Spectres

86

When a spectre from Starsky’s past is brought back to mind, he finds him haunted by memories of ‘Nam. Hutch wonders how to best support his friend, especially when their latest case also turns out to have a link to ‘Nam. Set five months into their partnership. (Written in 2020, updated 2024.)

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Chapter One

It was mid-evening on a Friday at the end of what had felt like a very long week. Starsky was looking forward to some downtime and he knew that Hutch was too. They’d both found their latest case investigating the death of a young drug mule depressing: for both of them, it was particularly hard to accept the wasted potential of such a young person.

Starsky had just finished his last mouthful of his pasta dinner when there was a knock at the door. He glanced at the clock and wondered who it could be: he wasn’t expecting Hutch for another half an hour and, anyway, Hutch would have knocked and then used his key if necessary. He hopped up from the table and went to open the door to see a nervous looking woman waiting on the doorstep.

He took in the details of her appearance without even really thinking about it. It was an automatic response for him to notice details that others wouldn’t. He took in that she was wearing inexpensive jeans and boots, a green short sleeved shirt and carrying a denim jacket over one arm. She clutched a large multi-coloured handbag with white straps to her chest. The bag looked well used and as if it had been mended more than once. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail exposing her ears which were pierced with small plain gold studs and her eyes were brown and sad looking.

“Sergeant David Starsky?”

“Yes? That’s right.” The thought crossed his mind that she was using his military title not his police one.

“My name is Eleanor Brentwood…You know…You knew my husband, Mike.”

Starsky felt as if all the breath in his body had been sucked out of his lungs with that single spoken correction. Mike Brentwood had been in his company section and one of the few that had made it back on to American soil. He’d been a good guy.

“Mike’s dead?” he eventually managed to ask.

“Yes.”

The voice trembled as Eleanor spoke and Starsky could see unshed tears hovering in her eyes. He closed his eyes for a second, seeing Mike’s grinning face floating in front of him, then looked at Eleanor and motioned for her to come inside.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know…Please, you’d better come in…Can I get you a drink of something?” Starsky asked, as he invited her to sit on the sofa.

“A-a glass of water would be nice. Thank you.”

Starsky collected his thoughts as he filled a glass of water for his guest. Mike had sent him a Christmas card a couple of years ago, telling him that he’d just got married and had a job he was enjoying and he had hoped things were going to be better for him from now on. Starsky had rung him a few weeks afterwards to congratulate him: glad that things were finally looking up for Mike. He knew his former army buddy had struggled being back home and with trying to fit back into civilian life and had been genuinely pleased that he seemed to have left the past behind. It had been the last time they’d spoken.

As he handed the glass over to Eleanor, he asked softly, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Eleanor took a sip of water then set the glass down on the table. She pulled a handkerchief out of her bag and began twisting it between her fingers. Her voice when she started speaking was pained.

“I don’t know how to tell you this…Mike…Mike took his own life.”

Starsky was shocked. “God, no…Why? What happened? I thought things were going so good for him.”

Eleanor sniffed and blew her nose. “I think you knew we got married almost two years ago now.”

“Yeah, Mike sent me a card the Christmas just after to let me know.”

“Well, we were happy, he seemed happy most of the time…He got down sometimes. I guess you understand about that…”

Starsky nodded.

Eleanor observed: “He’d never talk about ‘Nam but I know it played on his mind sometimes.”

“Yeah.”

The single word response underlined what Starsky’s friends knew; that he couldn’t talk about it either.

“He’d had some counselling from the VA and that seemed to have really helped. Just before we married, he’d got a steady job at a local warehouse and he was helping with a VA outreach programme, teaching young kids how to play basketball.”

Starsky smiled at fond memories. “He was always good at basketball.”

Eleanor shared the smile. “Yes, he was…He loved working with those kids.” She dabbed her eyes as she remembered. “He got really close to a couple of them. We even had them round for a meal at our place…then five months ago…one of them was killed, knifed by a local gang…Mike…he found that really hard…he started not sleeping properly. He was having nightmares again, I think. I couldn’t get through to him. I couldn’t get him to talk to me and then a month ago, he seemed more like his old self…Then one Saturday morning, he…he told me he was going fishing but he didn’t come home…I called the police…they found him the next morning…he’d shot himself.”

Eleanor started crying and Starsky put an arm around her, trying to comfort her as best he could.

“I’m so sorry.”

It was totally inadequate but Starsky didn’t know what else he could say. He just held her close until her tears subsided and she wiped her eyes and moved away from him.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to burden you with my grief. That’s not why I came. I guess you’ll be wondering why I came to see you in person rather than just ringing you to tell you the news.”

“Well, it is a long way from Tacoma.”

Eleanor gave him a half-hearted smile. “Yes, it is…I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. It seemed too impersonal…I could tell you meant a lot to Mike…so that was one reason…the other one, was he left you something.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small object wrapped in tissue paper and handed it to Starsky. “He always said if anything ever happened to him, he wanted you to have this.”

Starsky took the package and unwrapped it carefully. It was a water buffalo carved out of soft wood. Starsky was transported back to a rainy day huddled under the shelter of tents at the company base camp: all the squads had gathered together for a few days before moving out on their next mission. Mike had sat whittling at the soft wood for hours to pass the time, trying to capture the image of a water buffalo that his squad had seen a week before. He finished the carving the day before their battalion was ordered out to complete their assigned objectives: the day before Mike’s squad suffered heavy losses;  and the day before Starsky’s squad was captured and Starsky spent the last six months of his service as a POW. He could see Mike’s face, looking full of pride and satisfaction, as he inspected his finished work. It was like it was yesterday, not several years before. Starsky became aware that a few moments had passed. He returned his attention to the present and Eleanor. “Thank you. I’ll treasure this.”

There was a knock at the door and a moment later it was opened. Hutch came in carrying a bag of chips and a six-pack of beers. He halted suddenly when he saw Starsky had a guest.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you had company, Starsk.”

Eleanor stood up. “No, it’s fine. I’m just on my way out. My cab should be back for me in a minute. I’ve got an early train to catch tomorrow back to Tacoma so I’d best get back to my hotel.”

Hutch smiled at her as he stepped out of her way. Starsky followed her to the door and reached for her arm as she got to the open door.

“Thank you again for coming and I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Eleanor kissed his cheek and said softly, “I’m glad I was able to fulfil Mike’s wishes. Look after yourself, David. Goodbye.”

Starsky closed the door and stood silently looking at the blank space for a moment. Hutch had only heard part of the conversation but had gathered enough to realise Starsky must have received some bad news. He went and put the beer and chips on the kitchen table and came back to see if Starsky was all right. The brunet hadn’t moved from his spot near the door.

“You okay, Starsk? Want to tell me about it?”

Starsky turned round with a sigh and said, “Let’s get a beer and then I’ll fill you in, pal.”

When they were both sat on the sofa, sipping at their beers, Hutch prompted his silent friend. “So who was the lady?”

“The wife…widow of an old army buddy.”

“I’m sorry.”

Hutch knew better than to press him. He and Starsky had known each other since the academy and been partners in plain clothes for five months now. They’d always got on well despite their differences and, since becoming partners, Hutch would have described their relationship as being as close as brothers. He trusted Starsky implicitly and they talked about everything…well, almost everything. The only subject that was always off limits was ‘Nam.

Starsky had walled that section of his life off. He’d found that it was the only way he could move on and try to function in ‘normal’ civilian life. Maybe it wasn’t healthy, maybe there were days when the memories pole-axed him but, by and large, it worked for him as a coping mechanism and usually he could ignore the past. Until something came and hit him right between the eyes and forced him to confront his memories. Even with Hutch he didn’t want to open that door to the past, afraid of what might come flooding out: that it might incapacitate him once and for all.

He’d seen other Vets who couldn’t get past what they’d seen, or worse what they’d done, and didn’t want to become one of those spectral figures, haunted by memories, only living half a life, ending up an alcoholic or hype, maybe homeless, wandering the streets unwanted and unloved. He couldn’t risk it: couldn’t risk losing the life he had, the great partnership he had with Hutch, by getting lost in a past he couldn’t change.

“What was your buddy’s name?” Hutch risked asking a question.

Starsky cleared his throat, before responding: “Mike. Mike Brentwood. He was in the same company as me but not the same squad. We did basic training together. We were both from Brooklyn so we kinda hit it off.”

“What was he like?”

“He was a good guy. Great athlete. He was a terrific basketball player – could have got a scholarship, if he hadn’t been drafted. Bit of a clown, liked making the rest of us laugh…At least, that’s what he was like…he struggled when he came home.”

Starsky took a sip of beer and looked off into the distance. Hutch pointed to the carved animal on the table.

“What’s the significance of the water buffalo?”

Starsky picked the wooden object up with gentle fingers and turned it over to look at it from all angles. He ran his fingers over the shiny wood, which had been honed to a smooth surface and polished since he’d last seen it.

He went back in time and remembered, talking in a soft voice: “Our two squads had been sent on reconnaissance and we were just heading back to base camp as dusk was falling. We came across this river bed and saw a water buffalo and its calf going down to the river to drink. I don’t know why but we just stopped and watched it for while…It was a moment of peace in the crazy world we’d been thrown into. When we got back to base camp, Mike found a bit of wood and started whittling. That was what he made. Eleanor said he wanted me to have it. Guess I’m one of the few still around who’d remember that day.”

Starsky handed the wooden figure to Hutch. He took it carefully and looked it over.

“He did a good job on this,” Hutch remarked, before gently placing the figure back on the table.

“Yeah.”

Starsky took another sip of beer but remained silent. Hutch could tell that something was bothering him but wasn’t sure whether to push or leave his friend to work it out for himself.

“You want to talk about Mike some more, buddy?”

Starsky shook his head and looked at Hutch with hooded eyes. “Not tonight…maybe in a few days…Got some things I need to think through.”

“That’s okay. Just remember I’m here if you need me, okay?”

Starsky smiled at him gratefully. “Yeah, I know that partner. Thanks.”

“So what movie did you have in mind for tonight?”

“Well, there’s two starting at eight. A classic John Wayne western or The Nutty Professor. Which one d’ya prefer?”

“After our week, let’s watch something funny. All right with you, pal?”

“Yep, that’s all right with me. D’ya wanna get the rest of the chips and beers? And I’ll find the right channel.”

Hutch tipped the chips into a bowl and carried them and the beers through to the living room. He sat down next to his friend and eyed him out the corner of his eye. He knew the brunet too well not to see the tell-tale signs that something was bugging him. Firstly, the quiet was a dead give-away – Starsky usually talked constantly about everything and nothing. Secondly, the smile he tried to give Hutch was a pale imitation of his normal one. Lastly, the way his shoulders were hunched over just looked all wrong.

Hutch gave the brunet’s shoulder a quick squeeze just to let his friend know he was still there. Starsky patted Hutch’s leg reassuringly and nodded: trying to let his friend know he didn’t need to worry about him, that he was okay. Comforted by touches that provided support, the two of them settled against the sofa and started watching the movie, gradually losing the anxieties and depressions of the week in the release of humour and each other’s company.

*****

“Zebra Three, this is Dispatch.”

It was Hutch’s turn to drive so Starsky answered the radio. He recognised the dispatcher’s voice so answered with a friendly, “Zebra Three here. What you got for us today, Mildred?”

“Uniformed foot patrol reported a 1-87 in an alleyway off Memphis Street. Coroner on scene.”

“Roger that, Mildred. Show us responding. Out.”

Starsky flipped on the siren and slapped the mars light onto the roof of Hutch’s car. Sometimes Starsky wondered how the light stayed connected to the roof. Even with its magnetic strip it was hard pressed to cling on to the heavily dinted surface.

Starsky often thought of Hutch’s car as basically a load of dents held together by a metal framework. He’d decided quite soon after they became partners that Hutch was weird: the way he liked expensive cashmere polo neck sweaters yet drove around in a rust-bucket. Even after five months as partners, Starsky was hard-pressed to figure Hutch out but it didn’t matter, they still just clicked together despite their obvious differences.

As Hutch pulled the car into the edge of the sidewalk outside a seedy looking building, Starsky silenced the alarm. This was a particularly rough end of the city. Neon lights, which were for the moment dull, would be advertising their services as soon as it got dark: dancing girls, bars. What was also available, but unadvertised, were the drugs for sale (for those who knew where to look) and the ladies who would be walking up and down later (offering a good time for anyone with cash to burn).

Starsky and Hutch walked up the alleyway towards the uniformed officers guarding the scene. A body lay on the ground, covered by a white sheet. The coroner’s wheeled stretcher was waiting beside the body for the preliminary forensic information to be logged so the figure could be carted away. The two detectives swept their eyes over the scene, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

The alleyway was like so many others. A large metal door, one which obviously opened out from the back of the bar, was situated next to a collection of large industrial waste bins. Further up the alleyway, there was a used oil drum, clearly frequently used by the homeless community for fires to keep warm on cold winter nights. A couple of make shift shelters made out of wood and corrugated metal sheeting were the only signs that people usually slept there at night.

Hutch walked over to the coroner, Massey, who was one of the younger men on the team, and asked, “Hi Massey. What you got for us?”

“Hi Hutch. White male in his forties. Appears to have been beaten badly, probably with a bat or large piece of wood. I suspect he’s got multiple fractures. I think a blow to the head was what killed him but I’ll have more for you later. Time of death, probably early hours, around three, four a.m.…You want to have a look? It was a vicious attack. He’s a bit of a mess.”

Massey wasn’t being gratuitous, he was just warning them.

“Yeah, we better had,” Hutch replied, steeling himself for the sight.

He winced as he saw the pulped face and the limbs spread at odd angles. The hair was dark and straight but unkempt; the man wore brown pants and a faded army jacket. His shoes were full of holes. It was clear from the blood spatter that the attack had taken place in the alley. He was glad when Massey pulled the sheet back over the victim. The coroner stood up and held out some dog tags.

“No wallet but he was wearing these. Name’s Nicholls.”

He held them out to the detectives and Hutch took hold of them as Starsky expelled air through his teeth and walked away. Hutch looked down at the tag in his hand: Name – Nicholls, Brad H; His ten digit ID number; Religion – Protestant; and Blood type – O negative. It wasn’t much to show for a life.

“Thanks, Massey. If the photographers have taken all their photos, you can take him away.”

Hutch shoved the metal tags into a bag and then put them in his jacket pocket. He signed for them and then looked for his partner. He saw Starsky was up the far end of the alley, pretending to investigate the shabby make-shift shelters. Deciding to give his partner a minute’s more breathing space to collect himself, Hutch went to talk to the uniformed officers to get the results of the initial canvass, which was precious little, then went to join his friend.

“Hey, partner, you okay?” Hutch asked softly.

“Yeah.”

“Found anything?”

“Not sure. This crib looks like someone was dragged out of it, everything’s spilling out.…think we should come back at dusk and see if the other guys that hang out here saw anything?”

Hutch looked around the alleyway and nodded. “Yes, I think that’s a good idea. The canvass of the nearest bars hasn’t turned up anything. That hour of the morning, even the working girls would be asleep. Let’s go back to the station and see what we can find out about the victim and-”

“-Nicholls.”

“Yeah, I know, pal,” Hutch said, acknowledging Starsky’s interruption with an understanding look.

Usually in their investigations, they both tried to remember that the victims they saw were not nameless slabs of meat but living breathing human beings. It was one of the reasons that they both struggled sometimes to cope with what they came across. Trying not to become so inured that they wouldn’t care was tough to balance with being matter of fact about the crimes they were investigating so that they could leave their work in the Metro building and not take it home with them.

Hutch continued what he’d been going to say: “So we’ll see if we can get some information on Nicholls and then see if anyone around here saw anything.”

The two detectives walked down the alleyway and back to Hutch’s car. As they headed back to Division, Starsky suddenly observed: “That could have been me. It nearly was Mike.”

“How’d you mean?”

Starsky stared out the window trying to put his jumbled thoughts into words. “When I got back, Mike came to see me in the hospital. He was a mess…so angry, so dragged down by his memories. He got shipped home before me and he went back to New York for a while then he moved to Tacoma, trying a new place for a new start. When I got back on home soil, I came back here to my uncle and aunt’s. I tried to keep in touch with him by phone but I was busy training to be a cop and, to be honest, I found every call hard, draining. He was the only person who I could talk to about what we’d been through but…”

“You wanted to block out the bad memories so keeping on going over it with Mike wasn’t working for you?” Hutch suggested.

“Yeah,” Starsky flashed a grateful look at his partner for his understanding. “Gradually, life got better for both of us. Mike got some help from the VA. He got married. I didn’t worry so much about him…I shoulda stayed in touch…He killed himself, Hutch.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s rough.”

“…Maybe if I’d…”

They’d reached the parking garage at the Metro Division Building and Hutch parked and turned off the engine. He laid his right hand on Starsky’s shoulder.

“It’s not your fault, Starsk.”

“It feels like it is,” Starsky mumbled.

“I know, buddy. It’s rough. But you can’t go down the “what if” or the “I wish I’d done that” roads. It won’t change anything and it won’t help you feel any better.”

Starsky gave Hutch a bleak look and Hutch squeezed his shoulder.

“Come on. It’s time to go to work, partner. See if we can get some justice for Nicholls and tonight -how about we have a beer at The Pits in honour of your friend?”

“I’d like that. Thanks.”

“No problem. Right. Let’s get to it.”

*****

By the time they were due to go off shift, the two detectives had found out that Brad Nicholls had served in the 4^th Infantry Division, had been in Vietnam right from the beginning of the police action and had been invalided out of the army in June 1970 by a gunshot wound to the head, which had left him with some memory loss and some impaired mental and motor functions. He’d come to live in Bay City with his sister towards the end of the year. Hutch got the contact details for Sally Dearing (Nee Nicholls) and they decided that they’d better go inform her of her brother’s death as soon as they finished at Memphis Street.

Stopping only to buy two hot chocolates, the two detectives made their way back across town to the scene of Nicholl’s murder. Dusk was falling as they parked the car and walked up the alleyway. Ahead of them, they could see two shapeless figures, trying to get a fire going in the oil drum. One of them spotted the two men coming towards them and let out a panicked yell. The two elderly men started shuffling away.

Hutch held up his hands and called to them: “We’re not here to hurt you. We just want some information about what happened here last night.”

Starsky proffered the two drinks. “Got a hot chocolate here if either of you is interested.”

The two vagrants looked uncertainly at each other then slowly moved nearer. Starsky held the cardboard cups out to them and they quickly took them. They both sipped cautiously and then relaxed a little.

“What d’ya wanna know?” the slightly taller man asked.

Hutch thought he looked about sixty but it was hard to tell. Living on the street always made people look older than they were.

“We wondered if you could tell us anything about Brad Nicholls, the man that was killed. Was that his crib?”

“Yeah, Brad slept there most nights.”

“Did you see what happened?”

The shorter man shuffled in place and looked down at the ground. The taller one looked Hutch in the eye.

“Mister, we can’t afford to see nothing round here. You understand?”

Hutch nodded.

Starsky asked softly but insistently, “Did you hear anything? Anything at all that might help?”

The shorter man hunched up as if he was trying to block out the question and the memories it was stirring. The taller man placed a hand on his arm.

“I heard a man’s voice. Sounded young. He said something like ‘you shouldn’t have hurt him. Gonna teach you a lesson’ something like that.”

The shorter man spoke suddenly, “Brad didn’t do nothing. Wouldn’t hurt a fly that one. He was gentle like a kid.” He sniffed.

“Well, thanks for your help.”

Hutch pressed a five dollar bill into the taller man’s hand and went to walk away but Starsky started bending down and picking up paper and bits of card, which he threw into the oil drum. Hutch picked up on his friend’s thoughts and followed him as he walked over to the large dumpster. They both rummaged about in it until they found some more flammable packaging and added that to the pile now filling the drum. When there was a sufficient amount of material, the taller vagrant lit a match and thrust it in amongst the paper kindling. It caught and flames started to lick their way through the metal cylinder, instantly creating a little warmth.

“Keep safe, fellers,” Starsky said then headed back down the alleyway, followed closely by his partner.

As they settled back in the car, both men sighed. Hutch turned the engine over.

“Ready to go see Nicholl’s sister?”

“Yeah.”

Hutch pulled the car out and drove them back across the city to where Nicholls’ family lived. Neither of them spoke, both lost in their own sombre thoughts. Once there, they knocked on the door and introduced themselves to Nicholls’ sister. Hutch could see Starsky’s mood growing darker as they listened to Sally’s tale of the difficulties her brother had had getting help for both his physical and mental condition. Sally had done her best to look after him but he had a tendency to get confused and wander, usually coming back after a couple of days. The last time, he simply hadn’t come back. She’d reported him as a missing person eight months ago but he’d disappeared into the hidden places in the city that only those living on the streets knew. It had been an impossible task to find a man who didn’t want to be found. As they left the house, Sally thanked the two of them for coming to see her in person to deliver the news. “At least, he’s at peace now,” she commented wistfully.

By the time Hutch pulled the car up outside the back of The Pits, he was growing increasingly concerned about Starsky’s silence. As they entered the back door, Huggy moved from one end of the bar to the other to greet them. Lots of the tables and booths were full, with couples and groups of people eating and drinking. A large group of young men was playing pool quite noisily but in a friendly manner none-the-less.

“What it is,” the barkeep asked, in the slow drawn out style that was so Huggy.

“Hey, Huggy. How’s it going?”

“Business is brisk and Huggy’s got the list to fulfil your wish,” Huggy replied. “What’s your pleasure?”

Starsky said curtly, “Just a beer, Hug. I’m not hungry.”

The brunet headed away from the bar towards their usual booth, head down, trying to avoid interacting with anyone even the pretty waitresses.

“What’s bothering, Curly?” Huggy asked, as he collected two beers, opened them and poured them into tall glasses for Hutch.

“He found out last night that an old army buddy has died, committed suicide actually…then we got called to a homicide today…the victim was ex-army, our age.”

“Oh.” Huggy gave Starsky a good look over and turned to Hutch, speaking quietly so as not to be overheard. “Don’t let Starsky fall back into the dark place, man. He was pretty close to going under when I first met him. You can’t let him go back there, Hutch.”

Hutch swallowed. “I’m trying, Hug, but it’s hard. ‘Nam’s the one thing he won’t talk about.”

“I know it,” Huggy said. “First step is making sure he eats something whether he wants to or not and don’t let him get started on the hard stuff. Starsky’s not usually a hard drinker but once or twice in the past…not a pretty sight.”

Hutch said, “Thanks for the advice. How about you get us two burgers and fries and one more beer each. If he sees food, he’ll probably eat it.”

Huggy nodded. “His with all the trimmings? Yours with ketchup?”

Hutch smiled and nodded. He took the two beers over to the booth, where Starsky sat staring off into space, and handed him one of the glasses.

“There you are, pal.”

Starsky took the glass without saying a word, still lost somewhere his own thoughts.

Hutch took a sip of beer then tried to get his friend’s attention.

“Starsky…Starsk? Do you want to toast your friend now?”

Starsky shook himself out of his reverie and looked at Hutch with mixed emotions. Hutch could read sadness and gratitude there: sadness for his loss; gratitude that Hutch was there to support him.

“Yeah…To Mike…Helluva basketball player, soldier and friend.”

Hutch clinked his glass with Starsky and they both took a long drink. Hutch held his glass up again and proposed another toast: “To all those who’ve served their country.”

Starsky swallowed hard and tapped his glass again against Hutch’s.

“Thanks for that, Hutch.”

Hutch knocked his knee against Starsky’s. “You okay?…Sorry, dumb question…you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean…I just can’t help wishing I’d been a better friend.”

“Oh, Starsk, don’t do that to yourself. I know you, you’d have done as much as you could…but you had to take care of yourself too and that’s all right. You can’t take all the responsibility on yourself.”

Starsky stared at his drink for a few minutes. When he spoke it was so soft, Hutch could hardly hear him. “It makes me angry.”

“What does?”

Starsky struggled to explain. “It’s like…like Nicholls today…Who cares about what’s happened to him since he came back? Who made sure he was doing okay? Nobody…People just don’t understand what it’s been like, what it’s still like…Everybody’s arguing about the politics of what’s going on out there but…but nobody gives a damn about the ex-servicemen who are suffering right now…It’s not right, Hutch!”

“I know what you’re saying, buddy, and it’s not right,” Hutch agreed.

Huggy appeared at their table with a tray carrying two burgers, two baskets of fries and two beers and a glass of something that looked like cream coloured orange juice. He handed the food out and sat down.

“Mind if I join you for a minute?”

Starsky waved a hand as his mouth was already full of burger. Hutch and Huggy exchanged glances, glad to see their friend had forgotten he’d said he wasn’t hungry. Half way through a mouthful and Starsky already looked a lot happier.

“What’s that, Hug?” Hutch enquired, looking at the concoction Huggy was drinking.

“This, my friend, is a Golden Cadillac. It’s the libation with the emotion to stir up a celebration.”

Starsky swallowed his mouthful and reached for some fries.

“Whatcha celebrating Huggy?”

“Being alive and being with friends,” Huggy responded holding out his glass.

“I’ll drink to that,” Hutch agreed.

“Yeah, me too,” Starsky said as the three friends clinked their glasses together and traded affectionate smiles.

 

Chapter Two

The next morning, Starsky rolled up in his red and white Gran Torino to collect Hutch for work. He was only ten minutes late so Hutch didn’t moan at him too much. The blond was glad to see that his partner seemed in better spirits than the previous day. Thankfully, he and Huggy had between them managed to prise Starsky out of his prison of blue thoughts and had headed off the downward spiral; at least they hoped they had. Hutch had been relieved to get Starsky home, relatively sober, and had been glad to leave him in a silly mood rather than a depressed one.

As they drove in to work, the Dispatch Officer, Joe Harvey, called to let them know that another body had been found in an alleyway off Phoenix Street. Starsky looked at Hutch, who nodded: confirming that he knew as well as Starsky that it was another road in the section between the red-light district and the skid row area of the city and therefore not many blocks from Memphis Street.

When they arrived at the scene, it was depressingly similar to the previous day’s setting except this time the victim was an older man. The two detectives sought information from the coroner and the uniformed officers, who’d taken the initial canvass of the area. One of the officers pointed to a bar on the opposite side of the street. It was called The Pink Pelican and had a garish sign painted in bright pink over the door. There was a stylised pink bird in the corner.

As they crossed over the street, Hutch remarked: “That’s a flamingo, not a pelican! You think they’d check the details before they got the sign painted…or chose the name…depending which came first.”

Starsky grinned. “Bit early for a chicken or egg conversation,” he teased.

Hutch rolled his eyes at him.

“It just doesn’t look like the sort of place where they’d be big on checking details,” Starsky added as he opened the door for his partner and waved him through.

Hutch sighed. “If more people checked the details-”

“-The world would be a better place. I know, partner.”

Starsky patted his pedantic friend’s shoulder, understanding that this was just one of the things that Hutch used as a coping mechanism to get through the tough parts of the job. He followed the blond into the dimly lit bar and tried not to look too surprised at the electric blue and pink seating. It was hideous but then the clients didn’t come for the ambience.

“You the night manager? Gray?” Hutch asked.

The man behind the bar was smaller than Starsky but looked capable of taking care of himself. He was wearing pale green flared trousers and a short sleeved Hawaiian shirt in such bright colours it would have vied with Huggy’s usual clothes for first place in a most colourful costume competition. It suited the garishness of the bar. He took a puff of his cigarette and looked calmly at the two detectives in front of him.

“Yeah, I’m Gray. Whatcha wanna know?”

“We understand that you saw a man running near the alleyway opposite around three a.m.,” Hutch asked as he opened his notebook and patted his pockets for a pen.

Starsky grabbed one out of a glass near the till and handed it to his partner, who grunted his thanks.

“Like I told the other cops, I’d just finished cashing up for the night and was opening the door to go out for a quick smoke before heading upstairs to sleep. I saw a guy running up towards Dallas Street. He might have come from the alley, he might not. I couldn’t say for sure…and before you ask, I didn’t see his face. He was running up the street, I only saw his back.”

“But it was definitely a man? What was he wearing?”

“Dark jeans, I think. Black windcheater with the hood pulled up. I think he was fairly young. He ran like a young guy, if you know what I mean.”

“Was he carrying anything?” Hutch wanted to know.

“The street light on that side of the street’s been busted a couple of weeks so it’s pretty dark but I think he was carrying something. Maybe a baseball bat. I’m not sure.”

Hutch closed his notepad and shoved it and the pen in his jacket pocket. Then he got a card out of another pocket.

“If you think of anything else, give us a call on this number.”

Gray nodded and slipped the card into the chest pocket on his shirt.

As Hutch turned to leave, Starsky prevented him from going too far.

“Ah ah ah,” he reproved Hutch. “I think you’ve taken something that doesn’t belong to you, partner. You need to give that pen back.”

Hutch looked sheepish and dug the pen out of his pocket. He handed it to the bemused manager.

Starsky couldn’t resist a dig as they walked outside: “What was it you said about attention to details?”

*****

Back in the squad room, Starsky and Hutch were going over the facts of the case. They’d also asked Detective Services to look into whether there had been any other murders of homeless people in the last couple of weeks that hadn’t come across their desks.

They quickly found that there were two others that seemed similar in their MO’s. They’d happened four nights apart on the week the two of them been working nights so the detectives working the day shift had been assigned the cases. There were no witnesses but all four victims had been found in the streets around Memphis Street.  The victims were all homeless but had no other connections that they could see: Nicholls had been a Veteran and their age; this morning’s victim was around seventy years old and was known as Dodge, according to a local barkeep that sometimes left scraps out for him; victim one had been in his fifties and still hadn’t been identified; victim two was in his sixties, was called Frank O’Malley – he had been a cook but alcohol had become a problem with him, he’d lost his job and ended up on the streets.

Hutch sighed and rubbed his eyes. He stood up and walked over to the coffee machine and poured two cups.

“Why’s the guy doing this?” he muttered. He walked back and handed a coffee to his partner and sat on the edge of the desk next to Starsky. “Any thoughts, partner. I feel like I’m at a dead end.”

“I got lots of thoughts, partner. One of which you might not like.”

Hutch stared at his partner. “Try me.”

“First, I think we ought to look at why this guy might have it in for homeless guys. Maybe a homeless guy has hurt someone he cares about.”

“That’s good thinking, Starsk.”

Hutch picked up the phone and called Detective Services again to ask for any files from the last six months on assaults or homicides where the assailant might have been a homeless person.

When he was done, he asked, “What other thoughts have you got?”

“I’m worried about those old guys we met the other day. I wondered if we could spread the word for people to be extra vigilant and maybe sleep in groups for a while. Maybe we could go check on ‘Lijah.”

Hutch nodded.

“Yeah, let’s do that. I’m worried too. Maybe we could go to the mission on Dallas Street and spread the word. We could also see if anyone knows who victim number one is.”

Starsky got up and started putting on his jacket, agreeing as he said, “Good idea, let’s go.”

It was only in the car that Hutch remembered Starsky’s comment about him not liking one of his thoughts.

“So partner, what’s the thought I’m not going to like?”

Starsky shifted slightly in his seat and kept his eyes on the road.

“I was thinking, maybe, this calls for trying to catch the guy in the act. Means one of us going undercover…and I think it ought to be me.”

Hutch stared at his partner so hard Starsky could feel his eyes boring into his head.

“Well?”

“You’re right. I don’t like it…This guy’s a psycho, Starsk. It’s too dangerous…And why do you think it ought to be you?”

Starsky risked a look at his partner, seeking to get Hutch to understand.

“If we don’t stand up for the nameless underdogs on our beat, who else is gonna do it? Nobody else gives a damn about them. Besides, you always say with my wardrobe, I’m half way to looking like a street bum anyway.”

Hutch tried not to smile as he shook his head and repeated: “It’s too dangerous.”

Starsky brought the Torino to a stop outside the Dallas Street Mission and turned off the engine. He turned to face his partner.

“It’s not that dangerous, Hutch. With you watching my back, I couldn’t be in safer hands.”

Hutch grimaced and said, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy, but if we’ve got a psycho on our hands, you being on your own for even a few seconds could be a few seconds too many.”

“I’m still not worried, pal, but let’s talk about it later. Maybe see what the Cap thinks. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The two of them climbed out of the car and headed into the Dallas Street Mission. The doors had not long opened and so only a few vagrants were making their way inside to get a hot meal and some company for a little while. It wouldn’t be long before the place was heaving. Glad that they’d got there before the rush, the two detectives managed to talk to the Sister in charge before she got too busy. She was a kind looking lady in her mid-fifties. She took them through to a small office at the back.

“I’m Sister Martha. Now what can I do for you, detectives?”

Starsky spoke first: “I’m afraid we’re here about some homicides.”

“More than one?”

“Yes. I’m afraid someone seems to be targeting homeless men.”

Sister Martha put a hand to her face and said sadly, “How awful.”

“There was man named Dodge found this morning. Do you recognise the name?”

“No, I don’t think he’s one of our regulars.”

“Yesterday, Brad Nicholls was found over on Memphis Street. He was an ex-soldier.”

Sister Martha nodded. “We have several ex-servicemen who come in regularly. I know most of their names so again I don’t think he was someone who came here.”

Hutch spoke: “About three weeks ago, a homeless man was found in an alleyway quite near here. We’re trying to identify who he was and wondered if any of your regulars are missing.”

“As I said, I know most of the regulars…I don’t think there’s anyone missing.”

“Well, it was a long shot,” Starsky said.

“Do you have a picture to show me?”

Hutch and Starsky exchanged looks. Hutch cleared his throat and said, “I’m afraid that the man’s face was quite heavily damaged so there wouldn’t be much there to recognise.”

“Oh my, poor man.” The Sister closed her eyes briefly and looked like she was praying. When she opened them again, she looked thoughtful. “About three weeks ago, you said?”

“Yes.”

“I seem to remember one of our regulars coming in looking very distressed around that time. He’s not one of the ones who likes to have a chat so I don’t think he will have told anyone why he was so upset. His name’s Little Joe. I could point him out to you if you like…but be gentle with him…he’s a damaged soul.”

“We’ll try to be as gentle as we can, Ma’am,” Starsky assured her.

Hutch said, “We don’t want to cause panic but we wondered if you could advise your clients to keep an eye on each other and try to stay in groups if possible.”

Sister Martha sighed. “That will be difficult. Most of them like to keep themselves to themselves but I can pass the word around. Now I must get back in and help serve meals. If you come with me, I’ll see if Little Joe is around yet.”

The two detectives followed her out into the main room where ten long trestle tables were set up. The tables were half full now and more men were queueing up to collect their bowl of stew and bread. Sister Martha scanned the room and then nodded towards one corner.

“That’s Little Joe sitting over there. The one in the grey jacket tied with yellow string.”

“Thank you,” Hutch said and the two of them made their way over to ‘Little Joe’, who was six feet tall if he was an inch and big build with it.

Hutch sat down next to him. Starsky hung back. As soon as the big man felt Hutch’s presence, he froze and stopped eating.

“Little Joe? Sister Martha said it would be all right if I came and talked to you…Is that okay with you? We need your help.”

Little Joe turned frightened eyes towards Hutch. He stared at the blond for a moment. Whatever he saw in Hutch’s face seemed to reassure him and he slowly nodded.

“We’re trying to identify a man who was found dead three weeks ago. We wondered if you might know him. He was found in an alleyway on Portland Street. Do you hang around there?”

Little Joe looked down at his food and stayed silent. Hutch glanced over his shoulder at Starsky, wondering if he wanted to have a go at talking to the man, but suddenly Joe sniffed and mumbled something.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Little Joe looked up and Hutch could see he had tears in his eyes. His voice when he spoke was slow and rusty-sounding from lack of use. “Friend…Larry…dead.”

“I’m sorry about Larry…Do you know his last name?”

Little Joe looked up at the ceiling as if trying to recall a memory. “Larry…Taylor…maybe?”

“Do you know if he had family in Bay City?”

Little Joe shook his head. “No family…daughter died…that’s why…that’s why he drank…that’s why he was on the streets.” Joe’s voice seemed to be becoming more fluent as he used more words.

Hutch asked gently, “Did you see or hear what happened?”

Again, Joe shook his head. “I was asleep…I woke up…Heard someone moving around and a lot of banging…There was a horrible noise.” Joe put trembling hands over his ears as if he was trying to block out a noise he could still hear.

Hutch placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and waited, until the big man lowered his hands, before he spoke: “But you didn’t see anyone?”

Joe sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “No…I went out after a few minutes…I saw what was done…too late…too late…dead, forgotten…Left him like a piece of rubbish.”

Hutch didn’t have to turn to look at his partner to sense he was struggling as hard as he was to stay detached from this case. Confronted by the human element, only the hardest of hearts would be able to ignore the distress evident in the man in front of them. Hutch squeezed the man’s shoulder and thanked him for his help.

“We won’t forget about your buddy. We’ll do our best to find out who killed him.”

Little Joe nodded and picked up his spoon and started to eat again. He’d said as much as he could. He just wanted to be left in peace now. Hutch stood up and he and Starsky made their way over to the serving counter to speak to Sister Martha again before they left.

“It was Little Joe’s friend,” Hutch informed her, “That’s why he was upset.”

Sister Martha’s voice was filled with kindness: “Thank you for letting me know. Poor Little Joe. I’ll try to keep an eye on him and see if he wants to talk about it later.”

*****

With a name in hand for the first victim, the two detectives put a call through to Detective Services to see if they could come up with any information on Larry Taylor. Then they went to have a look for ‘Lijah and found him near his regular haunt. He usually hung out in a part of town that was quite a way from the scenes of the murders but the two of them felt happier after they’d warned him and his buddy to stick together. Warning issued, they headed back to the squad room. Starsky tried to persuade Hutch again about going undercover and they decided that it was time to fill in their Captain and get his opinion.

They grabbed the files they had from their desks and knocked on Dobey’s door. When he yelled at them to enter they went in and threw themselves into the two chairs in front of his desk.

“So what have you got for me?”

“Well, we think we’ve found two more victims that fit the MO of the two this week. We’ve managed to get a name for the first victim, who had been listed as a John Doe. Name was Larry Taylor, he was in his fifties. We’re waiting to see if Detective Services can find anything else out about him.”

Starsky took over: “Victim two was Frank O’Malley, a short-order cook in his sixties. Victim three was Corporal Brad Nicholls, ex-soldier in his thirties and this morning’s victim was called ‘Dodge’ and was in his seventies. There doesn’t seem to be anything to tie them together.”

“Except that someone’s got it in for homeless people,” Dobey interjected.

“Exactly, Captain,” Hutch agreed, “But why? We were wondering if a homeless person hurt someone and this is payback of a sort. We’re trying to go through assault cases and homicides for the last six months where a homeless person was involved.”

“How many files have you got?”

“That we like the look of? Two assaults: one where the perp was arrested, one not solved. Three homicides by homeless hypes: one convicted, two unsolved.”

“Hmm.”

Starsky spoke up: “Cap, I think one of us should go undercover and see if we can catch the guy in the act.”

Dobey looked unconvinced. He turned his gaze on Hutch. “You agree?”

“I think it’s too dangerous…I’d rather take a look at these unsolved cases and see if we can uncover someone with a grudge. Then if that fails, maybe we could go down the undercover route.”

“Do that. Rattle a few bars and see if anyone gives themselves away. If you draw a complete blank, I’ll consider you going undercover.”

*****

The following day, Starsky and Hutch looked through the three cases that were unsolved and went to visit the victims and their families, ostensibly to see if they had remembered any new details that might be helpful. Understandably, all of the families were unhappy to see them: distressed by the injuries caused and in one case a loss; angry that the nature of the crime meant that there was little hope of an arrest being made.

There were teenage or young adult sons in two of the families: neither looked guilty or uncomfortable while the two detectives were asking their questions. James, the son of the assault victim Anita Sipowicz, was quite angry and understandably protective of his mother. She’d been attacked by a homeless man who had stolen her bag and knocked her to the ground. She was now suffering from anxiety attacks and afraid to go anywhere by herself. Nathan, the son of the homicide victim, Harry Jones, was quite calm and seemed to be handling the loss as well as could be hoped. Harry had been robbed and knifed by a hype looking for drug money. He’d been taken to the hospital but had later died from his injuries.

They arrived back at the precinct to find Captain Dobey waiting for them, file in hand and a grim expression on his face. He told them to come into his office. Hutch paused to make coffees for both of them then followed his partner into the room.

“What’s up, Cap?” Starsky asked.

“There was a call from the sanitation department this morning. They discovered a body at the landfill out by Whistler Woods. Dead at least a week. From the looks of it, it was a male, in his twenties and homeless. They think the victim must have been in the bottom of an industrial dumpster, which got collected and the rubbish taken out to Whistler. It’s likely that it was one of the dumpsters in the Memphis Street area.”

“Left him like a piece of rubbish,” Starsky muttered under his breath, echoing Little Joe’s words.

“The body’s with the coroner. He said he’d have a report for you at 1500 hours,” Dobey informed them.

Hutch sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “All the others were left lying out where they’d been killed. What makes this one different?” he mused.

“Well, I hope you can find that out,” Dobey said. “We’ve now got five victims. With two the first week and two this week, it looks like there could be another somewhere that hasn’t been discovered yet…Even though it’s only vagrants, I’ve got The Commissioner breathing down my neck now.”

Starsky’s hackles rose. “Just because they were vagrants doesn’t mean that they deserved what happened to them!”

Dobey sighed and wiped his face. “I know that Starsky. Don’t you think I know that?”

Starsky settled back in his chair and nodded.

“We know that every life is important otherwise we wouldn’t be doing this job but some folks only pay attention when it hits certain communities or there’s a rise in numbers. It’s not right but that’s the way it is. Now we’ve got five victims it will make ordinary citizens nervous.”

Hutch asked, “What’s our next move?”

“I’m getting all uniformed officers to take a particular look at their patches, double check that we haven’t missed any other bodies. I want you down at the coroner’s office at 1500 hours to get his report and see if you can work out why this one’s different…and I want you to come in late tomorrow because I want you two, King and Jones, and Michaels and Sutton on night duty. We’re going to have three teams undercover and see if we can nail this psycho.”

Starsky and Hutch exchanged looks.

Hutch asked, “Do you want one man in the alley and one staking things out? Or both in the alleyway?” He knew what he’d prefer.

“One undercover. We’re going clear out the other vagrants and make it easy for this guy to pick a victim.”

Before Starsky could get a coin out of his pocket, Hutch pointed his long finger at him, saying, “Don’t say we’ll flip a coin! I know you cheat!”

Starsky smirked then sobered. “I want to do it, buddy, and I want you watching my back. Okay?”

As Dobey watched, some silent communication telegraphed back and forth between the pair. He’d found it unnerving at first, now he expected it.

Hutch sighed. “Okay, partner.”

Starsky hopped up. “Okay, Cap, we’ll get down to the coroner’s office and get back to you.”

Dobey watched the two of them leave the office and let out a long breath. He hoped his plan for tomorrow would be successful and not put any of his officers in danger. It was a heavy responsibility, juggling the safety of those under his command and making sure that dangerous killers were caught. Sometimes he wondered if he was strong enough to make those sorts of decisions but then he remembered that he had Edith and his family backing him up and a father in heaven, who would be keeping an eye on things. He offered up a prayer for help and settled back to work.

*****

The only thing that the coroner’s report had found was that the victim had put up a struggle and had drawn blood from his attacker. There was skin and blood found under his nails. The sample was too small to match to a blood type. Hutch concluded that the body had likely been hidden by the attacker hoping that whatever wounds, the victim had managed to inflict on him, would have healed and disappeared by the time anyone was able to look for evidence.

Hutch sat in his car and listened to Starsky humming to himself. It was two a.m. and Hutch would usually be finding it hard to stay awake but tonight he was keyed up, every nerve stretched to its limit, aware that he had to be ready to move as soon as his partner needed him.

“Hey, buddy, you still there?” a whispered voice came through over the wire.

“Right here, partner. Not going anywhere.”

Hutch’s nervous state must have been apparent in his voice because Starsky responded with: “Hey, partner, pace yourself, we could be in for several nights of this.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll just be glad when it’s over.”

“Me too, it’s freezing. I’ll have to bring a thicker blanket tomorrow.”

“Or you could let me take tomorrow’s shift?” Hutch suggested. “You could sit in the nice warm car and eat pizza, buddy.”

“Oh, don’t mention food, I’m starving!”

Hutch couldn’t help grinning and some of his tension leached away as he offered, “I’ll buy you a big breakfast.”

“Sounds good…I’d better stop talking and go back to humming. Don’t want to scare our bird away.”

“Okay, partner.”

Starsky was as good as his word, humming snatches of songs some of which Hutch recognised and found himself humming along to as well. Three a.m. came and went. Three thirty. Hutch checked his watch and saw it was just coming up to four a.m. One hour to go and then they could call it a night and start the whole thing over again tomorrow. The thought was barely finished when he heard a startled “Mayday!” from the radio and then silence.

Hutch shouted into the radio for back up from the other units in the area then flew out of the car with his gun drawn. He dashed across the road and into the gap between the two rundown buildings. In the darkness of the alleyway, he struggled to see what was happening. Suddenly, two figures loomed into view. They were fighting in close proximity, each struggling to get the upper hand. From a distance, Hutch had difficulty telling which one was which as they both had brunet hair and were wearing dark clothes. A hard kick to the leg sent one of them staggering. A second kick knocked the man’s knees out from under him and he fell to the ground. Starsky. The other man, a youngster as far as Hutch could tell in the gloom,  grabbed for an object lying on the ground.

As the younger man brought the bat up to take a swing, Hutch shouted, “Freeze. Police. Drop the bat. Put your hands in the air.”

The man froze but didn’t drop the bat. He leaned over the brunet threateningly.

“Right now. Put the bat down or I will shoot.”

Abruptly, the young man let go of the bat and it bounced on the ground near Starsky’s head but didn’t touch him. Starsky flinched and struggled to get to his knees. He seemed a bit dazed.

“Put your hands on your head,” Hutch ordered and slowly, the young man did as he was told.

Now, he was face to face with the man, Hutch could see it was Nathan Jones, whose father had been killed by a hype trying to rob him for drug money. Hutch could hear sirens screaming into the locality as he grabbed the young man’s arms and cuffed then behind his back. He read him his rights, all the time keeping an eye on his partner. He couldn’t wait to go to him and check he was okay and was relieved when a pair of uniformed officers appeared and took charge of the prisoner. Hutch instructed the officers to meet him back at the precinct. Captain Dobey came into view and hurried up the alleyway to check his men were all right.

Hutch bent down and extended an arm to his pale partner, gripping his arm near his elbow while Starsky did the same, enabling the blond to pull him to his feet. As he stood swaying a little, Hutch wrapped an arm under his shoulders to support him.

“You okay, Starsk?”

“Yeah.” Starsky shook his head to clear it. “He managed to make contact once. Lucky I got a thick skull.”

“Let me look,” Hutch ordered.

“He hit me across the side of my head.”

Hutch made a careful examination. “Well, I can’t see any blood. There’s a little bump but doesn’t look too bad.”

Dobey cleared his throat. “Glad you seem mainly unharmed, son, but I think you should get that head checked out, just in case.”

“No, honestly, Cap, I’m okay. I don’t want to go to the hospital. Hutch can keep an eye on me…’Sides Hutch promised to buy me breakfast and I’m starving.”

“He seems like his normal self to me,” Hutch commented then took pity on his partner, adding, “I’ll keep an eye on him. First sign of extraordinary dopiness, I’ll take him to the hospital.”

Starsky shook his head at his partner and rolled his eyes.

“All right, then,” Dobey agreed. “Well, you’d better go see if you can get that boy to confess.”

“Yeah. That was Nathan Jones,” Hutch informed him. “His father was killed by a hype. I guess in his mind he assumed all homeless people are hypes and was getting payback. We’ll go and find out. You ready, Starsky?”

Starsky’s colour had already improved and he looked a lot steadier on his feet. “Yeah, I’m good to go.”

As they walked down the alleyway back to Hutch’s car, Starsky commented, “I’m filthy, I’d better change as soon as we get back then we can go interrogate Jones.”

“Hadn’t noticed, partner, You look much the same as usual,” Hutch said and received a swipe at his head in reply.

*****

It was almost the start of day shift by the time they’d questioned Nathan and got him to sign a confession. The kid seemed relieved it was over. He’d been devastated by his father’s murder and frustrated and bitter that the killer hadn’t been caught and very likely wouldn’t be. It was clear to the Starsky and Hutch that the kid had had some sort of mental breakdown. It was with mixed feelings of relief, sympathy, horror and regret that the two detectives handed Nathan over to the booking sergeant with instructions to place a close watch over the young lad while he was in the cells. They had no doubt that the lawyer assigned to him would get a psychiatric assessment done in short order.

They were just about to head out of the building to finally get breakfast before getting a few hours of well-deserved sleep, when they were stopped by a commotion caused by an incoming pair of uniformed officers and the handcuffed man they were dragging in. The guy was fighting them with barely contained rage. Suddenly, he somehow managed to twist one hand out of the handcuffs that had been containing him and grabbed the gun out of the hip holster on the nearest officer. There was a shout of “gun!” and all hell broke loose.

Officers all around the precinct drew their guns and aimed them at the dishevelled man, who was brandishing the stolen weapon and screaming at everyone to get away from him. Like every other officer, Starsky drew his gun quickly but paused in his tracks when the man swung round to face his direction and he saw he was wearing a tattered green khaki jacket and military dog tags around his neck. He froze then looked uncertainly at Hutch.

Why was there yet another reminder of ‘Nam in front of him? The answer came to him, as crystal clear as purified water: it was because it wasn’t over. The fighting was still going on over there and every soldier who came back had to run a gauntlet of accusations and derision and hatred. They were and would continue to be: the despised ones; the ones nobody wanted to engage with; the ones who couldn’t forget what they had seen; the ones who couldn’t forget what they had done; and as long as people continued to refuse to acknowledge their suffering, the way they had been uniquely damaged by the ‘Civil Action’ then there would be more and more young men homeless on the streets, becoming junkies, becoming alcoholics, committing crimes.

There had to be something that could be done to help: even some small thing that would begin to ease the distress of these victims because, whatever else they were, they were victims. Starsky knew in his bones that something needed to change and right now, it was his chance to start making that change.

Hutch couldn’t hear his thoughts and yet somehow Starsky’s pain and resolve telegraphed its way over to him and, when his partner put his gun back in his holster, he did the same. Starsky stepped in front of two of the armed uniformed police, effectively blocking their view and their guns. Hutch took his lead from his partner and followed suit.

“What the hell?” another officer barked out.

Silently, Starsky pulled himself into a rigid stance and barked: “A-ten-hut.”

It was a tone of voice that Hutch had never before heard from his partner and one ill-suited to the man he thought he knew better than anyone. It had the effect of making the gunman fall silent and fix his eyes on Starsky. The brunet took a step forward, one hand poised behind his back indicating three fingers to his partner.

“Name. Rank. Serial number.”

The dishevelled man tried to straighten up. He didn’t let go of the gun but his hand lowered to his side as he tried vainly to stand at attention.

“Henry Delacroix, sir. Corporal. 37908162.”

“What company are you with, Corporal?”

“C Company, sir.”

“Squad designation?”

“Delta, sir.”

Hutch registered the change in his partner’s skin colour even as he saw his fingers change to two digits.

“You are late reporting in, Corporal. Where’s the rest of your squad?”

Delacroix’s face crumpled and he whispered: “All dead, sir…all dead…We were overrun…They’re dead…but I can still see them…”

Starsky and Hutch moved at exactly the same moment: Starsky to envelope the man in his arms as he started to sob; Hutch to grab the gun from his unresisting hand and pass it over to a waiting uniformed officer. All around the atrium, officers re-holstered their guns and began to drift away. There was a palpable sense of relief in the air as two other uniformed officers made a move to cuff Delacroix.

Hutch waved them back with the words: “Wait one minute.”

Starsky was facing the wall but his voice was clearly heard as he said, “Get someone from the Veteran’s Association down here.”

The sergeant behind the desk frowned and protested: “That’s not usual procedure, Detective Starsky.”

Hutch rounded on him. “Just do it! If my partner thinks it’s a good idea, it’s a good idea.”

Reluctantly, the desk sergeant picked up the phone.

As the man began to calm down, Starsky stepped away from him and said gently, “You’ll have to go with these officers now, Corporal Delacroix, okay.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll check in on you later.”

The two uniformed officers quickly stepped forward and led Delacroix away.

Hutch placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “All right, partner?”

“Yeah.”

A familiar voice spoke quietly from behind them, “Starsky, Hutchinson, I’d like to see you in my office…as soon as possible.”

Starsky was surprised by the gentleness of the tone. He nodded and acknowledged the invitation, rather than an order, with: “Okay, Cap, be right there.”

The big man nodded back and turned towards the lift that would take him up to the right floor for his office.

Hutch spoke under his breath to his partner, “Need some air before we go see Dobey?”

Starsky smiled at him reassuringly, “No, I’m okay. Thanks for backing me up.”

“Any time.”

“Well, let’s go see our Captain. I figure I’m in for a reprimand about how many procedures I broke just now.” As they entered the lift, Starsky groaned, “And I’m going to miss out on my breakfast at this rate!”

Hutch patted his shoulder. “We’ll find somewhere that serves the breakfast foods you like, I promise. You deserve it.”

“Thanks.”

Once in the Captain’s office, Starsky wearily sank into one of the chairs while Hutch balanced on the arm next to him. Before Dobey could speak, Starsky said, “Sorry, Cap, I know I didn’t go by the book.”

“No, you didn’t, but I’m guessing you had a good reason?”

Starsky shifted in his chair. “It’s just…something’s gotta change with how we deal with perps that are clearly damaged Vets…I’ve been giving this some thought the last few days and I think we should liaise with the Veteran’s Association and make sure that they have a rep here when people like that guy just now get arrested. Help them deal with the system…It would be better if they didn’t get in the system in the first place but that’s asking too much, I guess. Least we could do is help them when we come across them.”

Dobey sat back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure that idea will get much traction higher up. I don’t have to tell you that ‘Nam’s still a political minefield…But…But on a local scale, I don’t see why we couldn’t arrange our own partnership with the VA. Would you be willing to help set it up?”

The look Starsky gave him was one of pure gratitude. “I would really like that, Cap. Thanks.”

“Leave it with me. Now, you two, get out of here and get some sleep.”

“Yes, Cap, thanks,” both detectives said as they hurried to leave.

The last thing Dobey heard Starsky say as he closed the door behind him was: “Breakfast burritos are on you, Hutch!”

*****

Hutch had managed to persuade Starsky to go to a place that served more than just breakfast burritos so they were now both happily coming to the end of their meals. Cereal, fruit, yoghurt and juice in Hutch’s case. Coffee, bacon, eggs, toast and pancakes in Starsky’s.

As he sighed contentedly and sat back, Starsky made one final comment about his squad to the patiently listening blond: “My squad were my family. We were closer than brothers over there. It’s hard knowing so many of them are dead…Mike too now…So it means I gotta cling on to the ones I have got left, like Eddie and Jackson.”

“Yeah, I understand that, pal. You’ll never be as close to anyone as you were to those guys. You were in such an intense situation, those types of bonds are hard to break and they last a lifetime.”

Starsky was silent for a while and Hutch got the feeling that his partner was just about ready to go home and get some sleep. The emotional nature of the last few days had left them both feeling exhausted.

“Well, I’d better get you home, partner,” Hutch said. “And tomorrow, you’ll pick me up at eight as usual?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said with a yawn.

Hutch heaved himself off the bench and went to pay the bill. When he’d finished, Starsky followed him out to the car. They drove in companionable silence the short distance to Starsky’s home.

As he went to get out, he turned back to Hutch and said, “You’re wrong about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That I’ll never be as close to anyone as I was to my squad…What we got, Hutch, our partnership…it’s like…it’s like you’re my whole squad all rolled in to one person…You got my back. I got yours. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you…I just thought you ought to know.”

Hutch was stunned and for a moment lost for words. In the end, all he could manage was “Likewise, partner,” but the hand he put on Starsky’s shoulder and the smile he gave his friend more than made up for his lack of eloquence. Starsky beamed at him anyway as if he had made some grand speech.

“Bye, Hutch. Sleep well. See ya at tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow…Don’t be late like you usually are!” Hutch shouted after his friend’s retreating back.

Starsky turned back and snorted. “When am I ever late?” he called.

Hutch just grinned at him and waved as he drove away.

Starsky couldn’t help grinning as he headed inside. All in all, he had it pretty good and he wasn’t going to forget that in a hurry. Just like he should remember that he wasn’t a shadow, a spectre hovering on the edge of life. He was living life to the full. Tomorrow would be a good day: doing a job he loved with his best friend by his side.