He had to decide where to start. There were three areas where the hotels were expensive and he was pretty sure that this woman was vain enough to need that kind of place to stay. He pressed the button on the microphone again. “Captain, are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to check out the hotels in the business area but we need someone to check the other high class areas.” Dobey said he’d deal with it and Starsky replaced the mike. He drew a goose egg at the first two hotels but in the third the car valet remembered seeing Hutch. “With a car like that heap I couldn’t forget him. He was here a couple of days ago.  I don’t know where he was going but I had to park that thing next to a couple of Rollers and a Merc and my boss nearly had a fit.” Starsky thanked him with a ten and ran inside.

The concierge remembered Hutch too; and the room number. “But the lady checked out the next morning.”

Although he was sure it was a waste of time, Starsky asked the obvious questions. She paid cash and somehow he didn’t believe that Susan Taragon was her real name. He was about to leave when he saw the camera.  “I don’t suppose that thing works on tapes.”

“Yes it does; we keep them for a week in case of bounced checks. You never know with people these days.” He called the security office and within minutes Starsky was sitting watching the tape with the concierge.

“That’s her.”

 

It took a couple for hours for the lab to freeze the frame and get a good photo from it; while he was waiting Starsky typed up reports and tried to forget that his partner was probably canoodling with a killer. As soon as he had the photo he hit the streets again.

 

 

 

*************************

 

The bleeding had stopped but he felt light headed and weak.  His arm felt raw where the bullet had nicked the flesh enough to cause a messy wound; but not enough to do lasting damage.

“Now do you believe me when I told you that I’m good at what I do? That hurts; but not as much as it would have done if I’d gone for the muscle.”

He drew a breath, prepared himself to mock her; but the expression on her face told him to keep quiet.

 

Shanda threw him his pants and shirt.

“Get dressed, hero, unless you want the world to see you in all your glory.”

Slowly, painfully, he pulled on his clothes. “Do I get my shoes?”

She picked them up and put pushed them into the top of the leather hold-all that she was using as a purse.

“Not yet, I don’t want you getting ideas about running away. She stood close behind him now and the barrel of the gun, his gun, pressed against a kidney. If she pulled the trigger now it wouldn’t be a question of skill; just an explosion in his back and the end. He staggered forward and she grabbed his arm and dug her fingers into the wound beneath the rudimentary bandage she’d made with a hotel napkin.

 

They walked out in to the hallway; Hutch’s senses were over stimulated by the pain in his arm and still muted by whatever it was she had drugged him with the night before. The carpet felt like cotton candy under his feet. The lighting dazzled his weary brain. The elevator’s bell rang and echoed through the cavities of his ears, ricocheting from the ear drum and rattling tiny bones inside. Each movement sent a wave of nausea and unidentifiable pain through his body. He trudged forward, obedient, cowed.

 

For Hutch the elevator’s descent was like the plunge to the bowels of the earth. He was Orpheus and his Eurydice was dragging him down with her. Orpheus, Morpheus, what the hell.  His brain giggled.

Shanda pushed him on, out of the elevator and to a car parked close by. “Get in; you’re driving.”

He obeyed, his injured arm hung by his side now; he gripped the wheel with his good hand and waited obediently for her to settle in the seat beside him. She gave him back his shoes.

“Drive to your place.” The gun was on her lap; pointing at his crotch.

He accelerated and the car burst out of the garage and into the daylight.  For a moment he was blinded by the sun; he calculated whether or not it was worth crashing the car to escape; but the barrel of the gun touched his zipper and he resigned himself to doing as she instructed.

**************************

 

 

Starsky parked under the entrance awning of the third hotel on his list. The concierge recognized the picture. Starsky showed him a photo of Hutch. “Suite Fourteen; I thought they were on their honeymoon. The young lady went out for a while yesterday; she was out for a few hours.”

“Did she have anything with her when she left?”                                                                          

“A bag from one of the stores on Rodeo; I think maybe she was returning a dress.”

Starsky doubted that. “Are they up there now?”

“As far as I know.”

“Call the suite and find out.”

The call went unanswered.

 

Starsky ran out into the street in time to see a silver convertible drive out of the garage at high speed; he caught a glimpse of a familiar blond head and ran to the Torino.

 

“This is Zebra three; I’m in pursuit of a silver convertible, a Mercedes, probably a ’73 model. No other units to follow. Repeat, no other units to follow. Keep your distance all of you. An officer’s life may be in danger.” He gave his position and left the radio open and continued to tail the convertible while keeping up a running commentary of where he was.

When he understood where it was going he dropped back and took a short cut.

 

The radio hissed and Dobey came on line. “Starsky  what’s going on?”

“I’m tailing the killer; she has Hutch with her.”

“We just had a call. A man who would only identify himself as Mac; said you know him. He’s still on line”

“I know him.” He tried to keep it as neutral as he could. Mac was the army trainer who turned the conscript Private Starsky into an elite sharpshooter. Starsky wondered why he was making contact now.

“Patch him through. And Captain, you’d better listen in.”

“Starsky?” Mac’s flat Boston-Irish voice hadn’t changed much.

“I’m listening Mac.”

“The woman you are following is Shanda Travis.”

“How do you know her Mac?”

“How do you think? Listen to me. She’s good,” he laughed the coughing phlegmy tones of a hardened smoker, “the second best pupil I ever had.”

“Who was the best Mac?”

“I’m talking to him. Listen to me Starsky. You need to know what you’re up against. You’ll have the advantage over her when it comes to a showdown.”

“I will?”

“You will; take your time when you have her in your sights…that’s her weakness; she strings it out too long.”

Starsky swung the car into a left turn. “How did she get to you?”

“I work freelance these days, Starsky. Don’t ask me to tell you more than that. She is a killer and she has an agenda all her own. The mob wanted Delorio removed; he was embezzling and dealing on the side. She took the job because it gave her the chance to lure her real prey into her web.”

Dobey cut in. “What about Hanson?”

“I think that was just to get the attention she wanted. She told me she was looking for a cop in the city too.”

Starsky slowed the car; he needed to bide his time and let them get there. 

“Mac; why don’t you tell Dobey the story. I’ll deal with Shanda Travis.” He killed the radio and pulled over to park around the block where he couldn’t be seen by the couple in the convertible when it arrived at its destination.

 

************************  

 

Hutch drove carefully; the menace of the muzzle pressing against his zipper saw to that. He made a quick decision and drove ‘home.’ As he took a right he thought he saw the flash of red in the mirror.  He pulled up in front of the house and switched off the engine.

“Here we are; it’s not much but it is home.”

Shanda opened her door. “Don’t try to be a hero, Ken; get out and walk round to where I have you in front of me.” He obeyed, aware that the gun was following him round the front of the car. “Let’s go in, shall we?”

Hutch led her up the steps. He found the key in its familiar place and opened the door.

 

Hutch stared at the empty apartment. Shanda followed close behind and pushed the gun hard against his back.

“Are you moving out or in, Ken?”

Hutch was too stunned to answer.

“Or maybe this isn’t your apartment.” Her footsteps echoed in the empty room.  “She turned and it looked like she was snarling. The gun was steady in her hand and she was pointing it at his leg.

He didn’t know what to say and he didn’t dare open his mouth because he knew that his stammer would return to betray his confusion. What the heck was happening? He knew that Starsky was prone to having whirlwind cleaning sessions but he’d never heard of anyone removing everything to do that. The trigger clicked back and the report of the shot stunned him almost as much as the pain that seared through his thigh. “Another flesh wound Ken. Take it as a warning.”

“A warning of what?”

“Of what will happen to you if this is a trap.”

“H-h-how c-c-could it b-b-be a t-t-trap?” He struggled to get the words past the barrier of pain that was closing down his brain. “I-I didn’t…I couldn’t…I-I-I-….” He slumped to the floor.

Shanda walked over to him stood above him.

“I’m beginning to enjoy this. There are so many things you still don’t understand aren’t there?”

 

****************************

 

 

Starsky heard the shot; everyone in the street probably heard it. He waited to see doors and windows open but nothing happened. Maybe people watched too much TV these days and imagined pitched gun battles in every street. Whatever the reason, it was better that the neighbors stayed where they were. He closed the car door with a gentle clunk and ran to the house.  He hesitated at the bottom of the steps and listened; Shanda was talking in a low voice and Hutch wasn’t so much replying as moaning. Moving like a cat on his rubber-soled shoes Starsky darted up the steps, hoping that she wouldn’t see his reflection in a window. He leaned against the wall; gun primed and ready, and moved forward enough to look into the room. Hutch was lying on the floor holding his leg and moaning in pain.  Starsky saw the dark stain on his sleeve and the slightly brighter red that was spreading in the denim of his jeans. Two bullets; and she knows just how to use them. Shanda was standing over him.

 

He strained to hear her monologue; he couldn’t, but the expression on Hutch’s face was changing from one of physical pain to one of mental torment. Whatever she was saying was personal and cruel.

 

***********************

 

 

 

“Why did you come here?” Hutch was concentrating on keeping conscious – alive.

“I came here to do a job; my job. Good God Ken, haven’t you understood yet?”

He pulled himself back from the darkness and tried again. He couldn’t hear his own voice but she was answering so the words must be making sense.

“Hanson? Why?”

“Hanson was to attract attention, and to detract it from my real targets….both of them.”

“Me? Starsky? Why?”

“Not your partner, he’s not important and I hope he doesn’t get in the way. No I wanted you and the people paying me wanted Delorio. Two birds with one stone.” She laughed.

“Why me?”

“Why you?  Because of everything you had that I didn’t! Because of everything my mother had to go through at his hands. Because of everything he did to me too.”

“You? He…”

“You are still sweet innocent Kenny aren’t you? I don’t believe it. I thought you were the tough city cop and you’re still too slow to get it all. OK if I have to spell it out to you where shall I begin.”

 

“The beginning’s nice.”

 

Hutch wanted to cry at the sound of Starsky’s voice.  Shanda turned in a flash and brought her gun to level at Starsky’ s head.

“Mac tells me you were his second best pupil. I guess I don’t have to tell you who you came second to.”

She hissed and moved so that he couldn’t get a shot at her without risking Hutch.

“Very good; I see you learned your lessons well.”

“Try it.”

“I’m not dumb.” He stepped into the room and leaned against the wall; his gun was still steady in his hand. “Why don’t you finish your story, we’re listening.”

 

She sneered. “I wonder if you really want to hear it.”

Hutch nodded in silence. He knew he had to hear it; he needed to hear it and know where her hatred came from.

“Anything that will tell me more about Hutch is worth listening to.” Starsky said quietly. He glanced at Hutch and their eyes met. Hutch took the comforting reassurance offered and tried to sit up. The pain in his leg was too much and he slumped again.

 

“OK, now where was I? Oh yes. I already told Ken how it was his dad raped my mom and used her whenever he needed to get away from that cold bitch of a wife. He didn’t just fuck her Ken; he beat her.” Hutch flinched and she saw it.

“Oh, just like at home, huh?” He nodded again and Starsky’s heart went out to him.

“So anyway he used my mom and he used me. Then he found out about us. He came and threw the money in mom’s face. That’s when she told me the rest of the story.” She paused and turned to look at Starsky. He was still standing motionless with his gun aimed at her heart. Biding his time; waiting for the moment when she moved to a safer spot.

“Do you want me to go on?”

“Yes.” It was almost a plea. Hutch needed to know now. He needed to understand.

“Go on.” Starsky’s voice was cold.

 

She was enjoying herself now. The moment of revenge that she had dreamed of since that day when she was seventeen and forced to leave everything she knew to go and live in an anonymous city. She resented it at first; and then she nursed her hatred and learned her skills and how to sell them to the highest bidder. She caught up with Hutch when she saw him on the TV coming out of a court room after testifying for his partner. She started to make it known that she was available for a Bay City job; and when the offer came through she was ready to go.

 

“At first I didn’t want to hurt you; just him. Then I understood that I could hurt him best through you. First I thought about telling you the truth so that you could throw it in his face; but then I decided to get you both.  You let me down, Ken. You stayed away when he told you to and you didn’t even ask why.” She shifted her weight and Starsky drew a bead but the line was still too risky for Hutch.

“So now you are wondering what my mom told me aren’t you? You said that when your mom told him about us he went white.  Of course he did. Your mom isn’t dumb Ken. She knew what he was doing. She knew what dirty little secrets he kept over on the wrong side of town. She also knew that as long as he was seeing my mom she was safe from him. I’ll bet after we left she started using heavier makeup.”

Again, Hutch nodded in shame and misery.

“Don’t you have any idea why he didn’t want us to see each other? Look at me Ken.”

Jack’s words came back to him. He felt sick.

Starsky understood too.

 

“So now we have done exactly what he was scared of.  Are you going to tell him if I let you live? I doubt it, because you are too ashamed aren’t you?”

 

Hutch summoned up all the strength he had left and grabbed her ankle; she staggered and managed to stamp on his hand with her heel. His cry of pain sounded like an animal in a trap. She looked down at him in disdain. “You can’t even bring me down. But I’ve brought you down haven’t I? Will you ever be able to look yourself in the face again?”

 

This time he managed to swing his good leg and push her over. She teetered and had to step forward to stop herself from falling.

Starsky saw his line and fired.

 

She fell across Hutch and he lay there staring at her sightless eyes. He was weeping and retching at the same time.

Starsky came over and pulled Shanda’s body off her brother’s. He held Hutch’s head in his hands and turned his face towards his own. “Look at me Hutch. Look me in the eye.”

Hutch to avoid his partner’s hypnotic gaze but he couldn’t resist.

“Look me in the eye and listen. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. You did nothing wrong.”

A sob ripped its way out of Hutch’s throat; a raw howl.

“Sssh. Listen to me.  No-one needs to know about who she was. She was a hired killer; that’s all.”

Starsky shook his head and smiled lovingly at his partner. “I don’t know what we can do about it but you have a lousy taste in women.” Hutch passed out and Starsky made him a pillow with his jacket.

He walked over to the ‘phone, relieved that he hadn’t arranged for the disconnection yet.

“I need an ambulance and a coroner’s vehicle.” He gave his address. The dispatcher said “isn’t that your address Starsky?”

“Not anymore.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

EPILOG

 

 He said “I’m having a house-warming party; I hope you can come.”

“With pleasure.” She replied.

 

***************

 

 

The house was filling with friends come to celebrate.  Hutch was hobbling around admiring the new house. “I can’t get over it Starsk. You in a place like this.  The rent must be pretty steep in a neighborhood like this.”

Starsky shook his head. He had to tell Hutch sometime: “no rent; a mortgage and it’s within my limits.” Hutch nearly swallowed the bottle. “You bought this house?”

“Yeah. I figured it was time I started to make an effort to settle down.”

“Next thing you’ll be telling me is that you’ve found the woman of your dreams.” He went out to admire the view from the deck.

The doorbell rang and right on cue Terri Roberts walked into the room. Starsky went over to her and welcomed her in. He kissed her and she smiled up at him.

Starsky escorted her onto the deck. “Hutch; this is Terri.”

Hutch didn’t need to say anything; he understood.

 

Harvey and Huggy stood either side of the rocking horse in the corner of Starsky’s bedroom. Harvey patted its mane “look like you might be moving to fresh pastures soon.”

The two friends smiled at one another and went back to join the party.

 

 

*****************************

 

THE END IS JUST A BEGINNING.