A Church is Burning

Starsky and Hutch work on a case involving arson at local synagogues. Can they find the arsonist before anyone gets hurt … or worse?

Thanks: To Paula, for many reasons.

Author’s Note: This story was inspired by a Paul Simon song. I’ve found myself inspired by him a whole lot lately, and not just in my writing. I can’t encourage everyone enough to give his music a try. Starsky and Hutch make me smile. Paul Simon makes me think. All three of them enhance my life.

“Ah, man.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I looked up from the report I was finishing and noticed the scowl that was plastered across Starsky’s face. Whatever it was he was reading in the paper couldn’t have been good. But what news was good lately?

“Starsky, why don’t you put that down and help me finish up this report so we can get the hell out of here?”

He looked up from the newspaper. I could tell he was torn about his next move, his choice being to continue to read the bad news in the paper, or to help with writing the report on the case we had just finished. Neither option would be at the top of his list of fun things to do.

The chance to get out and start the weekend won out, and he tossed the paper in the trash and pulled up a chair to help put the finishing touches on the report. If we worked hard, we could finish and be on our way home by seven. We were lucky to be starting the weekend with just a couple of open cases, and only a few reports to finish up when we got back in on Monday.

As Starsky was reading through the first page of the report he looked up and said, “Hey, how’s dinner in a nice restaurant sound to you?”

“Sounds good to me buddy.” Considering the week we’d had I think I would have said yes to anything Starsky asked at that point.

I was finishing the second and last page of the report when Dobey opened the door from his office. “Good, you’re both still here. I need to see you in my office.” I was almost done with the report and didn’t really want to be slowed down by anything; it had been a long time since Starsky and I started a weekend with a clean slate, and to be honest I was feeling a little pissed that Dobey was ruining the chance to make that happen.

“Captain, I’m almost done with the report on the liquor store hold-up. Starsky’s reviewing it, we’ll have it for you in a few minutes.”

“Drop it and get in here now.” This was not good. The directive from Dobey just oozed ‘no weekend.’

Starsky stood and headed to the door, rubbing my back as he walked by. I think he was trying to forestall my blowing up at Dobey. It was a nice try, but it wasn’t going to work.

I followed my partner into the captain’s office. Captain Dobey’s nod to the door said I should close it, so I did. I didn’t like this, and I could see Starsky’s dejected appearance out of the corner of my eye. I stared our captain down, choosing not to sit.

“Hutchinson, sit down.” Dobey obviously was feeling uncomfortable with me standing, or maybe he just wanted to put me in my place about who was in charge. Whatever it was, it suited my objective just fine, which was to keep him a little off kilter. But my resolve took a back seat when I caught a look at my partner. Starsky looked up at me and with tired eyes asked me to take a seat. I looked down at him, wondering why he wasn’t as ticked off as I was, but then I remembered that it had been a long week, one that included my partner taking a hard hit to the back just a couple of days before. His back was badly bruised; he was still in pain, tired, and not in the mood to play block and tackle between the boss and me. I took a seat.

“Whaddya need, Cap’n?” Starsky asked, wearily. I hoped Dobey picked up on that, because I couldn’t believe that he would ask us to work the weekend when we were both about ready to fall down from exhaustion.

“You heard about these recent fires in synagogues and black churches?” It would have been impossible to live in Bay City for the last month and not have known about them. Three churches and two synagogues had been torched, mostly smoke damage. One person had been hospitalized briefly for smoke inhalation. Fortunately, there had been no serious injuries or loss of life. But the fear and the foreboding hanging over Bay City was palpable.

“Yes, three churches and two synagogues,” I started.

“Four churches,” Starsky interrupted. “Another church was hit last night. That’s what I was reading earlier in this morning’s paper.”

Okay, so the number of churches had risen since last I’d heard. I didn’t see what that had to do with two homicide detectives who desperately needed a couple of days off. But I knew that these fires had been bothering my partner, and there was little doubt that if Dobey wanted us to get involved in this investigation, Starsky would jump all over the chance to do it.

“I guess I’m not surprised that the number has increased, but what does that have to do with us, Captain?” I rubbed my hand down my neck and bent my head slightly. My neck cracked, as I expected it would. It felt a little better, but a good night’s sleep would help more physically, and sleeping in on a Saturday morning would have an even better psychological impact. And Starsky needed the rest more than I did. He’d been told to rest up, that inactivity was what his back needed more than anything. This week just hadn’t allowed for that recovery period.

I could see in Dobey’s eyes that he was bothered by what he was about to say. “Hutch, there’s not been any significant headway made in the investigation of these arsons. I’ve been asked by the commissioner to pull in my two best detectives to help out. Other departments are supplying help, too. We need to crack this case before someone gets killed!” Dobey pulled out his handkerchief and swiped his face; he was feeling the strain from all sides.

“Cap’n, they’ve been investigating this for a month. Is two days gonna make a difference? I mean two days could make a difference, because Hutch and I could come back on Monday a little fresher than we are right now. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten the kind of week we’ve had.” Starsky was doing his best to plead our case.

The week had started off badly with a bank robbery first thing Monday morning. The robbers had killed a clerk at a convenience store and only gotten away with a couple hundred dollars. Good descriptions had been provided by witnesses, and these suspects, rather than heading out of the area, had headed straight for a nearby bank, apparently realizing the error of their ways after netting such a low dollar amount during the first robbery.

The bank manager made a habit of listening to police scanners as a hobby, and as soon as he spotted the robbers in the lobby, he was able to get to the silent alarm before having a shotgun aimed at his head for the duration of the incident. The robbers held the police at bay for most of the day before they started to tire and lose focus. With an able assist from the SWAT team, their very presence having a chilling effect, the suspects gave themselves up after a seven-hour standoff.

At least they said they would give themselves up. The suspects walked out of the bank building, arms raised. Two pairs of uniformed officers started in to grab the guys, directing them to get down on the ground. They approached before receiving the all clear and Starsky and I knew immediately that we were in trouble. Suddenly, the suspects started running, assuming that the SWAT team members would have trouble keeping them in their sights with cops in the way. They were right. We ended up chasing them for several blocks before some black and whites and two very winded BCPD detectives cornered them.

With securing the scene, the questioning of witnesses and the suspects and finishing the report, we’d put in a fourteen-hour day, which started the week off with a bang. Tuesday was just non-stop, call after call on our beat, and by the time Starsky dropped me at Venice Place, I was too beat to even think about food. And Starsky was nodding off in the driver’s seat; I’m sure when he thinks back on that day, he’ll appreciate that I probably saved him from causing major damage to his precious car. I dragged him up to my place, we ordered pizza, and the pizza guy was forced to bang on the door for quite some time when we both fell asleep waiting for him to deliver.

Wednesday was the day from hell. We started it in court, testifying in a drug case, a case that had left two people dead, including an innocent bystander. We finished our testimony, and the District Attorney came out to tell us it didn’t look good, and that we should call it a day. I thought Starsky was going to jump out of his skin.

“Whaddya mean it doesn’t look good? We got that guy! We got the evidence, we witnessed the buy. He’s a dealer and he’s a killer. What’s happened that you now think we can’t get him?” Starsky’s face was red and he was all over Assistant District Attorney Aaron Bell. But Bell wasn’t intimidated.

“Look, Detective, I know you want this guy. We want him too. But he’s got one of the best defense attorneys around. I just wanted you to know that the alibis he provided for the killings, which you yourself could not disprove, if you remember, are holding up. We know they’re lying, but they’ve been solid in cross-examination. We can probably get him on the intent to distribute charge. I’m sure you heard about the judge’s admonishment regarding the racketeering evidence. He’s practically said it’s bogus, and the jury heard that. I’m afraid…”

“I think it’s your job to argue the case and make that jury believe that they’ve got a murderer who needs to be put away. You believed it or you wouldn’t have charged him.”

This was getting out of hand. I walked to my partner and tried to steady him, laying my hand on his stomach and forcing him to look at me.

“Detective Starsky, you and I both know what is sitting in the defendant’s chair. He’s an animal, a murderer, of his own people and anyone who gets in the way, including the children that he’s turning on to the dope that he’s pushing. We’re doing our best in there and I take exception to you saying that we’re doing otherwise!”

“Okay, look, let’s just calm down. You both agree on what you’re fighting about. Step back and take a breath.”

D.A. Bell stood back and nodded his agreement. Starsky was still seething, every muscle taut, his breathing way too fast. I leaned in right next to his ear. “Come on, buddy, let’s get out of here. Nothing good’s gonna come out of this. Come on.” I placed my other hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the exit.

I looked back toward Bell. His face said it all. He agreed with Starsky, but his expression also showed he was doing everything he could. In our business, we knew that doing our best just wasn’t good enough sometimes.

I caught up with Starsky, who was already in the driver’s seat of his car. I sank into my seat and looked at him. He yanked the tie off as though it was strangling him, then he slammed his right palm hard into the steering wheel. His breathing was slowly coming back down to normal, but I wondered if I should wait a little longer to talk to him. He wasn’t starting the car, though, and we needed to get back to Metro and change to start our shift.

I started to speak, but Starsky lifted his hand and said, “Not now, Hutch. Just give me some time, okay?” He looked my way and that glare was one I knew well. I gave him the time he needed and hoped he’d be calm before we had to deal with the next criminal that day.

The beginning of the shift was uneventful and Starsky seemed to have quieted down from the rage that had lingered for some time after the courthouse showdown. We had lunch, which was actually dinner since we were working second shift. It was also not on the run for a change.

“Tony does nice specials, dontcha think?” Starsk said as he started to zip up his jacket on the way out the door.

“It’s nice when we can both get something we like, huh? Not your average diner,” I said, a compliment for sure when I think about some of the grease that Starsky has tried to force on me.

“Yeah, we never argue on our way to, or leaving Tony’s. Maybe we should come here more often,” Starsky said with a smile as I opened the door for him.

As we walked out of the diner, Starsky saw some suspicious activity across the street.

“Ain’t that Jimmy?” Starsky asked.

I looked up and saw someone who looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. We wouldn’t have looked twice if the guy had just walked calmly down the street. But Starsky’s attention was drawn to him, and he recognized the guy as a nickel and dime pusher we’d been after for a while.

“Yep, definitely Jimmy,” I said, as our eyes met, and Starsky told me pretty quickly with just a look what he was going to do. Jimmy used to be a handy snitch, but he had become pretty unreliable, using more of his own stuff than selling it. His name was James “Jimmy” Horton, and we wanted to question him in regard to some information we’d heard he might have on a much larger fish we were hoping to catch.

Starsky started across the street, casually sauntering over to the liquor store. Jimmy recognized him and started running toward the side street. “Jimmy, don’t make me chase you!” Starsky yelled as he started chasing him down to the corner. The owner of the store came running out, practically knocking Starsky down.

“Hey, I’ve been robbed.” Starsky gave him a dirty look and continued running after Jimmy.

I stopped briefly and told the owner to call the police. I showed him my badge and then ran to help my partner catch this guy.

I made it to the corner and noticed Starsky heading down an alley. I ran on to the next street, hoping to cut Jimmy off at the other end, or maybe even get lucky and just grab him after Starsky chased him my way. I got to the end and headed to the alley. Nobody came out. I pulled my weapon and walked carefully but quickly to the corner. It was amazing what a difference a block or two could make. This area was run down, with a lot of boarded-up buildings and trash littering the sidewalks. Nothing like the tidy, middle-class downtown area where we’d started the chase.

I eased up to the corner. As I peered around the edge of the building I noticed Starsky had his gun aimed at Jimmy, but he was down on the ground lying on his side in a pretty awkward position. Even down on the ground, he seemed to have Jimmy cornered.

“Starsk, you have him?” I asked loudly, walking toward them with my gun aimed at Jimmy.

“Yeah, he ain’t goin’ nowhere. Cuff him, would ya?” Starsky eased his arm down, the effort of holding it up obviously causing him pain.

“You okay?” I asked, already aware that something was definitely not right. I quickly got Jimmy cuffed and sitting down and went over to check on Starsky.

Once he saw that Jimmy wasn’t going anywhere, Starsky dropped his weapon and groaned heavily. That didn’t sound good.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I kneeled next to him, trying to establish exactly what his injury was. I didn’t see blood, and he wasn’t holding himself where he might have sustained a gunshot or knife wound or been kicked or punched somewhere.

“Oh, God.” He said quietly. He started to move his right arm back to reach for his back, but even that movement seemed to cause more pain.

“Don’t move yet. Where do you hurt?” I put my hand softly on his arm and bent down to get a good look at his face. I could read Starsky like a book. Years of working this closely together, years of friendship and turmoil in our personal and professional lives provided me that ability to see just what was going on with him, usually without him saying a word.

I didn’t need those years of experience this time. Anyone could tell he was in a great deal of pain and I desperately wanted to find out what was wrong to see if I could help him before an ambulance could get there; especially in light of the fact that one hadn’t been called yet.

I heard sirens and knew that backup would be there soon. But I still hadn’t gotten an answer from Starsky and I was getting a little worried. I looked up at Jimmy and said, “What’s wrong with him?” I was still holding on to Starsky’s arm, and Jimmy hadn’t responded fast enough for me. “What did you do to him?” I yelled, giving Jimmy a look that said I meant business.

“I… I… um, I hit him.”

Starsky moaned at that point and reached for the front of my jacket with the arm that I was still holding. He grimaced at even that slight move and said, “Yeah… with a baseball bat or somethin’.” He was panting heavily when suddenly the hand that had been gripping me lightly tightened, and his body shook visibly. He leaned heavily into my chest, and I grabbed the back of his neck to support him as his body continued to shake uncontrollably. It looked like some sort of a spasm, and then I realized that what was bothering him was his back.

“Take it easy, Starsk. Try to relax. Looks like you got hit in the back, huh?”

“Ya think?” His response was a typical Starsky smart-assed comment to ease the seriousness of the moment. But the potential damage that this injury could mean was no joke.

“Yeah, well, your back is going into spasms and that’s not good. I have experience with back problems, you know.”

“I think ah I knew that.” He said, only a little less cocky this time.

I rubbed his shoulder, neck and arms, trying to get him to relax through the spasm. I looked up at Jimmy. “What’d you hit him with?” I yelled, causing my partner to flinch just a little.

“Jeez Hutch, can ya watch the yellin’? It’s sending shockwaves up my spine.” He tried a smile when he said it, but the smile barely made it through, and I had no doubt that what he said was true.

“Sorry, buddy,” I answered softer as I continued the gentle massage. It seemed to have the calming effect I hoped it would and I tried to sustain the soothing motion as we waited for backup. The arrival of the ambulance spelled the end of three bad days in a row.

Thursday and Friday continued in the same manner, with a difficult liquor store robbery that resulted in the death of a clerk and the wounding of the owner. We spent long hours working the streets to resolve the case, most certainly to the detriment of Starsky’s still aching back.

I’m sure Dobey had been thinking back on the week the same as we were and knew all of this, but it apparently made little difference.

“Starsky, I know what kind of week you’ve had.” Dobey sounded sympathetic. “I’m sorry I have to ask this, but the mayor and the commissioner are announcing tonight at ten o’clock the task force that is being put in place for this. The commissioner wants everybody there for the announcement, and then the team will meet tomorrow morning to put together a strategy for catching this lunatic.”

Starsky shook his head and rose slowly from his chair. “Okay, Cap’n. Uh, can we be dismissed to catch some dinner?”

Dobey was eyeing Starsky as he moved gingerly to the door. “Starsky, do you need to see a doctor about your back? If you can’t do this, then I’ll assign another team to the task force.” I was glad Dobey made the offer, but it was already a done deal that we would take this case. Starsky wanted in on this case the first time he heard about it. And a bum back wasn’t going to keep him sidelined now.

“Nah, I’ll be okay, Cap’n.” He looked down at me sheepishly. He knew I knew that his sore back had gotten in the way more than once this week. Not to the detriment of any case we were working, but he was definitely slowed down and extremely careful with his movements.

“Okay. I’m glad. You’re my best team and having you on this case gives me the first good feeling I’ve had about catching these arsonists since this whole mess started. Now, get out of here and have a nice dinner. I’ll see you back here just before ten.”

“See ya Cap’n,” I said, grabbing the door and following Starsky out to the squad room.

“Where do you wanna go?” Starsky asked, stretching his back up against the filing cabinets.

I decided that a nice sit down dinner, although tempting, was not what Starsky needed most that night. “Hey, you wanna get a head start out to the car, buddy? I need to make a quick call. I’ll be right out.”

Starsky pushed tiredly off the filing cabinet and headed toward the door. “Don’t take too long, I might be able to slip a nap in between now and the press conference.” He winked at me as he said it and then he was slowly on his way down the hall.

* * * *

“Hutch, where are we going?”

Starsky was a bit annoyed with my silence about where we were heading. I admit I was a little afraid to tell him for fear that he’d jump out of the car while it was still moving. “It’s a surprise. You’ll like it. Relax, will ya?” I knew it would do him good. He needed something to help ease his pain. He finally realized where we were headed.

“Hutch, why are we going to your place? I thought we were gonna get a nice meal.”

“Know what, Starsk, your whine has gotten even better in your old age. I know most wines are supposed to get better with age, but…”

“I was just excited about a nice three, maybe four-course dinner. No work. No clean up.” He didn’t comment on the old age remark. Looking at him now, I knew I’d made the right call.

“We’re going to have a nice dinner. I’ve just arranged to have it at my place so you can get a little rest before we have to go back to Metro later. And I’ve arranged for a massage for you to help you relax.” He stared at me with his mouth open. “You’re gonna catch flies if you keep that up.”

“Uh, Hutch, I appreciate the thought. I really do. But having anyone touch my back right now is not going to make me feel better.”

“This person will, I guarantee it.”

“How do you know that? I’m tellin’ ya it’s sore and I just don’t trust anyone to do it without makin’ it worse.”

“Not even me?” I knew I’d got him this time. I’d become pretty familiar with massage techniques while Starsky was recovering from Gunther’s failed attempt to kill him. The need to work out some of the scar tissue from his surgeries required regular sessions. For tonight I had taken the added precaution to check in with his doctor to see what I should avoid with this particular back injury.

“You. Oh, well. Are you sure?” His question held concern, yet it sounded hopeful. It was obvious he was looking for some relief. “This isn’t the same as when I was recuperating you know. If you rubbed my back tonight the way you did back then I think I’d pass out. Or be crippled for life.”

“Hey, you don’t trust me?”

“That’s not it, Blintz. You know that.” The look on his face was priceless, the earnest manner, trying to ensure that he hadn’t hurt my feelings.

I wondered what I’d done in my life to deserve a friend like him. My need to make him feel better was overwhelming at that moment. The light changed and I took the turn that brought us toward the final approach to Venice Place. The last few hundred feet couldn’t go by fast enough. “Don’t worry about the massage, Starsk. I talked with your doctor. He told me what to avoid and how deep to go,” I said as I put the car in park.

“How deep to go, huh? You’re not making me more comfortable talking that way, Hutch.”

“What, you don’t like it when I go deep?” I asked as we crossed the sidewalk to the door leading to my place.

“That all depends on what we’re talking about, pal.” Starsky wiggled his eyebrows at me. We laughed and headed up the stairs.

I opened the door and we entered the apartment. Mouthwatering aromas hit us as we walked in the door. The smell of fresh cooked vegetables and garlic and chicken wafted through the house. The scent of fresh baked bread barely managed to make its way through all the other wonderful things. I had closed the door and was taking my jacket and holster off when I turned to see Starsky’s mouth open again. I followed his eyes and saw the table set with china and crystal and candles. The wine was chilling at the table.

“Hutch. What…”

“I called Huggy and asked him to throw this together. If I wanted to fit the massage in, this was the only way to do it.” I smiled at him as he continued to look shocked at what he saw.

“How’d you do this? We’ve been together all day. When… oh, the phone call. Jeez, Hug works fast.”

“Yeah, he does.” Having to stop at the bank on the way home had helped, too. “Come on, let’s eat.” He was still standing, not moving toward the dinner table. I walked back to him and started to take his jacket off. “Get comfortable, will ya?”

He shrugged my hands away and then winced from the movement. “I can do it myself.”

“Okay.” I watched him struggle with his jacket and holster. “Want some wine?”

“Think we should? We have to get back to Metro in a while.”

“In a few hours. We have time for a glass of wine, plus it might help you relax.” Hutch eyed his partner carefully to see if he was going to bite.

“Sure. Sorry.” Starsky sighed deeply.

It had been a really long week, and the whack he’d taken in the back on Wednesday would normally have put him out for the rest of the week. Anyone else who had sustained that injury would have been down for the count. But Starsky had developed a tendency since Gunther to not give in to injury. He’d been off the job for such a long period following the shooting that he felt the need to keep going whenever he got hurt now, as if he owed the force, or Dobey, or me, that time back. We’ve talked about it. He denies he does it, always saying that I’m just overreacting because of what happened with Gunther. I know I do that, there’s no refuting that. Starsky is definitely in denial about what he’s doing.

I handed him his glass. “It’s okay, Starsk. Food’s hot and I’m starved. Come on.”

We ate, running through some of the cases we’d worked this week, and then the topic changed to the case at hand.

“Any thoughts on how we’re gonna get started on this?” Starsky asked.

“That’s hard to say. I think we may need to take a look at the files, talk to the investigators who have been working the incidents first to know that. Why, do you have an idea?” I didn’t doubt that he would. He had been following the case pretty closely as it developed.

“I think we may need to go undercover right away. It doesn’t seem like that’s been a consideration with the team investigating. There’s not that many synagogues in Bay City. Two have already been hit. There can’t be more than a half a dozen more. One of ’em is the one I go to,” he smiled awkwardly, “once in a while.”

“Well, our chances are better at the synagogues than at the black churches. There’s probably dozens more of them in the city. Plus, going undercover there would be a little more difficult.” We both grinned at that.

“I don’t know, you in black face? You’d blend right in.”

“You’re a real comedian, Starsk. Okay, go get ready. Make sure you hit the john, because these fingers have magical powers. You’ll be asleep before you know it.”

“Hutch, that’s just about the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“What do you mean?” I replied innocently.

“Well, I’ll bet few people have had their partners tell them to go take a leak before they give ’em a massage.”

“You’re probably right.”

Starsky headed to the bathroom. “Oh, and strip down to your shorts.”

“Jesus,” I heard him say as he shut the door. I laughed and quickly put everything away in the kitchen.

I grabbed a couple of towels, the oil that we’d used while Starsky was recovering and I put some relaxing music on the stereo. I turned off all the lights and left only some lower watt lamps on and sat on the bed waiting for Starsky to finish up.

I heard the bathroom door open and then Starsky chuckled. He walked into the sleeping alcove and said, “Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Hutchinson?”

I burst out laughing, admitting to myself that the play on the line from ‘The Graduate’ was perfect for the circumstances. Well, not perfect, but perfectly funny.

“Get your ass on the bed young man.” I stood up and Starsky walked past me to the bed. “Lie down on your stomach.”

“Hutch, you’re sending mixed signals, buddy. Do you want me on my ass or on my stomach?”

“Starsk, it would be fun to see how far we could go with this little give and take, but I’ve got a job to do here. Get on the bed. Assume the, um, regular position.”

He let me have the last word, laughing as he sat gingerly on the bed and rolled over on his stomach with a groan.

“Get comfortable. I’ll be right back.” I went to the stereo and changed the album order. As I walked back into the room, I saw the huge grin on Starsky’s face as he heard “The Sound of Silence” playing in the background.

“Funny, Hutch,” he mumbled into the pillow. He seemed pretty relaxed and I decided it was time to get started.

Starsky’s doctor had said that I should just apply light pressure and try to avoid putting any direct weight on the spot that had gotten hit. It was obvious where he had taken the hit; he was still sporting a bruise that mirrored the piece of two-by-four that Jimmy used to slug him. I started up around Starsky’s neck and shoulders, hoping the easy massage on the uninjured part of his back might put him to sleep enough that he might not even feel the rest, at least not consciously.

“Mmm, feels good, Hutch.” He opened his eyes as he said it.

“Sssh. Close your eyes. Just relax. We don’t have to be anywhere for two hours. Relax,” I said softly. He immediately obeyed and shut his eyes with a quiet sigh.

The combination of the slow massage and the quiet music put him out pretty fast. I was sure his sleep had been messed up this week by the sore back. The soft snoring made me smile; I was happy he would be able to get in a good nap before we had to head out again. I continued easily, working the area of bruising gently, providing a deeper rub around the outside of the mottled coloring that indicated the injured area.

Starsky was out, sleeping soundly. I left the bed, turning the music down a little lower—I didn’t want to risk waking him now. I soaked a towel in hot water and placed it on his bruised back. It had been a simple massage in comparison to the ones he was used to after the shooting, after he’d healed enough to have his back touched at all. His doctor had said the warmth of the towel would have a soothing effect on the back muscles that had been affected by the hit. I left the bedroom and decided to grab a few winks on the couch before we had to head back to the precinct.

* * * *

The news conference was difficult, as expected. The commissioner fielded most of the questions from the news media. As always, the local news organizations were anxious to stir the pot, falling over themselves to be the first to ask the toughest, most biting questions. All the detectives assigned to this task force were standing together on the side, having been introduced but having no real purpose for being there other than to show the force of the effort being assembled to capture this crazy who was having such a horrible effect on the emotional and spiritual well-being of the citizens of Bay City.

The detectives working the case were all the best that Bay City had to offer. Starsky had leaned over during the course of the news conference and said, “Better hope all other criminals take a holiday for the next while.” It was unlikely he was the only one thinking that.

We finished making our appearance at the news conference and headed home, knowing we would be making an early start of it tomorrow.

* * * *

We had been working for a couple of hours in the conference room Saturday morning, reviewing the case files of the arsons to date. Ralph Moody and Marty Guerrero had been handling the investigation and were helping to give all of us a jump-start on what they’d found and where the investigation stood up to that point.

“Starsky, you have no idea how glad Marty and I are to have you and Hutch in on this one. It’s been frustrating, I’ll tell ya.”

Starsky walked up to Ralph and patted him on the back. “Yeah, well I hope with a little more firepower, uh, manpower we can get this wrapped up.” Starsky, predictably, had been all over the files once we’d gotten in that morning. I was still doing the driving in deference to his injury, and the case seemed to inspire Starsky in that morning’s diatribe regarding my car.

“Hutch, I think it’s a good thing we’re gonna be working with the guys from the fire department. The way your car is smoking these days we’re gonna want to have something to put out the flames.”

“Well, we could take your car, except it’s so bright it could spark a flame.”

“Hey, at least my car will get us away from a fire fast. We’d still be trying to start yours while the blaze engulfed us.”

“Look, my car has gotten us through the last few days just fine.” And it had, barely.

“I’m not worried about the last few days, buddy boy.” Starsky smiled as he said it.

I’m sure keeping the conversation light was helping him to ease into what would surely be an extremely tense and stressful time as we started to work on finding this sicko.

“I hope you’re right, Starsky,” Ralph replied. “Hey, did you guys have a chance to check out the forensics? Nothin’ much to go on there. That’s been our biggest roadblock. I mean, we know how they got in the buildings. We know what they used to set the fires. But whoever’s doing this has been real careful not to leave any trace. No fingerprints, no footprints, no fibers. Nothing.” His frustration was obvious, and it was mirrored in his partner’s demeanor.

“Seems like the only way we’re gonna stop this guy is to catch him in the act,” I said, seeing the reluctant nods from Moody, Guerrero and Starsky.

“You know, we’ve worked a lot of these arson cases with the BCFD. I’ve never felt so far away from solving a case as I do on this one,” Marty Guerrero commented as he flipped through the preliminary forensics report from Thursday night’s fire.

Dobey stepped in. “BCFD will be late this morning. Big warehouse fire, all hands on deck.”

“We’re still waiting on Bower and Harmon from vice, too Cap’n,” Starsky said as he rose from his chair to head for his second refill from the coffee pot.

Dobey looked my way, questioning Starsky’s slow movements. I shrugged my shoulders; Dobey was aware of what Starsky needed to heal. It just wasn’t in the cards this week.

As Dobey left, Starsky voiced the suggestion that we had discussed at dinner the previous night. “Have you considered going undercover on this one?”

“Yeah,” Marty answered. “I mean, not seriously at the beginning, but we’ve been thinking about it more as we’ve continued to make no progress. Why, do you have an idea? We’re a little desperate here, Starsky. We’ll consider anything just about now.”

Starsky was in the middle of a good gulp of his coffee, so I signaled to him that I would answer this one. “Starsky and I were thinking of making regular visits to the remaining synagogues in the city. We figure there’s no more than a half a dozen of them left that haven’t been hit yet.”

“Actually, there’s four,” Moody offered. “We have been considering this, but manpower-wise we don’t have the budget to keep people at these sites, and then there’s the screaming we’ll hear from the black clergy even if we did.”

“Ralph, are you telling us that the black clergy in this city would balk at a strategy, any strategy, that might put an end to these fires?” I couldn’t believe that this would be true.

Moody, a black man himself, replied, “Hutch, I’m not saying it’s logical. But emotions are running high right now. Ah, hell. It’s a moot point anyway. There’s no budget!” His voice rose in frustration.

“Like hell!” Starsky was up again, pacing, rubbing his sore back as he moved slowly around the large interrogation room. “You heard the commissioner. Whatever it takes. Anyway, our idea only requires one team covering the four synagogues, with some stepped up uniformed drive-bys.”

“Okay, what’s your idea, Starsky?” Moody seemed less discouraged as we continued to discuss our potential plan.

“Well, all churches have regular deliveries, sometimes more than once a day, for various things. Hutch and I figured that if that’s all we did, visit these four synagogues and made some deliveries, we’d hit each one three, maybe four times a day. We’d have to have a few different trucks to pull it off and coordinate a place for transferring everything from the regular delivery guys to us. You know, linen delivery, fresh flowers, food, office supplies, whatever. With hats and disguises and stuff, we can look different enough that nobody’d catch on, at least not right away. We wouldn’t have to do all the deliveries, just enough to make it look legit. The other visits we could just carry in boxes that looked like deliveries.”

I picked up on the details of our plan. “It would let us see if we start to notice the same car showing up, people, anything that might look out of place. And we can have the BCFD impress upon the staff at these institutions to be more on the lookout for any suspicious activities. I’m sure that they already are, but the BCFD guys can give them all a better understanding of the things that qualify as suspicious.”

“Hmm. Don’t you think you might be running yourselves ragged with this schedule? That’s a lot of tearing around.” Guerrero looked at Starsky, probably wondering if he was physically up to the challenge.

“Well, we’d need to be taken off our other cases, which, considering the importance of this case, should not be a problem,” Starsky replied, ignoring the pointed look that Marty Guerrero gave him.

“We’ll be working long hours, too, in order to case these four synagogues properly. Dobey’ll have no choice but to re-assign our cases.”

I looked to Starsky and gave him a quick wink. He smiled back, knowing I’d support his decision to continue with this case despite the fact that physically he probably wasn’t up to it. But this case was important to him, so that would dictate how we would play this one.

The four Bay City Fire Department members of our task force walked in at that point, followed by the two vice detectives. Moody and Guerrero reviewed our plan with the team and agreed to present it to the police and fire commissioners. As they left the room, the BCFD guys introduced themselves, and then gave us a brief rundown of the results of the analysis of the fires so that we wouldn’t have to waste too much time reading around the techno-speak of the reports.

Bay City Fire Chief Art Brown started the review. “The primary fire, that’s the initial fire in the room, was caused by a liquid accelerant poured on the floors in all of the fires. Acetone was used twice and paint thinner for all the rest. These are classified as ‘white spirits.'” Art and the senior investigator, Bob Phillips, laid out some of the crime scene photos for us to review.

“You can see from the trace visual patterns on the flooring that the liquid accelerant was the key to these fires. Chemical traces and gas chromatography proved this out.” Bob Phillips shook his head and continued, “It was hard getting these results. You know, churches tend to have hardwood floors or vinyl flooring in most areas. The fire patterns move more on these types of surfaces when using white spirits as an accelerant rather than petroleum or diesel-based accelerants.”

“Which fires were started with acetone?” I had an inkling I knew, but I’d let the experts provide that confirmation.

“The first two,” Phillips replied.

“That’s what I figured. The arsonist probably had some lying around, but when he ran out after the second church our firebug had to find some other way to start the fires. Pretty smart to go with such a common chemical.” No wonder they’d had trouble catching this guy.

“And he doesn’t need to buy it in bulk either,” another of the BCFD members, Dave McKnight started. “Just goes to any paint store or hardware store and picks up a few gallons here and there. Pays cash. Can’t trace it. Yeah, this guy is real clever. He’s probably stored enough of it now that even if we started trying to track sales of the stuff, he would not be found. Not that way.” He looked to his boss, and although his tone was sarcastic, there was no doubt that Phillips and his team did find this particular suspect quite clever.

“There’ve been no notes and no one has come forward to claim responsibility, is that right?” Starsky asked.

“That’s right, Sergeant. Six houses of worship struck and not a word about why from our perp. I’m not ashamed to say that I hope your scheme works, because we’re not coming up with anything in terms of a suspect.” Phillips, although skeptical about the success of our plan, was, like Moody and Guerrero, willing to try anything.

Neither Starsky nor I took their less than enthusiastic support personally.

* * * *

We were on our third day of staking out the synagogues. We had worked out the kinks in the schedule after a few glitches in timing left us missing contacts with some of the delivery companies on the first day. Starsky’s back was starting to feel the effects of the constant movement and lifting, and after three days we hadn’t seen anything unusual.

“I don’t know, Hutch. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I feel like we’re wastin’ our time.” Starsky had been enthusiastic at the beginning of our surveillance. I hated to see him so dejected.

“I don’t think we’ve given it anywhere near enough time to say we’re wasting our time, Starsk. We need to stick with it. It’s a good plan, but we’ve got to give it a chance.”

We walked out to the van from the last visit of the day to the synagogues. It was about seven in the evening and we were both pretty beat and ready to call it a day. We began early in an effort to get in as many visits to the houses of worship as possible. I walked around to the driver’s side of the van and Starsky called to me, “Hutch, I’ll drive. You’ve been at it for days now.”

“No, no, just get in the truck. I don’t want to waste time arguing with you about this. Let’s just get the hell out of here so we can debrief the team and get home. We need to start this all over again tomorrow.”

Starsky looked at me like I’d stepped on his pet rock.

“What?” I asked.

He looked at me and then lowered his head and opened the passenger side door and slowly inched his way into the truck.

I followed him into the van. “Starsk, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.” It was a sharp retort and gave me the impression that Starsky was mad at me for something. I couldn’t think of anything I’d done that would have caused that reaction, but Starsky was definitely on edge about these arsons, and his demeanor had only gotten worse over the last few days. I wondered if he was mad about the driving thing?

“Look, I didn’t mean anything about the driving.” I got no reaction from my partner. Starsky just looked out the window. “Starsk, are you not talking to me now?”

He turned to look my way. He was obviously upset. “Nah, Hutch, I’m sorry. I think this guy’s really gettin’ to me. I’m sorry, I know I need to act more professional. What are we missin’ with this guy?”

“I don’t know.” I reached over and massaged his neck. “And you’re acting plenty professional, Starsk. There’s nothing wrong with feeling frustrated.” He relaxed his head back against my hand, the action a physical manifestation of his feelings, his sorrow for the earlier yelling, his frustration with his body’s limitations, and his desperation to catch this guy before the arsonist had a chance to become a killer.

Starsky had told me that he felt a vested interest in this case from the very beginning, after the first black church was torched. I knew he’d been especially down of late, but until that evening I didn’t really realize the effect these arsons were having on him.

“I thought about what blacks went through not so many years ago in the South,” he said softly as his tense muscles relaxed under the soft massage. “What they’re still goin’ through, really, I guess. But you know, men in hoods crashing into the front rooms of families and draggin’ them out and making the kids watch as their house got burned down? When you think about that, really think about it, it kind of puts in perspective these riots we have in the inner city. I mean, I feel my frustration level, I can only imagine what it feels like to be black and seventeen and know there are people out there that hate me so much that they want to burn down my church.”

I nodded my head, understanding his need to express what he was feeling about the fires. “I thought about my grandmother and the persecution her parents faced and then the synagogues started being hit, and….” he didn’t finish the thought, but I felt it was important and encouraged him to go on.

“And what, Starsk?”

“Nah, nothing really.” He was holding back something and it was clearly eating at him and I couldn’t let it stand at that. Starsky’s emotions were on edge and he needed to talk this through.

“I think it’s something, and I think you need to talk about it.” I hoped the gentle insistence wouldn’t spook him.

“I don’t know. I started having nightmares about being in my grandmother’s apartment and being stuck in there when someone set it on fire. And I’m a kid in my dream and I’m screaming and not understanding what’s happening. I feel this, I don’t know how to explain it…”

“Kinship?” I asked.

“Yeah. The dreams are scary, but when I wake from them I don’t feel that scared, you know, not like after Marcus, or after I got shot. It’s more like I want to seek out the people who had experienced having these fires happen to them. You know, the members of the churches and synagogues. I don’t know why, though.” Starsky looked confused and disturbed by his revelation.

“Guilt? Guilt because it didn’t happen to you, maybe? Guilt because even though you could have felt that persecution as a kid, you were lucky and didn’t?” Starsky raised his head slightly. It was his way of responding in the affirmative. He was quiet for a long time. I think maybe he was feeling that guilt but didn’t feel the need to, or just couldn’t at that moment, express it verbally.

He seemed a little more at peace than at any time in the last few weeks and it seemed as good a time as any to get out of there and head home. “Let’s get out of here,” I said as I grabbed the keys out of my pocket.

I started the van and began backing out of the driveway. As I pulled into the road to head back to Metro, Starsky grabbed my arm and said, “Hutch.”

“I see it.” We drove past the beat up Volkswagen microbus. We had both seen it yesterday near Temple Beth Zion. It seemed like a possible for us and as I drove slowly, I noticed Starsky trying to get a glimpse at the license plate. There was none where the license plate should have been, but there was a plate barely visible through the back window. It was dusk and too dark to get a good look at the number.

“Damn!” Starsky was not ready for the disappointment, but he was ready for the next step. “We’re followin’ him, Hutch.”

I didn’t see how we would be able to do that with the vehicle we had. It was a white panel van and pretty hard to manage in any kind of stealthy manner. We had the darkness of night soon that would help, but it was only just dusk and we could still be easily seen.

“We can’t call it in; they could have a scanner. We’re on our own, partner.” I said what Starsky was thinking. Our eyes met and we knew that we could be walking into a dangerous situation. A deadly one. But we knew our duty, and we knew that this was the best lead there had been in this case since the onset of the fires. And these church burnings had to stop.

The Volkswagen van was parked legally, just down the road from Congregation Beth Meier, the synagogue we had just left. We had to leave the area so as not to raise suspicion, and I could feel Starsky tense up as we headed away and we lost visibility of the van.

“Do you think he’s gonna hit Beth Meier? Do we have enough time to find a phone and call for backup?” I asked. I knew the answer my partner would give.

“We have to get back there and make sure he doesn’t leave for another one instead. There’s no time, Hutch.” He regretted having to say it and I also knew he was thinking that he wouldn’t be good back up that night. He was verging on incapacitated with his back, continuing to work with the last three days’ busy schedule having done more damage than he was outwardly showing.

“Hutch, we gotta go back.” I took the truck around the block and pulled it up on a corner street behind a large oak tree. The van was still there, where we had passed it a few minutes earlier.

“Let’s get him,” I said as we both exited the truck and made our way to the van. We crossed through some backyards of houses across the street from the temple, and Starsky approached the back of the van as I stayed just behind him, keeping an eye out for anybody coming from the church toward the van.

There didn’t appear to be anyone in the driver or passenger’s seats. If the van was occupied, then it was in the back where we would find someone. I had the feeling that we’d found our guy’s wheels, but that he was now somewhere else. We needed to move fast, and Starsky did, sidling up to the side and pulling the handle on the sliding door to see if it was locked. It was, and he looked through the window and turned to me and shook his head “no.” I checked the driver’s door while Starsky tried the passenger door. All locked. Nobody was in the van.

“He’s inside. Let’s go.” Starsky headed for the side entrance, while I went in the front. The rabbi was certainly still there, and that enhanced our sense of urgency to get inside the building. I watched as Starsky entered the side of the synagogue and then I continued on to the main entrance.

We had become pretty familiar with the interior of the building over the course of the last few days. The building was relatively modern in style, and the main entrance opened up into a lobby area with a vaulted ceiling. The ceiling and large sections of the walls surrounding the doors to the sanctuary were composed of wood, real wood with a rich reddish-maple stain and beautiful wood grain. For all its generic and unimpressive exterior, the interior provided a warmth that certainly helped in the temple’s feeling of peace and serenity. It was a sanctuary in every sense of the word.

The lights were still on. Rabbi Fleischer had told us he planned to work late, until the cleaning people came, and would lock up the facility at around nine that night. The cleaners hadn’t made an appearance yet, but the Rabbi had said that they sometimes ran late due to their earlier customer being a theatre, which could sometimes take longer if the crowd had been particularly sloppy after the matinee.

Starsky and I tried to impress upon him the risk of spending any time alone in the building while the arsonist remained at large. We couldn’t force him to keep the doors locked, and he had difficulty as a man of the cloth locking the doors on anyone who might need comfort, especially in this terribly stressful time in his “beloved city,” as he’d referred to it earlier that day.

Nothing seemed out of order in the lobby, so I headed toward the sanctuary. Starsky would be checking out the rabbi’s office as it was close to the side entrance. It was very quiet, and that definitely added to the unease I was feeling.

I opened the door as quietly as I could and entered the impressive core of the building. This is where the architect had made his statement. Again, lots more wood, many different kinds of wood. The pulpit was beautifully carved with trees and plants, as were the ends of the clearly hand-hewn rows of seating. On the benches rested thick, green velvet upholstered cushions across their length. The floor was black and white marble, alternating diamonds reminiscent of the floor in Westminster Abbey. And the lighting was primarily from wall sconces, giving the room an ethereal glow. There was no stained glass, but the windows contained leaded glass inserts with the theme of trees and plants carried over to them. It was plain, in a strikingly beautiful sense.

When I first walked into the temple the first day I’d been awed by the incredible beauty, my feelings certainly enhanced by the utterly depressing exterior of the building. My feelings of wonder remained today but were being overwhelmed at that moment by the chilling thought of how quickly all this wood could burn.

As I let the door close behind me, it squeaked quietly. Not quietly enough. I saw movement toward the front of the sanctuary, near the pulpit and the door that led to the offices. I walked toward the figure and asked, “Are you the cleaning person? Rabbi Fleischer said I could see him tonight.” As I got closer, I noticed a metal container near the door and that the floor seemed highly glossy for a substantial patch from the door to the pulpit.

“Gettin’ ready to wax the floor, huh?” I said as I headed to the door, acting as if the rabbi expected me. The guy looked pretty nervous, and I knew the stuff on the floor was not for cleaning.

As I got close to the door, my arsonist friend made his move and said, “That’s far enough.” He had a lighter in his hand and he flicked it on; he was not going to have me stop him from his goal for the night.

“Whoa. Oh, man, you’re the arsonist they’ve been talking about on the news. Ah, shit, man, I don’t want any trouble.” I thought maybe encouraging a dialogue might buy me some time, at least enough time for Starsky to get in position. That’s if this one hadn’t already taken care of my partner.

“Too late. You got trouble. Cop.” Shit. We knew that was a risk we were running. If we saw him, there was every possibility that he’d seen us, too.

“Cop? Hah, I’m not a cop. I deliver stuff for the rabbi. I’m havin’ some problems at home and Rabbi Fleischer said I should come and talk to him about it. Actually, I felt kind of funny doing that. I mean, I’m not Jewish, but the rabbi is a nice guy. Easy to talk to, ya know what I mean?”

“Shut up. I saw you delivering stuff here and at the other Jew churches. You and your Jew-cop partner.” This kid had problems, for sure. I had to try to keep from exploding in his face. But that kind of reaction wasn’t going to help stop this building from being burned.

“Hey, look. I make deliveries. That’s what I do. They happen to be to synagogues now, but I deliver things all over the place. Just happens right now I’m assigned with Davey and we’re doin’ the church route right now.” Maybe bombarding him with denial would convince him he was wrong about the cop assumption. Right then I hoped that Davey was behind that door and ready to pounce.

The kid was definitely nervous, probably more nervous than he’d been during any of these fires that he’d set; he probably never had to look a potential victim in the eye before.

“Look, I don’t care what your beef is. And I really don’t want to die tonight. Just let me go and I’ll forget I saw ya.” I hoped the constant talking was giving Starsky a chance to come up with a plan. Maybe even call for backup.

“Nope, can’t let ya go. You seen me. That ain’t no good.”

“Hey, listen, only bad things can happen if you do this tonight.” I was preparing to give Starsky a sign, a trick that we’ve used any number of times to distract suspects and warn each other of pending action from one or both of us. I really hoped he was on the other side of that door, because if he wasn’t…

I continued with the kid. “One, if you kill somebody you will get no mercy from the police or the judge. They may even kill you. The electric chair. Two, I got kids at home. And a wife. We’re havin’ trouble, yeah. That’s why I’m here to see the rabbi. But you can’t really want to leave my kids without a father. Huh?” I pleaded. The arsonist seemed to be listening and he bowed his head just slightly. At that movement I said, “Three” and jumped out of my seat toward him. At that moment, Starsky barreled through the door, and although the kid looked like he was unsure of what was happening, he knew exactly what his goal was, and he dropped the lighter.

Starsky knocked the kid off his feet and they both flew into the puddle of paint thinner on the floor. I had been headed to the kid, all of my effort concentrated on the lighter. I saw it fall from his fingers, and I knew my only chance to reach it before it fell to the floor and ignited was to make a flying leap. I dove, reaching for it. My hand made it to the lighter just an inch or so above the floor and I swatted the fire-starter down the aisle, toward the floor. The lighter flipped closed upon impact with the floor and rolled to a harmless stop halfway down the aisle.

I turned to see how Starsky was doing. I saw no movement from either my partner or the arsonist. Damn. I walked over to them, smelling the paint thinner more than I had when it was only spread on the floor and not soaked into clothing.

“Starsk?” I asked as I grabbed the arsonist and cuffed him. Starsky groaned. I felt for a pulse on the kid. He was alive. He probably knocked his head when Starsky clobbered him. “Starsky, you okay?” I asked again as I kneeled next to him and checked him over carefully.

“Did we get ‘im, Hutch?” he asked. He coughed from the smell of the paint thinner, the coughing sending daggers of pain to his back. His hand reached out, and I grabbed it, letting him squeeze as tight as he needed to ride out the pain.

“Yeah,” I sighed heavily with relief. “We got him, partner. How’re you. You hurt?” I didn’t notice any new bumps or bruises, but the tackle he made had to have caused him great pain in his back.

“No more than I’ve been all week. Oh, God.”

“You’re telling me, partner.” The vise grip he had my hand in eased up. “Can you sit up?” At that moment, the building was swamped with police and fire department personnel.

“Cavalry’s here,” Starsky said, reaching his hand to me for an assist up.

“Take it slow, buddy,” I said as I helped him off the floor and directed him to a seat on one of the benches.

“I can’t sit there, Hutch. I’m drenched in paint thinner; I’ll ruin it.” He coughed again, the sharp pains almost causing him to lose his footing. I held him close and felt a slight shiver come from my partner.

“David, sit down before you fall down,” Rabbi Fleischer said as he led Dobey, Moody, and Guerrero over to us. The rabbi held a towel to the back of his head.

“Listen to the rabbi, Starsky,” Dobey said, looking like a proud papa. Selfishly, although mostly for Starsky’s sake, I hoped Dobey’s goodwill would extend to some badly needed time off for Starsky and me. Beginning five minutes ago.

“Did your suspect say anything before he was knocked out?” Moody asked.

“Oh, he had a lot to say,” Starsky said, as we looked at each other. I was sure at that point that Starsky had heard everything said through the door, the “Jew-cop” comment, the hate spewing from this kid.

“It’ll be in our report, but I have no doubt he’ll be happy to give you a taste when you interrogate him.” I looked at Starsky again and said, “Cap’n, it’s been a long day, and I need to get Starsky to the hospital to get looked at before I take him home.”

“Do not,” Starsky said tiredly. That was all the fight he had, though. I ignored him.

“Can we come back tomorrow and do the reports? It’s Moody and Guerrero’s case, anyway. Are we needed here?” I could barely get the request out, I was so tired. The adrenalin was working its way out of both of us, me rushing down to exhaustion, Starsky still shivering and aching in his smelly, paint thinner-drenched clothes.

“Get out of here. You boys did fine. Just fine. I don’t want to see you before ten tomorrow. Get out of here.” Dobey helped me get Starsky to his feet and waited with him while I fetched the truck from down the road.

By the time we got to the emergency room, someone had apparently called ahead and told them to expect us. We were ushered into an exam room immediately. It was kind of weird. We usually didn’t get that kind of treatment unless one of us had been shot.

Starsky was pretty sleepy by this point and was out of it for much of the exam, only waking to answer questions. I pulled one of the nurses aside and asked about the special treatment.

“Captain Dobey called. He said the detectives who captured the arsonist were on their way in and that one of them might have sustained additional damage to a back injury from earlier in the week. Detective, you must realize what a relief it is to know this guy can’t do this anymore. You and your partner are heroes and it’s the least we could do to make sure he gets the best care and quickly gets home to rest.” She was earnest and passionate and I saw the tears begin. But she was also strong and had a job to do.

“I’ve got to get back to your partner. He’s gonna be okay, although how he’s been able to get around with his back like that is beyond me.”

I smiled. She didn’t know my partner.

* * * *

“So, what’d he have to say for himself?” Starsky asked yawning, as I set the pizza and beer on the table.

It was two days after the arrest and Starsky had been out of it for most of that time. The ER doc prescribed muscle relaxers, painkillers and lots of rest, but of course Starsky felt that the relaxing part shouldn’t happen until we’d at least wrapped up our report on the apprehension of the Bay City arsonist. But just like Starsky, he forgot to not take his prescriptions when he got up in the morning, and by the time we got to Metro at ten, per Dobey’s orders, Starsky was a boneless, goofy mess. I was afraid he would hurt himself, since he was definitely feeling no pain and would probably try something foolish in his stupor. Dobey made me take him home, carrying out a Selectric, report forms and our files so that I could work on the report from Starsky’s.

“Um, he said lots of nasty stuff. You can read it when you get back on your feet.” I really didn’t want to have to give him any detail on what John Thomas Kincaid had to say about blacks and Jews and foreigners. I didn’t even want to think about it, let alone verbalize it.

“Come on. Just tell me what he said.” I know Starsky wanted, needed to know why Kincaid set those fires. I also knew that I didn’t want to think about it anymore than I had to. But I owed him an answer, and I certainly wouldn’t hear the end of it until I told him something.

“He admires the KKK. He admires those brave white men in the South who are working hard to cleanse the nation of niggers. He wanted to start a movement here on the West Coast to try to get more white men to be brave and rid the country of the Jews who are trying to take over the world, and he’s starting with the great US of A. He wants blacks and Jews and Chinese and Mexicans in slave labor camps where they belong. Have you heard enough?” I didn’t mean to take it out on him. Starsky was only asking for some closure. I didn’t think we were near closure on this issue, in Bay City or in this country. And dwelling on it was not getting us anywhere.

Starsky walked over to the table, put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into a tight hug. He held me close and said, “Hutch, there’s lots of people filled with hate in this world. I hope one day we can get past all this and we won’t have to worry about families being burned out of their homes, or churches, or run out of town just because they’re different. I know you do, too. But we’re here to help people. We did our jobs with this case. We did a great job, and we made a lot of people feel better. I think that all we can do is do our best to be good people, hope for the best for the future, and just live and be grateful for what we have. We can’t get rid of all the awful things in the world. At least not all tonight.”

I laughed. And Starsky was right, of course. For some reason I was dwelling on the negative aspects of this case when there were so many good things that came out of it. I would try to keep my friend’s positive attitude about what we’d done this last week and try to remember that no matter how many churches are burned down, the spirit of people will succeed in the rebuilding, the renewal, the revival of his, of our faith in mankind.

The End

* * * *

A CHURCH IS BURNING
by Paul Simon

A church is burning
The flames rise higher
Like hands that are praying a-glow in the sky
Like hands that are praying the fire is saying,
“You can burn down my churches but I shall be free”.

Three hooded men thru the back road did creep
Torches in their hands while the village lies asleep
Down to the church where just hours before
Voices were singing and hands were beating
And saying I won’t be a slave any more.

And a church is burning
The flames rise higher
Like hands that are praying a-glow in the sky
Like hands that are praying the fire is saying,
“You can burn down my churches but I shall be free”.

Three hooded men, their hands lit the spark
Then they faded in the night and they vanished in the dark
And in the cold light of morning there’s nothing that remains
But the ashes of a bible and can of kerosene.

A church is more than just timber and stone
And freedom is a dark road when you’re walking it alone
But the future is now, and it’s time to take a stand
So the lost bells of freedom can ring out in my land.

And a church is burning
The flames rise higher
Like hands that are praying a-glow in the sky
Like hands that are praying the fire is saying
“You can burn down our churches but I shall be free.”