A Matter of Perception

688

Two new Bay City Police Recruits butt heads, yet come together when solving a murder that washes up on Officer Hutchinson’s front door.

 

A little tweaking is done with Colby’s claim that they were the ‘Three Corsicans’ in the Academy.

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Prologue—September, 1966

The imposing red brick building loomed down over Ken Hutchinson as he stood contemplating the big change his life was about to make. All around him was the chatter and excitement of others as they entered the building. All for the same purpose. They were all beginning a new phase of their lives.

And he felt, not quite insignificant, but small. Just a blip of humanity. And he wondered if Vanessa was right. That this was just another short detour in his currently aimless life, and that he’d be soon running back to Daddy for a more stable—and boring—job.

But only for a few seconds. Drawing himself up tall, ‘Hutch’ —the nickname his high school friends gave him had stuck—strode with confidence up the walkway and through the door, to meet his fate.

And almost walked right back out before the day was over.

Wandering through the hall to the main lecture room, where they would be welcomed, Hutch was appalled and dismayed at the level of juvenile behavior from some of his classmates-to-be.

Most of them were loud, raucous, making crude jokes and derisive comments about the few women recruits that lingered quietly on the sidelines.

One in particular stuck out as especially obnoxious. He was almost as tall as Hutch and appeared to be the same age, with short-cropped hair of the style that could only be military. He was surrounded by other recruits who looked much younger and were hanging onto whatever he said. And by the looks that came his own way, and the laughter that followed him down the hall, Hutch was pretty sure some of those comments were about him.

By the end of the day he discovered most of his assumptions were correct.
Not only was Recruit David M. Starsky—the recruit with the military cut—his own age, he was also ex-Army. Not to mention sexist toward women, obnoxious, and loud. A throwback to the old style of cops who were big on brawn and little else.

The kind that shouldn’t be allowed to wear a badge in this enlightened age.

Every time Recruit Starsky opened his mouth, Hutch seemed to correct his speech or his facts, or question his knowledge, without realizing how it appeared to the other man.

Hutchinson couldn’t help it, the man set his teeth on edge. Just keep it together for three months. Then you’ll rarely—if ever—see the man again.

For example, in their Animal Control course, Recruit Starsky was kept throwing up “what if” scenarios and questions to their course leader. “But what if one of them big, wild cats come down from the mountains in search of food? Or just for the heck of it? How can we be sure that the tranquilizer contains the right amount? And how many do the precincts keep handy? What if a human accidentally gets shot?”

Exasperated, Hutchinson mumbled, “What if we test it on you first, Mouth? Maybe you can pause enough for the Lieutenant to answer at least one of your questions.”

Starsky whipped his head around and bore flashing blue eyes into his adversaries’. “You know, I think we should test it on you, Blondie. You sure move slow and clumsy on the field course, like one of those big, dumb cats.”

When some of Recruit Starsky’s cronies chuckled in laughter, Lt. Brown curtailed the teasing and answered the recruit’s questions, one at a time.

~*~

His day began early for Starsky. Unable to sleep much due to excitement, he was wired and anxious to get this long-awaited day, begun.

As long as he could remember, all Starsky wanted to do was be a cop. Not just any cop, but an undercover detective. With all the challenges and exhilaration that came along with the job.

Even Johnny, the police officer who lived next door from where he grew up in California, felt that job would be a good fit for him, with his boundless energy, curiosity, and intelligence.

Johnny would know because he was a homicide detective with the LAPD, where Starsky hoped someday to find a job, too. And not just a job, but a career.

Starsky didn’t know anyone else entering this class of recruits, but that never stopped him from making friends easily and quickly. He prided himself on having an open personality and charm; someone people naturally gravitated toward. He figured that would help him in his new role.

Unlike the stuck-up looking blond that just walked by with his airs. “College Pretty Boy,” he mumbled under his breath as the tall man walked by. The other recruits around him laughed as they watched the other man stride with a back so straight it could be used as a level. Only someone with college credits under his belt could sneer like that.

By the end of the day Starsky discovered most of his assumptions were correct.

Not only was Recruit Ken Hutchinson —College Boy— the same age as Starsky, but he was a college graduate with a year of law school under his belt, and had an arrogant way of constantly correcting people, especially him. It made the college man appear haughty and indifferent to his other classmates.
Starsky knew that could be deadly, if he didn’t get over it. Communication was everything between cops, and considering the streets he planned on patrolling, earning the trust and respect of the worn down and trod upon, was all-important.

First, Hutchinson made some crack about Starsky’s motor-mouth, which he admitted he could be prone to. However, that didn’t give the College Boy the right to make fun of him.

He gave it right back to the snooty blond, though. Starsky prided himself on being tops in the physical fitness and marksmanship courses. And if he struggled a bit in the more mundane—and boring—courses, well, he and his new buddies would help each other out.

Starsky would bet that College Boy hadn’t made such close relationships. The man set his teeth on edge. “He’ll probably wash out. Too damn overly confident and self-important,” he told his pals.

~*~

Slowly, Hutch opened up to his roommate—an intelligent, jovial guy his age by the name of John Colby.

Colby was always after him to join up after classes for a drink—or three.

Thankfully, they were so busy with coursework and training, that there was little time for horsing around or socializing

“Come on Hutch. It’ll be fun.” He leaned closer. “The chicks, they dig a uniform. Even if we can’t wear it outside this place. Man, I get my pick of the litter every night; if you get my drift.” His roommate said conspiratorially.

“True. I get your drift, Colby, but I’m still married, remember? And even though Van’s not happy with me right now, I try to spend as much time as I can with her.”

“Not happy? You told me she wanted a divorce.”

“Yes.” Hutch responded, slowly. “But I want to work on the marriage. Maybe I can get her to change her mind.”

Colby winked. “I get it. She’s going through one of those female tiffs. Can’t say as I blame you, for wanting to make it work. She is one hot broad.”

“Well, I’m off. I’ll see you later tonight.” Colby waved gaily.

Finally, after two months of much cajoling, Hutch decided one Thursday night to go out with Colby. I’m not having much luck with Vanessa anyway.

“Great! Wanna introduce you to one of the best shots in intake right now. And he’s a chick magnet, so we’ll have lots of good looking ones hanging around.”
Colby put out his hands, “I know, I know, you’re married. That doesn’t mean you can’t talk or flirt with ’em. You know, just in case it doesn’t work out with the old lady, you can have one lined up.”

“Colby, you’re such a dog.”

“Damn right I am!” His roommate grinned wickedly.

~*~

Starsky would be the first to admit that he easily made friends. It’s my charming, devilish self, he told himself.

He didn’t have to go out of his way, although that was because a lot of the younger guys looked up to him due to his Army experience and his excellent marksmanship skills.

“Hey, Starsky!” He was being hailed by John Colby, another of the older cadets. “Let’s go out after work. I found a great bar with some real good looking, easy babes.”

“Well…Johnson wanted me to help him on the shooting range.”

Colby threw his arms over Starsky’s shoulder. “Forget him. I got someone I want you to meet. The three of us could be dynamite together. His brains, your skills, and my charm.” The young man snapped his fingers. “The Three Corsicans! That’s what they’ll call us!”

“Who you got in mind? Another cadet?”

“Yeah, my roommate. Hutchinson.”

“Oh, no. No freaking way. That guy’s a snobbish dick. I’m surprised he hasn’t quit yet.”

“Hutch? Sure he can be standoffish, but he’s just shy. He’s also been going through a lot with his old lady.”

“What? She leave him? Wouldn’t surprise me with his attitude.” Starsky grumbled.

“Come on, Starsky. It’ll be fun! Get to know the guy, first.”

“I know all I want to, thank you.” As Starsky walked away, he flung his hand. “Thanks anyway, Colby. But I’m going to help Johnson. And you should be studying, if you know what’s good for you.”

And he left Colby standing there, not caring what excuse he would make up to tell Hutchinson.

~*~

Eventually the three months long training – which included everything from Policy & Procedures to Traffic, Marksmanship, Domestic Situations, Physical Fitness, Investigating Techniques, to name a few. Recruits Starsky & Hutchinson finished at the top of their intake, while Colby also surprisingly graduated – albeit by the skin of his teeth.

 

Chapter 1, February, 1969

The odd-sized wooden crate made its way slowly down the canal. Caressed by waves made by the wind, and accompanied by the ducks and geese who made the canal their home.

The precious cargo inside went unseen by the waterfowl, but the smell kept them from getting too close. They made their upset known by squawking at the crate as it travelled down the canal. The noise went unnoticed by the young woman inside the crate. Nothing bothered her anymore.

As if guided by an unseen hand, the crate became nestled amongst the reeds along the shoreline, just in front of a mustard colored little bungalow….

~*~

The ducks were upset this morning.

Hutch supposed he was spoiling them. Each morning before work he would spend a few moments with them, trying to train them to feed from his hand. He would talk to them; they were great listeners.

They especially helped keep his sanity during his divorce from Vanessa, and kept him from feeling more isolated than he already was way out here on the canals.

Grabbing the birdseed he kept on the porch, Hutch spoke to them soothingly, as he would a child; but the birds wouldn’t come near the edge of the canal to feed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hutch saw a crate, looking out of place in the reeds. As soon as he leaned over to try and grab it, his nose was assaulted with the smell of decay and death, and he instantly knew the reason the ducks were upset this morning.

His training kicked in and he left the scene alone to call his supervisor and have him alert the right authorities. Even though he knew not to touch the crate, this was the kind of investigation Hutch wanted to be in on from the ground up. Something he could really sink his teeth into.

Who was in the crate?

Where did the crate come from?

What happened to them?

How did it get into the canal?

Why?

Hutch’s partner, Luke, showed up, along with several other uniforms, to block the street and secure the scene. There was also a cop from the Venice district who showed up on a motorboat, to prevent anyone coming through via the canal.

As he stood on his porch, he was surprised when another cop he knew showed up. Only Hutch knew him as a uniform, and now David Starsky was dressed in a sport coat and jeans. Even his dislike—and jealousy—of the now apparent detective, couldn’t keep Hutch from hanging around and listening in on their conversations.

~*~

What a dumpy area, Starsky thought as he surveyed the rundown canal area where their newest homicide was discovered. This could be such a great place, but it seems like no one wants to keep up their property. Lazy-asses.

“Huh? What’d you say, Dave?” asked his training partner and former neighbor, Johnny Blaine.

“Sorry, spoke out loud. I was just thinking that this could be a great little area, if people would only keep up their property.”

“Some of these people probably can’t afford to live anywhere else, this is one of the cheapest parts of town. Besides, the house we’re going to actually belongs to another cop. Seems he’s the guy who found the victim in front of his property, on his property.” Johnny pulled his own vehicle behind the line of patrol cars and medical personnel.

“You think he might be involved?” Starsky had seen too much to believe that cops couldn’t turn.

“I know you want to go jumping right into everything, Dave, but never make assumptions until you’ve seen with your eyes and heard with your ears. Even then keep an open mind that your assumption, or information could be wrong.

You’re a great cop, and you’ll be a great detective, but you’ve got to keep a level head and not go off half-cocked.”

Johnny chuckled. “Your enthusiasm reminds me when you were a teen. You got so reckless, sometimes your Aunt and Uncle asked me to help reign you in or rescue you.”

Starsky took a calming breath. “Sure, Johnny, you just tell me what you want me to do.”

“Just like we’ve been doing during your training, hang back and keep your eyes and ears open.” Johnny identified them both to the on-site officers and scanned the notes they were given. “It wouldn’t hurt to go over the initial statement with the cop who found the body.” Johnny pointed out a tall blond man standing on the porch of the bungalow.

Seeing his Academy nemesis caused Starsky to swear under his breath. “Hell. I thought I’d never have to talk to the guy again.”

“What, Dave?”

“That guy. I went through the Academy with him.”

“Good, it gives you a good starting point. Reminisce a bit, first. Get him comfortable.” He slapped Starsky on the back as he pushed him toward the bungalow.

“You’ve obviously never met the guy,” Starsky mumbled. “Well, here goes nothing.”

Both men visibly stiffened as they came face to face.

“Officer Hutchson?”

“Hutchinson, Mr. Starsky.”

“It’s Detective Starsky, now.”

One blond eyebrow raised in askance.

“Got promoted to Homicide. You still in uniform?” Never hurt to get a little dig in on someone who thought they were better than you.

“For now.”

Never give much do you, pretty boy? Still the same hard-ass, Starsky thought. Figures. Your type never changes.

“I understand you were the one who found the body. This your place?” He twitched his nose in distaste.

“You need a tissue? Your nose is twitching.” The other cop’s voice hinted at disrespect, and Starsky realized his disdain had been noted.

“Uh, no, thanks.” He felt embarrassed, and then angered that the man still made him feel like he was lower than dirt. “Can you just go back to the beginning?”

“I found the crate right where it still is. I didn’t actually see the body, but I know the smell of decomposing flesh.”

“Describe what you saw and smelled, then.” Starsky would compare both his interview with the first officer’s report.

“Each morning I make it a habit of feeding the ducks in the canal. This morning they seemed… off.”

“Off, how? How can you tell?”

“Because I know them. They were loud and restless and seemed to be avoiding the area where the crate lay.”

“What do you mean by ‘you know them’?” Starsky was dutifully taking notes.

“I felt like they were trying to get my attention, feeding and treating them with respect has allowed me to get close to them.”

The newly promoted detective snorted quietly, but not quietly enough, as it riled his foe. They’re freaking animals. But you seem to be a freak, so maybe you are Dr. Doolittle. Starsky accidentally whispered the “Dr. Doolittle” without realizing it.

“Look, if you’re going to be derisive of everything, here, then I think it would be better if I get someone who won’t put personal feelings ahead of the job.”

Starsky knew he was right. He squelched down the feelings of being chastened, and continued.

“I apologize Officer Hutchinson. So what did you do next; after you saw and smelled the crate?”

“Thank you. I, uh, then went to call my supervisor, and let him make the necessary arrangements.”

“Why him? Why didn’t you do it yourself?”

“For one, I haven’t made full detective yet, though I’ve passed the exam. And since I’m a witness, I felt it was better to have a third-party out here, checking the scene out.”

Nodding subconsciously in agreement, Starsky asked him if he’d heard or seen anything during the previous evening or this morning. Not surprised at how cool he handled the situation, I can feel the temperature drop every time I come near him.

“No, nothing out of the ordinary. In fact I usually sit out on the porch in the evening, if I get a moment, and the animals were fine.”

“Did you see if the crate was there, then?”

“I didn’t go over there. I was only out for 20-30 minutes and they didn’t seem upset.”

“Do you know how the water in the canal travels?”

“No, I just know it goes out to the ocean. Never really thought about it before.”

“Has anyone been hanging around; both on land or in water?”

“Occasionally there are canoers, teens, kids. No one else really travels the canals around here. And I work a lot, so I haven’t been home to notice much of anything.”

“How about your neighbors? How well do you know them?”

“If you’re asking if I think they could be involved…I don’t know. Mrs. Greenhauser on the right is elderly and alone. Her hearing’s not so great, so I doubt if she heard anything.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

“The Bailey’s on the left are younger and have a kid. Mrs. Bailey doesn’t work, so she might be a witness. As far as the people across the canal? I don’t know any of them.”

“Baileys, Greenhauser. That’s a good start. Is there anything else you think might be important?”

Hutchinson looked like he was seriously thinking about it. “No.”

“Okay, you know the drill, Hutchinson. If we have any other questions we’ll contact you.”

“Wait!” Hutchinson put out his hand and held it just above his coat, almost as if he was afraid to touch him. “Who was in the crate?”

Looking deeply into the man’s face, Starsky saw none of the earlier attitude. Or did I only see it, ’cause I expected to? What he saw instead was empathy, curiosity, and intelligence. “Sorry, I don’t know.”

~*~

Why he called after Starsky, Hutch wasn’t sure. He just felt an overwhelming need to connect to someone.

Hutch supposed he was lonely. He dated, but he wasn’t close to anyone. Occasionally he went to Luke’s house to have dinner with him and his wife Doris, but rarely did he socialize with anyone else in the department. It was probably his own doing; he was so intent and focused on doing a good job that he forgot about the importance of relationships in police work.

Now he found himself disillusioned by the job. Which is why— with Luke’s encouragement— he was interviewing for a few new slots in homicide. He certainly had the record, the background, and the intelligence to do more. Maybe now he could use his brain as well as his heart and, perhaps, meet some other guys with whom he had more in common.

~*~

Johnny and Starsky sat in a small precinct conference room, discussing the evidence.

“We have some papers and books, Dave, Looks like report cards and school books from the ’50’s.” Johnny said as he handed him some plastic baggies with damp papers in them. “And here’s the quilt she was wrapped in — pink with some kind of design. Looks handmade. Hopefully the autopsy will give us something to go on.”

“Maybe the papers belong to the murderer or the victim.”

Johnny gave him a look over his glasses. “Remember what I said about making assumptions about anything. What appears to be, might not.”

Starsky nodded his head. “Right.”

The room was quiet for some moments while both detectives looked for information or clues to their murder victim or killer.

“The handwriting’s still fairly legible,” said Johnny as he spread the baggies out on the table.

Starsky peered closer. “Looks like they’re for someone named Clarice …S e b e l l a. 1958 and 1957 or ’59.”

“The school books have the same name.” Starsky had already looked those over while his partner was deciphering the cards. They were for an elementary school in Los Angeles proper.

“So what’s our next step?” his mentor asked.

“We see if we can trace this Clarice Sebella, or if the morgue has made an i.d. of our victim.”

“Good idea.”

~*~

Turns out they were able to find a Clarice Sebella Johnson living at 2253 105th St.

When they arrived at the run down, turn-of-the-century, two story frame and asked to speak to Clarice Johnson, they were surprised to discover she was a middle-aged black woman. So they now knew that Clarice Sebella Johnson was not their victim’s name, as it was doubtful there would be two of the same unusual name in the same city.

Johnny introduced them as two Los Angeles detectives, as she was obviously leery of two white men on her doorstep. “You can just stay right there.” She pointed to the large front porch as she stepped out, arms crossed over her chest in a shielding manner.

“Ma’am, we’re investigating the death of a woman found this morning in Venice.”

“We’re looking to identify her and hope you can help.” Starsky added politely.

“Why me?”

“Because school books and report cards with your name, dating back to the late 1950’s were found with her body.”

“Was she killed?”

Johnny answered that question. “We’re not sure yet, ma’am. We’re just trying to identify her.”

Mrs. Johnson got defensive. “Well I sure as hell don’t know how my school stuff got found with some white trash woman. That was more than ten years ago!”

“Can I at least show you a picture?” Johnny bought out a crime scene photo taken after the victim had been removed from her make shift coffin.
Mrs. Johnson glanced at it and shook her head. “Nope, don’t know who she is. Not a former school-mate that I can recall. Now is that all? You stay here much longer and my neighbors’ll be thinking I’m working with the po-lice. And that ain’t a good thing in this here neighborhood.”

Johnny put his hand on his partner’s arm. “Yes, ma’am. But we may have other questions in the future.” He reached into his wallet. “Here’s my card if you can remember anything.” He nodded goodbye. “Thank you.”

After they walked off the porch and got into Johnny’s car, the older man asked his protégé what important points were garnered from the brief conversation.

“Well, one, you didn’t mention the quilt.”

“And why?”

“To trap any suspects.”

“What else?”

“She knew the victim was white before you showed her the picture. Why didn’t you bring her in for more questioning?”

“To lull her with a sense of security and to get more information first. To see if we can identify our victim another way and connect her to Mrs. Johnson, before we bring her back in.” Johnny explained.

“Can’t wait for that questioning.” Starsky chuckled.

“Just as they were about to pull away, an elderly woman walked down the driveway with a grocery bag, and right up to the detectives in the car. “She’s on vacation this week. Come back next. I know… you just come back to see me,” she whispered , and then walked away.

~*~

Within the week, Starsky and Johnny went back to talk to Clarice Johnson’s grandmother. By now the media had broadcast some details of the crime, but not specifics.

Luckily, she answered the door and let them in and identified herself as Jessy Moore.

“You’re the cops that was here last week, right? Wantin’ to know why Clarice’s stuff was with that poor girl’s body?”

The question took Starsky off-guard, but Johnny smoothly took the lead. “Mrs. Moore, we’re investing a murder. We don’t believe that your granddaughter was involved, but the fact that you – and she – know certain things, makes us wonder if you both might be witnesses.”

After skirting around for a few minutes, the older woman finally spoke, giving the identity of the woman in the crate as Idara Nadink. The authorities still didn’t know her name, as she’d apparently never been fingerprinted in LA or LA County.

“I know her because she supposed to be married to my girl’s husband. But that ain’t true. George and Clarice never got divorced. Just separated. And he been trying to get my Clarice to come back to him, but she says no since he’s nuthin’ but a cheater. So he pops in one day few weeks ago and tells her that he’s single now, that Idara ain’t comin’ back to him ’cause she’s nothing but shark bait.”

Starsky and Johnny couldn’t write her narration down fast enough. “Mrs. Moore, do you think we could have you come down to the station to give a statement?”

She reared back and put her hand over her chest, her eyes showing fear. “Well… I don’t know. What if Clarice come home? How long will it be? I don’t want her knowing I told you all this.”

“Are you afraid she’ll tell George?”

Jessy Moore nodded her head slowly.

“When do you expect her back?”

“Oh, probably not till five or so. She’s a nurses’ aide and don’t get off till three. She has to take the bus, ’cause we don’t have no car.”

“We promise to have you home by four, Mrs. Moore.” Johnny paused and then went for the emotional pull. “Don’t you want to get George away from Clarice, permanently?”

She shuffled her slippers. “You sure you’ll have me back? But what if we don’t finish?”

“We can have you come back another time.”

“Well, okay, I guess. But I have to change from my housecoat.”

~*~

Once seated with a cup of coffee between her hands, and a secretary ready to take dictation, Mrs. Moore opened up quite quickly.

“That poor little girl. Just 18 or 19 when she met George.”

“How long ago was that?”

Mrs. Moore paused to think. “Maybe just under two years.”

“And where did they meet?”

It took their witness a few moments to think. “I’m not too sure. Some fair, I believe.”

“And do you know if he was separated from your granddaughter at that time?”

“Uh, no, no. I don’t think so. Clarice was real angry when she found out he was foolin’ around with some white woman.”

Mrs. Moore deviated a bit then. “Her family was poor. But I guess they disinherited Idara – who George called Ida – when they done got ‘married.’ I’m pretty sure she didn’t know she wasn’t really married. At least that’s what Clarice said.”

Starsky jumped in at the inference. “Did Clarice continue to see George even after he moved in with Ida?”

The elderly lady nodded her head. “I told my granddaughter that boy was bad.” Then she shook her head resignedly.

“Did you ever meet Ms. Nadink?”

“Once. George came over lookin’ for his mama’s antique clock. Clarice had it. He introduced her as his wife. “And there was a nasty smirk on his face as he’s lookin’ right at Clarice. But she don’t care. After the two left, Clarice told me that he was just pretending to be married to that girl. He didn’t want no divorce from my granddaughter.”

“He was just using that young thing.” She sighed.

“To get back at your granddaughter.” Johnny stated more than questioned.

Mrs. Moore nodded. “And I think – maybe – for…you know.”

‘Sex.” Starsky helped the embarrassed woman out.

“Some black men, they brag about having had a white woman.”

Johnny wrapped it up so he could get Mrs. Moore back home. “Is there anything else you can think of?”

Jessy told them she thought the young woman was very cowed, but much in thrall of her ‘husband.’

I’m bettin’ he beat her too. Just as he did my Clarice. Which is why I weren’t happy to see him showin’ up at my door again. I don’t want his kind with my granddaughter.”

“And I think he stole from my house. I’m missing a couple pieces of silverware that was my momma’s. She got it as a gift after she escaped from her master’s house during the Civil War. It was supposed to be used to help her start a new life, but she kept it as a reminder that there were some good whites. And my wedding-ring quilt. I think he meant to take the antique one, but he took the one my granddaughter Tessa had made. They look the same, except the copy has no names and isn’t as worn.”

“Can you describe the quilt?”

“Pink. With white and gray patchwork rings that link together. Each set of rings represents a family member who got married, either by the church or by African laws. My mother always said that even though they didn’t mean anything legal-wise, that didn’t mean they weren’t married.”

Johnny nodded. “If we get the chance, we’ll ask Mr. Johnson if he remembers it. You could ask your granddaughter as well, if she knows where it’s at.”

When done, they thanked the woman for her information and Starsky kissed her hand, then passed her over to a female uniformed officer, who would escort her home and make sure she was safe.

“Why did you tell her to ask her granddaughter? We know where it’s at.” Starsky questioned when his partner got back.

“I want to see what – if anything – she tells her grandmother. Make a note to call Mrs. Moore in a few days, maybe after we’ve tracked down George Johnson.

~*~

With the information that Jessy gave the detectives, they were able to track Idara Johnson’s, nee-Nadink’s address down.

Until they could get a warrant to get into the victim’s apartment, Johnny and Starsky began interviewing neighbors.

Idara’s neighbor’s told them she had been living with a black man named George. But none of her neighbors knew her well enough to know if her living companion was a spouse, a friend, or something else.

Some of the statements and information ran from racial statements to concern.

From a young white couple: “She’s living with this black guy. It’s disgusting.”

From an elderly woman: “It’s a shame she’s married to such a man like George. Last name? Johnson. George & Ida Johnson. He beats her, I know he does. He doesn’t know how to treat women.”

From an elderly white man: “Their kind shouldn’t be allowed to live here. Her family must be so ashamed. If she was my daughter, I’d beat her, too.”

A black male proclaimed his admiration for George johnson: “Man, that dude has got it made! A scoop of both vanilla and chocolate!”

Most of the racist remarks disgusted Starsky. “Sheesh, this is 1969! I served in an Army with lots of different guys and even women! Not to mention seeing the horror of Uncle Holman and Franz when they first came to stay with us after the big war.”

“I thought you didn’t have any family overseas anymore.”

“They were family friends. Not sure how, but I remember Ma and Pop telling us they were coming to stay for a bit and they were really skinny and had droopy eyes. They shuffled everywhere and anytime someone came over, they wouldn’t come out of their room. Which was really Nicky’s, but he slept with me until they moved out.”

Last person they interviewed was a young white male who lived in the apartment directly below the Johnson’s and expressed his concern:

“About two weeks ago, I was getting ready for work around three a.m. I work at the docks and have to be there around five. Well, I heard this scraping noise; like something heavy was being dragged on the floor. As I was leaving there was this guy I’d never seen before in the elevator. I don’t know who he was or if he had anything to do with Ida’s death, but I haven’t seen him since. Just that once. She was a nice girl. If she wasn’t married, I would’ve asked her out.”

~*~

Idara’s neighbors also gave them information on her work place and the next day Johnny and Starsky headed over to the Candlara Nursing Home where she was employed as a dietary aide.

“Interesting.” Starsky commented as he looked down at Johnny’s notes, while they drove over to the nursing home.” Apparently Clarice Johnson works there, as well.”

“Hmm… Possibly how she met George Johnson. Which could be why Clarice didn’t want to talk to us.”

Starsky smiled indulgently at his mentor. “Ah, ah, ah. Making assumptions?”

Not even looking abashed, Johnny claimed that “sometimes assumptions are okay when working out the details of a case. You’ve gotta find a motive in everything everyone tells you. From alibis to why they’re giving out information – or not.”

“In other words, assumptions are okay for you, but not for me.” The younger protégé teased.

Johnny grinned mischievously. “Exactly.”

Letting it go, Starsky changed the subject. “Hey, I wanted to ask you. Yesterday, when we first talked to Jessy Moore. You didn’t seem surprised when she immediately started telling us about the murder. How’d you handle being so smooth?”

“It’s just something you learn over time.” Johnny explained. “There’s no way to teach how to react or not react. I don’t get surprised by anything, anymore.”

At the Candlara Nursing Home, Idara Nadink’s co-workers, spoke of her coming into work with bruises or with eyes red like she’d been crying.

“Sometimes, there’d be big red marks on her face or arms.”

“Once I saw dark bruises on her arms like fingers. BIG fingers, like a man’s.” This from a tiny little girl, less than five feet tall, who Starsky wasn’t sure should’ve been out of elementary school, but he remembered Johnny’s caution never to assume anything.

“Some even talked about how now they wondered if her tendency to want to work late or take on other shifts, were because she didn’t want to go home.”

Starsky and Johnny just wrote everything down they were told, knowing they would try to see if any patterns fit with what her neighbor’s and Mrs. Moore told them. They had yet to talk to Idara’s family.

Her co-workers didn’t know if she was just clumsy, living in a cluttered home, or being beaten. They didn’t know anything about her outside of work; only knew she was married because of the slim gold band she wore.

No one had been able to find any family, as of yet, and so Idara Nadink’s body still sat at the morgue. No one had seen George Johnson for more than a week, either. Which shot him to the top of BCPD’s ‘Persons of Interest’ list.

~*~

Several mornings later, Starsky found himself sitting in an emergency room waiting area while his partner was being treated for a broken leg. They’d been chasing down a robbery subject who had a warrant out, and whom they’d run across while searching for George Johnson. The robbery suspect turned down an alley and just as Johnny was about to reach him, the suspect flipped a garbage can behind him. Johnny rolled over it and landed badly on his right leg.

Their Captain took them both off the duty roster so that Starsky could stay with Johnny and take him home, but he expected the younger detective back on duty the next day.

And until Johnny was back on full duty—which could be several months—Starsky could expect to be bored doing paperwork, take a temporary partner, or fill in as a floater.

As he sat pondering the increasingly unattractive options, Starsky’s attention was drawn to the TV console in a corner of the room. Or rather, the figure on TV.

It was Hutchinson, out of uniform, and apparently being interviewed for the noon news as he was coming out of the courthouse. What an idiot! Talking to the media was like shooting a bulls eye right to the heart of any cop’s career.
Starsky moved closer to hear the interview. The reporter, a pretty blond woman with a slick, controlled bouffant, was asking a cornered Hutchinson for details on the investigation.

“Officer, I understand the victim was found by you in one of the canals in the Venice District. Does this mean you’ll be handling the investigation?”

Starsky should’ve figured that only a female would ask a dumb question, since everyone in the media knew, or should’ve known, that there was a public relations department that handled how much and what to give the media.

With a lot more patience, than Starsky would’ve given her, Officer Hutchinson, answered calmly and succinctly.

“I’m sorry, as I’m sure you’re aware, I am unable to discuss the specifics of the case. If you want comments or developments, you need to contact media relations.”

“Can you confirm or deny the identity of the victim and that her boyfriend is under suspicion?”

“Is it true that the suspect is black?”

Now the patience was barely controlled. Starsky thought he saw a tick or flinch in the corner of the patrol officer’s mouth. Interesting….

The blond officer’s mouth pursed. “I’m sorry. I simply cannot divulge anything related to any ongoing investigation.”

“You cannot even confirm….”

“No, I cannot. Now, I’m sorry, but I’m required elsewhere.” And with that, the Officer didn’t wait for the reporter to close out her interview, but walked away while still on camera.

Maybe he’s not such an incompetent after all. Too bad he gives off that ‘holier-than-thou’ vibe. He’s probably had it pretty rough in the ranks with that attitude. Some part of Starsky wanted to be compassionate, but then he remembered the attitude Hutchinson gave him at the Academy, as well as the disbelief that Starsky had made it to detective after just a couple of years on the streets.

~*~

Another week went by with Starsky trying to pick up the slack in place of his desk bound partner.

Somehow he’d managed to convince Captain Dobey to let him continue their current, open investigations as long as he took a uniformed officer with him during interviews, and as long as he promised not to respond to any open calls from dispatch.

And Dobey promised not to stick him with just any temporary partner.

A break in the Idara Nadink case came when they received a call from someone claiming to be her Sister-In-Law.

“I’m Idara Nadink’s Sister-In-Law Mr….”

Starsky interrupted her, “Detective Starsky.”

“Sorry, Detective. She is—or was—my husband Isadore’s twin sister.”

Starsky took note of the unusual names and wondered if they were immigrants—that’s why the difficulty finding family. “We’ve been trying to find you. We didn’t think she had any family.”

“We didn’t know. Idara’s been estranged from us since she married that man. It was just a shame that she felt the only way she could get a family or a husband was by settling for someone beneath her. And a non-Catholic! Well, all that was too much for her parents.”

“So how did you find out about her death? And why did you take so long to contact the authorities?”

“One of her co-worker’s at that nursing home knew how to reach us. Idara had given them my husband as a contact, since their parents are deceased. I don’t know why they didn’t contact her husband instead of us. But I guess being his type, he, you know, couldn’t be trusted. That tells you a lot right there, doesn’t it?

Before Starsky could answer, the woman continued, “I mean why Isadore? Instead of Adrian or Gonzalo, those are her other brothers. “

Finally, the detective got a word in. “We still have her body down at the morgue. There’s no need to come down and identify her, as one of her neighbor’s already did. Now that we know she has family that can take care of her funeral, she won’t have to be buried in a pauper’s grave.”

There was a long pause.

“Detective Starsky, the reason I was calling was to give you a little more information about Idara in the hopes of finding out who murdered her. Though it was probably that trash ni…negro. You know he was always beating on her?

“We have discovered certain things that might help us in our investigation, but I can’t go into details.”

It was like the woman never even heard him.

“At least that’s what they thought at her work. Anyway, when I knew her, she was sweet, almost child-like. She loved her cats and was always helping others. Sometimes they took advantage of her. That’s how she met that no-account George Johnson. Helping out one of the women she knew at work.”

When she didn’t hear get any reaction from Starsky, she yelled into the earpiece. “Detective? Detective? Officer! Haven’t you been listening to me?”

Not with my full attention, if I could help it. “I apologize, Mrs. Nadink. Any help the family can give is appreciated. Would you like me to give you the number for the County Morgue to make arrangements for your sister-in-law’s body?” And so I can get you off the phone?

“Well…we’re not going to claim her body. Her brothers don’t want her buried with their parents because, well, she’s tainted.”

Starsky spluttered, “She’s what?”

“Well she was married to a… negro person.”

“Mrs. Nadink, this is the 1960s, now. There are laws against discrimination and racism.”

This time there was a longer pause, but Starsky could hear her breathing into the receiver. Then Jean Nadink’s voice took a noticeably colder tone,

“Detective, I don’t believe it’s any of your concern. It’s a private matter. Just bury Idara where ever the city sees fit.”

“How about a mass grave?” he hung up the phone without further comment.

The whole squadroom had quieted down.

“Detective Starsky! What was that about?” Starsky didn’t even realize his boss had come into the squadroom.

“Just the boneheaded, racist sister-in-law of our victim, Idara Nadink.”

Dobey’s face was stern. “Detective you know we don’t refer to the people we serve as any derogatory, racist, or any other less than respectable names.”

“But….”

“Even if they deserve it.” Dobey added, quietly. Then he raised his voice to his normal “Captain” tone. “Now what was that about?”

“It turns out her family disowned the victim when she married a black man. And they feel she’s ‘tainted.’”. They want to see her murder solved, but they want nothing to do with burying her and said we should just put her in an unmarked grave.”

“Okay, then I guess we should call the Morgue. We’ll probably have to get the family to sign off. It’s been several weeks. She needs to be buried.”

“Give me a few days, Captain. I’ve got this case solved, I just gotta get more proof. Maybe then I can convince one of her other brothers to take responsibility for the body.”

He knew now another visit to Clarice Johnson, or her grandmother, was in order.

~*~

As Starsky stepped into Precinct hallway later in the afternoon on his way to the restroom, he saw a flash of bright blond hair. He only knew of one police officer with that bright blond hair.

“I appreciate your meeting with me, Captain Dobey. I feel I could have a long, successful future in homicide.” Ken Hutchinson held out his hand, as they stepped out into the hallway outside the captain’s office.

Captain Dobey’s answer was non-committal. “We’d love to have a man of your talents here, Officer Hutchinson.”

The junior officer seemed unsure as he stood there for a few moments. “Well, uh, it was nice to meet you. Take care.” As he held out his hand for a firm handshake.

The captain reciprocated. “You too, Hutchinson.”

Just before Dobey could turn back into his office, Starsky accosted him in a belligerent voice. “What the hell’s he doing here?”

Dobey turned as Starsky trudged toward him.

“Who? Ken Hutchinson?” He looked back toward the retreating man, who was stopped in the hallway greeting someone.

“Yeah. What did he want?” Starsky was wary that Hutchinson wanted information on his case. Then another thought struck. “He’s not coming here is he?”

“How do you know him?”

“We were in the same Academy class.”

Dobey raised his eyebrow. “Can you give me some insight what he was like as a classmate? “ He opened his door and waved his detective through. “Come on in here, so we’re not discussing this in the hallway in front of everyone.” Hutchinson himself was still down the hall talking to another officer.

~*~

Before Starsky even sat down in the chair opposite Dobey’s desk, he started bitching about Hutchinson. “The man’s a joke, Cap’n. He shouldn’t even be on the force!”

“What makes you say that?”

“He’s arrogant and thinks he’s better than everyone, mostly.”

Any higher and Captain Dobey’s raised eyebrow would become his new hairline. The effect made Starsky fidget in his chair.

“Have you ever worked with the man before?”

“Well, not other than this current Nadink case, but when we were in the Academy he was always correcting me in class. He never wanted to socialize with the rest of us.”

“Did you ever give him cause to want to socialize with you?”

Starsky slunk down in his chair. “Not really, but the guy was a college prepster! Always wearing a suit jacket and tie to class! He could never understand what it was like to be poor.”

“And I’ll bet, knowing you, you took one look at him and pronounced judgment, didn’t you, Starsky?”

When he couldn’t answer, because he’s right, damn it, Starsky thought to himself, his superior leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak loudly under pressure, in the silent room.

“As far as him correcting you,” Dobey continued, “I admit that’s a bit much, but was he right?”

After a pause, Starsky shrugged his shoulders, then nodded his head.

“It seems to me that you went ahead and made a call based on his looks without getting to know the man. Isn’t that just what you were complaining about your victim’s family?”

Starsky tried to interject, but Captain Dobey just continued on without letting him get a word in. “From what I see, you both have similar ideals and views about changing things. You also share many of the same qualities: empathy, intelligence, charm.”

Captain Dobey then started reading from some papers on his desk. “Scored highest in his classroom studies, passed physicals with flying colors, passed range skills near top of the class—just below you, I might add, and aced his psychological tests.” He put the papers down with eyes boring at Starsky and said, “Do you think it’s possible you misjudged the man? That maybe that he was trying to help you, and just went about it in the wrong way?”

“And whether or not I offer him a place here, that’s my call. You—nor anyone else in this department—don’t get to tell me who, and who not, to hire. We’re all on the same team, Detective Starsky.” With that, Captain Dobey dismissed him.

Chastened, Starsky left his office through the hallway door, to get to the restroom.

~*~

From down the hall, a loud voice was raised in anger “What’re you, some bleedin’ heart? “

The loud, obnoxious voice echoing from down the hall told Starsky that Sgt. Hugh Brooks was engaged in a row or dispute with the still present Hutchinson.

“She was a human being! No one—not even an animal—deserves to have that done to them!”

“I’ll bet you’re some liberal college boy, aren’t you? Guys like you‘re why this police department’s going to hell in a handbasket.” The loud sergeant’s face was screwed up tightly like he smelled something rotten.

Starsky was going to continue down the hall, but he was intrigued that Hutchinson didn’t seem to be intimated by Brooks’ larger girth. In fact, it was the sergeant who was standing with his back against the wall.
“You know Hitler considered those whites who shacked up with blacks, no better, and even worse.” Brooks continued without any seeming interest in self-preservation. “Good thing she had no brats contaminating white blood like that.”

Hutchinson flung his fist back, but Starsky ran interference and caught it.

He threw a warning glance to Hutchinson and spat at Brooks’ feet. “You better get a move on before someone pops you in the mouth.”

“He wouldn’t dare.” Challenged the older, heavier detective.

“I wasn’t talking about him.” Starsky’s voice was menacing.

With a look of surprise to the junior detective, but wisely keeping his mouth shut, Sgt. Brooks hurried down the hall.

Starsky stared after him in contempt. When he turned back to Hutchinson, he found the latter staring at him in astonishment. The latter mumbled his thanks and then hurried in the opposite direction of Detective Brooks.

Having heard Brooks use the same term for Hutchinson that he’d used previously, Starsky had to stop and really examine his perceptions and prejudices. Do I really want to be thought the same as that overbearing windbag Brooks?

~*~

Questioning himself, Starsky walked to his desk just as he got a call from the Federal Marshall’s office. They’d been assigned to track down a fleeing George Johnson.

“We traced him to the L.A. Union Station, where he bought a ticket to St. Louis. The conductor has been alerted and will inform us if he gets off at any stops in between.

In the meantime, we’ve alerted the SLPD and our branch there to have someone on sight to pick him up and bring him in.”

“Great. Do you need any other paperwork from us?” Starsky asked.

“No. But you’ll need to be on sight to interview him before we can apply for extradition. Unless you can get a grand jury to indict him in the next few days, we can only hold him for 48 hours.”

Damn, perfect timing. Oh well, better this than sitting around while Johnny heals.

“No time for a grand jury.” Starsky explained. “Give me a day and a half. The hours will give me time to get a flight out there.”

“Will do, Detective Starsky.”

~*~

Spending most of his evening doing some thinking, Starsky came to a decision he would not have thought possible earlier. He knew that John was going to take the lieutenant’s exam once he was back on his feet, since Maggie insisted he start slowing down and leave the show-boating to “younger guys like Dave”.

The next morning he met with Captain Dobey first thing.

“I’ve been thinking all last night about what you said. You know Johnny’s probably moving on soon?”

“He told me. He thinks you’re ready.”

Head down, as he shuffled his feet, Starsky made his official request. “I want to work with Hutchinson.”

“What happened to he’s arrogant and college bred, who doesn’t know what being poor is like?”

Fidgeting in his seat, Starsky admitted that perhaps he was wrong. “I happened to overhear some things that made me re-think my opinion on Officer Hutchinson.”

“Well, I haven’t made any decision yet, but I was very impressed by Hutchinson. You’re fairly new here yourself, what makes you believe I should partner two greenhorns?”

“You just said that Johnny thinks I’m ready.” Starsky countered boldly.

“That doesn’t mean *I* think you’re ready. Besides, I thought you two didn’t like each other. What made you change your mind? Have you talked to Officer Hutchinson about this?” queried Dobey.

Starsky felt like a worm, with all the squirming he’d been doing this morning. “Well, not yet.”

“I suggest you get your butt over there, then and find out if that’s what he wants as well. You can’t just arbitrarily assign yourself a partner. I need to make sure partners are a good fit. There’re a lot of factors to take into consideration. And there’s no guarantee he’d be offered a place here.”

The office was quiet for a few moments, then Dobey looked at Starsky. “What are you still doing here? Go! Find Hutchinson and talk to him, then get back here and we’ll discuss it more then.”

~*~

Before he could do as Captain Dobey suggested, Starsky’s phone rang.

“Yeah?”

“Detective Starsky?” The voice sounded distant and tinny. “This is Stanley Jurmock of the St. Louis, FBI.”

Starsky got excited. “You got him? You need me to come out?”

There was a long hesitation. “I’m sorry, Detective. He slipped by us.”

Starsky sat down hard. “How? You guys had the warrant, pictures, and a copy of the guy’s driver’s license. What more did you need?” He ran his free hand through his hair in aggravation.

“Do we know if he got off in St. Louis? Could he still be on the train? Or maybe got off earlier?”

“We know he had to have gotten off here. His ticket was punched at Kansas City, which was the last stop, and it didn’t allow him further travel beyond Missouri.”

Frustrated, Starsky threw a pencil across his desk, and responded sarcastically. “Great; and it’s so easy to slip into Illinois and disappear in Chicago.”

“We’re sorry, Detective. But we have alerted both the Missouri and Illinois state police, as well as FBI offices in any major cities in the bordering states.

“Well if they work anything like you guys, we’ll never catch him.”

Now Jurmock was irritated. “Detective, I resent the implications. We are complete professionals. It is difficult to catch one person in a crowd of many.”

“I was told the conductor was notified. Why couldn’t he hold everyone on board the train until the cops or you guys could get on the train and pick him up?”

Jurmock laughed. “And hold up the train schedule? If you don’t believe we’re doing what we can, then perhaps your Captain should call the head of my division and file a complaint.”

“I would, but I already know that’s a black hole.”

“Look Detective, I apologized for the slip, but the depot can be a mad house and we only have so many people.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you. That’s still no excuse for letting a murder suspect get by you guys, though.”

Jurmock agreed. “No, it’s not. An APB’s been issued. We’ve got our eyes on his contact here—”

“His cousin,” Starsky interrupted.

“His cousin’s home, and we also have your captain’s direct phone number there.”

“Good. Just keep me informed. Bye.” Starsky hung up, frustrated and furious.

He knocked on Dobey’s door. “Captain?” After gaining permission to enter, Starsky closed the door with the top of his foot, even though Dobey had asked him not to several times.

“The guys in St. Louis let George Johnson slip.”

“Dang.” The bigger man ran both hands over his head. “What are they doing to try to catch up with him?”

Starsky outlined the steps Stanley Jurmock told him over the phone.

“Well, there’s not a lot we can do right at this moment. I’ll check with dispatch to make sure the APB comes out over the teletype.”

“And you, weren’t you supposed to be doing something before Jurmock called?” Dobey reminded.

“I’m going,” Starsky groused as he opened the door to the hallway, rather than the squadroom.

“And, don’t close my door with your foot!”

~*~

Realizing he would have to eat some crow, Starsky drove over to Hutchinson’s cottage. He wanted to get to know him away from the job. See which impression was the right one—the first day at the Academy, or the latest, standing up to Hugh Brooks. And to see if Hutchinson might feel the same. Might have to do some convincing since he didn’t particularly like me, either.

Captain Dobey was right. He needed to actually talk to the other cop before making an important decision like this.

Seeing Hutchinson’s beat up car parked next to the mustard yellow cottage, Starsky gathered his resolve, took a breath, and walked up to the porch.

He was surprised the door wasn’t slammed in his face when Hutchinson opened it and saw him. In fact, the other man showed nothing except aloof politeness. “Hutchinson,” he nodded. “Uh, can I come in?”

The other man hesitated briefly, but then stepped back to let Starsky in.

Oh, he probably thinks I’m here about the Nadink case.

Starsky took a look around, expecting a living room. Instead, a large brass bed greeted him, with a kitchen directly behind. Hutchinson waved his arm to the right where a living area was set up in an alcove. Lots of plants sat in front of the large windows, and a door that Starsky assumed went to an outside patio. “Different kinda place. Never seen a place like this before. You like gardening, huh?”

Hutchinson didn’t answer him, just walked over to a chair opposite the couch.
Before he could sit down, Starsky asked if he had anything to drink as his mouth was dry; then sat on the patchwork covered couch.

“Water?”

“Beer, if you got it. Or root beer.”

“Look, Detective this obviously isn’t a social call and I don’t feel comfortable offering you something alcoholic if you’re on duty.”

“Actually, it kinda is.” He looked up at the taller man, who was still standing, which made him appear even taller. And who now stood looking at him with a furrow between his eyes.

Apparently Hutchinson couldn’t think of anything to say to Starsky, because he turned to go to the kitchen and brought back a can of root beer, apparently not trusting that Starsky wasn’t here on business, the Idara Nadink murder more specifically.

Starsky raised his can. “Thanks.”
Hutchinson broke in awkwardly, “What happened with the Nadink murder case? How’s that going?

Even knowing he probably shouldn’t, since Hutchinson would be a witness in the event George Johnson was caught, the detective updated his former nemesis. “Well, the marshall’s let our prime suspect get away in St. Louis. Idiots.”

“I’m sure not all Federal officers are like that. I look forward – if I make it to Detective – to be working with them on a regular basis. I’m sure we can learn many things from them.”

Starsky wasn’t so sure, but let the matter drop.

Then silence loomed as large as a pregnant elephant, until Hutchinson ended it. “So… a social call, huh?” There was no sarcasm in his voice, only a curiosity.

“Yeah, I overheard your conversation with that jerk Brooks, the other day. “ Starsky looked down at his hands, and paused. Then looked up straight at the other man, “And well, if you get booted up to Detective third class in homicide, well, I’d like to partner with you.”

Hutchinson’s right eyebrow lifted high in either astonishment or doubt, Starsky wasn’t sure.

“Really. I mean it. I know we got started out on a bad foot….”

“A bad foot? Is that what you’d call it?”

Shrugging, Starsky had to agree. “Okay, so it was a bit more than that. But here’s the thing. Cops like Hugh Brooks give us a bad name. And a lot of the guys on the force have the same caveman mentality. And the way you’ve handled this crate murder. I also saw the way you stood up to Brooks. That took some gumption. You didn’t back down. I want to be partnered with someone who sees things the same way I do, who can back me up without me worrying if they can handle the scum we’ll come across. Someone who I can trust. Someone who can join me in making the best team this city—hell, this state—has ever seen.”

“And you think I’m the guy that’s going to be able to fill those pretty tall boots?”

Without hesitation, Starsky answer affirmatively. “Don’t you think so? With your smarts and my street knowledge?”

The other cop stood up and walked away, looking out the side door of the living room, like he was thinking. Starsky took that as another positive. Rather than jumping right into things, like him, Hutchinson was taking his time. He found himself mentioning that to Hutchinson as well. “You got intelligence and I got street smarts. You think things through, I go with my gut. A good partner is hard to come by. I’d be a good partner. So would you. But together we’d be great.”

The blond head turned halfway to look at him. “And that’s supposed to be a good thing?”

“Yeah. Don’t you see? We’d balance each other out. Our team will be perfect. If I get far ahead or go head first into something dangerous, I’d have you to pull my ass back in. If you get hesitant, I can push you to just make that leap and go with it.”

“I still don’t understand, why me?” Hutchinson walked over to the couch. “It’s my understanding Captain Dobey hasn’t made his decision. That he has several other candidates to interview. ”

“Yeah, but it was him who told me to feel you out. Sounds like it will be good news for you, buddy.”

“Buddy? From ‘College Boy’ to ‘Buddy’ all in one month?” Again with the raised eyebrow. Starsky was beginning to think that Hutchinson did it subconsciously.

“Like I said, I was impressed with the way you handled Hugh Brooks and stood up for the victim. That and some things Dobey said that made me re-think my opinion of you and why I thought that way.” Starsky looked down ashamedly.

A touch on his shoulder made him look up; he never heard Hutchinson walk across the floor. “Hey, it wasn’t just you. I’ll admit that I formed some first impressions, as well. Mostly negative. But seeing how quickly you became detective, well made me re-think my opinions too. I was actually questioning myselfif I was cut out for this job, without forming judgments on people.” He smiled sheepishly.

That was the first time Starsky had seen Hutchinson’s face in a smile, and it seemed to bring out more of the real man, and less of the guarded, aloof college boy he remembered. Dobey was right. Offer him a twig of friendship and the guardedness turned to shyness. He’s like a different guy when he smiles. Maybe all he needed was somebody to be his friend. Guess I’d be a dick, too, if I didn’t have many friends.

“Why don’t we both just admit we both screwed up and start all over?” Starsky stood up, held out his hand and introduced himself. “Dave Starsky, Detective third class.

The offer was reciprocated, “Ken Hutchinson, hopefully soon-to-be Detective. But call me Hutch.”

“Hutch?”

“Yeah. Hutchinson’s a mouthful, so my best-friend in high-school nicknamed me Hutch, and it kinda stuck.”

“Hutch it is, then. Starsky and Hutch.”

“I like the sound of that.” Hutch smiled broadly.

“Me, too. So how about that beer, now?” Starsky smiled broadly, at his new friend.

Fin