Angel’s Flight

115

Trouble ensues when Detective David Starsky obligates himself and his partner (over his objections) to investigating the possibility that a young woman’s mother has been murdered, and in the process finds himself becoming professionally and emotionally involved in the case and her life as it evolves.

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PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

The squealing of brakes from a city bus coming to an abrupt stop were the only sounds that broke through the steady drumming of heavy rain in the night. The bus driver released his last passenger onto the sidewalk and closed the doors to the inclement weather, then sent the bus lurching on its way. The lone traveler stood still in the darkness, head arching up at an electric beacon of light shed by a nearby street lamp–debating perhaps the pros and cons of pressing on versus turning back. The rain plummeted down from the night sky like a hail of bullets from a shotgun, bringing with it the biting chill of the wind, which cut through the traveler’s clothing like ice to bone. A two-tone green and grey backpack shifted to and fro as the stranger pressed on; its weight burdensome, but not hindering forward motion. Sporadic coughing fits set off irritating bouts of stops and starts, warmed hands had to come out of their pockets to cover the mouth and blow the nose, then pushing on, only to begin the cycle again further along. Despite all these setbacks, two goals remained foremost, finding a place of shelter out of the deluge and filling an angry belly.

~~~

No matter how purposefully Detective Sergeant David Starsky resisted the bait, he was still intrigued by the prospect of going out to his partner’s place to try his hand at a game of chance. He was feeling lucky tonight and the fact that it was raining cats and dogs outside and the temperature was a bone chilling forty-nine degrees did little or nothing to deter him. What made this invitation to tempt Lady Luck a little more attractive than any other was that the beer and pizza were on his partner for a change, a welcome respite from the status quo considering he’d been bearing the brunt of that honor of late.

After about a half-hour of being bested by the Blond Blintz, the curly-haired detective was wondering whether or not he might have been a whole lot better off staying at home. At the very most he would’ve been dry and at the very least, a whole lot richer. He was just about ready to pack it in when his luck took a turn for the better on the last hand. By the time they’d finished he’d won all his money back, double or nothing. After Sergeant Hutchinson had handed over the pot, Starsky whooped and did a victory leap, finally heading off in the direction of the refrigerator to grab himself a celebratory beer. When he opened the refrigerator door it was evident that he was taking the last one and he felt duty-bound to inform his partner. He had a hard time suppressing the smile on his face. “Hey, you know you’re outta beer?”

“Yeah, I know. When you go to the store, do me a favor and pick up some more, willya? That is, if you can stop grinning long enough to get out the front door.”

Starsky was still grinning as he hooked the lip of the beer bottle underneath the rim of the kitchen counter and sent the cap flying. He closed the refrigerator door and took a long, generous swallow of the beer before responding. Then he wiped his mouth and crooked a thumb at the door. “You’re outta your mind if you think I’m goin’ out in that. It’s rainin’ cats and dogs out there.”

Hutch patiently reshuffled the deck of cards in his hand while Starsky held the bottle of beer tipped toward his lips, waiting for his response. But the blond wasn’t about to offer his partner a reprieve. Sometimes he just liked to put the man through his paces.

Realizing he wasn’t going to get an answer, Starsky tried again. “I can’t believe you’d actually send me out in that. What kind of a friend are you, anyway?”

“A friend who just lost fifty bucks playing cards with you, partner. C’mon, you’ve got the big bucks now. It’s the least you can do.”

Starsky handed the beer bottle to him. “Okay, okay. Here, do me a favor and hold this till I get back.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Hutch grabbed the bottle out of his hand and took a polite swallow, delighting in the look of open-mouthed disbelief on his partner’s face.

“I’ve been told you can get cooties doin’ that.”

“But you’d never do that to me, would you, pal?” he replied, killing the bottle.

Starsky nodded affirmatively. He walked over to the window and peeked out to see if the weather had let up any. It had. A little. Satisfied that it was survivable, he slid on his weathered leather jacket and shrugged into a yellow rain slicker. He put his hand on the doorknob and before opening it turned to the blond man and said gallantly, “If you don’t hear from me in twenty minutes, you have my permission to send out the Harbor Patrol.” He flipped the slicker’s hood over his head and started out.

Hutch nodded. “Count on it, buddy.”

Starsky pulled the door shut with the toe of his sneaker and took the steps outside Hutch’s apartment two at a time until he was standing outside on the glistening sidewalk. The Torino was parked just a few feet away from the building and as he approached it he caught movement in his peripheral vision. A dark figure was moving toward him in the rain, shoulders hunched, body wracked off and on by coughing. Another one of society’s lost souls. Hutch would invite this one up for a few bucks and hot meal a without a question, he thought, and then he continued toward the car. His eyes were barely off the figure for a moment when their paths crossed.

“Hey, watch it, willya!” he exclaimed, straining to keep himself upright.

Starsky was a trifle shaken, but undaunted. He kept his eye on the departing figure as it continued past him. Maybe it was too much to expect an apology, he thought. Writing the guy off as probably too drunk or too rude to offer an apology, he put the incident out of his mind. He was about to climb into his car when he glanced over at the spot where the person should have been, and didn’t see anyone. The detective looked up over the Torino’s hood and saw a wet lump of clothing on the ground. Immediately concerned, he ran over to the spot and turned the lump to face him. Beads of water cascaded off his face as he looked down into the face of the stranger before him. Now he could see that the transient was a young woman, probably nineteen or twenty years old. She looked pale and sick and was unconscious. With a grunt he lifted her up into his arms and with some effort carried her up the stairs to Hutch’s apartment door. He kicked at it with a foot, shouting as he worked to balance the load. “Hey, Hutch, open up!”

Hutchinson did, and he was smiling. “Hey, that was quick, Captain Ahab-where’d you go…?” The words were barely out of his lips before Starsky was pushing past him carrying something sizeable and wet in his arms. He watched curiously as his partner laid the motionless something onto the couch. Without prompting, he hastily pulled a towel and two blankets from the shelf of the wardrobe that stood near his bedroom door. As he brought them over and stood next to the couch, he was able to make out what the “motionless something” was. A girl. “Where’d she fall from?” he asked, covering her with the blankets and handing his partner the towel.

Starsky stood over her tentatively. “Coulda been the sky for all I know. She was walkin’ with her head down, tryin’ to keep outta the rain, I guess. Nearly plowed me over. I don’t think she even saw me. What should we do?”

“Well, the first thing you ought to do is get her out of those wet clothes.”

“Aw, man…I don’t think I should…ah…” Starsky objected nervously.

“Look, Starsk, she’s unconscious. I don’t think she’s gonna do a whole hell of a lot of complaining about it. In fact, she might even thank you for it. Go on, I’ll see if I can find her something else to put on.”

“Huh…yeah…right.”

While Hutch hunted for something in his bachelor wardrobe that might fit the young woman, Starsky tackled the delicate but not entirely awful task of removing wet clothing from a strange girl. He gently turned her on her side and slid off the backpack she was wearing and set it down beside the couch. Then he peeled off her wet coat and laid it on a nearby chair. After that came her shoes and socks. He tucked the wool blanket underneath her feet and wiped her face dry with the towel. Hutch soon reappeared in front of him, holding a woman’s nightgown in one hand and one of his older robes in the other.

Starsky looked at the blue chenille nightgown and started to laugh. “Where in the heck didja get that ugly thing?”

“Don’t laugh. I bought it for my mother’s birthday. I just never got a chance to send it to her.”

“A wise choice, if ya ask me.”

“Nobody did…here!” Hutch playfully tossed the nightgown and the robe over to him and headed into the kitchen. “I’ll go fix her something to eat.”

“Uh-huh.” Starsky half-grinned and dropped the robe on the floor next to him. He skillfully arranged the hole of the nightgown so that he could slip it over her head without it getting wet. Then with his eyes half-closed, he removed her blouse, exposing as little skin as possible and pulled the gown over her shoulders, drawing her arms through the sleeves and over her brassiere, pulling it the rest of the way down to cover her legs. Then he tugged off her jeans and dropped them on the floor, carefully tucking the covers in all around her. When he opened his eyes, he looked her over. Not bad for an amateur, he thought. Her face looked a little flushed and she was trembling, but at least now she was warm and dry. He wondered what was taking Hutch so long in the kitchen.

“Hey, Hutch, what’re doin’ in there, makin’ a three course dinner? Get in here, willya?”

“Okay, okay, hold your horses. I’m comin’.”

Starsky gathered the wet things into his arms with the backpack, and hung everything up in the bathroom on a hook to dry. Hutch grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer and brought a bowl of stew to the living room where the girl, who was now semi-conscious, stirred and moaned softly. He set the bowl down on the coffee table and sat down beside her. Starsky stepped out of the bathroom, blowing on his hands to warm them and watched him. “So, got that done. What next?”

“What next? Oh, you mean besides getting her to eat this?”

“You know, sometimes you’re just a regular laugh riot.” Hutch chuckled and Starsky walked over and knelt in front of the couch. He patted the girl on her cheek. “Hey, sweetheart, can you hear me? Wake up.” He watched expectantly as she opened her eyes and blinked, cautiously, taking in her surroundings one image at a time. The detective moved from the floor to a sitting position on the surface of the coffee table. Though happening at normal speed, the movement seemed to occur in slow motion for her, a result of several deficiencies, one of which probably included traveling while ill, during a rainstorm.

“W-where am I?” she asked, her voice a faint whisper.

Hutch leaned over a little so she could see his face. “You’re with friends. I’m Ken Hutchinson, and this is my partner, David Starsky. You passed out on the sidewalk and he brought you up to my place to get dry.”

“Oh.” She looked at the strange gown she was wearing and became afraid. “Wh-where are my clothes?”

“You were soaked to the skin. My partner over here changed you into some dry clothes.”

She looked mildly embarrassed, but pleased. “Oh.”

“I thought you might be hungry.” He lifted the spoon out of the bowl and offered a small portion to her. “Try this, it’ll make you feel better.”

“What is it?”

“It’s my world famous vegetarian stew.”

“I’m really not very hungry right now.”

“You should try it. It’s pretty good,” Starsky assured her.

She considered him for a moment, then yielded to his suggestion, opening her mouth just enough to let the blond stranger spoon-feed her. She ate the food slowly, coughing just a bit between spoonfuls. Starsky watched without comment as his very patient partner managed to get their “patient” to accept a few more spoonfuls of nourishment before shaking her head and indicating she’d had enough.

Hutch put the nearly empty bowl and spoon down on the table and felt her forehead, then looked at his friend gravely. “She’s kind of warm, Starsk. Maybe we should call a doctor for her.”

The girl turned to face him. “No-no…doctor, please.”

Hutch shot his partner another worried look and patted the girl’s hand. “All right, honey, if you don’t want us to call a doctor right now, we won’t.”

“Well, I guess that settles that, Doctor Hutchinson. You got any aspirin? Maybe that’ll get her temperature down,” Starsky asked.

Hutch nodded and pointed toward the bathroom. “Yeah, I think I’ve got some in the medicine cabinet.”

Starsky went out of the living room and into the bathroom to check the contents of Hutch’s medicine cabinet. Not only did he find the bottle of aspirin, but his eyes locked on a various and sundry assortment of oddly named herbs and vitamins that his partner had spaced neatly on the shelves. He tittered as he loomed over his partner with the aspirin bottle.

Hutch looked up at him. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothin.’ I shoulda guessed you wouldn’t have a normal lookin’ medicine cabinet. There’s not a prescription bottle in the bunch. So whaddya take when you get sick?”

“I don’t.”

“Which? You don’t take medicine, or you don’t get sick?”

“It’s not that I don’t get sick, Starsky. It’s just that I don’t support the philosophy that chemistry can cure all of man’s ills. I’m a firm believer in holistic healing.”

“Holistic what?” he asked.

“Home care, Starsky. Using natural herbs to heal the body.”

“Oh, I thought you gave up on all that healthy lifestyle stuff after Molly and Abby took off.”

“Molly and Abby taking off had nothing to do with it. I just decided to live my life a little more realistically, more in the moment, you know? That’s all there is to it.” He grabbed the aspirin bottle from him.

“Oh, I see. I’ll go get her some water.” Starsky rolled his eyes to the ceiling and stepped into the kitchen to fill a glass from the cabinet. He brought it over and took the open aspirin bottle off the table where Hutch had set it and poured out two aspirin, then recapped the bottle. “I’ll see if I can get her to take these. In the meantime, oh, holistic healer, how about maybe you go out and get her the real thing?”

Hutch stood up. “Sure, Starsk. Mind if I take the Toma…er, the Torino?” There was a halfhearted grin on his face as he extended his hand for the keys.

“Sure, buddy.” The dark-haired detective dug his keys out of his pants pocket and passed them to his fair-haired partner. The blond put on his leather jacket and plodded toward the door. Starsky at his back and added, “Bring back some beer while you’re at it, wouldja? And…try not to get lost.”

“Not a chance, pal,” he retorted, palming the keys and heading out the door.

After Hutch left, Starsky continued tending to the ailing young woman, wiping her face, feeding her a little when she would eat, re-tucking the blankets around her when she threw them off. Her restful moments were few as she tossed and turned on the couch under his watchful eyes. After the third incident of having to readjust the blankets, he looked up and saw her eyelashes flutter open, two lovely brown eyes stared back at him and he smiled at her. “Hey, you’re awake! Remember me? I’m Starsky, Dave Starsky. What’s your name?”

She was barely able to keep her eyes open. “Umm,” she muttered. “Angel.”

“Angel. Hey, that’s a cute name.” He patted her arm. “Can you tell me where you’re from?”

“Nowhere. Everywhere. Take your pick.” She closed her eyes.

He nudged her shoulder. “No, no, don’t go back to sleep yet. I got a few more questions for ya.”

She kept her eyes closed, hoping that would block him out.

But he shook her shoulder again. “Hey, come on now, wake up.”

She squinted at him. “Philadelphia, all right?”

“I guess you know you’re in California.”

“Oh, now, you know, you are…bril-liant…” she whispered, there was a hint of sarcasm he didn’t like in her tone.

“Fun-ny,” he said, separating the syllables. “You mind tellin’ me how you got here?”

“You know those great big silver things with four wheels?”

He thought about it. “You mean a bus?”

“Bingo! Wow, you are so brilliant!”

“You know, you oughta save some of that ice for the freezer.”

“Have I answered enough questions? Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Swell, be my guest.”

“Thank you.”

Starsky watched her pull the covers over her shoulders and go back to sleep. He sighed and leaned against the couch, rubbing his thumb and forefinger across his temples as the symptoms of a headache began to manifest themselves. He must have sat there like that for as long as it took for Hutch to go and come back from the store because he never heard the key turn in the lock.

When Hutchinson walked in he was carrying two grocery sacks in his arms. “Hey, Starsk, I think I got everything in here that a human could possibly take for a cold or the flu, you know that? …Hey, Starsk?”

When Starsky didn’t answer, he scanned the living room and saw that his friend had fallen asleep on the couch. His curly head had flopped back limply and he was snoring. Hutch walked over and poked him in the arm to wake him up.

He jumped. “Huh? What?”

“Wake up, buddy. I got the stuff.”

“Oh, okay.” He wiped his eyes and got up. “What’d ya get?”

Hutch set the bags down on the kitchen table and started to pull out his purchases. “You name it. I got it. Orange juice, cough medicine, antihistamines, et cetera, et cetera.”

He yawned and joined Hutch in the kitchen. “She hasn’t got a high fever and she’s eatin’, so that’s probably a good sign.”

“I’ll take over now, buddy. You look like you could use a ten minute break before you drive home,” Hutch said, stowing a six-pack in the refrigerator.

“Yeah, some fresh air might clear my head.” He went to the door and headed down the stairs to the street. When he got to the bottom, he inhaled deeply. The rain had stopped and the cool, crisp air was invigorating. He looked up into the midnight sky and noticed the clouds. Though they were still apparent, they were getting sparser and less grey, almost milky white and beginning to drift away to the east. After he finished his break, he came back upstairs in time to see his partner preparing to give the girl the medicine he’d brought. Hutch was kneeling on the floor behind her, lifting up her torso so that she was leaning against his arm; he put the spoon to her lips with his right hand, and semi-tilted the contents into her mouth. After she’d swallowed it, he laid her back down on the pillow, then stood up. “Any luck finding out who our unexpected guest is while I was gone?”

“Gave her name as Angel. Said she’s from Philadelphia. My guess is she’s on the lam.”

“I wonder if this is what they mean by ‘making a clean getaway’?”

“Bad, Hutch, very bad.”

“Sorry, I must be tired. Well, I guess she can stay here tonight and tomorrow we’ll try to find out how she got here.”

Starsky nodded in agreement. “Sounds like a good idea, Ollie. So, I’ll, ah, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Starsky headed for the front door and stopped, he turned and quietly watched his partner remove the empty bowl and water glass from the coffee table and put them in the kitchen sink. He yawned and stretched and dragged a hand over his eyes to mask his weariness. On Hutch’s way back into the living room, he stole a furtive glance at his partner. Starsky was leaning against the front door, not moving, looking as if only sheer force of will was keeping him upright. His dark forehead was crinkled deeply in concentration. If this wasn’t a guy desperately fighting a losing battle with sleep, he hadn’t seen one before, he thought. He certainly didn’t look in good enough shape to drive himself home.

Hutch walked over and put a hand on his friend’s arm. “Hey, it’s late, Starsk. You wanna bunk here for the night?”

The dark man’s features brightened. “Good idea,” he answered, instantly relieved that he didn’t have to drive home so late at night. He made his way to a recliner in the corner of the room and dropped his exhausted frame into it, crossed his arms over himself and stretched out his legs.

Hutch looked at his watch; he was feeling a bit worn himself. He checked on his houseguest. She was sleeping peacefully and looked fairly comfortable. There wasn’t much else they could do for her until tomorrow anyway. The medicine would have her out for most of the night, and she probably wouldn’t wake up until late the next morning. He decided to head for bed, too. “Hey, Starsk, I’m gonna hit the hay, I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

“Yeah, okay. G’night, buddy.”

“G’night,” Hutch replied, darkening the living room before disappearing into his bedroom.

Yawning again, Starsky pulled down a quilt that mysteriously appeared above his head in the darkness. He smiled as he draped it over himself and took one last look at the girl’s face in the half-light of the room before dropping off to sleep.

~~~

The young woman’s low-grade fever had broken sometime between twelve thirty and two a.m. and she was slowly coming awake. She sat up slowly and scanned the unfamiliar surroundings, her eyes coming to rest on a strange man sleeping in an armchair across from her in the room. Unable to remember where she was, or how she’d gotten there, her first thoughts were of escape. She pulled the blankets off of her and tried to be very quiet when she got up. Her balance was off and it didn’t seem to matter that she had on someone else’s old dressing gown and no shoes. Her immediate objective was making it to the front door and getting outside.

Amazingly, she did make it as far as the front door, but just as she was getting ready to open it, Starsky’s eyes shot open as if equipped with some of kind of built-in radar and he flew out of his chair. He had the lights switched on before her hand could turn the knob. “Hey, hey! Where ya goin’ kiddo?” He grabbed her by her waist and she let out a feeble squeal of protest, like a baby bird squawking. From her feeble attempts at struggle he realized that she was still pretty weak, and he wasn’t surprised when she lost consciousness again and collapsed in his arms.

Awakened by the commotion and instigated by the urgency of his partner’s voice, Hutchinson bounded out of his bed and into the living room. He was pulling on his robe and pulling his gun out of his shoulder holster before he realized that it was his partner and the girl causing the disturbance and not an intruder of some kind. After determining that the situation didn’t require him to lay down gunfire, he moved over to his partner and helped him get the girl back into position on the couch.

Both men knelt down in front of her, with Starsky exerting most of the effort to getting her comfortable again. “Where were you off to, huh?” he asked, pushing a sweaty strand of limp, damp hair out of her eyes. But he wasn’t expecting an answer.

She opened her eyes weakly, and the look on her face was beseeching and anxious. “You’re not—you’re not gonna turn me in, are you?”

He looked surprised. “Turn you in? No, no way, not on your life. We’re going to get you well.”

She closed her eyes and drifted off again, seemingly soothed by the sincerity of his words.

Unnoticed by his partner, Hutch winced. The plans he had envisioned for their Sunday looked like a bust now. As they adjusted the blankets on her, he whispered to his partner. “What makes do you think she needs help?”

The man looked straight into his partner’s blue-green eyes. “I don’t know. I just have a feeling.”

Hutch looked at his watch. It was three o’ clock in the morning. He went over to the kitchen table, picked up the paper sack and handed it to his friend as he was headed in the direction of his bedroom for the second time. “Here, you go ahead and play nursemaid. I’m going back to bed.” He dropped his robe on the floor on his way in and climbed back under the covers.

Starsky could read the blond’s mood swings just about as plainly as he could read the speedometer on his Torino. This was supposed to be a weekend for the two of them to spend some off-duty time together. It was something they’d been planning to do for a good two months in a row now. But what with court appearances and unexpected assignments popping up out of nowhere, it was a miracle they’d even been felt like getting together last night. Now, here he was playing wet nurse to a strange young woman. He didn’t need to be hit over the head with a frying pan to know that his friend was not a happy camper.

Unlike his partner, he was too keyed up to go back to sleep anytime soon. The adrenaline was pumping through his body like mad. He went into the bathroom to get the girl’s backpack and brought it out with him into the kitchen. He unzipped the side flap and pulled out the contents, arranging them on the kitchen table in no discernible order. What he was looking for exactly he didn’t know. What he wanted was something that would tell him a little more about the girl’s background. Which wasn’t an impossible goal; just made a little more difficult since he didn’t know what he was looking for.

From the side of the still damp bag he pulled a bus token, a Bic lighter, and a brown leather wallet that had been carefully tucked beside a beautifully embroidered white silk handkerchief folded neatly in fourths. He flipped open the wallet and saw a fairly recent picture of Angel, looking well and very beautiful. She was sitting next to an older woman who looked enough like her to be her mother. Their faces were a study in contrasts even so: Angel’s skin was a warmer, burnished color, while the older woman’s skin was more olive in tone. He found himself staring at the picture for a long time, not fully appreciating why. He put it down on the table and opened up the handkerchief, and when he did a small card fell out onto the floor. He reached down and picked it up, turned it over and saw that it was an obituary notice. He read:

Rest In Peace
Elaine Colchetti
b. 1933, d. 1977
Philadelphia, PA

Her mother had passed away. Now at least he had some basis for her cross attitude and the sarcasm he’d encountered. He returned the notice and the wallet back to their place and closed his eyes. During the course of his partnership with Hutch, they’d seen a lot of grieving families and talked to more police psychologists than they’d both care to name. He’d even read books on the subject, and one of things he remembered reading was about what sometimes happens to a person when they lose a loved one, either expectantly or unexpectantly:

One of the most outwardly disconcerting emotional responses to death presented by the bereaved is anger. While the reaction can be alienating to an outsider, it is still a form of release. It’s a different release from crying or isolating oneself from other people, yes, but for some reason it seems to help lessen the shock of losing a loved one for some people. This type of response usually stems from a person’s inability to tell the deceased how they felt and set things right. That inability to communicate usually makes them bitter–with the deceased and with the outside world, and strangely, with themselves, most especially if they don’t have someone who cares about them enough to talk about how they’re feeling.

He’d seen it himself, experienced the phenomena firsthand. The anger and resentment he’d built up over time after he’d lost his own father as a little boy had been almost overwhelming. There was no chance for him to say goodbye or tell his father how much he loved him. He was just gone. But while he’d had his mother, his grandparents, and later on, Hutch, to tell his troubles to, he wondered if she had anyone to talk to about her troubles to where she was from. Then he thought, probably not, if she was this far away from home.

His comprehension of her sorrow was enough of a rationale to settle any doubts he had in his mind about helping her. He stood up from the table and checked to see if she was still asleep. She was. He put her things back into the bag slowly and carefully and then walked it back into the bathroom to finish drying. On his way past the couch, he bent down and gently kissed her on her forehead. “Sleep well,” he said. Then he eased himself back into the recliner and went back to sleep.

~~~

It seemed like the two of them had been going back and forth on the same subject for hours. They had been in the greenhouse discussing Starsky’s singularly inspired early morning decision ever since Hutchinson had come back from his six-fifteen morning run. He was still wearing his favorite green and gold striped running suit, and was working on his second cup of coffee. The darker man followed behind him around as they talked.

“Starsky, you have got to be out of your mind!” Hutch practically bellowed, he was working hard to contain his exasperation.

“But, Hutch…”

“No buts, Starsky. I don’t want any part of this one.”

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is, we let her stay with one of us for a little while. Just long enough to get whatever she’s into sorted out.”

“I’m not listening to you.” Hutch put down his coffee cup and picked up a watering can from a ledge, going from plant to plant in the greenhouse, watering them while he lectured. “Starsk, we are not social workers. There are people out there who get paid to do this stuff!”

“Come on, Hutch, you can’t be that heartless. I know we can help her.”

“Help me what?” a female voice asked.

Both of them looked up and they saw the young woman standing in the doorway of the greenhouse. She still looked tired, but infinitely better than she had the night before.

“What’re you doin’ up?” Starsky asked, rushing over to her.

Hutch closed his eyes. This was going to be a long day.

“I heard you two arguing, what do you think?”

Starsky put his arm around her. “I’m sorry. That’s just the way me and my partner here work out our little disagreements sometimes.”

“Boy, if this was a little disagreement, I’d sure hate to see a big one. Was it about me?”

“Yeah, sort of. Here, c’mon, let’s go sit down.” Starsky put his right arm under hers and walked her back to the couch. Hutchinson put down the watering can and picked his coffee cup, closing the greenhouse door with a bang. Starsky flinched at the sound, then returned his attention to the young woman beside him. “I think it’s time you and I had a little talk.”

The young woman stared at him. “About what?”

“About why you’re here and what we’re going to do about you.”

She crossed her arms in front of her. “I’m here because I want to be. It’s a free country. You don’t have to do anything about me. I can take care of myself.”

“Looks like you’ve done a terrific job of that,” he said sarcastically. The girl turned away from him and pursed her lips tightly. Undaunted, he got up and headed into the bathroom where her backpack waited and was now nearly dry. He grabbed it off the hook and walked it over to her, thrusting it at her forcefully. “Here, get dressed. The bathroom’s free.”

She stared at him but didn’t contest him. She took the backpack out of his hand and walked past him into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Once he heard the shower go on, he went over and knocked on the greenhouse door. “Hey, Hutch, we’re goin’ out pretty soon. You want to come with us?”

Hutchinson was still in a disagreeable mood, but he answered. “Where are you going, and when are you gonna be back?”

“I’m taking Angel for a little spin around town, maybe I can get her to open up. We might go to the pier. You wanna come?”

“No, I don’t think so. You two go ahead. I’d just be a third wheel,” Hutch answered, and then went quiet.

“Okay.” Starsky smiled and shook his head. He watched through the screen door as Hutch went back to his plants and his coffee.

After he’d paced the floor for the better of twenty minutes, Starsky was starting to get a little impatient. He consulted his watch. That oughta be enough time for her to do whatever it is she’s gotta do in there, he opined to himself. He put on his jacket and knocked on the bathroom door. “You almost ready, kiddo?”

“Yeah, almost.” She answered through the closed door. He waited for a few seconds more and the door opened up. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight he was about to see. There standing before him in all her glory was the young woman he’d seen in the photograph. She was wearing a navy blue wraparound dress that caressed and lifted her bosom and accentuated the curve of her hips. Her loose, shoulder-length dark hair fell copiously from her head onto her shoulders, framing her face, making her look ethereal. She reminded him of–for a lack of a better word–an angel.

“Wow.” He gasped, his mouth slightly agape.

“What’s wrong? Do I look dumb?” she asked, smoothing her hands nervously down the sides of her dress.

“No, you look great!” He took her by the arm and let her go out of the front door first. He thought about Hutch before shutting the door. “Hey buddy!” he called out. “We’ll see ya later!”

Hutch mumbled back something at him that he thought sounded like, “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” and the two of them left.

When they got outside, the remaining rain clouds from the previous night’s storm had begun to join their brethren to the east, allowing the sun to poke its way through. New ones were waiting to take their place from the west. Starsky affected his usual self-confident swagger as he escorted the girl to his car. He opened the passenger side door and made a sweeping gesture bidding her to enter.

She paused in the space between the car and passenger door for a moment. She looked surprised. “This is your car?”

“Yeah,” he answered uneasily. “Why?” He was ready to go on the defensive in case she was about to give him an impromptu discourse on the inappropriateness of driving a bright red Torino with a white stripe when one was supposed to be an undercover police officer.

“Very cool,” she said instead.

“Thank you,” he replied, his mouth stretching into a wide, toothy grin. “Go ahead, get in.” She slid onto the bench seat and he closed the door after her, then sprinted around to the driver side, a pronounced bounce in his step.

“Where are we going?”

He put the key in the ignition and started the car, it roared to life as he gunned the motor. “I don’t know yet. But we’ll know when we get there.” He looked in his side mirror and pulled off down the street.

CHAPTER TWO

Starsky ended up taking his relatively non-communicative, but very attractive companion to a place called the Bayside Pier Café for brunch. The café was a small, nondescript eatery that he’d discovered two months earlier and he liked to frequent it whenever he was in the area. They ordered a plate of seafood each and tore through it ravenously. When they were finished, Starsky watched her quietly as he sipped a soda, and then said, “Wanna go for a walk? I’ve been told it helps the food digest.”

“Sure,” she answered, “why not?”

She moved a little ahead of him as they walked out of the café, apparently enthralled by the outdoor setting. When they got to the end of the pier, she paused at the railing and gazed out over the ocean. Without being totally aware of it, he began to gaze at her.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, disrupting his train of thought.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, it’s great,” he answered, catching himself.

The ocean breeze batted at their hair and clothes and when it died down, she brushed her hair back from her face with a hand, her gaze set over the horizon, fully ignoring his. A seagull flew over and she tracked it with a finger, turning with it as it flew overhead. Then she leaned on the railing with her back to the water and watched it disappear from sight. “You know, sometimes I think I’d like to be that bird. Just to be free and soar, go wherever I want.”

“Does that fine bit of inspiration mean you’re ready to let me in what’s going on?”

She bit her lip a little. “If I tell you, you’re going think I’m crazy.”

“No, I won’t. Go ahead, tell me.”

She bit at her bottom lip again and closed her eyes. “I lost my mother in a car accident not too long ago. I guess I…I guess I…miss her.”

Starsky put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know how you must feel.”

“Do you really? Or are you just saying that?”

“No, really, my Pop died when I was a kid. It was a long time ago though.”

“Time passed doesn’t make it any easier to take.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I still do think about him a lot.”

“I know it’s like, I know the bird thing won’t bring my mother back, but it’s nice thinking about being free from your worries sometimes.”

“We each gotta deal with things in our own way. Maybe wishin’ you were a bird is what works for you.”

She smiled at him and the once calm breeze became petulant The grey clouds that had been waiting in queue slowly came in to replace the ones that had departed, dousing the sunlight. She started to shiver. “Is it getting cold again?” she asked him through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, it is.” He took her by the hand and pulled her a little closer to him, checking the sky as he did so. “C’mon, it looks like it’s gonna start up again. We should be getting’ back anyway.”

He let go of her hand and put his right arm informally around her shoulders, a completely innocent gesture in and of itself, but she took it to heart, welcoming his touch with an adoring smile. As they traversed the pier’s wooden planks to get to his car, what was a mild sprinkling quickly swelled into a downpour. When they were inside the Torino, Starsky hurriedly closed the car door. “Whoa!” he exclaimed. “Just in time! Now let’s get back to my partner’s place so we can find out what we need to do to get you back home.”

She was silent for a moment, then she turned to him. “Detective Starsky, I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you everything.”

“Look, considering everything that’s happened, I think it’d be okay if you called me Dave. You think you can do that?” She nodded. “Okay now, what’s the whole story?”

She tried to compose herself by taking a deep breath; she didn’t want to rush into what she was going to say and she didn’t want to sound hysterical. She focused her concentration on the rain as it cascaded down the car’s windshield in undulating streams. She opened her mouth but nothing came out–she wasn’t ready yet.

“C’mon. You can tell me.”

“No…I can’t.”

“Sure you can.”

She turned toward him, gazing into his beautiful violet blue eyes, hoping that they held the answers to her problems. She nodded solemnly and began. “I’m afraid…”

“Afraid of what?”

“Well, I can’t prove it, but I think my father and his new wife killed my mother,” she revealed.

Starsky’s eyes widened. “Why? Why would they do something like that?”

“It’s a long, unbelievably weird story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

Starsky nodded his head. “I specialize in weird. Try me.”

“Okay. Have you ever heard of a company called Colchetti Motors?”

“It’s a car dealership based out of Philadelphia, right?”

“That’s right. My grandfather, Augustus Colchetti, was the president and CEO of the company and he established and ran it, it was his baby. There are several branches worldwide, but the headquarters is based in Philadelphia. When my grandfather died, my father inherited the company.”

“Keep goin’, I’m all ears.”

She clasped her hands in front of her and rested them on her lap. “To tell you the whole story I have to tell you about my parents. It all started when my mother and my father met at college. She was a sophomore and he was a junior. They fell in love and started going steady, and they continued seeing each other after college. After he graduated, he got a job working with my grandfather at the company’s headquarters, and my mother got a job as well. In time, I happened.” She smiled at him and he smiled back. “But, after grandfather found out that his only son had put his girlfriend in the family way, he basically pressured him to make an honest woman of her, which he did. Not because he wanted to, but because there was a clause in grandfather’s will that stipulated if he fathered a child out of wedlock, he’d be obligated to marry the child’s mother, or forfeit the inheritance.” She smiled again. “My grandfather was a stickler for his offspring taking responsibility for their actions, plus he didn’t really want anyone with the family blood running through their veins to be vilified as a bastard child.” She covered her mouth. “Oops, sorry.”

“That’s okay, I’ve heard worse.”

“Okay, so my father did the husband-father thing and went on with his life. But he had no idea how many years he’d be stuck with my mother and me, waiting for the money, waiting for his father to die.”

“So he resented marrying your mother and he resented you. Why did she stick around?” Starsky’s tone was curious but receptive.

“Why does any woman stay with any guy? Maybe it was because she didn’t have much of a life. Her degree was in economics and there sure wasn’t a whole lot of call for people with that kind of educational background back then. And that was okay when they were young and carefree, but it just got worse after he came into the money. They were drifting further and further apart the more he got involved with running the business. When I was old enough to understand she told me that she was going to leave him, but she wasn’t sure how to do it.”

“How do you feel about him?”

“He’s a tolerant, distant man, but I love him, and I’m not blind to how he treated my mother. I could see how unhappy they were. And the thing of it is that she wanted to be with him more than he wanted to be with her, so they were both miserable most of the time. To make things worse, about four months ago, this woman started coming to the house a week after my father had brought life insurance policies on the whole family. She introduced herself as Jessie Milner and she told us that she’d met him at a department store that she worked for. After he met her, he’d think nothing of inviting her up to the house for drinks as he pleased. They’d sit by the pool getting friendly with each other and making my mother totally miserable.”

Starsky could see tears brimming in her eyes. He checked the glove compartment and pulled a couple of Kleenex from a small box inside and offered them to her. She nodded thankfully and held them in her hand as she continued her story.

“So they talked about it and she said that they were going to try out a trial separation. She was planning on going to California to try and piece her life back together again, then she was coming back to see if they could work something out. But that never happened. I saw the news report of the accident on TV. Before the reporter was finished, I don’t know why, I just had this strange feeling…and I started putting the pieces together…the money, the new girlfriend…the total disregard they both had for my mother’s feelings, doing indiscreet things in full view of her. I didn’t want to believe it. And I knew it was crazy. But I couldn’t stop thinking it.”

Starsky nodded. “So what confirmed it for you?” He put his hand on the back of the car seat close to her right shoulder.

“It was after I heard his girlfriend on the phone at the house one night. She was talking to someone about how she was sure that my father was going to pop the question and they were going get married soon. It was only two weeks after my mother was killed. That’s when I started to suspect something. I wanted to go to the police, but I couldn’t show them any proof. Then when the two of them actually did get married, I felt betrayed. So I left his home for anyplace, and ended up out here.” She looked into the detective’s eyes, and a floodgate of tears burst forth and fell. “I just don’t know what to do!” He felt his heart go out to her, not in pity or empathy, but in something deeper, more unexpected. Concern.

There’s nothing worse than knowing you’re right about something and not being able to prove it, he thought. The detective also knew from experience how alienating it was to have your integrity doubted. The same thing had happened to him about two years ago when a deranged old convict out for revenge started blowing up cops to get back at him for shooting and killing a fleeing juvenile in self-defense. He didn’t know what he could do about helping her prove her story. If the accident looked like an accident, the police would do no more than a routine investigation and that was that. He took her hand in his. “Listen, you don’t have to worry about a thing, we’re gonna work this out. Me and my partner are going to find out what happened and everything’s going to be okay.” Even as he was saying it, he wondered why he had.

She smiled at him, wiping away her tears with a knuckle. “Really?”

“Scout’s honor,” he answered, putting up three fingers of his right hand in the Boy Scout tradition. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

“Oh, thank you!” she screamed, grabbing him around his neck and kissing him with such enthusiasm that he was momentarily caught off guard. Not that he was complaining. In fact he kind of liked it.

After a moment, she pulled back; somewhat embarrassed about expressing herself so freely with someone she’d just met. She slowly released him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“That’s okay, I have that kinda effect on people sometimes, especially women.”

She laughed. “You know, you’re kind of funny.”

“Hey, if ya think that’s funny, kid, stick around. I gotta million of ’em.” he said doing his best Groucho Marx imitation, complete with flicking fake ashes off a pretend cigar. After starting the car, he turned to her. “You wanna listen to some music?” She nodded. He turned on the radio and scrolled the dial over to an oldies station. He hoped she wouldn’t find his selection too terribly old-fashioned. To his delight, when “Blueberry Hill” came on, she sang along.

~~~

Angel couldn’t help stealing sideward glances at her handsome rescuer the moment he wasn’t looking. He was definitely kind of cute, in an older guy sort of way. Especially that little boy smile he got when he was happy, like when she’d praised his choice of car. She wanted to run her hands through his thick, curly hair, and see what kissing those lips of his would be like. Watching him was just like watching a big kid who hadn’t had a chance to really grow up yet. She thought he was great, someone she’d like to get to know, even if he was a just a bit older.

Starsky tried hard to pay attention to the road ahead, but he found himself hopelessly distracted by her presence. Plus, he could swear she was staring at him. A furtive glance her way confirmed his suspicions. Yep, she was definitely staring at him. He could see it now: POLICE SARGEANT DAVID STARSKY AND YOUNG UNKNOWN FEMALE INJURED IN FREAK CAR ACCIDENT. OFFICER SAYS HE JUST COULDN’T KEEP HIS EYES GLUED TO THE ROAD. NEWS AT TEN. Still he had to admit, she was kind of cute.

She turned to him and smiled. “Are you married, Detective Starsky?”

“No, I’m not,” he answered and politely laughed the question off. Of all the times for dispatch not to call in a 211, he thought. Still distracted, he brought the Torino careening to a halt at the curb when he reached Hutch’s building. So as not to be thrown forward, she grabbed a hold of the dash.

“Here we are!” he announced. And not a moment too soon, he thought. Saved by the proverbial bell.

Starsky got out and hesitated before approaching the passenger side. Not only was this girl unpredictable in her moods, he surmised, but she was also fairly sexually aggressive. Where he came from that was okay in the bedroom, but not as a rule of thumb. He finally opened her door and she stepped out, leaning very close to him, definitely on purpose.

“Are you all right?” she asked him.

“Ah…um…yeah…terrific. Say whaddya know about that? Hutch must be still be at home,” he noted. “Please be at home,” the last part he said under his breath as he walked ahead of her.

“Doesn’t your friend like me?”

“Oh, he likes ya fine. He’s just a little disappointed, I think.”

When they got up to the top of the stairs, he pounded on the door. Impetuously, she grabbed hold of his arm and he flinched uncomfortably.

“Yeah, who is it?” Hutch asked, sounding a little irritated by the interruption.

“It’s me. Open up!”

Hutch swung the door wide-open and looked at his watch. “I see you two decided to come back…” He stopped short when he saw the girl’s arm linked in his partner’s, closed the door after them and walked away as they entered. Starsky separated her arm from his own and led her over to the couch. “Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, young lady? My partner and I have some issues to resolve.”

“Oh, okay.” she said, seating herself on the couch and picking up a magazine off the coffee table.

Starsky walked into the sectioned off area that was his partner’s bedroom. Hutchinson was there lying on top of his bed with his arm over his forehead and his eyes closed. He opened them when his partner came in. Starsky looked flustered.

“Hey, what’s up with you? You’ve been actin’ strange ever since she got here.”

“Hey, it’s no big deal, Starsk. It’s just that when I invite you over to my place to relax, I expect you to relax.”

“I am relaxed, can’t you see how relaxed I am? It’s you that’s makin’ me nervous.”

He sat up. “I just don’t get why you’re so interested in her.”

Starsky shrugged. “It’s just I think I know where she’s coming from, that’s all. She’s got no place to stay, her mother’s gone and I think she might be in danger if she goes back home.”

Hutch raised an eyebrow. “Danger? What kind of danger?”

Starsky walked over and sat on the bed next to him. “She’s scared. Her mother was killed in a car accident she doesn’t think was entirely accidental. And until I can find out what’s really going on, I don’t feel right sending her back. I think I’m gonna need your help on this one. Are you with me, buddy?”

Hutch considered his best friend’s earnest appeal and resisted the urge to argue with him. He had presented to him what he thought was solid, believable rationalization, and it was pretty much useless to try and change his mind. He was tenacious. And his tenaciousness worked for him–sometimes. The blond nodded his approval. “Okay, okay, you win. She can stay here–for now. But I’ll be damned if I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” Hutch asked, looking up at him.

“Oh, nuthin’,” Starsky answered facetiously.

“The hell you say.”

“Humph. Well, now that that’s settled, why don’t we sit down somewhere and talk this out?”

Hutch got up and sidled beside to his partner. “Okay, what’d you have in mind?”

“Well, I figured we could do a couple of things…”

“Such as?”

Starsky dropped his hand onto his partner’s shoulder and led him out to the living room. While they were walking over to the couch a bug of self-doubt lodged itself in his mind. He quickly brushed it aside and they sat down next the girl. She put her magazine down on the table and waited for them to say something.

Hutch looked at them both. “Okay, shoot.”

“Well, first off, I figured…we’d give the Philadelphia Police Department a call.” He glanced at Angel for reassurance. “Maybe see what there is to know about Mrs. Colchetti’s accident. See if maybe they missed something. Then depending on what we find out there, that would tell us whether we had to pay dear old dad and his new wife a visit.” He sighed. “‘Course that would mean…” He didn’t finish.

“We’d have to go up there and talk to them in person,” Hutch said, finishing the sentence.

“Yeah…so, whaddya think?”

He mulled it over. “I think you’re crazy, Starsky. It’s Sunday, do you know how long it’ll take us to get to Philadelphia?”

“I dunno, couple of days?”

“It’s one and a half days and a little over three thousand miles as the crow flies. You wanna call Dobey up and tell him we’re not coming in to work on Monday because we had to investigate one of your hunches? Besides, it’s out of our jurisdiction.”

“I thought about that and I got it covered. We’ll just tell Dobey that my Aunt Miriam blew into town unexpectedly and that I had to put her up for a couple of weeks. If anybody at the department asks, you and I are finally taking that long, well-deserved two-week vacation we been trying to plan for months. Whaddya say? Huh? Huh?”

“Starsky, you’re a nut, a sweet, misguided nut, but a nut. We are not private detectives.”

“Don’t let my Aunt Miriam hear you sayin’ that. I told her we were.”

Watching them banter back and forth was like watching a verbal Ping-Pong match. Their interplay was most exasperating, especially to an outsider. She grabbed both of them by a forearm and got their attention. “Guys! Do you two think you’ll settle this sometime today?”

Both men looked at her, apparently having forgotten she was in the room.

“It’s already settled,” Starsky said to her. Then turned to his partner. “Look at it this way, Hutch. If we don’t drive ourselves and take a Greyhound, we can both relax and you and I can still spend a little quality time together.”

“Terrific.” Hutch responded.

CHAPTER THREE

Monday morning found David Starsky brushing his teeth in his partner’s bathroom sink with the water going full blast, their guest eating breakfast, and Hutch making a pot of coffee in the kitchen. His keen ears bristled at the sound of water flowing down the drain at what he guessed was probably a gallon a second. The man was humming some off the wall tune and gargling loud enough to be heard on the next block. He marched over the bathroom door and knocked. “Hey, Starsk, would you mind shutting that off? Haven’t you ever heard of water conservation?!”

Starsky opened the door sporting a mouth full of toothbrush and foam. “Huh? Sorry, I couldn’t hear ya with the water runnin’,” he mumbled.

“Shut off the water and use a cup, willya?”

“Oh, yeah, sure thing.” Starsky nodded to him and closed the door.

Hutch heard the water shut off finally and breathed a small sigh of relief. He went over to the couch and checked the two suitcases that they’d packed for their trip. Figuring how long it would take for them to do this thing had been a tricky assumption at best. He hoped it wouldn’t take them more than a couple of weeks to try and piece things together. After it was all over, he had hopes of them salvaging a weekend–at least that’s what he hoped.

Starsky came out of the bathroom drying his mouth and face with a hand towel. “You guys ready to go?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Angel answered. “Are we taking your car?”

“We’re sure as hell not taking Hutch’s old heap. Probably’d never make it to the bus station.”

A warning finger popped up. “Starsky, I swear, if you denigrate my automobile one more time…”

“Well, if that’s the same thing as what you’re always insinuatin’ about my car, then I’ll declare a cease-fire if you will. And stop pointin’ that finger at me.”

Hutch withdrew the offending digit. “Okay, a temporary truce is called. Besides, I had the good sense to call a cab.”

“Oh, good idea.”

Angel got up from the table, wiped her mouth, and took her plate and the glass she was using to the sink, washed them and put them in the drainer. Then she went to the couch and slipped on her backpack. Starsky grabbed his own suitcase off the couch and frowned when Hutch picked his up and unceremoniously shoved it into his partner’s arms.

“Hey-y-y, what do I look like? A pack mule?”

“Well, if the shoe fits. Thanks, buddy, I know you were only thinking of my back.”

“Yeah, sure,” he grumbled, looking like he’d just been asked to trek across a hot desert without a canteen. He walked over and set both suitcases by the front door.

The girl pulled out one of the wrinkled Greyhound schedules from the side of her bag. “Looks like the bus we want is due to leave in an hour. We don’t want to miss it,” she suggested.

Hutch pulled out his pocket watch. “You’re right, kiddo. That cab should be here soon,” Hutch said.

Angel, dressed in a white blouse, blue jeans and tennis shoes, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, winced at the “kid” reference. “Do you mind not calling me that? I’m almost twenty-one.”

“Oh, sorry, lost my head. Don’t know what I was thinking,” Hutch answered in a playful tone. A car horn sounded outside.

The horn honked again. Hutch looked out the window and waved at the cabdriver who was standing outside. The man looked up, acknowledged him with a wave and leaned against the cab to wait.

“Cab’s here,” he said.

Starsky wrestled both suitcases out the door and down the stairs with minimal assistance given by the girl. After Hutch had locked his front door, he put the key in the pocket of his jeans and followed them down.

~~~

The cab driver turned out to be a courteous enough sort; he took their luggage out of the trunk and set them down at their feet in front of the bus station. After he was paid and generously tipped, he left. Starsky picked up all three of the bags and shot his partner a look of contempt that could have melted snow in winter. Hutch smiled, thoroughly pleased with himself. Noticing this perceived injustice, Angel sprinted over to help, slipping her bag off his arm. He smiled at her appreciatively and flashed another disapproving glance at his partner. Feeling like a heel, Hutch groaned and took his suitcase from Starsky’s left hand. They walked into the station with a piece of luggage each. When they got to the ticket window, the clerk gave them their tickets and pointed them in the direction of the bus heading out for Philadelphia.

After a brief wait in the station lobby, the three of them boarded a waiting Greyhound. It was one of those “three-seats-to-a-side” ones that were already halfway-filled with passengers. Angel staked out a middle seat for herself as they walked down the aisle. When Hutchinson made a beeline for the spot she’d been eyeing, she rushed him for it. “Ah, ah, ah,” she exclaimed, a shiny fingernail waving in the air, “finders keepers!” she took a seat and looked up at him with a smile. Hutch conceded to her swiftness and good-naturedly took the seat next to the window. Starsky, oblivious to the competition, stood securing her backpack in the overhead luggage compartment above them. He pitched forward awkwardly when the bus lurched into gear. As he paused to steady himself with a hand on the back of the seat, Angel caught his eye and smiled at him, he smiled back at her and righted himself again. After a moment or so she reached over and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going to the lavatory,” she whispered.

“Oh, okay.” He wasn’t sure what a ‘lavatory’ was, but he figured she must know. He followed her with his eyes as she got up and made her way to what was known in his neck of the woods as the john.

His task completed, he sat down in the aisle seat and checked on his partner. The fair-haired man’s eyes were closed and his head was reclined in gentle repose. Figuring this was not exactly the time to expect stimulating conversation, he lifted from his seat slightly and fished out a crossword book from his back pocket, then pulled a pencil from the one in his shirt. He propped the book up on a crossed knee and began filling in the answers. A confident smile swept over his face as the first answers came easily to him. He was going at a good clip when his brow suddenly became furrowed. Stumped, he sought out his friend’s assistance. “Hey, Hutch?” he whispered.

Hutch stirred, but didn’t move.

“Hey, Hutch!” he repeated, this time a little closer to his friend’s ear.

The blond opened his eyes and turned toward him slightly. ” Yeah, buddy, What is it?” he answered drowsily.

“You know a seven-letter word for ‘optimistic’?”

Hutch couldn’t believe his ears. He turned and hauled himself slowly upright. “I don’t believe you actually woke me up to answer a stupid crossword puzzle question.”

Starsky looked somewhat offended, but nonetheless undeterred by Hutch’s reaction. “I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet. Go ahead, go back to sleep.”

The man groaned and turned toward the window, trying to get comfortable again in the seat. That’s when Starsky went in for the kill. “That’s okay. Since you don’t know, I’ll ask Angel when she gets back.”

Starsky’s response got the desired reaction. Hutch’s back had tightened up. This time without turning around, he fumed, “I didn’t say I didn’t know the answer, Starsky.” He turned towards him, and a curly haired imp smiled back.

“Oh, well then, what’s the answer?” he asked him very innocently.

“What is the answer to what, Starsky?” The man had finally gotten his goat. As he waited for him to repeat his question, the girl returned and took her seat between them.

“I need a seven-letter word for ‘optimistic’.”

Hutch thought about it a minute and was getting ready to answer, but before he could open his mouth, the girl answered for him.

“I’ve got it Dave, try utopist. It’s spelled u-t-o-p-i-s-t.”

Starsky penciled the letters into the squares and found that they fit exactly. “Hey! She’s right. She’s a very smart young lady!”

“Humph.” Hutch heaved an exasperated sigh and turned his back on them both.

Angel looked after him. Then she turned to the man on her right, her eyes the epitome of curiosity. “Why do you do that?” she whispered.

He set the puzzle book facedown on his lap. “Do what?”

“Fool around with him like that?”

“Oh, that. Don’t worry about that. Deep down under all that bluster, he’s really just a pussycat. I’m pretty used to it by now.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

Starsky looked past Angel and over at his dozing partner. “See, he’s forgotten all about it already.”

She looked over at the blond man to her right. David was right; the guy had gone back to sleep. She chuffed a laugh. “How long have you two been partners?”

Starsky tilted his head back. “Hmm. Seems like just yesterday. But my guess is it’s been more like six years.”

“I guess that explains why you two read each other like a book, huh?”

“You could say that. He’s my best friend, so we tend to overlook some of our more irritating personality quirks.”

She rested her chin on her hand in thought. “Detective Starsky?”

“Dave, remember?” he asked, focusing on the puzzle book again.

She rose a little off her hand and used it to touch the sleeve of his jacket. He glanced at it there, a little nervously, dropping his pencil on the floor as he did. When he reached down to pick up the pencil and sat up again, she was looking intently into his eyes.

“Dave…”

“Yeah?”

“Do you like me?”

Starsky glanced at her. Oho. Now she was reading him like a book. And there were only one, maybe two people in the world that could do that. He smiled vacantly as she continued touching his sleeve and trying to make eye contact with him.

“I don’t know what it is. I just keep feeling like there’s something going on between us.”

Starsky gulped. “Huh?”

She put her hand on his shoulder. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, I…I heard you.”

“So, do you like me?”

“Yeah, sure I like you.”

“Now don’t just say that to make me feel good. I want you to tell me how you like me. Is it like a sister, or…or something else?” She was hoping for the something else.

He groped for an answer that wouldn’t put his neck in a sling. He finally came up with, “I really hadn’t given it much thought to tell you the truth.”

“Oh, okay.” Crestfallen, she settled her head back and closed her eyes.

Yeah, thatta boy, Starsky. When in doubt the old tried and true detached and vague approach always works. You handled that one just like a pro. Seeing the disappointment on her face was almost enough to make him want to tell her all. But he stood fast on principle, even though every fiber of his being said to tell her exactly what she wanted to hear.

~~~

Monday morning had rolled into Tuesday afternoon by the time the three of them got into Philadelphia. They pulled their own bags from their locations and stood near the edge of the highway, waiting. No one spoke a word. The rescued remained disappointed with the rescuer, and the oblivious third party, only along for the ride, so to speak, remained blissfully ignorant of the entire situation.

“So what do we do now?” Hutch asked.

Starsky spotted a shoddy looking cafe across from the station. “Anybody hungry?”

“Ah, ah, ah, first things first, Starsk. Let’s get the answer to at least three of the four W’s first, who, what and where, before we think about our stomachs.”

He sighed. “Okay, come on. Follow me.” The two of them trailed behind him as he made his way to a nearby payphone. “Huggy said to call him as soon as we got into town.”

“Okay, well that covers the ‘who’ part.”

“Who’s Huggy?” she asked.

Starsky dug some coins out of his pocket. “He’s a friend of ours, helps us out from time to time.” He dialed Huggy’s number and put the receiver to his ear.

“Oh,” she said.

When the operator came on the line she advised of him how much the call would be and he put in the necessary amount and listened to the phone ring until the line was picked up.

“This is Huggy Bear. Your dime, my time, rap to me.”

As usual Huggy Bear sounded his busy and prosperous self. In fact at this moment he was tending to some very pressing business matters, that of deciding on the suitability of a new mixed drink to add to the bar menu and also choosing which of the cocktail uniforms his female employees would wear when they served his customers. Such work could sometimes be hazardous, as demonstrated when one of the bar’s busty waitresses crossed in front of him to model a particularly revealing outfit. She wore a hot pink hot pants ensemble so tantalizing that he spilled some of the drink he was testing on the front of his shirt. He smiled sheepishly at her and self-consciously dabbed at the spill, almost dropping the phone in the process. Flabbergasted, he put down the glass and put the receiver back to his ear. “I’m here, have no fear.”

“Hey, Hug. It’s me, Starsky.”

“Hey-y-y, Starsky, how you been, my man?” He looked at his watch. “I guess this means you made it. Where’s your other half hidin’?”

Starsky motioned for his partner and Hutch set his bag down on the ground and stood beside him, putting his ear close to the receiver. “We’re here, Hug,” he said. “Whaddya got?”

“Starsky tells me that you two gentlemen, and I use the term very loosely, are on a fact finding mission requiring yet another demonstration of my vast knowledge and superior expertise. And being as that is the situation, I have arranged for you and yours to luxuriate in the hospitality of one of my distant Philly cousins.”

“You got cousins in Philly, Hug?” Starsky asked, somewhat amused at the idea. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Yes, Starsky, I do,” Huggy answered, sounding a little slighted.

“And what might this cousin’s name be?”

“Frankie Brown.”

“Frankie? You got a female cousin named Frankie?”

“Starsky…I warn you, do not make jest of my family tree.”

“Oop, sorry, Huggy. Okay, how do we go about finding this paragon of graciousness?” He chuckled despite himself.

The black man picked up his address book. “You got a writing implement and a piece of paper handy there?”

“Yeah, hold on a minute.” Starsky pulled the crossword book out of his back pocket and used the pencil tucked behind his ear to take down the information. “Okay, ready, Huggy. Let ‘er rip.” Hutch leaned into his partner’s space to overhear the information, close enough for their hair to commingle.

“In about…” Huggy looked at his watch. “Oh…say…in fifteen minutes, a rather impressive ‘short’ should be arriving to chauffeur your party to your destination.”

“Ah, and where would that be, Huggy?” Hutch asked, his eyebrows rising suspiciously.

“I was coming to that part, my man, patience, patience. You see my cousin, Frankie, has a little bed and breakfast out there that she and her sometimes old man, Dix, take turns running. It’s a good location for the tourist trade and the service is su-perb. I’m tellin’ you the hospitality and the food there is so good, you won’t want to come home.”

“Now you’re talkin’, Huggy,” Starsky said.

“Just give me a jingle when you get to her crib, and I’ll put in a good word with the cook.”

“Huggy, we can’t wait,” Hutch replied in a cynical tone.

Huggy probably didn’t hear the blond detective’s reply because at that moment the second collection of outfits was being modeled in front of him. He bit his knuckle as another well-endowed and ravishing waitress entered, wearing an even more revealing outfit than the first. “Ah, gotta go now, fellas. Destiny calls. And I’m not about to keep her waitin’, if you know what I mean.”

“Sure, Hug, we’ll call ya when we get to your cousin’s place.” Starsky broke the connection and hung up the phone.

Hutch stepped aside and picked up his bag. “So what now?”

“I guess we just wait. He said fifteen minutes.”

Angel stood with her back to both men and kept an eye on the road ahead checking her watch sporadically. No sooner had the minute hand reached the three than she spied a swirling cloud of dust rolling in their direction. “Hey, here comes something,” she announced.

Starsky and his partner turned their heads in the direction she was pointing. Sure enough, there was a long; lemon drop-yellow colored convertible Cadillac Eldorado headed their way that looked like it could have come right out of The Wiz. It cruised to a stop in front of the station and created a dramatic dust cloud that blew dust into the air. After a few seconds of coughing and shielding their faces, the driver rolled down his window and greeted them. “Good day, one and all!”

Dixon, an older black man with a salt-and-pepper natural got out of the car. He was wearing a white cowboy hat and white gloves and looked like someone you’d see at a rodeo. The three of them looked on in quiet amazement.

“Don’t tell me, you’ve gotta be Dixon,” Starsky deduced.

“The one and only, my friend.” The man turned off the engine and got out of the car. He actually cut quite a fine figure standing next to the Eldorado, despite his curious choice of attire. He leaned on the side of the car in front of them and pulled off his hat. “Our mutual friend, Huggy Bear, has informed me that I’d find three weary travelers waiting here who were bound for the City of Brotherly Love.”

“Yeah, Huggy’s got a way with words,” Starsky replied.

“Well, what are you waitin’ for? The car is open, throw your luggage into the trunk and slide in. Dixon may be a chauffeur, but he ain’t no bag clerk, no sirree.”

Hutch opened the unlocked trunk and tossed his suitcase into it. He opened the side door to get in and couldn’t help examining the interior. It was bright white and had some kind of a polar bear fur carpeting along the sides and the floor and the upholstery was done up in tucked white leather. Other embellishments included a yellow gold-plated steering wheel and gear shifter with a gold-rimmed rearview mirror. “Ah, yet another aesthetically destitute soul,” he muttered and shook his head as he forced himself to get in.

Starsky opened the door for the girl and she slid in without speaking to him. He shrugged and got in himself. With everyone seated as comfortably as they could be in the tight back seat, Dixon got back into the car and started it.

“Are we ready to hit the road?” he asked.

“No time like the present,” Hutch answered stiffly.

“Right on.” Dixon pushed an eight-track tape he’d been listening to back into the player. And let the sounds of the group MFSB playing “TSOP” circulate through the interior. Hutch folded his arms and stretched his long legs in front of him as far as he could and turned to Starsky. “Nudge me when we get there.”

“You got it.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Starsky and Angel rode in complete silence for the hour-long trip to Frankie Brown’s place. She stared blankly in front of her and watched the scenery go by outside while he watched her. By now, Dixon was on his second rendition of “Georgia on my Mind” which he sang out loud in a low baritone. Having had enough of the cold shoulder treatment, Starsky stopped looking at her and touched her arm. She trained on him with a look that cut like daggers. But he dismissed it and addressed her anyway.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

“Oh, so you’re talking to me now?”

“Well, I’m not talking to him.” He motioned toward his partner, who was sleeping like a baby beside her. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

She turned around and went back to staring blankly. “No. I am not mad at you!” Her voice unintentionally rose a few octaves.

“Coulda fooled me.”

Starsky shook his head in disbelief; he wasn’t exactly sure why the two of them were giving him a hard time. First, he had Angel, a beautifully inscrutable enigma, whom he suspected had feelings for him, but probably not the slightest clue what to do with them. And then there was Hutch, his best friend of many years, who would probably be easier to figure out if he had a map. Suddenly, a hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts and he turned toward it.

“Detective Starsky? I mean, Dave,” she whispered, letting her hand slide from his shoulder to his forearm. His eyes stayed on her hand where it rested. He noticed that she had very pretty hands, long and delicate, like an artist’s might be.

Her eyes engaged his. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I guess I’m just on edge now that we’re getting closer.”

“That’s okay, I understand.”

She lifted her hand from his arm and placed them in front of her on her lap. They both tried desperately to find other things to look at besides each other

“Here we are!” Dixon announced loudly and enthusiastically. He pulled the car into the unlandscaped back lot of a well-kept two-story wood frame house, parked and cut the Cadillac’s engine, then craned his neck back to check his backseat. All three of his passengers were sound asleep and snoring. Angel was leaning on Hutch’s shoulder, and Starsky had his head crammed against the inside of the rear door.

Dixon cleared his throat. “Rise and shine, everyone!”

“Ooh! Wh–What?” Hutch awoke with a start, bumping his head on the ceiling. It took a minute before he realized that there was someone nestled in the crook of his arm. Dixon watched as the blond man carefully extracted his arm from beneath the girl’s head and slid her over onto Starsky. Then Hutchinson got an idea. He straightened up as much as possible and positioned his head as close to Starsky’s left ear as he dared.

“Rise and shine, Starsky!”

Starsky jerked awake, rousing the girl and dropping her from his shoulder onto his lap. The driver grinned, shook his head and got out of the car. Starsky stared disbelievingly at his partner. “Could you possibly be a little more childish?”

“Sorry, buddy. Just getting you back for the puzzle question,” he answered, a puckish look on his face.

Starsky shook his head and helped the girl sit up.

“Are we there already?” she asked him.

“Looks that way.” Starsky answered, still slow fuming.

Hutchinson got out of the car and stretched his limbs. Starsky got out the other side, Angel on his heels. Dixon took their luggage out of the trunk, set it down on the ground, closed the trunk and began buffing the Cadillac’s finish to a brilliant gleam. “You gentlemen and the lady can go right on in. Frankie will make you feel right at home.”

“Thanks, Dixon, we owe ya one,” Starsky responded.

“No, we don’t,” the blond man said under his breath. He was still busy complaining and working the kinks out in his back, a condition made worse by his awkward sleeping position in the car. “Leave it to Huggy to send a ’74 Caddy to pick us up. The thing’s smaller than a sardine can back there.”

“Maybe you should’ve sat up front. There’s a whole lot more room up there,” Angel suggested.

“Yeah, thanks, I’ll keep that in mind for the trip back.”

They headed up to the front door of the two-story residence, rang the doorbell and waited. Within a few minutes an impressive looking black woman opened the door. Her smooth brown skin had few wrinkles and her face was brightened by a warm, inviting smile. “Come in, come in,” she said, and she shook their hands one by one as they stepped into the foyer and went past her into the parlor. The large sunlit room was furnished with a pair of look-alike damask sofas positioned catty-corner to each other against a big bay window, the tops partially covered with crocheted white throws. Two doily covered dark brown coffee tables squatted between them, bordered by a matching damask wing chair.

“My name is Frankie Brown please have a seat won’t you?” she said as she reached for her eyeglasses and put them on. She focused intently on her three guests as they sat down in front of her. “I hope you all like tea,” she said, and picking up a ceramic teapot and pouring hot water over teabags already set inside their cups.

Starsky smiled at her graciously. “We sure do.”

She indicated the separate servers. “There’s sugar, cream or lemon if you like.”

Hutch took a cup and tossed a couple of spoonfuls of sugar into it. He drank from it slowly, his eyes taking in their surroundings. Starsky passed the cup of tea handed him on to Angel and then took a cup for himself and sipped. The proprietor of the home poured a cup for herself and sat down, smoothing her dress down as she did. “So what brings you out this way?” Her question lingered in the air for a moment before the darker detective answered.

“We’re looking for answers. In particular, we’re trying to straighten out a situation concerning this young lady over here,” he explained, motioning toward the girl.

The woman smiled at her and took another sip of tea. “Such a pretty thing. Stand up dear, let me have a look at you.”

Angel put her teacup down on the table, glanced at the two men and then stood up. With a stiff and perfunctory smile she let Mrs. Brown take her by the hand and study her for a moment, and when she was done, she returned to her seat. Mrs. Brown continued watching her with interest. “So, how have you come to be in the company of these two gentlemen?”

She tensed. “Well, I…”

Hutchinson cleared his throat and raised his right hand, forefinger extended. “Sorry to interrupt you, Mrs. Brown. But I sure would like to see the accommodations and freshen up a bit before we start.”

“Oh, no problem at all. First, let me tell you, breakfast is at 7 a.m. and lunch promptly at noon. I usually serve dinner between six and seven in the evening. This is my slow period so I don’t have any other guests at the moment, which means you’ll have free run of the place. There’s a shared bath on both floors, so if one is in use, the other one should be free.” She rose from the sofa and put her cup down on the table. “If you like, I can show you to your rooms right now.”

Starsky put down his cup. “Oh, that’d be swell, Mrs. Brown. We’d really appreciate it.”

As he, Angel and Hutch walked around the coffee table to follow her, she put her hand on Starsky’s arm. “You can call me Frankie, honey. Most folks do.”

“Okay, Frankie.” he said, smiling at her.

Mrs. Brown led them out of the parlor, through an archway and up a flight of carpeted stairs. The carpeting stopped at the landing and wood panel flooring took its place. The hall emanated odors from the stays of past boarders despite an effort to mask it with a spritz of air freshener. Cigarette smoke, odors of meals cooked and eaten in years past and stale perfume had settled in the floral wallpaper, too stubborn to be sanitized away. The four of them stopped about halfway down the hall in front of two rooms with closed doors. A large, rectangular curtained window stood vigil ahead of them.

“I hope the two of you don’t mind sharing a room. There are double beds.”

“Never bothered us before, right, Starsk?” Hutch asked.

“Right. That’s okay with us.”

She turned to the young woman. “You can have the next room. It’s just over here.” She indicated the door before the room near the window. “I’ll call you all down when lunch is ready. Huggy told me what your preferences are and I’m going to do my best to prepare what you like.”

“Thanks,” Hutch said, “we really appreciate that.”

“Not a problem.” She fished three keys from her apron pocket. “These are the keys to your rooms. Please make sure they’re returned to me before you leave. Lost keys are ten dollars to replace.”

“Whoo! Ten whole bucks, that’s pretty steep!” Starsky exclaimed.

“I know it’s a stiff penalty. But I guarantee you the keys do get returned.” She laughed quietly, then turned to make her way back downstairs. “I’ll see you all at lunch.”

Hutchinson tried his key in the lock and opened the door, then turned to his partner, saw him hanging back. “I’m going to wash up before lunch. You comin’ in, Starsk?”

“I’ll be with ya in a minute, okay?”

“Sure.” He went in and shut the door.

Angel moved slowly towards her door and to try the key she’d been given. Starsky leaned against the outside hallway wall and watched her, sensing some hesitation on her part.

“You going to be okay in there by yourself, you think?”

The young woman opened the door and stood in the doorway, surveying her accommodations. Inside, and off to her right she saw a writing desk and a large mirror and in the middle of the room were two double beds separated by a nightstand, matching lamps stood on each one. There was a television on a rolling stand and a radio not far from where that was. The whole room was painted in a neutral, off white shade. There was also a communicating door that led from her room to the room where the two detectives would be, and that little detail that seemed to set her mind at ease. She nodded her head. “I think I’ll be all right.”

He peeked inside. “Remember if you need anything, glass of water, ice cream…someone to talk to, we’re right next door. All you have to do is knock.”

She acknowledged his offer with a peck on the cheek. “I’ll remember that. See you later.”

His face lit up with a big smile that crinkled the corners of his mouth and eyes. He pushed himself slowly away from the doorframe as she disappeared inside the room. “See ya,” he said and as the door closed, he waited for the sound of the chain before going on his way. When he walked into the room, Hutch was laying on one of the double beds reading a newspaper. His shoes and shirt were off, leaving an undershirt, jeans and socks still on. He looked up from the paper when the brunet man entered.

“How’s our charge doing?” he inquired.

“Seems like she’s doin’ okay.”

Starsky shrugged out of his jacket and flung it across the back of an unused chair, pulling out the chair to straddle it. He leaned his elbow on the top of the chair and placed his chin in his hand, covered his mouth with it and crossed his opposite arm beneath it for balance. He sat there for a minute, thinking and watching the newspaper rattle in his partner’s hand. Finally, he spoke again. “She’s a pretty nice girl, you know?”

Hutch shrugged the paper down a half-inch. “Sure, you say so.”

“I sure hope we can do something for her.”

“So do I, partner, so do I.”

After a minute, he said, “I think maybe I’ll take a shower.” He got up from the chair. “Maybe relax a little before we eat.”

The blond peeked out at him from behind the paper. “I put a fresh towel out for you and your suitcase is on the bed. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

Starsky smiled at him as he went over to the other bed. “Thanks, buddy. But frankly, I might find that a more appealin’ proposition comin’ from a sexy brunette.”

Hutch winked at him and went back to reading his paper.

~~~

Huggy had been right about his cousin’s abilities in the kitchen. Not only was she a wonderful hostess who treated her guests like family members; she also had something of a magic touch with food. The lunch she’d prepared was an impressive repast of homemade vegetable soup, hot deli sandwiches and sliced fruit with a choice of lemonade or iced tea as a beverage. Both men ate heartily, especially Starsky. When he was finished, he snatched the napkin he had tucked under his chin off and slid down in his chair, patting his stomach happily. “I am stuffed,” he said, turning to their hostess and smiling. “You are one heck of a great cook, Frankie.”

“Oh, it’s nothing at all. Just practically living in my mother’s kitchen.”

Hutch, equally sated, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and pushed himself away from the table. “That was great, but I sure couldn’t eat like that everyday. I’d turn into Porky Pig.”

“Th…that…Th…that’s all folks,” Starsky mimicked the portly cartoon character.

Angel ate but didn’t seem to enjoy her lunch. The laughter and “at hominess” of Frankie’s kitchen only served to remind her of the absence of her mother. She couldn’t help her eyes welling up with tears without notice. Mrs. Brown noticed it first, Starsky second, and Hutch last.

“What’s the matter, dear?” she asked, touching her arm.

The young woman didn’t answer, she just looked sad, her tears falling faster. Starsky was next to her chair in a heartbeat, offering a sympathetic hug and stroking her hair. “Everything’s gonna be all right,” he assured her.

“You’d better take her upstairs,” Hutch directed him.

“Yeah. C’mon. C’mon with me.”

Starsky lifted the emotionally troubled young woman out of her chair and carried her upstairs to her room, whispering words of encouragement in her ear as he did. Mrs. Brown followed him, opening the door for him as he carried her in and laid her down on the bed.

Mrs. Brown pulled a big down comforter from the closet in the hallway and brought it into the room. “I keep these to use for my special guests.” She covered the girl with it and leaned over her as she stroked the girl’s forehead and spoke in low tones: “Just remember, whatever it is that’s bothering you, there’s a solution for it. So don’t worry yourself. Go ahead and rest now.” Angel nodded as the woman got up to leave the room. Starsky followed her to the door. “I’ll stay with her until she goes to sleep,” he told her. “Tell my partner I’ll be down as soon as I can, willya?”

“Of course I will. Maybe then you two will tell me what’s going on,” she said softly.

“We sure will.”

Starsky closed the bedroom door after she left, drawing the curtains so that it was dark in the room. He stood near the bed and watched her and she turned head to look at him, the remnants of fading tears staining her cheeks. He came closer and sat on the bed beside her. In the dark, she looked very young.

“Sorry if I spoiled lunch for you.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

She reached for his hand and squeezed it, and he returned the gesture.

“It’s just that sitting in that kitchen reminds me of what I used to have, and what I’m going to miss. And it hurts. It hurts so much.”

He picked up her hand and kissed it. “I know, honey, I know. But you rest now, and don’t think about it anymore. Just remember how much she loved you and how much you loved her.”

“Is that what you do?”

“That’s exactly what I do.”

“Will you tell me about your father? What he was like?”

Starsky was pleased and somewhat surprised that someone he barely knew would be interested in hearing about his father. He arranged some of the extra pillows behind him and leaned back against them. “Hmm. Well, okay, here’s one. When I was about seven years old, my father took my little brother Nicky and I out to Coney Island. It was a Saturday afternoon, and Nicky wanted to ride on the merry-go-round and I wanted to ride on the Ferris wheel. The two of us raised an awful fuss; going back and forth about who’d go on what ride and who would get to go on first. Pop probably wished he could’ve split himself in two just to please us both. So you know what he did?”

Angel shook her head in slow motion, her eyelids beginning to close.

“He put Nicky on the merry-go-round, and while the kid was having the time of his life on those horses, he took me outside and brought me an ice cream cone and we sat down and had the greatest man-to-man talk. He told me how much fun it was riding on the Ferris wheel and how great it was to be so high in the sky and looking down on the world. He said that when he was a little boy, his Pop used to take him to the very same beach and they’d ride this very same Ferris wheel as was there now. He told me that it was a tradition for the Starsky men to take their sons to Coney Island pier and spend the day eating hot dogs and riding the rides. He said that he was continuing the tradition with his sons and that he hoped that we’d do the same with our sons. After that talk, I forgot all about wanting to ride the rides, I just wanted to be with him. I guess I always admired the way he handled us in that situation and it always stuck with me, you know?”

When he didn’t get an answer from her, he looked down and saw that she’d fallen asleep. Satisfied, he pulled the covers up over her shoulders and kissed her on the cheek, then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He went back downstairs and sat across from Hutch, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the parlor, leaning against a couch. He looked up at him as he entered the room. “How is she?”

“She’s asleep now, but I have a feeling the sooner we figure out the what happened to her mother, the better off she’ll be.”

Frankie entered the room from the kitchen, after having finished putting away the lunch dishes that her handsome blond guest had so graciously washed and stacked in the drainer when they were upstairs. “How is she? Did she get to sleep all right?” She sat down next to the darker man, drying her hands with a dishtowel.

“She fell asleep. I told her one of my Coney Island stories. Seemed to help.”

“Well, that’s good. Now tell me, how did you three get together?”

Starsky sat forward on the sofa. “I guess you could kinda say we bumped into each other by accident. You see, Angel’s mother died in a bad car accident a couple of months back and I guess the pain’s still pretty fresh for her. Not only did she lose her mother, but she also lost her father at the same time, at least figuratively. Seems he had a future Mrs. C. waiting in the wings not long after the accident happened. So his daughter believes there was some sort of plan between the two of them to get her mother out of the picture. I figure that things weren’t too great between her and the stepmother early on, so in her own best interests, she felt it was a good idea to get away from them. She got on a bus to parts unknown and I found her in front of my partner’s place.”

Hutch picked up the thread where Starsky left off. “Now my friend has decided we should become adjunct social workers for a few weeks and see if the kid’s got a legitimate charge or if she’s just taking us both for a ride.”

Frankie folded the dishtowel she was holding and placed it on the coffee table, then clasped her hands in her lap. “Do you think she’d go as far as to say something like that without having heard or seen them do something to make her think it was true?”

“That’s what I was thinking. I mean a girl doesn’t usually hop on a bus and head out of town with no place to go. I think she had to have a really good reason.”

“So now it’s up to you two to find out whether that reason actually exists. Hmm. I don’t envy you.” She looked toward the kitchen. “Well, I’ve got business in the kitchen that needs tending to. I’ll leave you two to work this out between yourselves. Let me know if you need anything.”

“We sure will. And thanks–for listening.” Starsky patted her arm as she got up to leave. They waited for her to pass from view before speaking again. Hutch uncrossed his legs, got up and joined his partner on the couch. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so. I’m thinking the two of us should go down to the PPD and introduce ourselves, see if we can get the files on the accident and whatever else there might be available. Maybe we can take a look at the place where it happened. After that, we’ll see what the detectives assigned to the case have turned up. Then we’ll know if we need to pay a call on Mr. Colchetti and his new wife.”

Hutch straightened his legs in front of him. “We’d better find Dixon and get a move on it then.”

Starsky rose in search of their hostess, with Hutch waiting outside at the kitchen door for him. When she saw them hanging in the doorway, she stopped putting away leftovers and walked over to them. He took her hand. “Frankie, we need to go and check some things out in town, wouldja mind keepin’ an eye on Angel for us? We should be back by suppertime.”

“If we’re lucky,” Hutch said over his shoulder.

She put her hand on Starsky’s. “Of course I will. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her.”

Starsky nodded and he and his partner moved as one toward the front door. “Come on, buddy, let’s find our ride,” he said.

The blond man opened the door and was startled to find Dixon already standing there, his hand poised over the knob. “Whoa there!” he said. “We must be having ESP or telepathy or some such thing. I was just coming to retrieve you.”

“Retrieve us? How’d you even know we were leaving?” Hutch asked him curiously.

Both detectives looked at each other and then back at the driver. He didn’t give them a direct answer. “Well, just don’t just stand there lookin’ like deer caught in headlights. Let’s be on our way!” he exclaimed, then turned on his heels off the front porch and walked over to his car.

“One of these days we gotta talk to Huggy about getting a normal group of friends,” Hutch said under his breath.

Starsky grinned and followed his partner out the door.

PART TWO

CHAPTER FIVE

Unlike their arrival into the city, the drive down to the Philadelphia Police station was, by contrast, an uneventful one. Dixon let the two men out of his car in front of the station and drove himself to a nearby coffee shop to wait for them. The detectives made their way up the cobblestone steps of the station and went inside. Once they were inside they immediately noticed that the atmosphere was friendlier and less chaotic than their home base at Metro. The staff turned out to be extremely helpful and hospitable, providing coffee and unfettered access to any public documents related to the case that they required, that was until their commanding officer arrived.

Captain Benjamin Kraft was nothing like their Captain Dobey. In fact, Kraft appeared to be the antithesis of their gruff and grumbly supervisor. The only obvious similarities were their gender and ethnicity, and that was most likely where it stopped. They both looked up when he entered the squadroom. He was dressed sharply in a tailored, freshly pressed-grey business suit, spit-polished shoes and a paisley tie. He sported a neat, freshly barbered natural and a thin mustache. His demeanor was cool and reserved as he strolled in. No excitement there. They could tell just by looking at him that he probably gave the same amount of attention to his position that he gave to his style of dress, and that included the two peculiarly dressed detectives who’d made themselves at home in his squadroom. He regarded them with indifference as he stopped at his secretary’s desk and conferred with her, then disappeared inside his office. The pretty brunette left her desk and sauntered over to where the two men were sitting. She was wearing a baby blue silk dress over two inch heels, sans stockings, and when she walked, she seemed to float. She half leaned over the desk as she spoke to them and Hutch swore to himself that he was in love.

“Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson, the captain will see you now,” she said to them.

Never without a kind word for a pretty face, Hutch perked up and smiled broadly, oozing charm from every pore. “Why, thank you, kind lady. I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind my being forward, but I do believe you must be about the most beautiful creature on earth that I have ever seen.” He took her hand. “Are you free tonight? My partner and I are new in town and…”

Starsky put a restraining hand on his partner’s shoulder and gave him one of those “you old devil” looks out of the corner of his eye. “Hey, hey, Romeo, we’re working unfamiliar territory here. You think you could put the brakes on your libido long enough for us to find out what we’re up against?”

Hutch wordlessly relented to his partner’s suggestion, but with reservations. The brunette seemed just as disappointed as he was. She leaned forward a bit more, discreetly revealing ample cleavage. “I’ll take a rain check on that invitation, darlin’,” she said, and he grinned. As she straightened and walked back to her desk, both men were hard-pressed to ignore her obvious charms. Hutchinson was well aware of his partner’s mutual interest.

“Hey, Starsky, don’t get any ideas. Remember, I saw her first,” Hutch reminded him as they headed for Captain Kraft’s office door. Starsky looked completely innocent and then knocked.

“Come in,” the captain’s voice said.

The two men hovered tentatively inside the doorway as they walked into Kraft’s office. He was sitting at his desk, his feet up, leaning back in his chair. He took his feet down when they entered, motioning to his visitor’s chairs. “Go ahead and sit down. The two of you have obviously come a long way to see me.”

The two men pulled out chairs and sat down. They looked at each other as they took their seats; neither of them able to determine the seriousness of their situation by the tone of the man’s voice, the way they could with Dobey. He folded his arms in front of him and eyeballed them mercilessly. “So, you two are from Bay City?”

“Yes, sir.” Hutch answered. “I’m Detective Kenneth Hutchinson.”

“And I’m Detective Starsky.”

His hand reached out to shake theirs. “Pleasure to meet you both. So, what brings you to my humble city?”

Hutch turned to Starsky. “You go ahead, Starsk. I’m just along for the ride.”

“Right. Um, you see, Captain, my partner and I are investigating a car accident that happened here a few months ago; the decedent’s name was Elaine Colchetti. We’re here because we have reason to believe the accident may not have been an accident.”

“What kind of reasons? I need to hear them. You don’t have to be specific. But you do have to be straight with me.”

“Okay, no problem. We have a source, a young woman in her early twenties, who claims that her father and his current wife had her mother killed.”

“Sounds tenuous–but go ahead.”

“We have hearsay information provided by this source that suggests to us that the father and his new wife may have had a pecuniary motive for wanting the mother out of the picture.”

“Of course, hearing things like this makes us curious to find out what really did happen to the lady,” Hutch added.

“Of course. So you came all the way out here from Bay City to corroborate her story.”

“That’s right, but only because we have reason to believe this young lady is telling us the truth. So, what do you think?” Starsky asked.

“I’m not sure. For the life of me, I don’t know what you think you’re going to uncover that would be germane to the story your source has given you. The department has already done a preliminary investigation of the accident, and that was due to the financial profile of Mrs. Colchetti’s husband and the circumstances of her death, for insurance purposes. I can tell you unequivocally that no manpower was spared on it. And I guarantee you that my men dotted each i and crossed every t when it was over. I just don’t think that the two of you are going to find out anything that will substantially support your source’s suspicions.”

“Yeah, okay. But in spite of all that, Captain, isn’t it still possible that your men coulda missed something?” Starsky queried.

“It’s not highly likely.” He sniffed.

Starsky stood up and Hutchinson followed him to the door. “But it’s possible, right?”

“Detective Starsky, in my line of work I’ve found that anything’s possible. In light of that fact, I’m going to grant you both access to any available resources at our disposal. I never want it be said that the Philadelphia Police Department did not do its part to assist its fellow officers.” Kraft turned to look out his window and light a cigarette. “Even if they are working off duty and out of their jurisdiction.”

Starsky flashed his partner one of those “do you believe this character?” glances and Hutch raised his brow. Kraft sounded just like one of those highbrow politicians he remembered Hutch’s father liked to introduce them to at those name-dropping functions he used to invite them to on occasion to show off. His type were always on and always campaigning for office.

Kraft turned to face them again. “Where were you two thinking about heading first?”

Starsky beamed. Kraft was going to help. “We’d wanna go take a look at the car.”

“After that,” Hutchinson added, “we’d want to visit the site of the accident, see if we can pick up any stray clues.”

“All right, I gather you’ve both read the filed reports, and you know that the accident occurred on I-95. If I remember correctly, Mrs. Colchetti was traveling south approaching the airport. She was preparing to exit the highway, and a delivery truck of some type entered the highway at a high rate of speed. The truck driver clipped the rear end of her BMW and flipped it over; it must have turned over at least ten times. It was a pretty nasty smash-up. If you want to see what’s left of the vehicle, you’ll have to hurry. I think it’s on the way to the junkyard. It might be there already.”

“The junk yard?” Hutch repeated.

“Yeah, that happens when foul play is ruled out and the car is totaled. You know that.”

“Wouldja mind tellin’ us where we might find this place?”

“The insurance company holding the policy on the vehicle would have that information. Check with Cassie on your way out.”

Both men sprinted for the door of Kraft’s office and they weren’t halfway out of it before he stopped them. “Officers?”

“Yes, sir?” They answered.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks,” they replied.

Starsky went back to the desk where they’d been poring over the incident reports on the case and tried to straighten it up a little, while Hutch approached Kraft’s fetching secretary, Cassie, for the information on Mrs. Colchetti’s car. He leaned toward her, smiling a smile that would charm the scales off a snake. She stopped typing and immediately responded to his presence. “Yes? How can I help you, Sergeant Hutchinson?” she asked him, smiling dreamily at him.

“You can call me Ken.”

“All right, Ken. What can I help you with?”

“The captain says you might be able to help us out with the information for the insurance company that insured Elaine Colchetti’s car. It’s the one that was involved in a hit-and-run accident about four months ago?” He turned to his partner. “What’s the file number, Starsk?”

“ECJ-1020.”

She jotted down the number. “Hold on a minute, I’ll take a look for you.” The young woman got up and went to a nearby file cabinet, thumbed through a drawer and pulled a file folder, she checked it thoroughly, then brought the folder over to him and stood so close to him he could smell her perfume. “Here it is. Says here the vehicle was insured by Pennsylvania State Mutual Insurance Company.” She leaned over and wrote the address and phone number down on a slip of paper, then turned it over and quickly wrote down her name and home number. She tucked the piece of paper into his hand and let her eyes rest on his for a moment. “I know you’ll pay particular attention to that second number, won’t you?”

Hutch noted it and smiled again very broadly. “I sure will. Thank you…Cassie.”

“You’re welcome…Ken.”

Hutch left her side and stuffed the folded piece of paper into his shirt pocket, then walked over to his partner and tapped him on the shoulder. Starsky looked up at him. “I got it. Let’s go.”

“Okay.”

When they left the station, they were armed with a renewed sense of purpose, but not much else. They had no idea what they’d be able find out from the insurance company much less what they’d be allowed to see. They hoped that with any luck, Captain Kraft might be able to pull some strings and they’d be able to cut through some of the bureaucratic red tape. When they got outside the building, Dixon was there waiting for them with the engine running. The man truly was a marvel. The detectives got into the Caddy’s backseat and he swung the car around to head back to the house. Never a quiet man for long, Dixon tried engaging the two men in some idle chitchat. “So, did you find what you were looking for?”

The sound of his voice was kind of unexpected, like a freight train whistle late at night. Neither one of them were paying much attention to what he was saying, lost as they were their own thoughts. He tried again. “Hello back there, are you among the living?”

“Whatja say, Dix?” Starsky said, finally responding.

“I said, did you find out anything from our Captain of the Police?”

“Oh, you know him, Dix?”

“We have had occasion to meet now and again.”

Hutch joined the conversation. “Well, the captain was nice enough to provide us with an address to a place that might be helpful to our cause. You think you could find it for us if we gave you the address?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

Starsky grinned. “Last time I heard.”

“The address is 13 West Willow Grove Avenue.”

“We are there, you have but to say the word.”

Dixon checked his side mirror and steered the Cadillac into a wide U-turn that headed them in the opposite direction. They were well on their way to the offices of Penn State Mutual Insurance.

~~~

The Penn State Mutual Insurance Company was an overpowering, rather intimidating white brick structure that took up all but a few acres of the land it was built upon. To get there had taken only an hour, but when Dixon pulled into the lot; he knew that he had no intention of sticking around as he had at the police station. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on top of the seat as he looked back at his passengers and they got ready to exit. “The two of you might want to think about hiring a cab to get you back to Frankie’s place. Normally I’d stick around, but these establishments are not known for their appreciation of others’ time, if you know what I mean.”

“We know what you mean. Don’t worry about it. We’ll get back okay.”

“Dix, when you get back there, wouldja tell Frankie we said ‘thanks again’, please?”

“Sure thing. Will we be seeing you later on tonight, you think?”

“Depends on what we find out.”

“All right then. I bid you good luck, gentlemen.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Both men got out of the car and walked toward the looming insurance building. They stood in front of the entrance until Dixon drove away. The darker man leaned close to his fairer partner and whispered, “You get the feelin’ he knows more than he’s tellin’ us?”

“Starsk, you’re too superstitious.”

“You got a better explanation for him just showin’ up at the front door like that?”

“I dunno, Starsky. Maybe it’s ESP, or telepathy. Who knows? I’m no expert on the supernatural. All I know is that the quicker we get inside this place and start asking some questions, the quicker we’ll be able to get this taken care of.”

“Lead the way, O blond one.”

Hutch went inside and up the stairs first with Starsky behind him. When they got inside the office they had to stop to adjust to the interior lighting, which seemed severe in comparison to the natural light they’d been in outside.

“Is just me, or is it really bright in here?” Hutch asked, blinking his eyes.

“No, it’s really bright in here.”

After a few seconds of readjustment, Starsky made out a sign before them that read “INFORMATION”. He tapped his partner on the shoulder and pointed to it. They walked up to the clerk manning the desk. He was a small man, wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses straight out of the fifties, and a drab, grey business suit that seemed appropriate to his quiet demeanor. He looked up immediately when they approached. “May I help you, gentlemen?”

“Ah, yes, we hope so. I’m Ken Hutchinson, and this is my partner, Dave Starsky. We’re detectives investigating the Colchetti hit and run that occurred about four months ago. Can you tell us where we might find someone with records on the incident?”

“Colchetti, you say?”

“Right,” Starsky answered. “The driver was the victim of a fatal hit-and-run on her way to the airport. We’d like to get a look at the vehicle if that’s still possible.”

“Well, we handle them by last name, first name and the C’s start over there.” He pointed to a sign that had “A-D” on it. “Walk over there and tell that clerk what you just told me.”

“Thanks,” Hutch said.

They left the male clerk and walked in the direction of the sign, their eyes drifting down to the hefty female clerk below it. Starsky gulped. “Oh, man, I sure wouldn’t want to get her mad.”

Hutch silently agreed, clearing his throat as they stepped forward. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

The clerk looked up but didn’t say anything. She was chewing frantically on gum that had probably lost its flavor a half hour ago. She was pale and blonde, and she wore a floral muumuu that covered her from stem to stern. Both men smiled the most pleasing smiles they could muster, considering. Hutch tried again.

“Pardon the interruption, but we’ve just spoken to the information clerk over on the other side and he tells us you might be able to help us find what we’re looking for.”

“What’re ya looking for?” she asked him quizzically, not really paying attention.

“We’re lookin’ for a car,” Starsky answered.

“What kind of a car? Ford? Dodge? New or used?”

Hutch frowned. “It’s neither, ah, none of those.”

“We’re lookin’ for a car that was involved in a fatal hit-and-run. Probably totaled. It’s under the last name Colchetti. First name Elaine.” He spelled the last name for her. “The accident took place around August of this year. Ya think ya could help us find it?”

Finally, she focused on them. “You’re lookin’ for the actual car?”

“Yes, the actual car.”

“I’ll go take a look. Wait right there, okay?”

The woman stopped chewing on her gum and reading her romance novel long enough to get up from her desk and go over to a file drawer. She rifled through it until she came upon something, pulled it and brought it back to her desk, then she stopped in mid-motion, seemingly flustered, and turned to them. “Hey, how do I know you guys are really detectives? You haven’t even shown me your badges or anything yet.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Hutch produced his badge and showed it to her, and Starsky did the same.

“Does that help ya?” Starsky asked.

“Loads,” she answered, then opened the folder to read the contents off to them. “Says here, “Elaine Colchetti, was deceased on August 23^rd, 1977. The car was a black convertible foreign number that’s since been released to Peterman’s Wrecking Yard for recycling.”

“Where’s that?”

“It’s not too far from here. In fact, if you walk out those glass doors, you’ll almost be in their parking lot.” She pointed toward the rear exit.

“Out those doors?” Starsky queried, already headed in the direction she was pointing.

The woman nodded her head silently a rather impatient look growing on her face. As they were walking away, they suddenly, at the same time, remembered something they’d neglected to do. “Hey, ah…ah…thanks!” they yelled back.

“Don’t mention it!” she responded after going back to her duties, one of which included chewing her gum at the same frenetic pace she had been before she was interrupted by the demands of work.

When the two detectives went out the building’s back exit, they saw nothing. They were standing outside the glass doors, looking around. Neither of them able to spot anything that even remotely looked like a junkyard in the vicinity. Hutch was starting to get a little hot under the collar and he tapped his partner on the shoulder. Starsky turned to him.

“What?”

“Starsk, promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“Promise me this is the last time I let you sucker me into going on a wild goose chase with you.”

“Can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Starsky spotted something to his left. “Hey, lookit that over there.”

“Over where?”

Starsky pointed. “Over there. Looks like a parking lot to me.”

Hutch squinted in the direction he was pointing. “Looks like one to me, too.”

“Let’s go.”

Starsky started off towards the parking lot and Hutchinson followed him. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

“Why you can’t promise me you won’t ask me to go on one of these little excursions of yours again.”

“Oh, that. Well, ’cause life’s unpredictable, Hutch. If I promised ya that, I’d be lyin’ to ya, and I wouldn’t want to do that.”

“Oh.”

Hit with that kind of pretzel logic, there wasn’t much more Hutch could say. It made such perfectly good sense, at least to his partner, that he didn’t bother arguing his point whatever it had been, although it had seemed like a perfectly good one at the time. He simply followed the man wherever he wanted to lead them to.

CHAPTER SIX

The parking lot that Starsky had seen from a distance did soon lead to a noisy and very cluttered auto junkyard with the name ‘Peterman’s’ heralded above it in huge lettering painted on a wooden sign. The two partners purposefully searched out the proprietor of the establishment, who turned out to be a man named Harley Peterman. Peterman was a big guy, oddly comfortable in dirty coveralls and a straw hat, his jaws chewing busily on a wad of tobacco; he was definitely the ‘hillbilly’ type. Beside him stood two black Dobermans, both unleashed and sniffing the air around them like eager bloodhounds readying for the hunt. Neither of the detectives wanted to get on their, or his, bad side.

Starsky extended a shaky hand towards the man, prompting both of the dogs’ snouts to follow it until it reached their master. “H…Hello. Mr. Peterman?”

He shook the hand offered him. “Yeah, I’m Peterman. What’s it to you?”

“Well, ah…me and my partner here, we’d like to see on of your cars.”

“What for?” he snorted, still feeling them out.

“We think it might have been involved in a felony.”

“A felony? That kinda evidence gets held up at the police investigation yard, don’t it?”

“Well, this one might have slipped by them. That’s why we’d like to see it. Do you have any idea where it is?”

“It was a convertible number, black paint job. Foreign. Ring any bells?”

“Oh, that one. That one’s on the crane.”

“On the crane?” Hutch questioned.

“Yeah, it’s suspended…in mid-air, you know? We drop them down into the crusher after we get all the salvageable parts off ’em. Although, this one didn’t have that many parts on it for resell. I tell ya, the way it looked, I’d of hated to have seen the driver.”

“She didn’t make it.”

“Didn’t think so. Well, come on, I’ll show it to you.”

“Ah, don’t you want to see our badges or somethin’ first?”

“Naw, I trust you. If you weren’t on the up and up, my dogs would’ve had you for lunch already.”

“Oh.”

Starsky looked at his partner, and he at him. Then they followed Peterman and his two dogs to the salvage yard, albeit at a safe distance.

“There it is up there,” he said, pointing towards the sky.

Both men looked up. It was there, all right, suspended in space by the powerful claw arm of the crane that held it. But it didn’t look much like a car anymore. It really didn’t look like much of anything anymore.

“Can you bring it down?” Hutch asked.

“Sure thing.”

They both stood as close to Peterman’s dogs as they dared, while he walked over to the crane and stepped inside. They watched him operate the controls of the machine, bringing the twisted hunk of metal down precisely to within an inch of where they were standing. When it landed on the ground, a plume of dirt rose, and Peterman hit the release lever on the control panel. The huge claws climbed up and settled at the very apex and stopped. Then Peterman climbed out of the crane and rejoined them. “Well, there it is,” he said.

“Not much of it left.”

“I told you that. This thing rolled over a bunch of times, too. At least that’s what the paperwork told.”

Hutch circled the medium sized hulk of metal a couple of times. What had been the fabric convertible’s roof was in tatters and the metal that had held it was bent in odd directions. He tried opening the driver’s side door, but it was wedged against something inside and it wouldn’t open. The tires were gone. So were the seats and much of the innards of the vehicle. Starsky examined the rear of the wreck, checking the impact site. The bumper area had been severely damaged, and upon closer examination, he noticed streaks of white paint running across its lower half.

“Hey, Hutch!”

“Yeah?”

“Come and take a look at this.”

Hutch left his spot at the front of the car, and joined his partner at the rear. “Whatcha got?”

“Take a look. There.” He pointed. “Whaddya see?”

Hutch examined the spot on the bumper that his partner indicated. He leaned closer and studied it for a second, looked up at his partner.

“Well, what does that look like to you?”

He touched the bumper and examined at the flecks that remained up on his fingers. “Paint?”

“That’s what I was thinkin’. Mr. Peterman, could you come over here a second?”

Peterman gave an order for his dogs to stay, and he joined the two men. “What can I help you with?”

“We think we might have found something. We’re going to need a ride out to Interstate 95. Know how we can get one?”

“Well, I could let you borrow my truck, but you’d have to promise to bring it back.”

“You sure about that? I mean, even if we are cops, we’re still strangers. Are you saying you’d trust us to take your truck and bring it back?” Hutch asked him, skeptical.

“Hell, no, I don’t trust you. But I do trust my dogs. They’d be goin’ with you. You know, sorta like insurance. And of course I’d want a little something for my time.” He ran his thumb slowly over his index and middle fingers greedily.

“Hutch, pay the man.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

The blond went into his pants pocket and pulled out two twenties. “Man, the things I do for a friend,” he muttered and handed the man the money, which Peterman pocketed quickly.

“Terrific. Hold on just a second.”

Starsky pulled a small jackknife out of his jacket pocket, along with a small envelope. Into it he scraped a sample of the paint from the bumper and then put everything back into his pocket. He held it up to Hutch’s face. “For the police lab.” Hutch nodded.

“I can give you the keys right now if you want.”

“Sure, why not?”

“They’re in the truck.”

“Be right back, Starsk. Okay, let’s go.”

Peterman took his dogs with him and led the blond detective to a dirty white trailer that doubled as his office; he climbed inside and came out with a key fob that was overburdened with keys. Then he led Hutchinson over to a grey 1952 flatbed Ford that was parked beside the trailer. Peterman offered the blond man the keys and grasped his dogs by their collars, leading them into the back of the truck. He got in the flatbed with them and secured their leashes, then jumped out and closed the hinged door. Then he joined Hutch in the cab and they drove the short distance back to his partner. Peterman hopped out and stood beside the open door. “You guys still gonna be needing that metal over there? I mean it is worth a little dough to me. “

Starsky took one last look at it and got into the truck. Then he closed the Ford’s door. “Tell you what, hold off on it until we come back with your truck, we may still need it. Will you do that?”

“I can do that, sure thing. But I need my truck and my dogs back here by eight o’ clock sharp tomorrow. There’s a Thomas Guide under the front seat if you need one.” He tipped his hat. “I sure hope you guys find what you’re looking for.”

Hutch looked over at him. “Thanks. So do we,” he said, and then put the truck in reverse, backed up and into drive. They waved to the portly man as they disappeared down the road in his truck.

Harley Peterman stood on the dirt portion of the lot, watching them take off down the road in his truck, with his dogs. He spit out a jawful of wet, black tobacco juice and watched it splatter onto the ground, then wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “Humph, big city folk,” he grumbled.

~~~

Having concluded that the early morning hours would be more suitable for their search than the waning hours of the evening, the two detectives returned to the boarding house. On Wednesday morning, after an early breakfast and after having made sure that Peterman’s dogs were watered and well fed, they started out. When they got to the site, only a few cars were speeding down the wide stretch of blacktopped asphalt. Hutchinson pulled the truck over to the right hand side of the highway and parked, and Starsky got out first, surveying the road for as far ahead as his eyes could see.

“Any idea what it is we’re lookin’ for exactly?” Hutch asked, climbing out of the driver side.

“Skid marks. Tire tracks, maybe a piece of somethin’ from the truck that hit the car. Anything the PPD guys might have left behind when they did their preliminary investigation.”

“In other words, a needle in haystack.”

“Yeah.”

There was landscaping on both sides of the I-95, as well as a weedy gully full of discarded cans and bottles and other items. Both sides of the road were crossable if they were careful. Hutchinson looked around at the wide expanse of road before them.

“Where do you want to start?”

“How about you take the left side, I take the right? We’ll check about fifteen yards up, and then do a run back. Meet back here at the truck when we’re done.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Hutchinson gave his partner a quick shoulder rub, looked both ways and cautiously ran across four lanes of blacktop to the other side of the highway. Starsky checked his side, and right away saw something shining directly in front of him, he ran ahead to check it out. “Hey, Hutch! I think I got somethin’!” he yelled as he bent down to pick it up.

Hutch stopped on his side. “Whaddya got?” he called over.

The detective picked through some weeds and trash and pulled out the object, dusted it off and frowned. It was a tin plate from an old TV dinner. “Aw, it’s nothin’, just somebody’s leftovers!”

“Well, keep lookin’!”

“Okay.”

The two men searched every square inch of the area twice, turning up nothing useful to them. Hutchinson checked his watch; it was five minutes to seven. He crossed the traffic lanes again and met up with his partner beside the truck. The two dogs stood and waited in the back of the truck watching them, panting and drooling.

“Well, looks like this is clean.”

“I thought sure we’d find somethin’ out there. We have to get the truck back to Peterman in an hour.”

“Want to try up the road a little farther? I didn’t see any skid marks on this stretch of road, now that I think of it.” He opened up the driver side door and climbed inside.

Starsky nodded, “Sure, why not.” He walked past the two dogs, and one of them adventurously stuck his wet snout out at him as he went by. “Watch it, fella.” He warned playfully, and then got in.

Hutch started up the truck, waited for traffic to yield and then merged into light traffic. He drove down the road a few miles until he spied what appeared to be the faint outline of tire marks on the road. “Look, Starsk, over there.” He pointed to some black tread marks on the leftmost lane. “What do those look like to you?”

“They look promising, is what they look like. Let’s check it out.”

Hutch stopped the truck and they got out, again watching for oncoming traffic as they crossed. They stood on a grassy area at the side of the road and looked at the marks. They were from tires, but they were not fresh. It had been three or four months since the accident, and the weather had taken its toll on anything that remained, removing almost all existence of the event.

“I’ll check the other side.” Hutch offered, sprinting across the lanes when it was clear.

They searched the new spot and again came up with nothing. Starsky rejoined his partner at the truck once more. “I got zip, what about you?”

“Same here. What’s next?”

“We take the truck back to Peterman and get him to drive us back to Frankie’s. Then we’ll probably have to set up that meeting with Angel’s parents after all.”

“That’s what I thought you were going to say.”

The two detectives got back in Peterman’s truck, made an illegal U-turn and headed back towards the junkyard.

~~~

By the time the two detectives returned the truck and Peterman’s dogs back to him it was a few minutes before eight. As agreed, the man dropped them off at the boarding house and then drove home. When the two of them walked into the house, Angel was sitting in the living room on the sofa with the owner, Frankie. Her face was as forlorn as a puppy dog’s, but it seemed to perk up when the raven-haired detective strode in with his partner.

“You guys find out anything?”

Starsky raised both hands, palms up. “Not a thing.” He walked over to the sofa and sat down beside the two women, while Hutch settled into the wing chair across from them. “What’ll we do now? What’s left?”

“We’re gonna have to talk to your father.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

Starsky took hold of her hand. “You can stay here if you don’t feel comfortable going out there with us.”

“Oh, no. I want to go…I–I guess I have to.”

“Look, would it make you more comfortable if one of us stayed behind? I’m thinking the situation won’t seem quite so confrontational if there aren’t two out of state cops waiting at his front door when he opens it,” Hutch reasoned.

Starsky turned to her. “That’s a good idea. So whaddya say? Would that make you feel better?”

“Yes, and I’d really like it if you’d be the one to come with me.”

Hutch nodded his head knowingly. “Okay, so the decision’s been made. I’ll stay behind.”

“What’re you gonna do in the meantime, partner?”

“I’ll hang around here, help out if I’m needed. Check in with Dobey. Maybe give that pretty secretary at Kraft’s office a call, who knows?”

“Okay. Frankie, do you know of a good place to rent a car around here? I hate to keep imposin’ on old Dix every time we need a ride someplace.”

“I sure do. You can use mine.”

“I didn’t think you had a car.”

“Nor did you ask.”

“Well, you got me there. What and where?”

“It’s a sixty-two Dodge. It’s been sitting out back in the garage gathering dust off and on for about six months. Dixon keeps it up for me when it needs it. I only use it every once in a great while.”

“Okay. Mind if I go out and take a look at it?” Starsky asked.

“No problem. Follow me.” The woman got up and led them outside and to the back of the house. They followed her expectantly, curiously anticipating the sight of a car that sounded more like a haven for stray mice and errant cats than a mode of transportation. When they reached the garage, the two men lifted the heavy garage door and propped it open with a pair of dirty wooden posts that were kept nearby for the purpose. They dusted off their hands and looked inside. The interior of the garage was neat and well organized with cobwebs and spiders that had invariably settled in the rafters.

The vehicle in question sat under a dusty old tarp. Starsky walked to one side and Hutch the other and together they lifted the tarp off to got a good look at the object underneath it. For something that was fifteen-years old and rarely used, it looked fairly decent. Starsky studied the car’s lines, kicked the tires. It wasn’t the Torino, but if it was as well maintained under the hood as Frankie had said it had been, than he figured it might not be too bad.

“Well, what do you think?” Frankie asked.

“It looks pretty good. But how does it run?” he queried.

She dug into her apron pocket and pulled out a handful of keys, plucked one from the lot and handed it to the curly-haired detective. “Here’s the key, let’s find out.”

He took it, got inside and tried starting the car. After a couple of turns, the engine turned over and he saw a lot of exhaust smoke coming from the back, but after a few presses of the accelerator, the smoke cleared away. Everything appeared to be clicking on all cylinders and he was clearly impressed. “She purrs like a kitten, Frankie. But I won’t be able to tell you if she’s road worthy until I take her for a test drive.”

“Be my guest.”

“Thanks a lot. Anybody want to join me? Hutch?”

“No-o-o, thanks, not the way you drive. I’ll keep my feet firmly planted on terra firma.”

“I’ll go with you,” Angel spoke up.

Starsky raised an eyebrow, started to rebuff her, but let it go. “Okay, ah, hop in.”

Angel came around the passenger side and the lanky blond opened the door for her. After he’d closed it, he bent down and tapped on the glass. She rolled the window down.

Starsky eyed him inquisitively from the driver seat. “Yeah, buddy?”

“I just wanted you to be sure to bring all this back in one piece.”

Starsky smiled at him. “Are you kiddin’? I wouldn’t think of damaging this fine piece of machinery.” He slapped at his chest. “They don’t make ’em like this anymore. One of a kind.”

“That’s for sure, but I was talking about the car and the girl.”

“Oh.” Taking his friend’s advice to heart, Starsky put the car in reverse and backed slowly out of the garage.

Hutchinson strode over to Frankie’s side and waved his partner and the girl off as they pulled away and out of sight.

She regarded him quietly, wondering whether she could chance asking him a sensitive question without seeming too forward. As they were heading back to the house, she put a hand on his forearm. “Detective Hutchinson, would you mind if I asked you a question?”

“No, what is it?”

“How do you feel about your young friend?”

It was a question he’d been deliberating himself, but he didn’t think anyone else had been, least of all her. “How do you mean?”

“I mean she doesn’t talk much around me, she’s very quiet and respectful. But when either of you enter the room, she lights up like a moth to a flame. You haven’t know each other very long and…well…that’s kind of unusual, don’t you think?”

“Well, to tell you the truth I’ve been thinking the same thing. Except that instead of it being both of us, I’d say it’s my partner she does all her lighting up around. I haven’t been able to figure out what’s going on with her yet, but I have a gut feeling that she’s not being entirely up front with us.”

“Well, now that you mention your partner, I’ve been watching the way the two of them interact. It seems at times he’s very close with her and at other times he’s a little uneasy. It seems like he wants to be nurturing and caring but at the same time he wants to keep his distance.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He smiled at her. “You’ve got a good eye.”

“Just something I’ve gotten fairly good at doing. Must be from all my dealings with people over the years. I’m intuitive about these things, and it’s fairly obvious to me that she’s the ‘needy’ type, she needs attention.”

“How do you mean?”

“Haven’t you noticed the way she ‘leans’ on him? It’s almost like she’s needs him to breathe. I’ve seen it before and I’ll tell you one thing, it could mean trouble for him if he’s not ready.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” He groaned. “But Starsky’s a grown man, if he needs my advice he knows where to find me. Let’s go in, huh?”

“I just wanted to be sure that you were aware.” She stepped up onto the back porch and went into the house.

“Oh, I am,” Hutch responded, following her. “I am.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ordinarily Sergeant David Starsky knew where the lines were drawn when it came to adhering to the rules of his job. For his partner and himself there was always a fine line between the outright flouting of those rules and the bending of them to get a desired result. And the one hard and fast rule of any civil servant is, don’t get personally involved in your cases. It sounds simple enough in principle, but in reality, it isn’t always the easiest thing to do. Especially when real life gets in the way. There’s always an internal struggle to keep things on a purely professional level.

Even though he knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to get involved with Angel Colchetti, he also knew something else; that she was a hugely attractive, funny and intelligent young woman who was as much attracted to him as he was to her. The problem was that there were too many things he didn’t know about her yet. Such as how much truth there was to her story and how deeply she was involved. She was a stranger to him, and under normal circumstances he wouldn’t be doing what he was doing, but for some strange reason these weren’t ‘normal’ circumstances.

“David?”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask you something, before we go back to the house.” She leaned in close to him as she spoke. Her skin and hair smelled of milled soap and earthy perfume.

“Ask me what?” he asked innocently.

“Remember the question I asked you on the bus?”

He didn’t look at her, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him. He knew his already thready resolve would be done for if he let his eyes stray into those big brown eyes of hers. “What question?” he asked.

“Would you please stop fudging and answer me?”

He went silent.

She folded her arms. “You don’t remember, do you?”

He glanced over at her once and then quickly redirected his eyes onto the road. “Oh, you mean the ‘how do I like you’ question?” She nodded succinctly and he tilted his head as if he were giving it some thought. “Oh-h, I guess I’d have to say I like you better than a sister, if I had one.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“How much better?”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Pull over and I’ll tell you.”

He frowned and eased off the accelerator and pulled the car over to the side of the road. There was no indication of any apprehension or uncertainty in his movements, he just put the car in park and turned off the engine, and then rested his left hand on the steering wheel, with his right arm lying along the back of the seat behind her. “You’re really serious about this.”

“Yes, I’m very serious about this.” She leaned toward him and put her hands on his arms, turning his body to face her. “Could you please at least look at me?”

He did. And as soon as he did he remembered the feeling he’d gotten back in Hutch’s apartment, the picture of her with her mother, that burgundy dress, the smell of her perfume, and suddenly whatever was holding him back from acting on his impulses ceased to exist. He drew her close to him, closed his eyes and kissed her, hard and for a long time. Then once their lips had parted, he seemed to regain control of himself and he turned away. “I don’t know what I was thinking, I shouldn’t have done that.”

She inhaled. “I’m glad you did.”

“We should go back.” His hand nervously went for the keys.

She placed her hand over it. “Why, are you afraid of me?”

Starsky shook his head. “I’m not…afraid of you. It’s just I know there’s gotta be somethin’ wrong with this.”

“Why does there have to be anything wrong?” Her hand was still on his.

“For one thing I’m a cop. It’s better for both of us if I don’t get involved with you while I’m trying to help you. The investigation’s going to suffer, or one of us will.”

“That won’t happen.”

“What makes you so sure about that?”

“Look, I know I’ve only known you a few days, but believe it or not, I can tell a whole lot about you. It’s all in your actions and your physical characteristics.” His body language was distant; he didn’t believe a word of it. “Okay, so like for instance right now, you’re telling me a whole lot about yourself without saying a word. Your distance from me tells me that you don’t take things at face value. Am I right?” He didn’t respond. She took his hand in hers and then brushed the back of it against her cheek, he didn’t pull his hand away. “This tells me you’re not afraid to be touched by the love of another.” She ran her free hand through the curls on the back of his head casually. “The texture of your hair tells me that you’re an incredibly strong person with a healthy appetite for life. You’ve already shown me that you’re caring and noble. What more do I need to know about you?”

Starsky freed his hand from hers and rubbed his palms together, ridding them of the sweat that was building on them. “Okay, so let’s say this thing works out, what then? Haven’t you noticed there’s a big age gap between us? I mean I’m thirty-four years old and you’re, you’re what, twenty or twenty-one? From where I sit that’s a pretty big stretch.”

She didn’t blink an eye. “I like older men. Always have. You can ask anybody who knows me.”

He shook his head and held his stomach with his left hand as a familiar sensation of fear rose in the pit of his stomach and traveled up into his chest.

She wanted him to say something, anything. After a minute her hand went to his sleeve. “Just tell me one thing, when this is all over, after we’ve found out what really happened to my mother, do you think you’d be able to relax enough to at least find out if this is something you want to continue?”

She was offering him an out. He jumped it. “Sure. I guess so.”

“Then why don’t we do that? We’ll go to my father’s house today, right now.”

He restarted the car and pulled it back onto the main road, his head swimming with the possibilities her scenario presented. He wondered what he would do if he weren’t able to follow through on his promise even after they found out what happened. He would probably end up doing exactly what he wanted to do the least. Break her heart. Right now it wasn’t something he couldn’t afford to think about. He turned to her. “What do I tell my partner?”

“Call him and tell him where we’re going, what we’re doing, he’ll understand.”

“Yeah, okay. Where’s your father live?”

“I’ll show you. Just keep driving.”

~~~

When they pulled up to where Angel’s father and his new wife lived, Starsky was noticeably impressed with what he saw. The Colchetti residence was located in one of the most exclusive sections of Philadelphia known as Ardmore. It was one of those enclaves where the affluent did things like dine on pheasant under glass and give expensive parties in their overpriced mansions beside their equally overpriced Bentleys, Jags and Rolls Royces. They walked up to the gate. After she pressed the buzzer, she caught him fidgeting anxiously.

“Is there something the matter?”

“Um, no, your father’s got a really nice set up.”

She knew the look because they all got it sooner or later. “Yes, my father is loaded.” She smiled. “But don’t let that bother you. He’s really just a commoner underneath all this grandeur.”

“You sure you don’t mean he’s just a wolf in sheep’s clothing?”

“No, I don’t. He’s really okay. And he doesn’t have ESP and he will not somehow know that you kissed me, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’ll be fine.”

She pressed the buzzer again and the intercom came to life.

“Yes, who’s there?” a haughty male voice answered.

“It’s Angela, please tell my father that I’m here to see him, and I have a guest.”

“Yes, miss,” the filtered voice responded.

Not so long after the intercom went quiet, a large wrought iron gate opened automatically and they walked through it. The grounds were spacious, well kept and expertly manicured. The actual residence was set well away from the entrance, so that it was a relatively long walk to the front door. When they finally reached it, the butler was waiting for them. Must be video monitors, Starsky thought. The butler addressed them both with perfunctory air. “Miss Colchetti.”

“Hello, Charles. Where’s my father?”

Charles was a stiff, wiry man in his mid-fifties, dressed in a starched grey butler’s uniform, and buffed to gleaming navy blue shoes. His own dull blue eyes followed Starsky narrowly, as though he thought the man might have some sort of communicable disease. “Your father is in the reading room, Miss. Shall I show you in?”

“No thank you, Charles. I’ll find him myself.”

“Of course.” He closed the front door, and then left them alone.

“Follow me.”

Starsky followed her through the museum-like rooms until they reached a study. He felt like he was touring the inside of a mausoleum, not a place to live in and entertain people. When they came into the room, the only thing visible from their perspective was a plume of smoke that rose above an unidentified head. John Colchetti was sitting in a huge armchair, reading the Business Journal and smoking a pipe. As they rounded the corner and he came into view, Colchetti lowered his newspaper and pulled down his reading glasses, his lips sagging away slowly from the pipe as he removed it.

“Angie?”

She breathed out the breath she’d been holding in. “Yes, Dad. It’s me.”

He rose immediately from his chair, slapping the newspaper down as if he were going over to embrace her. But when he saw the man who was with her, he stopped in the center of the room. “Who’s this?” he asked, drawing back visibly. “Don’t tell me you’re in trouble with the authorities.”

She scowled, and turned on her heels to leave, but Starsky grabbed her before she could go very far. “It’s not like that, sir. Your daughter asked me to come with her and talk to you.” He offered his hand. “I’m David Starsky. I’m a detective with the Bay City Police Department in California.”

“Bay City? I don’t understand,” Colchetti replied. “Talk to me about what?” He shook the hand offered him somewhat apprehensively and released it. He was a tall, handsome man with a dark Mediterranean cast to his skin. At first glance, he might be described as intimidating, but the coolness of his manner contradicted the seriousness of his outward appearance.

“About Mother’s accident,” Angel answered him roughly.

“A few days ago your daughter approached my partner and me about some concerns she had about the circumstances of her mother’s death. I’m interested in helping her out, and I was hoping you could shed some light on a few things.”

Colchetti remained pleasant, if only the slightest bit offended. “What’d you say you were? A cop?”

“I’m a detective, actually, if you want to get specific.” The dark-haired detective came forward and put his hand lightly on Colchetti’s forearm. “Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Colchetti?” He turned to Angel. “You too.”

Colchetti lowered himself back into his armchair and his daughter reluctantly sat down in one of the chairs that was furthest away from him.

Starsky sat in an identical chair beside her and deliberated the tack he was going to take. This would be the hardest part, questioning a man about the death of his estranged wife without turning the situation into a screaming match between father and daughter. There was also the possibility of being thrown off the property to think about. He laid out the questions in his head and then began. “Why don’t you start by telling me everything you know about your ex-wife’s accident?”

“Well, I…”

Before he could answer, the sound of a woman’s high heels echoing on the hardwood floors in the hallway interrupted him. The footfalls continued until they reached the study entrance, then stopped. When the three of them looked up, the owner of those high heels was standing in the doorway. She smiled at them. “Oh, John, you have company. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s all right, Jess. Come on in, we were just talking.”

Both men stood as she entered the room. ‘Jess’ was a very attractive woman, maybe mid to late thirties, medium height, auburn-haired, porcelain-skinned. If she’d been a little taller, she might have passed for a high fashion model. Angel’s father made the introductions.

“Detective Starsky, this is Jessie, my new wife.”

She offered a hand to him and smiled fetchingly. “Detective.”

“Mrs. Colchetti, it’s a pleasure.” He watched her as she smiled and directed a silent greeting to the younger woman that she ignored. The lack of a reply didn’t seem to cause her any great concern, leading Starsky to believe that it was a response she was used to getting from the young woman. She stood beside her husband’s chair and made no further gestures or comments in the younger woman’s direction.

“So,” Mr. Colchetti sat down and began again. “You wanted to know what I know about the accident. Is that right?”

Starsky reseated himself, keeping his eyes on both of them at the same time that he answered. “Yes, sir. Just tell me what you know.” He paid very subtle attention to Mrs. Colchetti’s facial expressions to see if they changed during the questioning. They did not. She retained the same ingratiating, hostessy smile on her face the entire time she stood there. She did however, temporarily distract her husband by bumping his shoulder with her hip, once. He smiled appreciatively at her and then turned his attention back to the detective.

“Sorry. As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, my late wife and I were not on speaking terms. She’d made plans to go out of town for a few months and was on her way to do just that when the car she driving in was hit by an unidentified truck driver. The car spun into a ditch and turned over and she was killed instantly. A sad and unfortunate turn of events.” He shrugged. “But one that I can assure you I had no part in bringing about.”

“That’s not true! You know that’s not true! It wasn’t an accident!” Angel shouted at him accusatorily.

“Angela, I know nothing of the sort. Forgive me, Detective Starsky, but ever since this happened my daughter has had this idea in her head that I meant to do her mother harm, which I assure you I did not. To tell you the truth, I’ve been trying to get past the whole thing and get on with my life. It really doesn’t make any sense to dwell on it. I find it impossible to comprehend that she was able to find someone who actually believed these ridiculous accusations.”

Mrs. Colchetti bent towards the girl as if to console her. “Now, now, John. I don’t blame her for feeling the way she does. After all, Elaine was her mother. It is all right to feel this way, you know.”

Angel simmered on that for a moment, then leapt from her chair and ran toward the front door again, this time making it as far as the hallway. Starsky got up and raced after her, grabbing her by her shoulders and subduing her, like capturing a bird in flight. He spun her around to face him. His voice was calm and affirming as he willed her to look into his eyes. “Look sweetheart, we’re not going get anywhere here if you’re gonna outright accuse people of stuff we’re not even sure happened. We’re here to find out what we can, so you’ve gotta calm down. If not I’m gonna haveta ask you to go and sit in the car. What’s it gonna be?”

She hung her head. “I’ll stay.”

“Good. Now let’s go back and sit down.”

Angel walked with him back to the study and sat down wearily. Meanwhile, Colchetti and his wife were looking at each other with questioning eyes, waiting for the detective to return to his chair. He sat down and smiled at them. “Sorry about that. So now, Mr. Colchetti, when was the first time you were made aware of your estranged wife’s fate?”

He thought for a moment, tapped his pipe on the wooden portion of his armchair and then tamped down the tobacco, then he said, “If I recall correctly, it was later on that same afternoon. An officer came to my door and reported it.”

“What about you, Mrs. Colchetti?”

“I found out the same day John did. I was here with him.”

Starsky caught Angel flashing a disapproving glance at the woman, and she looked away, to his relief she stayed in her seat. He continued, “What was your immediate reaction when you first learned about her death?”

“I was quite understandably upset. I mean I couldn’t believe it happened at first. As I said, Elaine and I weren’t on the best of terms, but she was the mother of my only daughter. I felt I did owe her at least that much respect.”

“What did she do? Did she work outside the home? Have any hobbies?”

“No, she wasn’t working. There was no need for her to. Maybe that was part of her problem. As for hobbies, mostly she shopped and traveled.”

“Uh huh. If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do for a living?”

“I own a couple of car dealerships,” he chuckled softly. “A few, actually. Perhaps you’ve heard of them, Colchetti Motors?”

Starsky nodded that he was aware of the name. “How about you, Ms. Colchetti? Do you still work outside the home?”

“Not anymore.” She was still smiling that overly solicitous smile. Starsky nodded and wondered how long it would stay that way. “What about a life insurance policy on the family, would there have been one in effect for your wife?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there was,” he answered indignantly. “I’m sorry, but just where is all this leading?”

“Nowhere, yet. Maybe it won’t lead anywhere. I’m just checking things out.”

Colchetti took a pull off his pipe and blew out the smoke. “You’ll pardon my insolence, but I guess I’m still having trouble grasping why you thought my daughter’s unsubstantiated accusations warranted a trip out here. This was quite obviously a jaunt for you.”

“Well, it’s this way, sir, your daughter asked me for help and I was willing to help her out. To be honest, if I were her father, and my wife had just been killed, and my only daughter had ended contact with me, I’d be curious to find out where she was and why she left. There’d be nothing that could stop me.”

“Detective Starsky, it’s painfully obvious to me that my daughter is old enough to make her own decisions about where she lives and with whom she lives. I haven’t been making those decisions for her for some time. There was so much animosity between us about my remarrying when she left, that I just let her go, sometimes you just have to set them free.”

“Like you set Mother free?” Her eyes bore into him, brimming. “She loved you, for Pete’s sake.”

“Um, would anyone like something to drink? I could have the butler bring in something,” Mrs. Colchetti asked, apparently trying to diffuse the tension of the situation.

Starsky put up his hand. “No, no, thank you. I think that’s all the questions I have, at least for now.”

Mr. Colchetti stood up and grabbed onto his wife by her waist with an arm, the pipe held in the corner of his mouth. Angel gave Starsky a pained and surprised look at as he rose too, extending his hand to help her out of her chair. “Come on, babe. I don’t think there’s anything else to find out here.” She unwillingly took his hand and walked out with him to the front entrance. Once they were there the butler appeared to escort them out. Both were quiet until they reached the car.

“Is that all we can do?” she asked plaintively.

“Nope. We’re gonna do one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re going to find the officer who reported the accident to them and see whether his story jives with theirs.”

“Good. I mean, at least that’s something.”

They got into the car and drove down to the Philadelphia Police Department, both hoping against hope that the two stories would contradict each other.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Hutch held the phone away from his ear and let Captain Harold Dobey release the head of steam he’d been building up since he and his partner had been away from the station. Even though the man had been their supervisor for sometime, it was still remarkable to him how far the man’s voice could travel when he was pushed hard enough. When the captain paused to take a breath, Hutch put the phone back to his ear. “Yeah, Cap’n. I hear you. We’ll wrap up our vacation as soon as possible…Um, no, Starsky’s not here right at the moment, but I’ll tell him you said hello.” He pulled the phone away from his ear once more as Dobey gruffly and loudly reacted to his last statement. “Okay, right, Cap’n. We’ll talk to you later…. Yeah, ten-four, over and out.” He hung up the phone and rolled his eyes. This was definitely the last time he was letting Starsky talk him into doing something this impulsive again. He checked his watch for the time: four o’clock, and still no sign of him.

Where in the hell are you, Starsky?

Then as if in answer to his question, the curly-haired detective walked in, his female charge trailing not far behind him. The blond man wasted no time marching over to reprimand him. “What took you so long? I was just on the phone to Dobey and he’s fit to be tied.”

Starsky walked past him without seeing him; ignoring the wagging index finger pointed in his direction. He dropped defeatedly onto the couch. Angel stayed leaning against the arched doorway that led into the parlor. She was trembling and the whites of her eyes were veiny and red, as though she’d been crying. Hutch slowly lowered the finger he’d been holding up and sat down on the couch beside his partner. It didn’t take a crystal ball to see that their plan wasn’t working.

“Didn’t go over too well, huh, buddy?”

“How’d you guess?”

“I’m a detective, dummy, I get paid to know these things. What happened over at Colchetti’s place?”

Starsky looked up and over at Angel with a doleful smile. “Both of them have a verifiable alibi. I talked to one of the officers at the police department who worked the accident. They were both at home when the whole thing happened.”

Angel walked over to the sofa and dropped down beside him, her head finding his shoulder, her left arm slipping into his right. “What am I supposed to do now?”

He leaned toward her. “Don’t worry, something else will turn up.”

“Yeah, who knows, with any luck somebody will get antsy and do something stupid.”

Starsky stared at his partner disapprovingly. “You know, sometimes you’re about as useless as a pulled tooth.”

“Yeah, well, I do my best.”

He patted Hutch’s knee and smiled weakly, signifying that he understood the intention of the statement. It wasn’t Hutch’s fault that questioning the parents hadn’t led to anything they could use. It was just that there was nothing for them to go on and it was getting frustrating. Starsky got up and reached his hand out to her and she took it. “Hey Hutch, I’m gonna make sure she gets upstairs okay.”

“Good idea, Starsk. I’ll right here.”

Hutch watched his partner and the young woman until they disappeared upstairs. He already knew that would take a lot more than some unfocused nosing around by the two of them to figure out if anything out of the ordinary had happened to her mother. What they needed was a break, a big break.

CHAPTER NINE

Mrs. Jessie Colchetti lounged stylishly beneath a flowered canopy set up beside the main swimming pool, her eyes were closed, and her shapely legs were crossed at the ankles, the canopy lending just enough shade to keep her fair skin from burning under the sun’s unrelenting rays. The Olympic-sized pool was a masterfully executed merging of imported masonry and exotic flora that sparkled with crystal blue water that lapped rhythmically against its sides, inviting those who desired to enter. As beautiful as it was, the pool was second in attractiveness to the woman lying beside it; she fairly glowed wearing a white two-piece swimsuit that boasted a matching swimming cap. A pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses shielded her eyes from the sun, and expensive-looking white heels shod her feet. Another butler, a black man named Henry, brought out a sterling silver-serving tray that bore two half-filled glasses of liquor and an antique phone set. He put the tray down on a table well within her reach and departed. She picked up the receiver.

“Hello, Bruce.”

“Hello, Sharon,” a man’s voice answered.

She checked her surroundings. “Jessie, please. We don’t know who might be listening.”

“Right. So how’s it going, doll? How’s it feel to be Mrs. John Colchetti?”

“It feels all right. I mean it’s not very hard to get used to all this. But I’m worried. There was a cop nosing around here yesterday.”

“Aha. I don’t suppose it was a social visit?”

“No, Colchetti’s kid brought him around to ask us questions. His name was Starksy or something like that. The little smart aleck seems to think her mother’s accident wasn’t an accident after all.” She picked up one of the drinks and took a sip, closing her eyes.

“So she’s a smart kid. How’s she looking these days?”

She opened her eyes. “I hadn’t really noticed.” There was a significant pause after she said it. “I still don’t understand why you thought it was necessary to do what you did to her, that you couldn’t have done it any other way?”

“I did it the way I knew how. But whatever I did it was always in deference to you, my sweet. Besides it’s to your credit that she’s still around. I would have…” He stopped cold. That was too much information. “Anyway, she’s out of the way, and she doesn’t know a thing, so don’t worry about her.”

“All right. So how does the story end? What’s the next step?”

“I’ll let you know when you need to know. Like you said, we don’t know who might be listening in, so the less said the better.”

She held the phone to her ear with her shoulder and leaned forward in time to see John Colchetti standing in the foyer handing off his hat and coat to Henry. “Look, Bruce, I’ve got to get off the phone now. The master’s home.”

“All right. I’ll be in touch. Remember, stay cool until you hear from me.”

“I will.” She gracefully ended the call just as Colchetti was making his way toward her. She put on a smile and stood up, pulling the bathing cap off and shaking out her auburn mane seductively as he approached. He greeted her warmly and kissed her, wrapping his arms around her waist. When he drew back from her, she sighed enthusiastically.

“Hmm, that was nice. You must have been thinking about me.”

“All day long,” he answered. “Did you have a nice swim?”

“Wonderful,” she answered, sitting down and patting the end of the lounge chair, indicating that he should sit. He glanced at the serving tray on the table and noticed the second drink.

“That for me?”

“But of course.”

He reached over and took the glass off its coaster, drinking the contents down and savoring the cooling sensation it gave as it ran down his throat. He dabbed at his lower lip with one finger and returned the glass to the tray. She trailed her hand sensuously across the fabric of his trouser leg. “So what did you think about the visit we got yesterday?”

“What? Oh that. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Oh, please. Your only daughter, whom you haven’t seen in almost four months, drops by for a visit and brings a policeman around with her who asks us strange questions about your dead wife, and you say you haven’t given it much thought.”

“Well, okay, maybe I have.” A hint of worry marred his face. “How did she seem to you?”

She shrugged. “Grown up. Life’s hard out there; the stress can age a person quickly, you know that.”

“But she’s only seventeen. I guess my marrying you so soon after her mother died really did have an affect on her.”

“Don’t worry, she’ll get over it.” She brushed her fingertips over his lips. “Children have a rare and unique ability to adapt to all situations.” Her eyes caught his seductively. “Now what, if anything, did you have in mind for tonight?”

“I thought we could watch the 76ers play the Lakers in the playroom. Dr. J’s in rare form tonight.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said, hugging him tightly, as if there were no one more interesting and nothing else in the world she’d rather be doing for the evening.

~~~

Bruce Emerson sat in his private office smoking a cigar and talking on the telephone, his feet elevated on his desk, the smoke enveloping his blond head like a wispy cloud. He was a big man, solidly built, with hair cropped military short, he wore a neat beard that enhanced his well-chiseled features. When he smiled, his eyes twinkled and made him look much younger than his thirty-two years. He was reclining in a leather chair, a pencil in his left hand tapping out a nonsensical rhythm. When he was finished with the call, he stood up and stretched, his upper body expanding into his suit, he looked like a college quarterback, very lean and muscular. The muscles in his neck were significantly thicker than the average man’s, adding to his bulk and size.

He was staring out his office window when he heard a cautious knock at his door. He responded to it from his chair and his secretary came in with a cup of coffee. She was an older woman with a tight, put-upon expression on her face, apparently unhappy with her lot in life. She sat the coffee cup down on his desk and left without waiting for a “thank you” from him, not that he was going to offer one. He picked up the coffee and looked out the window again, blowing on the surface and sipping with care. He appeared preoccupied, glancing at his watch more than once, as if he were waiting for something or someone to arrive.

An abrupt knock that was noticeably different from the secretary’s timid one made him jump. He put down the cup quickly and laid his cigar on an ashtray nearby. “Just a minute,” he called out.

When he opened the door, a gaunt man stepped into his office and stood between himself and the desk. He shut the door and observed the visitor from where he was standing. The man was wearing a beige service uniform that bore no identifying marks and a beige and white baseball cap that was pulled low across his forehead. He wore dark sunglasses to cover his eyes and didn’t speak. Emerson walked back to his desk, picked up the coffee cup and took a sip, letting his eyes rest on the man’s blank face. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked.

“No. Thanks.”

“Did my secretary see you come in?”

“No, I waited until she stepped away before I knocked.”

“Good. You might want to have a seat.” He motioned to one of the visitor chairs in front of his desk.

“I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind.”

“Suit yourself.”

The man folded his arms, remaining standing, the glasses and the cap staying on. “When can I expect payment?”

“When the job is finished, that’s when.”

Emerson got his cigar into his mouth and tried to pull off it, but the flame had gone out. He laid the dead stogie across the ashtray and set his coffee cup down once more. He turned towards the dark man and tensed. What he could see of the man’s face was nothing more than a scarred and pockmarked network of lines and wrinkles. Dangerous, he thought. Through the dark glasses, Emerson could barely make out a pair of cold and vacant eyes staring back at him. But he was as blithe about his fear as he was about how he got his money, and he didn’t flinch a muscle.

“I have one more job for you. And I believe I’ve made it clear to you before that I don’t want to know how you do it, when you do it or where. I just want it done. After that, you’ll get your entire fee.”

“Sounds like a renegotiation of the terms to me, Emerson.”

Emerson suddenly snapped and slammed the palm of his hand down on top of the desk, with enough force to ruffle the papers on top of it. “There will be no renegotiations! I told you that on the phone before you came over. The fee stays the same!”

Before he knew it, the gaunt man was in on him, slamming his own hand down firmly over Emerson’s flattened one. The man’s bony but strong fingers clamped down on it unwaveringly, inflicting considerable discomfort. Emerson tried to relax his hand underneath it, which seemed to lessen the pressure. He was in pain and wanted to fight back, but he didn’t see any reason to anger the guy any more than necessary. Which was probably wise, since this man killed people for a living.

“Emerson, this is a business deal,” he snarled. “When the stakes rise, so does the fee. I’m warning you–don’t try to stiff me.”

Emerson swallowed almost imperceptibly. “Okay. Okay, you win. Name your price.”

The dark man lifted his skeleton-like hand and returned himself to the spot where he’d been standing before, and he did so so swiftly that it was almost as if he hadn’t ever moved from the spot. “The fee was a hundred and fifty thousand before. It goes up to one sixty.”

Emerson scowled a bit and rubbed his hands together. At the same time his mind was racing. If he’d figured correctly, he stood to gain much more than a hundred and sixty thousand dollars if his scenario played out. Additionally, he would only have to share the fortune with one other person. Seen in that light, the answer was obvious. Give the man the money. They shook hands, summarily agreeing to the mercenary’s terms, and he watched with trepidation until the man left. After the door shut Emerson snipped off and relit the end of his cigar, settling back into his chair to take a much-needed pause. The remainder of his plan was in motion. There was nothing left to do now but wait.

~~~

The dark man had parked not far from the main road. He was sitting in a military jeep, a bland green model with a camouflage motif, obscured behind a high wall of untrimmed shrubs. The dark sunglasses and the plain cap from the day before remained, and a nearly spent cigarette hung from his lip at an angle, the last dying embers threatening to singe the skin holding it there. At the last minute, he released it and watched it do a freefall from the jeep and land on the ground, the ashes dispersing in the arid wind. He was looking through a pair of Bushnell’s at the entrance of the building that served as the main headquarters for Colchetti Motor Company.

As soon as his target was out of the building, his attention became focused. He watched closely as two well-dressed men, perhaps salesmen or clientele -he didn’t know which – made what appeared to be small talk with his subject. What they were conversing about was of no importance. What was important was that he observe for himself the day-to-day activities of this person so that he could accurately plan his next move. It was not an easy job to make murder look adventitious, but he was nothing if not good at what he did. If that hadn’t been the case for the last fifteen years, he and his employers might have ended up doing hard time long ago, or worse, sitting on death row in some penitentiary somewhere. He didn’t intend on letting either of those things happen anytime soon.

After the men had departed, the dark man watched the subject drive one of his own cars off the lot. He followed; keeping a safe distance away from the brand new Jaguar as it sped down the road. It was always necessary for him to verify the information he received from his clients about a subject’s daily routine so that he could keep on schedule. This man’s routine was a simple one: for three successive mornings in a row, he ate breakfast, a boiled egg, buttered toast, a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee, with almost no variation. Then a mixed drink, maybe two, followed by some time in his Jacuzzi and finally a visit to the office. After work, he would either stop at his favorite tobacco shop, or grab a sandwich at a nearby deli, depending on his mood for the evening, always ending up at his place of residence. The dark man usually needed several days to stake out his target and implement a satisfactory strategy of elimination, but if the legwork had been done for him ahead of time, he was able to do his job more quickly and effectively. He sought a method that would be precise and clean, leaving no indication of foul play. In this case, he would take his target out in familiar surroundings, under entirely plausible circumstances. Who would suspect the accidental death of a man who drowns in his own pool after imbibing too much liquor one morning?

PART THREE

CHAPTER TEN

Angel sat by herself in the backseat of the Dodge, her knees drawn up to her chest and plenty on her mind. It was early and no one else was awake except for herself and a few birds positioning themselves in the trees outside. Dull light from the climbing sun filtered in through the wooden slats that made up the walls of the garage warming the inside of the car. The sound of skittering claws on the dirt flooring beneath it alerted her to the fact that she wasn’t entirely alone there. But meeting up with some small creature indigenous to the area was the least of her concerns; she had more pressing matters on her young mind. She lowered her head onto her arms and fought off the ever-present urge to cry. After a few minutes of relative silence, she thought she heard someone calling out her name. The voice was muffled, but it sounded like it was nearby. She picked her head up and saw a face peering at hers through the car window.

“David?”

She opened the door for him and he slid into the seat beside her, the worried look slowly disappearing from his face. “Yeah, last time I looked in the mirror. What’re you doin’ out here?”

“I needed someplace to think.”

“And your room just wasn’t big enough for ya, huh?” He looked well rested, much better than he had the day before.

“Something like that,” she answered. Trying to tell him how she felt about him before had been painful, and his rebuffs stung. She didn’t think she would be able to handle anymore of that so she hadn’t said anymore to him about it. But now with him sitting so close, her connection to him seemed so palpable and immediate that she didn’t know how he couldn’t know how she felt. She hoped the dispassionate smile she’d greeted him with would disguise it somewhat, yet at the same time she wanted to lay bare the extent of her emotions. She smiled at him again, this time more warmly. “What are you doing out here?”

“Looking for you. I knocked on your door to take you for a walk before breakfast, but you didn’t answer.”

“I’m sorry, this whole thing has been really got me down.”

“It’s okay, don’t be sorry.” He intuitively pulled her close to him so that her head was lying against his shoulder and his arms were around hers. There was a beat. “You know, I had a dream about you last night.”

“You did?” She turned to face him a little. Interested.

“Yeah, I thought it was kinda strange, ’cause normally I don’t remember my dreams. I mean all the little details, you know, like what I dreamed, who I dreamed about, how it ended. But this was one I couldn’t seem to shake.”

“What was it about?”

“You and me.”

“Really?” She listened to him, choosing not to focus on his face directly, in case she was making the wrong assumptions about what he was saying. She concentrated only on the delightful rumble of his chest as he spoke. It was a comforting, soothing sound.

“Really. And you know what else?

“What?”

“The dream had a happy ending.”

There was something different about his voice. He didn’t sound tense or unsure like he had before in the car, he sounded relaxed and confident, like he knew exactly what he was doing. She looked up and found his eyes, which were a very intense blue right now, and just about melted into them. The next thing she knew his strong but gentle hands were cupping her cheeks and drawing her face close to his, and then their lips were touching. He planted several kisses on her lips, not those wishy-washy ‘I like you’ kisses, but passionate, grownup ‘I love you’ kisses, the kind that made you turn all warm and squishy inside. As his kisses intensified and grew more urgent, she closed her eyes, the sexual tension between them increasing tenfold, until neither he nor she felt they’d be able to contain themselves.

The cramped confines of the car made the decision for them however, and they reluctantly parted ways, slumping down into the back seat together, their faces close, breathing heavy. A patina of perspiration glistened on her skin and upper lip and the mixture of his cologne and her perfume filled the interior of the Dodge like an aphrodisiac. She altered her position beside him ever so slightly, just enough to catch her arms around his waist and lean against him at the same time. When their breathing evened out, she blew lightly into his ear and he flinched.

“Hey. You’re treading on dangerous ground doin’ that.”

“I’m not afraid,” she said boldly, resting her left hand on his chest, watching it rise and fall as he breathed. “Tell me something. Have you ever done the deed outdoors?”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. If that’s not a loaded question, I don’t know what is.” He kissed her on her forehead. “I plead the Fifth.”

She sucked her teeth. “Aw, you’re just a ‘fraidy cat.”

“Naw, I just don’t like answerin’ loaded questions. If I say yes, then I’m kinky, if I say no, then I’m afraid. How’s that fair?”

She laughed. “Who’s trying to be fair?” She looked down at his hands holding hers and kissed the back of one of them. Then she put her forehead next to his. “Well, what are we going to do now?” That was another loaded question.

“Hmm, well, if you talkin’ about what we’re going to do about the investigation. I’ve got a theory, and my theory is…well…I got no theory. Like Hutch said, somebody’s gotta make a move. It’s like playin’ chess. The player who makes the most right moves, wins, the player who make the most wrong, loses. I just hope whoever it is makes one before we’re due to leave.”

She lightly poked him on the arm and gave him a “that’s not what I meant and you know it” look. He took the hint.

“Um, on the other hand, if you’re talkin’ about the two of us and what’s gonna happen, I gotta a little theory on that, too.” She poked him in his stomach again and he grunted, and then turned serious. “Okay, okay, look, all kidding aside, we both know where this is going. And I’d be a fool to sit here and tell you that I don’t feel something for you. But I’d be also be kiddin’ myself if I pretended that just because this is what we want to do it automatically makes it right. Life just ain’t cut and dried that way.”

“Is life always so difficult for you?”

“A lot of the time.” He glanced at her sideways and pursed his upper lip. “But when you look at me like that you make it awfully hard, ah, difficult for me to stick to my principles, you know?”

“Uh, huh. And I like a man with principles…sometimes.” She got lost in a thought for a moment. “Hey, you know what? I just thought of something, there’s this great place I know of not far from here. It’s really peaceful and quiet and there’s a lake nearby. I used to go there when I wanted to commune with nature. Would you like to go and see it?”

“Hold on a minute. Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Without a doubt, Detective.”

He grinned, opened the car door and they got out. They left the closed off space of the garage and walked out into the open air, both stealing glances in the direction of the house.

“Do you think they’ll miss us?” she asked him.

“Probably. And it’s safe bet that Hutch’ll come lookin’ for me. He has this rare talent for showin’ up or callin’ me at the worst times, if you know what I mean.”

Angel’s cheeks tinged a little red and she put her arm around his waist. “Is that so? Then we’d better hurry before he gets started looking, hadn’t we?”

They laughed and he laid an arm languidly across her shoulders as they made their way down a hedged pathway that he assumed led to the spot she’d described to him. He wasn’t exactly sure how all this had happened so quickly. Maybe it was the devil on his shoulder whispering in his ear urging him on, or maybe, just maybe, he was really in love. Love affected a man in strange ways, changed his thought processes, affected his decisions and made him take chances that he would never take ordinarily. It sometimes made him do things that a man not in its throes would never contemplate. He had no doubt that Hutch would try to convince him to wait it out. But David Starsky had never been a man who liked to wait.

~~~

The automatic sprinklers had switched on in front of Colchetti’s residence, leaving the spacious lawn sparkling. The dark man was sitting in his jeep again, but this time in front of the estate. He was wearing a blue uniform in place of the brown one now. Working with little effort, he jerked a long handled pool net and a bottle of chlorine from the rear of the jeep. He put both next to him on the front seat and exchanged the standard brown cap he usually wore for a light blue one to match the uniform. To his chest, he applied a fabric logo that had “Sunclean Pool Cleaners,” stitched in blue letters on a white background. He also applied a similar logo to the bill of the cap he was wearing. With the supplies in his arms he got out of the jeep and made his way to the front gate, announced himself and was let onto the grounds without difficulty.

He’d taken great care to note the actual schedule of the pool cleaning service and so as not to overlap with them, he came one day earlier, explaining that there had been a change in scheduling. Once inside, he looked around the interior, seemingly unaffected by its grandeur and opulence. Turning his head, he saw his subject, who was mixing his early morning drink at the bar. Not far from him were the glass doors leading out to the patio and the pool. After assuring the butler that he was fine on his own, he was left to do his job.

He started with the large pool and saved the Jacuzzi for last, mentally and visually keeping track of his man from outside. The only critical thing to do before he left was to make sure the guy intended to actually use one of the pools. When he was finished cleaning both, he put the empty bottle of cleaner into a sack and went back into the house with the pool net in his hand, leaning it against his chest and the side of his neck as he walked in. Colchetti looked up from his drink when he entered the room.

“Hey, you all finished out there?”

“Sure am. You’re clean as a whistle.”

“Good, I was just thinking about going in.”

A slight, but barely noticeable smile crossed the dark man’s lips. “Great morning for it, sir. Wouldn’t mind trying it out myself, if I had one. Good for relaxing the muscles, you know?”

“Sure is. Too bad you have to work or I’d invite you in.”

“Yeah, just my luck. Well, I’ve got to go on to my next job. See you next time.”

“See you. Have a good day.”

The pool man nodded goodbye and adjusted the net, then disappeared into the foyer.

Colchetti took a sip of the scotch and soda and went outside. The warm air hit him like a slap in the face as he left the air-conditioned room for the brace of heat outside. He went into the changing room and slipped into a pair of swim trunks, bringing his drink out with him. He set the glass down on the tile and sniffed at the pool water. The smell of chlorine was faint, but not overpowering. He flicked on the switch and the Jacuzzi came to life. Another sip of his drink and he stepped into the pool.

The undulating water and the liquor worked together like a depressant, lulling him into a state of drowsiness. He was not aware of the hand that slipped the deadly toxin into what remained of his drink, nor did he notice when his assassin departed, but in his last waking moments he did startle awake as the patio door slid almost quietly shut behind him. Momentarily alert, he looked around, and seeing no one, he reached for and drank the last of the scotch. Before long the toxin took hold of him, his arms and his legs getting heavy as unconsciousness enveloped him. After his heart stopped, he slipped under the surging water. His demise was quick and quiet–there had been no chance to scream.

~~~

Later that morning, about a half a dozen police units and the city coroner’s wagon had arrived to take up both sides of the tree-lined street outside Colchetti’s lavish mansion. Parked not far away was Frankie Brown’s pale green Dodge Dart. The two out of state detectives, Starsky and Hutchinson, stood poolside with Captain Benjamin Kraft inside the estate. Mrs. Colchetti, her body convulsing and straining as she wept uncontrollably, sat not far away from them. Her stepdaughter blankly stood waiting just inside the patio entrance, watching silently as a team of policemen went about their grisly work. Kraft regarded the detectives’ reappearance into his affairs with a level of amused interest.

“Didn’t think I would see you two again.”

Starsky winked. “Good thing we stuck around, huh?”

“Yes, well. All I can say is, things were quiet before you two showed up.”

“So what happened? Who found him?” Hutch asked.

Kraft took his sunglasses off and began cleaning them with a handkerchief from his breast pocket of his jacket. “It appears to be an accidental death by drowning. He’d been drinking. According to his wife, he has one or two each morning before he goes to work. She’s the one who found him.” He pointed to the redhead sitting on a chaise with her head in her hands, the picture of an anguished widow.

Hutch looked over at the woman and Starsky patted him on the arm to get his attention. “Wanna go see a dead body?” he asked with childlike glee. Hutch frowned, but followed him. They went over to the stretcher, lifted a corner of the sheet, and looked under it. Colchetti’s body lay there pale and wrinkled, his mouth frozen open with a fine line of white foam oozing from his nose and lips. They quickly covered the body. Both men shuddered and stepped back.

“All I can say is this is one helluva way to go.”

“You’re telling me.”

A man wearing a white coat and carrying a black leather bag approached the two men and the body. He was a short man, a little on the heavy side and kind of balding. Judging by the permanent scowl on his face, he didn’t appear to enjoy his work a great deal. Midwestern-bred Hutchinson soon left his partner’s side to attend to less morbid tasks, knowing the sight of dead bodies didn’t bother the city-bred Starsky as much as they did him. Indeed, Starsky watched with almost clinical coldness as the fat man opened his bag, took out a few tools of his trade and began swabbing the bottom of the dead man’s drinking glass. He deposited the glass and the swabs into two small plastic bags with care, and then sealed them off and proceeded on to uncovering and examining the body.

“Hello there.” Starsky took out and flashed his badge as the examiner continued to study the body. The man stepped back, took a quick look at it, and nodded a greeting to him without looking up. Starsky jammed the badge back into his jeans pocket and folded his arms. After a few minutes, he said, “Anything?”

“Nothing yet, the glass appears to have been drained of any fluid. I’m hoping to pick up more when I get it to the lab.”

“Got a guess on the time of death?”

“The skin’s fairly wrinkled. My guess is sometime between eight and eleven this morning. Like I said, I’ll know more after I get them to the lab.”

“So he was in about three hours,” he said, more to himself than to the examiner. “That’s good to know, thanks.”

“Welcome.”

Starsky put both hands in his pockets and left the examiner to resume his examination uninterrupted. On his way back to where his partner was standing, he caught sight of Angel. She was still standing in the doorway of the patio on the other side of the glass; her arms folded neatly across her chest. She looked sad, but he noticed that her eyes were curiously dry. No tears were being shed for her dead father. Maybe she thinks he deserved what had happened to him, he thought. When he got back to his partner, the blond man had just started to write down something on a notepad he was holding. He stopped writing when he got there.

“The M.E. able to tell you anything?”

“Not much. Says there might be something in the lab results when they get them back later, but the glass was clean, not a drop of liquid left in it.” He thoughtfully jerked his head in Mrs. Colchetti’s direction. “Anybody talk to her?”

Kraft coughed into his handkerchief, folded it and put it back in his breast pocket. “Sure have. She says she came home from a shopping trip and found him like that. Called us immediately. She was fairly calm when we got here. Didn’t lose it until we fished him out of the pool.”

“Delayed reaction, huh?”

“You might say that. Anyway she’s clean…for now. So, you gentlemen want to wait around for us to finish up? Or you want to try talking to her yourselves?”

“If you’ve already got a statement from her, we’d like to take a look at that later, if that’s all right. We don’t want to upset her anymore than we have to, at least not today. Anybody question the butler about any unusual visitors?”

“He told us there were just a couple of delivery people, the gardener, the pool man. You know, the usual people. But they left before anything happened. The butler even saw Colchetti going out to change his clothes to get into the pool after the last service guy left.”

“So, Cap’n, now do you believe there’s something strange going on here?”

“Frankly, Detective Hutchinson, the whole situation serves to give me pause.”

“Ah, I’m Starsky.” He jerked a thumb toward his partner. “He’s Hutchinson.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that,” he said apologetically.

“That’s okay,” The blond man smiled, the sunlight bouncing off his fair hair. “We’re used to it. Ah, we’d be grateful if you’d let us know when the lab test results come in, Captain. You know where to reach us, don’t you?”

“Roger that.”

“Okay, we’ll see you later then.”

The captain shook both their hands and left them to ponder the ramifications of the most recent developments. Starsky blinked up at the sun and then over at the body.

“So, you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“That depends…”

“On what?”

“On what, if anything, the PPD’s lab man finds in that glass.”

“You read my mind. I’m starving, let’s take her home.”

“Right.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Hutch woke up to what sounded like someone being sick nearby. Concerned, he sat up and looked for his partner, who was sound asleep across from him. Judging from the huge grin on his face, he was probably dreaming about making the moves on some beautiful female. He smiled and checked his pocket watch in the semi-darkness. It was two o’clock in the morning. He got up and opened the door to the room as quietly as he could, then peeked out into the dark hallway. He noticed that the bathroom light was on. Then he heard coughing and the sound of the toilet being flushed. Then the faucet was turned on and then off again. In a few seconds the chain on the door unhitched, and he watched as Angel made her way out of the bathroom. She looked drawn and pale, her hair was damp, and the neck of her gown was wet. She was blotting at her face with a white cotton towel.

“You okay?” he asked, startling her.

“What?”

“I said, are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I guess something I ate didn’t agree with me.”

He came out of the room and put his hand on her forehead. “Are you sure?”

She laughed nervously and brushed his hand away. “I’m positive.”

Before she could get further away he took hold of her arm and tried studying her face, hoping he might be able to figure her out. Had she really eaten something that disagreed with her, or was she some sort of a druggie? Besides the poor pallor, he noticed something else–her appearance had changed since the first time they’d met her. Over the course of a few days, her face and figure had become fuller, more rounded.

She squirmed out of his hold and turned away from him, walking back towards her room. “I’m going back to bed. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“‘S okay,” he answered thoughtfully. She went into her room without another word and closed the door. Hutch slipped back into his, sat on top of the bed and stretched his body across it. Linking his hands behind his neck, he lay there in the dark, grappling with finding a reason for her transformation. After a minute or so, he freed one hand and snapped his fingers softly in the air. He turned toward his partner and considered waking him up to share his epiphany, but the guy looked so peaceful lying there that he didn’t want to disturb him. Instead, he settled back onto his pillow and closed his eyes.

To his way of thinking, a person who comes wanting, is wanting–for something. Young women don’t as a matter of rote collapse at your doorstep and come to with stories of murder to tell. He felt then as he did now that she was handing them her hard luck story for a reason. Not because she was running away from something bad, but because she had a hidden agenda. He’d known enough women in his lifetime to know that the possibility existed. Women like his ex-wife Vanessa, who’d tried most of their married life to plot his career to meet the needs of her own self enhancement, using methods that were often to the detriment of his own happiness.

The idea of Starsky taking up Angel’s cause without questioning her motives or thoroughly checking out her background first was very disquieting. To know that this stranger had enough emotional pull on his partner to where he was willing to drop everything to help her was disheartening. Ironically, it was his partner’s uncharacteristic behavior that triggered the first seeds of doubt. Starsky hardly ever got emotionally attached to someone he didn’t know well, let alone allowed himself to become viscerally or emotionally moved enough to aid them in their causes. Between the two of them, it was probably more something he might do himself. It was a White Knight move. With that in mind, he felt duty bound to making sure that his partner wasn’t being emotionally used for her self-aggrandizement. He hoped to be able to do that without alienating their friendship. When he closed his eyes, he was still thinking about it, and before he knew it he was asleep again.

~~~

John Colchetti hadn’t become important enough yet for his death to rate the front page of the daily newspapers (a quarter of a page in the obit section sufficed), but Emerson thought it best to wait a couple of days before he ventured phoning the widow and asking her over for dinner. After working so diligently to project an aura of self-confidence and composure to Sharon, he thought it was necessary that he continue to keep up the facade, even if it did mean borrowing outrageous sums of money from seedy sources to keep the cash flowing. It was very difficult to seem to live prosperously on an insurance agent’s salary, but through their assistance, he managed it, albeit tenuously. He’d even gone so far as to have his condo refurbished to further the appearance of wealth. When friends and acquaintances arrived at his home, it was on expensive Natuzzi sofa that they sat; and they rested their feet on plush Indian or Oriental rugs, setting their drinks on imported Italian coffee tables. All of these trappings were well within view of a collection of some of the most exquisitely carved ivory pieces he could acquire at auction.

He’d begun sensing a growing reluctance on Sharon’s part to continue their intricate deception after the first killing, and now that the dark man was paid off and his plans were coming to fruition, it was not the time for her to begin losing faith. This was the time to bind together and be strong, and he hoped getting together with her tonight would assuage any fears she might have. He poured a glass of wine for himself and took a sip of it, then consulted his watch. It was six o’ clock.

At six fifteen, the doorbell rang and he checked the peephole. It was her. She had her chin slightly tilted and turned away from him, but there was no denying whom it was. He let her in and closed the door behind her. He watched her standing in the foyer, somberly taking note of the candlelit dinner setting and the ambience of the room. She was wearing a black silk scarf over her auburn hair and a light fur stole was draped tastefully over a black crepe evening suit that fit her like a glove. The color was too reserved for the occasion, he thought, but she looked wonderful just the same. He walked over and kissed her on her cheek and she responded by moving away from him. Standing just in front of the couch. Her reaction to him was foreign. He didn’t understand it and he said so.

“What’s the matter with you? It’s almost over. We’re almost there.”

She laid her purse down on the couch. “I know, but there are two people dead because of us.”

“Wait a minute. Hold on just a second. What happened to the Sharon Milner who I met three years ago at my office? The one who said she’d had it with life? Had it with the nine to five? Had it with never going anyplace or doing anything? What happened to her?”

She sighed and dropped down on the couch along with her purse. “It’s been a long three years, Bruce, and I’m not the same woman. You had a man’s wife killed, don’t you remember? I married the rich widower. Have you any idea what it feels like to know the man I love is for all intents and purposes, a murderer?” She waited for him to answer the question, but he didn’t. “Well, do you?”

He went to the fireplace mantle and picked up a box of cigars, lifted the lid and pulled one out; he bit off the tip and lit it with the heavy antique lighter that set beside it. She looked up at him and watched him as he drew in and inhaled the aromatic smoke.

“No, you wouldn’t. How could you?’ She shook her head. “How do you sleep at night?”

“I think about the money, Sharon, it helps a lot. On those nights when I think about you in his arms, making love to him, I want to kill him. But the money helps me keep things in prospective. After all these years of struggling and practically signing away my life to get what I want, I’m finally accomplishing something. I mean, tell me the truth, it’s not all sleepless nights and walking the floors for you up there on the hill, is it? It sounds like you enjoy living in the lap of luxury.” He blew out some of the smoke.

“How can you say that to me? I did what you said to do because I love you and you know that. John was…John was, well, he was rich, but he had no sense of the romantic. Even so, I think I could’ve gotten used to him, if the circumstances had been different. I think he was really in love with me.”

“That’s all very cozy, but where would that have left me?” He pulled on his cigar again. “I’ll tell you where. Out in the cold–you with him on the hill and me holding the bag for his wife’s murder. That’s where. No, my darling, we’re in this for the long haul.” He went over to the dining room table, refilled his wineglass and poured one for her, handing her the glass. “Sharon, toast with me, because after tonight, you won’t remember a thing about being John Colchetti’s wife, I promise you that.”

Sharon took the glass from him, her eyes focusing blankly on the Oriental rug beneath her feet. He raised his glass and clinked it against hers. “To us, Sharon, and to the fortune that will soon be ours. May we be the happiest we’ve ever been in our lives.”

She lifted an eyebrow along with her glass, but didn’t join him in his toast. She was too sick to her stomach to be glibly toasting the situation. Her hands were trembling and bile rose to her throat at the thought. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

Mrs. Brown had once again managed to prepare cuisine for her three guests that was fit enough for royalty. Starsky tucked a napkin under his chin and dug in rapturously, while Hutch approached his repast with a bit more aplomb. Angel took a few bites of food from her plate and tried to enjoy it, but her stomach revolted. Her face contorted and she dropped her fork onto her plate, and a napkin flew to her lip, she sat there for a moment struggling to push back the urge to retch. No longer able to fight it, she shot up from the table. All three of her table companions stared after her, and Starsky wiped his mouth and started to leave the table.

Hutch stopped him with a hand on his forearm. “She’s okay, Starsk. Let her go.”

“She didn’t look too good.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

Frankie stood up, snatched her napkin from her lap and set it on the table. “I’m beginning to think there’s a good reason for that.”

“Whaddya mean?”

She started clearing away the dishes. “Haven’t you noticed? She can’t keep anything down; she’s nauseous. She sleeps a lot.” They were staring at her, not knowing what she was getting at. “Well, the two of you being bachelors you might not notice things like that, but I swear that girl’s either got a bad case of stomach flu or she’s expecting.”

Starsky’s jaw dropped open. He sat back down in his chair hard and stared at his partner, cupping his hand over his mouth. “A baby?”

Hutch’s eyes were wide and innocent. “Don’t look at me like that, Starsk. I’m not the father.”

“A baby,” Starsky muttered again in disbelief, his hand coming down off his face.

“One of you had better go up and have a talk with her.”

“One of us?” Starsky asked. “Wouldn’t it be better…I mean, you’re a woman, can’t you do it?”

“Yes, well, I am that, honey. But I’m also someone she just met and hasn’t gotten to know very well, and it’s likely that she won’t open up to me. I’ve seen how she responds to you, David. She likes you. You should talk to her.”

“It’s true, partner. She really has taken quite a liking to you.”

“But, I…I wouldn’t know what to say to her.”

Hutch put a calming hand on Starsky’s shoulder. “I hate to remind you of this old buddy, but while we sit here debating the issue of gender, the clock is ticking. And we, meaning you and I, have a very impatient captain waiting for us to get back to work in a week. But if you don’t feel up to it…I’ll…”

“No, no, that’s okay. I’ll go up.”

Starsky pulled the napkin he had tucked under his chin away and tossed it on his empty plate. He could feel Hutch’s eyes on him as he made his way up the stairs. No doubt his partner was wondering, as he was to himself, what he had gotten himself into. The bathroom door was closed when he got upstairs, he tried the knob, but it was locked. He knocked softly and put his lips close to the door. “Angel. It’s me. Can I come in?”

He didn’t get a verbal response, but he heard the chain being unhitched. He opened the door slowly and saw her sitting down on the cold pink and black linoleum floor, one arm braced over the toilet, her head down, her face pale. He came in and sat down on the side of the tub across from her. “You okay?”

“No.”

Her eyes started to well up. He slid down on the floor next to her, one hand smoothing her long dark hair away from her face and the other stroking her cheek. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

She looked into his eyes. “I think I’m sick.”

He chuckled softly at the severity of her understatement. “I can see that. Any idea why that would be?”

“I…I…don’t know. Do you think it’s something serious?”

“You got me. I think we should take you to see a doctor and find out for sure.”

“Can we go right now?”

“Sure. Come on, get yourself cleaned up and dressed and maybe Frankie can give us the name of a place and Hutch and I can take you.”

“Okay.”

He stood up and helped her onto her feet. They hugged each other and he followed her out into the hallway. They split up in different directions, her into her room and him back downstairs. Frankie provided them with the information they needed and they left shortly afterwards.

~~~

Sergeant Hutchinson had parked the Dodge in front of a place called the Women’s Health Clinic. A quiet indistinct office located not far from where the boarding house was. Both men waited in the car for the young woman, Hutch fixing from time to time on the odd behavior of his curly-haired partner. Starsky had something on his mind and he wasn’t telling. The blond checked his watch, by his estimation; it wouldn’t be long before the guy finally blew his stack. And he was right, before long a deep breath escaped his partner’s lips, and Mount St. Starsky looked like it was ready to erupt. Hutch put on his Ray Bans and stared ahead of him, preparing for the fallout that would inevitably follow.

“Hutch?”

“Yeah, Starsk?”

“You think she’s okay?”

“I hope so, buddy.”

The darker man frowned and turned to him. “I probably should’ve gone in there with her.”

“She didn’t want you to go in with her, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right. She didn’t, did she? I forgot.”

“There are some days when I think you’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders. Come to think of it, you’ve been acting awfully strangely lately, ever since the morning you and she disappeared. Is there something you’re not telling me, partner?”

Starsky face looked wan and helpless. “Hutch, what if…what if Frankie was right? What if Angel is expecting a baby?”

“Then I guess it’d be a good thing for her, wouldn’t it? Unless of course you happened to be the father, then we’d have a problem.” He grinned. “But you’re not, are you? So there’s nothing to worry about, right?”

Hutch was kidding, but Starsky was deadly serious. He turned and stared at the clinic entrance. Hutch lowered his sunglasses and peered over them. “Hey, Starsk.” No response. “Hey, Starsky!” He waved his hand and snapped his fingers in front of his partner’s face. “Starsky!”

“Huh?”

“Starsky, will you please tell me what’s going on?” He waited, Starsky’s silence speaking volumes. “Wait a minute, don’t tell me you and she…” His long fingers did a back and forth motion in the air.

Starsky closed his eyes and nodded slowly. The expression on his face changed from one of shock to childish embarrassment. He looked exactly like a kid who’d gotten his hand caught hand in a cookie jar. Hutch just shook his head.

“I don’t believe it. What the hell were you thinking?”

“At the time, I guess I wasn’t doin’ much thinkin’.”

“Now, there’s the understatement of the year. What do you plan to do about it if it turns out she is?”

“I dunno. The right thing, I guess, whatever that is.”

“Starsky, you’re a grown man. How could you let something like this happen?”

“Oh, and I suppose you never had anything like this even remotely happen to you.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ve had some close calls. But nothing like this.”

“Okay, well then, that just proves everyone’s entitled to a little indiscretion or two once in a while.”

“Yeah, just as long it doesn’t cost them too much.”

A lengthy, awkward silence ensued between them that lasted until Angel stepped out of the clinic doors and made her way over to the car. When Starsky saw her, he bounded out of his seat and opened the door for her. He made a concerted effort to deduce the results of her visit by reading her facial expression, but it produced nothing. Hutch pushed his glasses up on his face and waited for him to ask her the sixty-four thousand-dollar question, but he never did. He sat down in the car like a man in a trance, an emotional car wreck. It looked like it would be up to Hutch to find out what the story was. His blue eyes found her brown ones in the rearview mirror.

“So, young lady, what’s the verdict? Will there be a baby shower in your future?”

She had a tentative look in her eyes and didn’t answer him right away. Tell the truth? Tell a lie? She already knew the answer. She had to lie. Hutch turned around and leaned his elbow on the back of the seat. He needed conscious thought and verbal communication now; telepathy wasn’t going to do it. He raised his voice. “Excuse me, is anybody back there?”

She blinked in immediately. “Yes?”

“Remind me to get that hearing aid of yours fixed, I think the batteries are going.”

A quiet laugh escaped her lips and she smiled. “I’m sorry, Detective Hutchinson, I heard you. And the answer is yes, I am going to have a baby.”

Starsky looked up and stared at her face in the rearview mirror too. “You’re kiddin’.”

Her eyes found his in the mirror and nodded. “No, really, I am.” She was still smiling.

“How far along are you?” Hutch asked, his heart sinking, but still amazingly calm.

“The nurse says it’s too early to tell. But I’m showing all the signs.”

Hutch turned back toward the steering wheel and started the car, regarded his partner with a sigh. “We’d better get back to Frankie’s. I’m sure she’ll be just thrilled to hear the news.”

“Great.” Starsky stared out of his window, lost in his thoughts. Hutch started the car and pulled off, shaking his head for most of the way back.

~~~

Frankie Brown didn’t need the confirmation of a doctor to know that her hunch about the young woman’s condition had been right on, but to her guests, it seemed as if it was more of a shock. She poured them each of them a cup of coffee, and then set the pot down on a hotplate to keep warm. None of them made any effort to drink their coffee or converse. What appeared to be various stages of mild shock and disbelief registered on their faces. She took a careful sip of her coffee and sat down. “Now I would think this would be a joyous occasion. Isn’t anyone going to say anything about it?”

Hutch spoke up. “Well, normally Frankie, it would be pretty great news. But in this case there happens to be a couple of hitches in the seam work that are cutting into our enthusiasm a bit.”

“And those would be?”

Hutch looked at her, then at the girl and his partner. “Well, one hitch is, our mother-to-be isn’t married. She doesn’t have a direct support system, so things don’t look too good there.” Starsky looked up after Hutch finished his sentence, then dropped his head down. The blond man continued. “The other hitch is Starsky and I are due back in Bay City in a few days and we still haven’t figured out what happened to Angel’s mother yet.” He left out the part about the possibility that his partner might have had something to do with putting the young lady in the family way.

“I see. Well, that does sort of put a damper on things, I agree. But, I have no doubt the tide will turn. Just have faith.”

“Well, I hope so. From your mouth to God’s ears.”

Hutch and Frankie now took note of the two silent occupants in the room. They were holding hands and Starsky looked miserable. The darker man glanced at the young woman next to him, got up, put his hand out, and she accepted it. He acknowledged his partner and their hostess with a nod and gestured with his head that they would be leaving out the back door. His face said, ‘me and Angel have gotta have a little talk.’

Hutch nodded that he understood, raised one eyebrow and blew out air from his chest as the two of them left. Frankie’s eyes trained on his and she gave him a knowing smile. Without him ever mentioning it to her, he had a gut feeling from that look that she knew exactly what was going on. Exactly.

Once they were outside, it didn’t take the two of them long to find a quiet place to talk. They settled for an old sycamore tree not far from the back of the house. He fiddled with her hair, letting the strands fall into her face and then directing them away. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, pressing it against his chest. “I know what you’re going to say, David, and it’s okay. You don’t have to do anything about this.”

“But I want do the right thing.”

She lifted her head. “What’s the right thing? Marrying me?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“What do you want to do?”

“If it’s mine, I want the kid to have a father. I don’t want him or her growing up without one, like I had to.”

She opened her eyes to look into his and wondered if he really meant what he was saying. His face was a swelling sea of emotions. She saw fear, doubt, and yes, possibly even love in his eyes. But as much as she would love to have him for a husband and a father to her unborn child, she didn’t know if she was prepared to have him sacrifice himself or his peace of mind to have it happen.

“Look, I don’t want you to do something that you’d be unhappy about later.”

“Let me worry about that,” he said bending his head down to kiss her. “I just wanna know one thing. Do you love me, Angela?”

She looked up into his eyes and smiled brightly, thrilling to the sound of her given name flowing from his lips. “I couldn’t love you more.”

“That’s all I need to hear. Don’t you worry about a thing, I’ll take care of this.”

She rested her head in the crook of his arm and began to cry softly into it as he held her.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Starsk?”

Hutchinson’s reaction was reserved, even calm, considering the fact that his partner had sprung the startling news of his tentative engagement on him while they were sitting in Captain Kraft’s office. He’d delivered his response at half of what its normal decibel level would have been had they been somewhere more private. And despite all efforts to reason with his partner on the subject, Starsky refused to budge an inch.

“There’s nothin’ you can say that’s going to change my mind. If I made a mistake I wanna fix it.”

“Oh, you’re gonna fix it, all right.”

“What’s that supposed ta mean?” Starsky folded his arms in front of him defiantly.

The blond stabbed a finger at him. “This has got to be the stupidest stunt you’ve ever pulled in your life.”

“You know what’s the matter with you? You…you’re selfish, that’s what it is. You been sharing space with me for so long, you can’t see straight for lookin’.”

“You’re right about that.” Hutch rolled his eyes, his voice subdued. “But I’ll bet I’m seein’ a whole lot straighter than you are right now. And that’s sayin’ a lot. I mean, how long have you known this girl? A week or so at the most?”

The darker man wrinkled his brow. “It’s been nearly a week and a half, but hey, who’s countin’? Anyway, who says that’s not long enough for two people to get to know each other?”

“It might be long enough for a parakeet or a dog, but we’re talking about two flesh and blood human beings here. Come on, Starsk, what do you really know about her? Besides the fact that she’s beautiful, and that both her parents are dead?”

Starsky tried to come up with something more concrete than what he was thinking, but he finally gave up and said, “I know I love her.”

“Look Starsk, you said you and she were only together once, so the odds of you being the kid’s father are probably slim to none. Couldn’t you at least wait until you’re sure of what the situation is, before you make a major decision like this? Then if you still feel the same way, you won’t hear another word from me, I’ll back you up one hundred percent.”

“You seem to be overlooking one important thing, Hutch.

“What’s that?”

“What happens if it turns out I am?”

“Then we’ll work it out together–the three of us. Just promise me you won’t rush into anything, okay?”

Starsky thought about his friend’s proposition for a moment and finally relaxed his stance. For the most part, Hutch usually had his best interests at heart, especially when it counted. And most of the time he was happy to have him as a sounding board for his problems, a calmer head in a storm–so to speak, even if he was a little on the pushy side a times. He put his hand on the taller man’s shoulder and smiled.

“Okay, tell you what, big guy. I’m gonna do you a favor and take your advice, just this once.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Oh, yeah, by the way…”

Hutch beamed at him. “What?”

He winked. “I wouldn’t blame you if you’re a little jealous.”

They looked into each other’s eyes and for that moment nothing else needed to be said. Hutch rewarded his partner with a dubious grin. Of course, Captain Kraft chose just that minute to come bursting into his office, breaking the intimacy of it. Both men looked over their shoulders at him. He stopped, wrinkled his brow at them, and then went on about his business. On his way to his desk, he opened up the white manila folder he held in his hand.

“Well, this is it, gentlemen. The results of the lab tests we’ve been waiting for. Hopefully the contents will tell us whether Mr. Colchetti’s family is inexplicably ill fated or if he died at the hands of a party or parties unknown.”

Both men straightened up in their chairs and took in a breath as they prepared to hear the results. Kraft pulled out the folder’s contents and studied them for a moment or two before he spoke. He nodded his head thoughtfully. “Well, well, well. It looks like the two of you were right.” He handed the folder to them. “See for yourself.”

Hutch’s reach was longer by an inch and he got to the folder before his partner. Starsky relegated himself to his chair and settled back to hear what was in it. He and Kraft watched and waited while the blond man slowly digested the contents. After he’d studied each entry, he divulged the results.

“Well, Colchetti did die of asphyxiation by drowning.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. After he drank almost a cocktail glass full of cyanide for breakfast. That’s strange because cyanide has a distinct almond order, I’m wondering why the M.E. didn’t catch it at the scene.”

Starsky sat back further in his chair. “He did say the glass was pretty clean when he swabbed it. Wow, cyanide.” He took in a breath, and then blew it out. “That’s some pretty heavy stuff.”

“No kidding.” Hutch handed the folder back to the captain. “What happens now?”

“Exactly what you two wanted from the start, a full-scale investigation, from the car accident to Colchetti’s drowning. If your suspicious are correct, then somebody out there is after the Colchetti estate. We already know they’re brazen enough to kill for it. Now we need to find out who they are, and quick. Is the source you mentioned earlier safe?”

Starsky sat up, very alert. “Yeah, she’s safe.”

Hutchinson looked over at him. “She is for now. But if whoever it is was willing to kill both parents, I think it’s safe to say they’re not going to bother thinking twice about eliminating the last remaining heir to the fortune.”

Starsky eyes held a twinge of concern in them; he was still thinking about what the test results said. “What kind of a cold-hearted bastard would poison a guy and leave him to drown in his own Jacuzzi?” Uneasy, he braced both Adidas against the front of the captain’s desk.

Kraft stuffed the autopsy report folder back into its envelope. “A mercenary might do it, he’s not so emotionally involved in what’s going on, he’s just some guy who gets paid to kill folks while his gutless employer reaps the rewards, paying him only a fraction of what he himself stands to yield once it’s over. The mercenary’s got no major stake in the deal, so only has to do a clean kill and then he’s off and gone to his next assignment.”

Hutch rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger reflectively. “Well, the first thing we’ve got to figure out is who stands to gain the most from all this.”

“How about the new wife?” Kraft offered. He sat back and stretched in his chair. “With the first wife out of the picture, she stands to make off with the whole thing. Including the insurance money. I heard from a reliable source that was pretty substantial.”

“Good, good, but too obvious. Why would she take the chance? The police would suspect her first, then where would she be?”

“Right. And plus she was the one who called us. She even had the receipts from her shopping trip. Her purchases were dated and time stamped.”

Starsky sucked his teeth. “So that let’s her out… at least for now. Who else?”

Kraft dropped his head, and then looked up slowly. “There’s the daughter, you did mention that there was some animosity about her father’s remarriage.”

Hutch shot a look over at his partner and he shook his head. “No way. This is way too big a deal for her to have anything to do with it. I’d bet my life on that.”

Hutch glanced at the captain, then back at Starsky. “C’mon, Starsk. There’s a remote possibility that Angel might be involved in this in some way. If she isn’t in on it, then she knows something. As soon as she hit the door, I got this weird feeling about her, like there’s more to her story then what she’s been telling us. Haven’t you noticed the way she latched on to you and hasn’t let up since?”

“It could be my animal magnetism. But okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right–which you’re not. What would be her motive for lyin’ to us?”

Hutch shrugged. He couldn’t think of anything that would make any sense. It was just one of those feelings he’d get every now and then. He’d see or hear something that didn’t seem quite right, something that didn’t fit logically into the pattern of things. And there it would sit, staring him in the face, plain as day, until he figured it out. Nine times out of ten, he did just that.

Kraft, sensing the tension between the two men, offered a truce. “All right, seems I’ve hit a sore spot with that one. Let’s just drop it for now.”

“No problem, Captain.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“It was just an idea, Starsky.”

“Yeah, a bad one.”

“Okay, okay, boys, that’s enough, that’s enough. Any other ideas before we close this one down for the afternoon?”

Starsky put up a finger. “Yeah, one more thing. Do you know the background on the current Mrs. Colchetti?”

“Sure do. Got it right here.” Kraft pulled open a file drawer in his desk, rifled through it and pulled out a thin blue file folder. Opened it and read the contents carefully. “Ah yes, here it is. Mrs. Jessie Colchetti, maiden name Jessie Milner. Says here she worked as a salesgirl for a big name department store before she found herself Mr. Right.”

Hutch put his hand on the captain’s desk. “You said she worked as a salesgirl. You ever check out her full background?”

“Nope, had no reason to. Why?”

“Just plain curiosity. Does it give the name of the department store?”

“Warwicke’s. But it went out of business about three years ago. You’re thinking she has a reason to lie?”

“Don’t know. But it’s a possibility. I’m just curious to know how she and Colchetti happened to meet and strike up a relationship so quickly. At any rate, I think it’s something we should follow up on.”

“Well, all I can say is good luck in your search.”

Starsky stood up and did a half-salute. “Thanks for that. See ya later, Cap.”

The captain nodded and Hutch got up himself and went to the door, letting Starsky out ahead of him. The man bulldozed past him so quickly that the breeze he created rustled the blond’s hair and foretold of the dressing down he was to get on the drive over. They never got that far.

Once they were on the street Starsky dropped his right hand onto Hutch’s shoulder and stopping his forward momentum. “What the hell was that back there, huh?”

“What the hell was what?”

“That back there–that, Angel’s got to be involved in some way and you had a feeling about it stuff. How come this is the first I’m hearin’ about it?”

The blond fished the car key out of his pocket and sighed. “I don’t know, maybe you’re too close to see it, Starsky. It’s understandable.” He went around to the driver’s side of the Dodge and got in. Starsky stood outside the car for a minute and then got in too.

“Yeah, I know it’s understandable. But you know what really burns me?”

Hutch put the key in the ignition. “No, what?”

“You’re supposed to be my best friend, how come you don’t tell me about these things?”

He didn’t have a quick answer for that.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Penn State Mutual’s personnel office was on the eighth floor of the main building and wasn’t much different from the first floor except that the lighting was better and there were a few less people roaming the halls. When they got off the elevator, a counter loomed before them that was presumably set up for applicants to fill out applications. Behind that was a sliding glass window, which was now closed. Starsky went over to a bare wall, leaned against it and waited, while his partner went to work ferreting out a human being to talk to.

When he walked up to the window, he saw a woman sitting on the other side of the glass with her back to him. Her platinum blonde hair flowed past her shoulders and onto the back of the beige windowpane patterned suit she was wearing. He tapped on the glass and immediately went into his Prince Charming mode, his voice dripping with honey. “Pardon me, miss.”

The woman turned round in her seat and looked at him, her face expressionless. He tried hard to mask the surprise that must have been evident on his face. She certainly wasn’t what he’d been expecting to see. This woman was at least twenty years his senior, probably well past the age of succumbing to something as lightweight as the Hutchinson charm.

She got up and slid open the window. “Yes, how may I help you?

Hutch’s mouth stood slightly agape. She also seemed to have some kind of a speech impediment that made the s’s on her ‘yes’s’ sound drawn out like a snake’s hiss. He stole a glance at his partner, who simply shrugged and smiled, obviously amused at his partner’s predicament. It took a millisecond for the blond man to regain his composure. He straightened up and smiled at the woman.

“Ah, ah, we’d like to ask you a few questions, Miss ah…”

“Casden. Jane Casden. I’m the manager here. What kind of questions? And who is this ‘we’ you’re speaking of?”

Her personality was all ice and mothballs, not an ounce of warmth to speak of. Hutch pointed to where his partner was leaning and Starsky waved to them and smiled. “My partner and I… Um, we…” He showed her his badge. “We’re detectives, and ah, well, we need some information on an employee we think might have worked here.”

“And your names?”

“I’m Detective Hutchinson, that’s Detective Starsky.” He was still holding the badge against the glass.

“And this is official police business, you say?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She slipped on a pair of bifocals hanging from a chain around her neck and squinted the badge as she verified its authenticity. Hutch smiled uncomfortably as she took her time sizing them up, then she smiled, and that’s when he noticed she was wearing dentures. That would explain the hissing, he thought.

“Okay, the two of you look legitimate enough. What’s the name of the employee you’re looking for?”

Hutch motioned for his partner to join him. “We’re looking for anyone in your files with the last names of Milner or Colchetti.” He spelled both names out for her.

Starsky was finished holding up the wall and strutted over to the counter. He nodded to the woman as he came over. She was still writing the names down on a slip of paper.

“Anything you can tell us would be great,” Hutch added, watching her finish.

She looked the surnames over carefully, then pulled the glasses off her face and let it hang around her neck. The two of them didn’t know if she thought better with them off and they weren’t going to ask.

“Well, I’ve been working here a while and these names don’t ring any bells. Would you like me to check the files?”

“Would you please? That’d be great,” Hutch answered.

When she left both men consulted each other wordlessly; Hutch’s face was a huge question mark and Starsky’s didn’t offer an answer. They shrugged and waited for the woman to return. After about a minute, she came back with two cards in her hand.

“Here’s what I have.” She handed one card to Hutch and the other to Starsky. “These are the only two people in the files with those last names.”

Hutch read his aloud. “A. Colchetti. Position, temporary assistant, date of termination, August 10, 1978.”

Starsky then read his. “Sharon Milner. Position, senior secretary, termination date was fall of ’78.”

They switched cards and studied each one. Hutch tapped the one he was holding against the surface of the counter, thinking. “Hmm, okay, the last names right, but the first name’s not a match on the one. Would you happen to know who these two ladies worked for when they were here, I mean offhand?”

“Not offhand. I could look that up, though.” She stood there but didn’t move.

Starsky leaned over the counter and settled a fist under his chin. “Would you do that please? We’d appreciate it.” She nodded and went back to the file room. He raised his eyebrows at his partner and they waited. After another few more minutes, she returned.

“That one name, A. Colchetti, she was a summer intern here under Mr. Bruce Emerson’s supervision for the months June through to August.”

“Is there a first name on that one?”

“No, there’s only a first initial on both the card and the application.”

“Okay.”

“The other woman, Milner, worked for Mr. Emerson as well.”

Starsky rose up off his fist. “This Emerson guy, what does he do here?”

“Why, um, Mr. Emerson is one of our best insurance agents. He writes up some of the major policies for our company.”

“Hmm. Do you mind if we keep these?” Hutch motioned with the file card.

She retrieved the cards from them artfully. “I’m sorry I can’t let you do that. The cards and the termination forms are company property. But I can make photostats of them for you.” She pointed towards a large mimeograph machine.

“That’d be fine. Oh, and ah, one more thing, please.”

She stopped in mid-turn. “Yes?”

Starsky finished out his partner’s request. “Where would we find Mr. Emerson?”

“Oh, he has the corner office on the fifth floor. His secretary’s name is Bea. She’ll be able to help you. I’ll just be making these up for you now.”

Both men nodded and waited. When she was finished, she handed the still warm copies of the cards and the termination papers to the blond man and waited for more instruction.

Hutch gave her a boyish parting grin. “Thank you, Miss Casden. You’ve been very helpful.”

Starsky reached over and impulsively tweaked her cheek. “Yeah, thanks a lot, sweetheart.”

The woman reluctantly smiled as they disappeared into a waiting elevator. Hutch rolled the copies in his hand into spiral form and banged them lightly against his palm. “Ah, the Hutchinson charm and the Starsky warmth, they haven’t failed us yet.”

“Yep. Puts a smile on even the crankiest face,” Starsky said to him as the doors closed.

“She was actually kind of cute with a smile on her face. Makes me wonder what a good dental plan could for her,” Hutch replied.

Starsky smiled. “Good old Hutch, ever the romantic.”

~~~

Bruce Emerson’s office was exactly where the personnel manager had said it would be, on the fifth floor. The elevator opened out into a large office space and his actual office was behind a big wooden oak door. The secretary’s nameplate read BEA FLORADAN, SR. SECRETARY. When they stepped off the elevator she was talking on the phone with someone. They stood out of sight for a moment and listened to her conversation.

“Oh, he’s a horrible man. I’ve never worked for such a beast in my whole life. He’s cruel and inhuman and I’m going to tell him so one day…oh, I don’t know when…after I work up some courage I suppose, then…I’ll…” The two of them moved forward and she looked up and stopped taking in mid-sentence. “Ah, Velma, I’ll have to call you back, it looks like we have some visitors…okay, goodbye.”

She scratched the back of her head as she hung up the phone and gave them a half-smile, and then looked up at them, clasping her hands in front of her. “Hello, may I help you?”

After hearing the content of her phone conversation, Miss Floradan appeared to have only a little better temperament than the manager in the Personnel office, but not much better. She was a challenge, but with a dose of the Hutchinson charm and Starsky’s disarming friendliness, they hoped to win her over to their side. Starsky pulled his badge and flashed it at her. “Hi there, we’re here to speak with Mr. Emerson. Is he in right now?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No. But it’s very important that we speak to him.” Starsky gave her a sly wink. “I’m Detective Starsky, and this is Detective Hutchinson.”

She smiled. “Well, Mr. Emerson has stepped out for a moment, but he’ll be returning shortly, if you’d like to wait.”

“We would, thank you. Would you mind if we asked you a few questions about him in the meantime?”

“Why, is he in trouble?” She looked as if she wished he were.

“No, he’s not. They’re just some general questions. Do you mind?”

“No, go ahead. I’ll tell you what I can.”

“Fair enough. How long have you worked for Emerson? And how is he to work for?”

“Well, I haven’t worked for him for a very long time. But if I had to describe working for him, I’d say he’s the dictator-type. He likes bullying people around to get his way, and then showing off his acquisitions after he’s stepped all over someone to get them. He really doesn’t much care how he acquires things.”

Hutch took notes. “Humph. So he likes expensive cars, clothes? Likes to wine and dine people? That kind of thing?”

“Yes. I haven’t figured out how he does it yet, he really doesn’t have that kind of a salary to draw from.”

“So, anyone in particular he goes around with that you can recall?”

“Well,” she whispered conspiratorially, as if she were sharing a tawdry secret with them. “He’s been known to bed his share of women around here. It doesn’t take much to turn him on. If they’re pretty and shallow, they’re his type. He’s one of those big, brawny guys, long on muscle, short on intellect, you know? Thank God I’m not into those types. In fact, he used to go out with the woman that I replaced. I don’t remember her name though, she was his secretary before I got here.”

Both men looked at each other, surprised by her candor. Hutch folded his notepad closed. “Well, thank you, Miss Floradan. You’ve been very helpful. We’ll let you know if there’s anything else.”

“No problem, officers. I’m glad I could help. Like I said, he should be coming back pretty soon. You can wait over there if you like.” She pointed to a row of chairs to their right.

“Thank you,” they said in unison.

Both took seats facing away from Emerson’s office door, making sure to position themselves directly in front of the elevator where they guessed he would arrive. Starsky checked his watch and eyeballed the proximity of the elevator doors to any exits. Nothing was close by. The last thing they wanted him doing was slipping past them once he got there. The curly-haired detective slid down in his seat and closed his eyes, while Hutch drummed a tune on the wooden portion of the chair he was occupying. After about a fifteen-minute wait, Emerson emerged from the elevator, briefcase in hand, stopping at the secretary’s desk to check for messages, he was oblivious to the two visitors waiting for him.

“Any messages, Bea?”

“No. But you have visitors.” She pointed out the two detectives, who immediately perked up in their seats.

He turned around. “Oh, okay.”

She looked down at her note pad to remind herself of their names. “Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson. They’re investigating a case. They’d like to ask you some questions.” She seemed to delight in filling him in on the last part.

Hutch got up first and extended his hand. “Mr. Emerson, I’m Detective Hutchinson, and this is my partner, Detective Starsky.”

Emerson shook the blond’s hand and then the brunet’s when he offered it. “To what do I owe this pleasure, officers?” From his Armani suit to his alligator shoes, he was smooth. He took off his hat and sunglasses and waited for one of them to answer.

Starsky clasped his hands behind his back, cut a glance at the man’s curious secretary and cleared his throat. “Do you mind if we take this into your office? It’s kind of a private matter.”

Emerson turned to his secretary and she looked at him levelly. No help there. “Ah, well, I suppose so. Will this take very long?”

“Not at all, sir. We just want to ask you some questions about a couple of former employees of yours.”

“All right. Follow me.”

Emerson led them to the door of his office, shifted his briefcase under his arm long enough to locate the door key from his trouser pocket and unlocked it. Starsky anticipated his need for help in getting in the door and leaned forward to open it, letting him precede them inside. The businessman set his briefcase on his desk and closed the door. He turned to them and took in a quiet, regular breath. “Okay, gentlemen. I’m all yours. Please, sit.”

He waited for them to ease into the client chairs in front of his desk and then went around his desk to sit down, he leaned his back against his chair and rested his elbows on the armrests. “What’s this all about?”

Hutch started first. “Mr. Emerson, my partner and I are investigating two deaths, a husband and wife named Elaine and John Colchetti. We have it on good authority that someone with the last name of Milner worked here as a secretary under your supervision, and we think there might be a connection.”

“Yes, she worked for me. What of it?”

“Well, before Mr. Colchetti, er, departed this life, he married a woman named Jessie Milner. We were checking out her background and as it happens, it turns out that her maiden name and the name of your last secretary are a match.”

Emerson bowed his head and steepled his fingers in front of him. “I really doubt that we’re talking about the same person here. The fact that their names match is probably purely coincidental. What does this woman look like that you’re looking for?”

Starsky leaned forward. “She’s about five nine, red hair, nice figure, could pass for a model.”

Emerson shook his head. “No, no way. Sharon Milner could never pass for a model. She was…ah…pretty in a plain way, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, okay. So what about this student you had working for you as a temporary assistant around the same time that Miss Milner worked here? You let her go. Why?”

Emerson smiled broadly, his calm demeanor slipping a little. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Starsky glared at him. “Look, we can make it our business. We could have the local police come through here and have them go over your books, check out your financial situation and find out that way, but we’d rather not go that route. Explaining things to them won’t be half as pleasant as explaining them to us now, and it won’t be quite as private. So I suggest that you tell us what we want to know.”

Emerson lifted his head. “Okay, okay. Since you put it that way, I guess I’ll have to come clean. I was seeing her, but it was mostly platonic. I mean, we’d kiss and whatever, but it was never more serious than that. I should have known trouble was coming because it seemed like the more things got out of hand at home, the more she’d come to me for consolation. She thought I was serious about her and she went and got hysterical on me one day, told me that her mother was killed in a car accident and that she was pregnant. Swore the child was mine. I told her there was no way I could be the father because we hadn’t done anything, but she didn’t believe me and she was going to make it difficult, so I had to let her go.”

“So you let her go for her own good, huh?”

“Yeah. I’m very big hearted that way.”

“Just an all-around swell guy.”

“That’s me. So, is that it? Have I answered all your questions?”

“In a minute, there’s one more thing.” Starsky said, knowing the answer to the question but dreading it at the same time. “What was her first name? There’s only a first initial in the files.”

“I think it was Angelina…no…Angela.”

Starsky did a subtle double take. “Angela? You’re sure on that?”

“Yeah, positive. Why? You know her?”

“No-I…”

Realizing that his partner’s reaction might give away the extent of his involvement with the case or worse, Hutchinson quickly stood up and dropped their calling card on the top of Emerson’s desk. He hustled his partner out of his chair and tried to rush him out of the office door. “That’s it for now, Mr. Emerson. If you remember anything else, please give us a call. The numbers are on the card.”

Emerson nodded twice but his eyes were on the darker man, the cop who was giving him the eagle eye. Starsky was standing up, but he wasn’t making any effort to leave. Hutch could see the gears turning in his partner’s head, he was putting two and two together and he didn’t like what they was adding up to. He put his hand on his friend’s stiffened arm and pulled. “C’mon, Starsk, let’s go.”

He pulled his partner towards the door by his left arm and ushered him out of the office. When the elevator arrived, he waved goodbye to Emerson’s secretary and they headed out of the building. When they were on the street, Starsky shook himself loose from Hutch’s grasp; he was ready to go off like a Roman candle.

“What’d you do that for this time?”

“I didn’t want you to make a scene back there.”

“I wasn’t gonna make a scene. I just wanted to ask the guy some more questions about the intern.” He laughed nervously. “Must be some kinda coincidence, huh?”

“I don’t think so, Starsk.”

“That’s what I was thought you were gonna say.”

“Right now we need to concentrate on Jessie Colchetti and whether there’s any connection between her and Sharon Milner. Despite what Emerson says, I think there’s more going on here than just a simple coincidence. Whatever’s going on with your fiancée-to-be is a private matter between you and her, let’s keep it that way.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I know I am. Let’s go.”

“Where’re we goin’?”

“To see the widow Colchetti.”

~~~

Emerson got up and locked his office door and was on the phone to Sharon Colchetti as soon as he saw the two detectives leave the building. As usual, the butler, Charles, answered the phone on the second ring. There was a ten-seconds too long pause before she came on the line.

“Hello?”

Her voice was calm and relaxed; she sounded rested and in much better spirits than she’d been with him at his place. He liked the sound and wanted to hear it that way more often.

“Sharon, this is Bruce. Are you alone?”

She looked around the room and saw no one. “Yes, I’m alone. What is it? If it’s about the estate, it’s going to be a little while before all the paper work’s finalized.”

“I know, but this is something else. I wanted to warn you about the two cops who came to see me today. One’s a brunet, the other’s blond. They were asking about Sharon Milner’s employment history, the good thing is they don’t’ seem to have a clue who they’re looking for.”

“So they’re probably on their way here to talk to me now.”

“Probably. So this is what I need you to do. Don’t act nervous or jumpy, and don’t take a drink. Just tell them you never worked here before in your life. The background trail I created for your alias should hold up. There’s no way for them to prove or disprove where you worked before.”

“Okay, all right. Did they ask about Angela?”

“Yes.”

“Damn. What if they ask me about her? They’re sure to find out something if they dig long enough and deep enough. And when they do, they’re going to find out she was a minor and that you and she were sleeping together.”

“That’s not going to happen, Sharon. I’ve told them my side of the story, that she’s a hysterical young woman in trouble who’s just lost her mother within the span of a month and now she’s grasping at straws. I think they bought it. Don’t worry. Everything’s going be all right.”

Sharon sighed. “You keep saying that, Bruce. But so far, things haven’t been. What if they start believing her story?”

“That just means instead of having my contact take care of things–like he did with her parents–I’ll have to care of it.” He wrung his hands. “Hell, all she had to do was get lost with the kid and things would have been all right, at least till we were settled in.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“You just stay there and be calm and answer their questions and I’ll call you when it’s all over. What’d you say that detective’s name was that came over and talked to you that day?”

“Star…Starksy, I think. I don’t know. It was something like that.”

“Hold on.” Emerson set the receiver down and found the business card that the blond detective had left on his desk. He picked it up and read it. One of the names on it was Detective David M. Starsky, the cop who’d done the questioning, and beside his name was the other one, named Hutchinson. Written in pen was a separate phone number. He smiled and put the receiver back to his ear. “So Angie brought this detective with her the day he came to the house, right?”

“Yes, they seemed to know each other. Why?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up the phone.

Sharon hung up too and headed straight for the bar. Poured herself a drink. She took vodka straight, no ice. She shook as she drunk it down, hoping that it would steady her nerves before the cops got there. The stronger the better, she thought, and poured herself one more, despite Bruce’s warning.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Emerson dialed the number on the business card then sat and listened to the phone ring. In a few seconds the ringing stopped and a female voice came on the line. He heard her say hello, and paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, then he spoke. “Hello, this is Bruce Emerson. I’d like to speak to detectives Starsky and Hutchinson.”

“I’m sorry, they aren’t here right now. Would you like to leave a message?”

“Um, well, ah, they came by to see me today to ask me some questions today, and I just got hold of some more information that I think might be of interest to them. They said to call, so I did. I really think it might be important. Do you think they’d mind if I came down and waited for them?”

“Ah, well, I don’t know about that.”

“I wouldn’t ask, except that I’m leaving town for two weeks on business and…”

“Oh.” The woman checked at her watch. “I guess it won’t hurt to give you the address and get your phone number. I’ll have them give you a call when they get back and you can come on down then. Do you have a pen handy?”

“One second.” Emerson picked up a pen, found a slip of paper to write on and said, “Ready.” When she had given him the address; he thanked her and hung up. He felt in the breast pocket of his suit coat and found a key, using it to open the top drawer of his desk. The only one he kept locked. He pulled a small caliber pistol from inside; looked it over and wiped it clean with a cloth that had lain in the drawer with it. After hefting it and checking the chamber, he loaded it, and put it in his coat. After letting his secretary know that he’d be out for a while, he left the building.

PART FOUR

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson arrived at the front gate of the Colchetti estate and were let inside by the butler. He opened the main door to let them in. He did not look thrilled to see them.

“You’re here to see Mrs. Colchetti, correct?”

Hutch showed him his badge. “Yes, we are. Could you tell her we’re here, please?”

“Of course, right away, gentlemen. Follow me.”

He led them through the mansion’s expanse until they came to the door of a small room; they went down several carpeted steps and ended up in what looked like a game room of sorts. There was a pool table, a big screen television, a full bar and a dartboard game secured to a paneled wood wall. The room seemed totally out of step with the rest of the place and the bewilderment on the detective’s faces showed. The butler noticed their curious looks and addressed them. “You’re probably wondering about this room. This was Mr. Colchetti’s favorite spot. When he wanted to enjoy the simpler things of life, he came here. It gave him much pleasure.” They nodded. “Please make yourselves comfortable. Mrs. Colchetti will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you, Charles, “they said.

After the butler left, Hutch walked over to the dartboard and pulled off some darts that were stuck in the middle of the bull’s eye portion of board. He stood back a good length from the toe line, aimed and threw a couple of practice throws at it. Starsky took a seat on one of the barstools, braced his elbows behind him on the bar and tucked his feet in behind the foot rail to watch him. He marveled as each dart his partner threw landed in a spot scoring higher than the last.

“Hey, you think you could do that with your eyes closed?” he asked him.

Hutch poised to throw the last dart, his face the portrait of fierce concentration; he answered his partner without looking. “Don’t know, Starsk. I’ve never tried.” He tossed the dart in his fingers and watched it land directly in the middle of the bull’s eye. He smiled, moved forward and pulled the thrown darts out of the board to start again.

“I’ll bet I could do it.”

“Do what?”

“Play with my eyes closed.”

Hutch laughed. “That’s a sucker bet, Starsky. And I’d be a fool to take it. Besides, if you lost, it might screw with your self-esteem, hurt your pride, and I wouldn’t want to be responsible for letting that happen.”

“Yeah, sure, you’re just afraid that I might beat ya.”

Hutch turned around and looked at him, poising one of the darts at him as if he were about to throw it. “Don’t tempt me, Starsky. I might just try some practice tosses on you.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Just then Mrs. Colchetti walked into the room. She was wearing a short-sleeved white blouse with wide lapels over a pair of khaki slacks; on her feet were sand-colored espadrilles. In casual wear, she was still a knockout. Both men stopped what they were doing when she came into the room. Hutch jammed the darts that were still in his hand back into the board in one motion and his partner extricated himself from his seat. He went over to greet her as she approached.

She offered her hand to the darker man. “Hello. Nice to see you again, detective.”

“Nice to see you again. Ah, this here is my partner, Detective Hutchinson.”

Hutchinson shook her hand; appearing somewhat mesmerized by her beauty, he smiled effusively. “Glad to meet you, Mrs. Colchetti, we were both sorry to hear about your husband.”

“Thank you.” She released her hand and motioned to a fabric sofa. “Won’t you both sit down?”

“Sure.”

When they were seated, she smiled at them and they smiled at her. There was an uncomfortable pall in the room. She folded her arms across her body and grabbed her forearms, rubbing her palms against them, her face nearly pale. She took a deep breath. “Are either of you guys cold?”

Both men shook their heads. No. The room felt fine.

“Well, I’m freezing. Do you mind if I make myself a drink?”

“Not at all,” Hutch answered. But it looked to him like she’d already had a couple before they’d gotten there. “Go ahead.”

After she made the drink and took a couple of sips, she resituated herself between them on the couch. The warmth of the liquor seemed to have the desired affect and she turned towards both men, the color returning to her face. “Oh my, that’s better,” she said breathlessly. “I don’t come here too often. It’s always a little chilly. Ah, you said on the phone that you had some questions for me?”

Hutch smiled, his head slightly bowed. “Yes, there are a couple of areas we need clarification on and we think you might be able to help us.”

“If I can.”

“I take it you’ve already gotten a call from the medical examiner and he told you about his findings?”

“Yes. They told me he’d been poisoned.” She changed her position on the couch slightly and looked straight into his eyes.

“Any idea why anyone would want to kill him?”

“My husband had a large estate. There are probably a lot of people out there who might have liked to get at his money.” She sipped the drink again, holding the glass loosely in her hands.

Hutch leaned toward her. “I think you should know that we did some checking into your background, just as a matter of routine.”

Her forehead wrinkled, she didn’t have a cigarette, but she looked like she needed one. “The spouse is always the first one the cops suspect, isn’t that right?”

“That’s true.”

She nodded knowingly.

“Can you tell us anything about your job at Warwicke’s?”

“Um, I worked there for a couple of years, in the cosmetics department. Did some modeling. Then it went out of business, only a few years ago I believe.”

“Is that how you met Mr. Colchetti?”

“Um, yes, he would come into the department store regularly, to buy some things. We just hit it off.”

“Did you know that he was a married at the time?”

“Yes, he told me he was…after a while. But he also hinted that the marriage was on the rocks.”

“So he gave you the go ahead to make a move?”

“Yes.”

“During the course of our investigation, we spoke to an insurance agent named Bruce Emerson at Penn State Mutual earlier today. And in addition to being the insurance company holding the life insurance policies on the family, it also happens to be the insurance company that insured the late Mrs. Colchetti’s BMW. The car she was driving the day of her accident. Were you aware of that?”

She looked a little confused, but then said, “Yes, John told me after we were married that we should get a policy written in my name with that company.”

“Um hum. We had a file check done by their personnel office, one on the last name Colchetti and the other on the last name Milner; they came up with two: A. Colchetti and Sharon Milner. After we found out that they both worked with Emerson, we went to his office and asked him about them. He told us, rather reluctantly, that A. Colchetti was Angela Colchetti, your husband’s daughter. When we asked him about Sharon Milner, he gave us a description of the woman who worked for him. He concluded that the fact that your maiden name and her last name were the same was a coincidence, and that we couldn’t possibly be talking about the same two women. In our line of work, coincidences like that don’t happen very often, so when one does, of course, we have to check it out.”

“I understand.”

“Okay, so here’s what we know so far: one, that you were employed at Warwicke’s department store until it closed down a few years ago and two, that is how you happened to become acquainted with John Colchetti, eventually coming to marry him. Unfortunately, we’re unable to verify that information because the store has been closed since you last worked there. Thirdly, we know that Bruce Emerson had a close relationship with Colchetti’s daughter while she was working at his office and that he fired her because she suspected that he was the father of her unborn child. And fourth, we know from speaking with his secretary that he has a reputation of bedding the ladies, particularly secretaries, and that he likes to live beyond his means. What we still don’t know is what you and a secretary named Sharon Milner have in common? Can you tell us anything?”

She didn’t answer immediately, but her slow reaction alerted the blond to the possibility that his question had touched on a sensitive area. If they were to prod a little deeper, there was no telling what they might find out. Starsky was on edge; he got up and began to pace on the other side of the couch.

She fussed nervously with the bangs on her forehead as they strayed into her eyes. “I–I don’t know what you mean.”

The darker cop’s voice seemed to come from another part of the room, even though he was just a few feet away. “How is it that you and Sharon Milner have the same last name?”

“We’re sisters,” she muttered.

“Ah. Nope. We already thought of that. It might interest you to know that a background check on a person also includes their birth records, and the ones we found on Sharon Milner indicate that she was an only child.”

She lowered her eyes. “Th-that’s not possible.”

“Sure it is. And you know what I think? I think, after you found out that Colchetti was a lonely guy with lotsa dough to play around with, you rigged a plan to get rid of his wife and get the money all for yourself.”

“That’s not true, that’s not how it happened!”

The detective moved closer to the sofa and brought both of his hands down hard on the back of it. “Then tell us what did happen? Was it luck that led you to him? Or did you plan it?”

“I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t even know about John until Bruce introduced me to him.”

Both men looked at each other. Aha. A revelation.

Starsky continued. “So it was Emerson. I knew there was something rotten about him. Why don’t you tell us about it?”

“If I do, then it’s all over.”

“It’s already over. The captain of detectives has medical proof that Mr. Colchetti’s death wasn’t an accident. If we look hard enough, I’m pretty sure we’ll find out his wife’s wasn’t either. That would mean that someone planned to kill them and wanted the police to think their deaths were accidents. We think you know who it is.” Hutch said bluntly.

She shook her head.

Starsky moved in closer. “If you don’t tell us now and we find out later on that you knew, but didn’t tell us, we’ll have to take you down as an accessory to double murder. And I’d sure hate to see someone with your looks and personality doing hard time. It’s not very pretty.”

She took a long hard look at both men and mentally weighed her options. “What will happen to me if I tell you what I know?”

“We’ll put a good word in with the judge. If you’re lucky, he may be lenient with the sentencing. But we can’t promise anything.”

She thought about it another moment, and then let out a sigh. “All right, I’ll tell you what I know.” She finished what was left of the glass in her hand and set it on the coffee table. A sorrowful noise escaped her lips. Starsky was sitting on the back of the sofa, staring at the right side of her face, watching her collect herself. Hutch readied his notepad and she glanced at him.

“Okay. You got a lot of paper on that pad? This is a long story.”

“That’s okay, I know shorthand,” he said.

“Okay, first of all, you were right about Sharon and me not being sisters. My birth name is Sharon Jessica Milner. I’d been out of work for a good three months in a row when I got a call to come down to Penn State for an interview. I didn’t look the way I do now, back then I was a mousy, dowdy brunette. I had the right skills and the right background, so they hired me. When my probation period was over, I was offered a chance for a promotion, which I accepted. I was still playing catch up, you know, struggling to pay my rent; my car was in the shop, you know how it goes.”

Both men nodded.

“Eventually, they reassigned me to the sales department as a personal secretary in the life policies section, that’s when I started working for Bruce. It was strictly business for a long time; I guess he was feeling me out. After I’d been there for about six months, I noticed him giving me the eye more and more. I was surprised and kind of thrilled at the same time, that a guy who looks like he does and dresses like he does, was actually interested in plain little old me, I guess it just about knocked my socks off. So we went out a few times, secretly. Then after a while, we didn’t even bother trying to hide it. But you know how it is; soon enough the word gets round and before we knew it there were other women, other secretaries, coming and telling me about his past. So, of course, I confronted him with what I knew and surprisingly he admitted it. He promised me that that part of his life was over, in the past. And I was naïve enough to believe him.” She shrugged.

“Did he do what he promised?” Hutch asked.

She nodded. “That and much more. He once told me that he saw more beauty in me than he’d ever seen in any woman before in his life. He wanted to bring that beauty out. He said that I was special, and that he wanted more for me. It was the first time anyone had every said anything like that to me.”

“Go on,” Starsky pressed.

“So anyway, it wasn’t so long after that that John starting coming by the office with his lawyers. It must have been right after he’d gotten the inheritance, because he told Bruce that he wanted to open up life insurance policies for himself and his wife and daughter. The policies were very lucrative and Bruce knew then that he had his man.” She paused.

“Keep going.”

“About a year after John requested the policies, he came by to see Bruce to finalize some of the papers, and during the course of their conversation, he must have mentioned that his daughter was looking for a summer job. That was when Bruce found out that Angela was John’s daughter. That’s when he got the idea to hire her. He started seeing her after that, not before.”

“What a prince,” Starsky said, and Hutch shushed him.

“He just figured it would be a good way to find out if there was a way to get at the money. So he hired her as an intern to help around the office. She’d just gotten out of school for the summer and she seemed to be a perfect source of information. You know, good looking, book smart, but impressionable, and Bruce used that to serve his purpose. All the while he promised me that he was still faithful, and that he was only doing this for us. He certainly seemed to be getting the information he needed, so I never questioned his methods.” She stopped and looked at them both.

“A regular wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Starsky grumbled. Hutch gave him a pointed look.

She stared ahead and ventured on. “So I looked the other way while he seduced John’s daughter, because it was the way he learned about their family and their weaknesses. He knew all the ins and outs of the business and had the connections, and those connections were the key to getting at the money.”

“Did you know beforehand what he had planned for Colchetti and his wife?” Hutch asked.

“No. Not until after it happened. He wanted me to have as little knowledge as possible of what was going to happen in case I was ever suspected.”

“So the less you knew, the less you could tell the police,” Starsky said.

“Right.” She crossed and uncrossed her legs at the ankles, folded and refolded her hands. “After a while, the casual thing with John’s daughter got more serious. He had her so comfortable with him that she was confiding all her deepest, most private thoughts to him. And about two months into it, she came to see him, unannounced and out of the blue, goes into his office and closes the door. She’s in there for a half an hour with the door closed. When she comes out, she’s in tears, and after she’s gone, I ask him what happened. He tells me she told him she’s in the family way. He says he doesn’t believe the child is his, and that it’s not possible for them to continue seeing each other.”

Came the reply: “What a peach of a guy.”

Hutch ignored his partner’s comments from then on.

“So he let her go with the explanation that it wouldn’t look good for him to let her stay on considering her condition. And with things already shaky with her parents, him firing her was just the last straw I guess.”

Hutch tapped his pencil on the notepad. “So when he didn’t need her for information anymore, he dumped her. How’d you get involved?”

“By then, Bruce had already enough background on the family, and he knew what their weaknesses were, it was very easy to play on them. He knew that John was disinterested in his wife, so he sent me to a hairdresser, brought me the right clothes, we worked on my diction and carriage and we had the woman you see before you today, Jessie Milner. After I was comfortable with my new persona, he sent me out to the estate to start working on John. Which was easy, because John was already open to the idea of a relationship that existed outside of his marriage. Of course, after I came into the picture, it made life a little more complicated for his wife and his daughter. Then the car accident happened, and his daughter ran away shortly after we got married.”

Hutch put up his hand, staring at his notepad. “Okay, wait a minute. Something doesn’t add up. When did she tell Emerson that she was expecting?”

She thought about it for a moment. “It must have been about four months ago.”

Hutch turned to Starsky, frowning. “You said it was a summer internship. Was that high school or college?”

“High school. I think John told me that Angie was born August of sixty-one. So that would make her about seventeen or so.”

A mask of apprehension swept over Starsky’s face. “Are you sure about that? I was under the impression that she was twenty-one, maybe twenty at the youngest.”

“No, she’s just a girl. And Bruce knew that, too. If John had gotten hold of that information he would have had him on a statutory rape charge for sure. The way it was, it was just her word against his about the affair and the baby.”

Both men shook their heads.

“I don’t believe this guy,” Starsky muttered.

“Okay, you know Emerson,” the blond detective said after closing the notepad. “What’s he capable of?”

“I think he’d do just about anything if he felt he had to. It costs him a lot of money to live the way he does, and I know for a fact that there are some dangerous men out there that he owes a lot of money to. That was part of the reason he needed to make this happen so desperately. The last thing he said before you two got here was that he was going to have to take care of the last detail of the plan himself. I know he’s going to do something awful.”

Both men pointed at each other at the same time, but it was Starsky who got the words out. “Hutch. You left him the card with Frankie’s number on it.”

“Damn.” Hutch shot up from the couch. “I need to use your phone.”

“Sure, go ahead, it’s over there.” She pointed to a phone set behind the bar.

Starsky rose from the sofa and put his hand on her arm. “You’re gonna have to come with us, you know that, right?”

“Yes, I know.”

Hutch picked up the receiver and anxiously dialed Frankie’s number, but all he got for his trouble was a steady beeping on the line. “Busy,” he announced to Starsky. “I’m gonna call Kraft.” His partner nodded and he broke the connection and redialed, waiting for someone at the station to answer, and someone did. It was the dispatch operator. “Hello, this is Detective Kenneth Hutchinson, Captain Kraft please…okay.” There was a brief pause before the captain came on the line. “This is Hutchinson, Captain. Starsky and I have a potential problem going down and I think we’re going to need some major back up at the house where we’re staying. You know how to get there? Okay…yes…we’ll meet you there…okay, thanks.” He hung up, stuffed the notepad into his breast pocket and fell in step with his partner and the woman as they headed for the door.

“Am I under arrest?” she asked.

“For now, no. If Emerson does what we think he will, you might be able to help us talk to him.”

She nodded solemnly. As if summoned, Charles appeared at top of the stairs. “Madam, would you be needing any assistance?” he asked, looking grave.

They stopped at the door and she faced him, then looked at both detectives. “No, Charles. Someone will…um, no…I guess not. Thank you.”

The butler frowned and followed after the trio as they left the game room and went up to the main entrance. The two detectives led the woman outside and put her into the back of the Dodge. The butler watched them until they drove away, then shrugged and closed the door.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Emerson found his way to the address that Mrs. Brown had given him easily enough. He parked his sky blue Camaro close to the bushes outside the wood frame two-story house and found his way in by climbing a garden trellis that led up to the roof. From there, he clambered up into a half-open window. He stepped quietly onto the carpeting and went out of the door, stopping in his tracks when he heard a female voice coming from below. Pulling back and peeking past the retaining wall enough to see down, but not enough to be seen, he saw a woman, probably the owner, sitting in the living room talking on the telephone. Fortunately for him, she did not seem aware of his presence. He edged his way back up the stairs and into the hall standing next to what appeared to be the bathroom. Past it, there appeared to be a set of ascending stairs leading down and out to the rear of the house. He waited.

He moved his stocky frame smoothly along the wallpapered hall, moved and waited, moved and waited. Stopped. He pulled the pistol out of his pocket and held it closely, beginning his search by entering the first of the three rooms on the floor. In the interior of the first room, the one nearest the window, he found no one. The condition of the room alerting him that it was in use, but had not been recently occupied since that morning. He closed the door. Next he checked the bathroom, and came to the same conclusion. No one had used it since that morning. Crossing the hall to the second room, he blinked, tried the knob, and found it locked. He stepped back and closed his eyes, remembering, and then returned to the first room he’d gone into and went in. Sure enough, the connecting door he’d thought he’d seen, was there. He took in a deep breath, let it out, and tried the knob. To his relief, it opened. He peered in and saw Angela lying on her back, asleep on the bed. He stole toward her softly, and when he was close enough he put his right hand over her mouth, waking her. When she opened her eyes, he put his index finger to his lips, the gun plainly visible. He was wearing dark sunglasses and a black fisherman’s cap, carefully tilted over his eyes to partially disguise his face. She stared at him, eyes terrified and questioning. He kissed her roughly on her left cheek.

“Hello, Angel. How’ve you been?”

She moved her head a little, her eyes still wide.

“If you promise not to scream, I’ll take my hand off your mouth. Do you promise not to scream?”

She nodded her head several times, very quickly.

He removed his hand, but held the gun on her where she still could see it. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m all right. What are you doing here?”

“This is it, Angie, I’ve come for my payoff. I’m taking you with me.”

“Taking me with you where?”

He laughed. “Someplace where you and the kid won’t mess up everything. Come on–get up. Get some shoes on. Hurry up.”

Angela sat up on the bed and slipped her feet into a pair of tennis shoes that were tucked halfway under the side of the bed. She didn’t bother with socks. When she had them on he grabbed her by an arm and pushed her toward the door. “I want you to get the owner of this place up here.”

“Why? What are you going to do?”

“I’ve got to get her out of the way. Go on, call her up.”

“You won’t hurt her, will you?” she asked plaintively.

“Not if I don’t have to. Go ahead, call her up here.”

Emerson stood behind her at the landing, pressing the gun into the base of her spine as motivation. She squeezed her eyes shut and then called down shakily, “Mrs. Brown, I need you. Could you come up here please?”

The woman took the phone away from her ear and called up. “What’s the matter, child? Are you all right?”

“I need you to come and help me with something. Hurry, please?”

“Why surely, I’ll be up there in a minute.”

Mrs. Brown finished with her call, hung up the phone, and got up from her chair; she made her way up the stairs. When she was halfway up, Emerson pulled the girl behind him, whispered in her ear, “Don’t move, or she’s a dead woman. Do you understand?”

Angel nodded that she understood and pressed herself against the wall.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Mrs. Brown watched her footing on the steps as she went up, when there was no answer from the girl, she let her eyes travel up until her sightline met with the black leather oxfords waiting at the top of the landing. She followed the shoes up from the floor and past the creased pants legs to the white business shirt, eventually settling on the face. The half smile on her own disappeared as soon as Emerson started batting at her with the gun. “Get up here, now!” he ordered.

She did as she was told, letting Emerson grab her. He clamped both of her arms behind her and when he spoke, his breath was hot in her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you. But I can’t have you warning the police. So…” He started steering her towards Angel’s bedroom. “I need to get you out of the way.” He motioned to Angel and said to her, “Stay close to me.” She followed him into the room after he had steered the owner inside. He needed something to tie her up with, but didn’t see anything suitable for the purpose. Quickly exploring the interior of the room, he hunted until he found what he sought, a partially open closet door. Figuring that it would do, he led her over to it. “I’m going to lock you in here. If you do as you’re told, and keep quiet, maybe the cops will come and let you out after we’re long gone.”

Mrs. Brown braced stiffly against the doorjamb in an effort to keep him from pushing her in. She thought that maybe if she could get him talking, she could stall him long enough for the two officers to return. “Why are you doing this?” Then something registered. “Wait a minute, now I know who you are. You’re that man on the phone…why?”

“Look, lady, I don’t have the time to explain to you right now, just get in the closet!”

Emerson unceremoniously shoved her inside, watching as her thick body thumped against the inside of the closet and slid down to the floor with a soft thud. He shut the door and went for the skeleton key, turning it so that it locked, then dropped the key into his pocket. When he looked up he saw Angel standing on his right, uncharacteristically quiet and impassive, and something stirred inside him. He yanked her arm out roughly, breaking her out of her trance. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here before those cops get back.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I’ve got a lot of money riding on this. You’re my ticket to the good life.”

Emerson lifted the cap from his head slightly and wiped his brow of the sweat that had built up there. Exhausted, he led her out of the bedroom and down the front of the stairs; he heard the sound of sirens in the distance and stopped in his tracks. Then he half led, half-dragged the girl down the rest of the stairs until they were standing in the living room, just at the front door. He peeked through the shirred curtains that covered the large rectangular pane of glass in it, and that was when he saw them.

A green Dodge was pulling to a halt in the front of the house and parking. Inside the car, Detective Ken Hutchinson carefully scanned the area surrounding the perimeter of the house, almost missing the blue Camaro someone had parked there. He motioned silently to his partner and pointed the car out. Starsky nodded. Mrs. Colchetti followed what they were looking at and saw the car too. She knew immediately whom it belonged to. The darker detective turned and saw the look on her face. “That’s Emerson’s car, isn’t it?” he asked.

She nodded her head slowly, looking sick.

Hutch leaned his head back against the upholstery. “Which means he’s inside, possibly armed and already has Angela and Frankie. What’ll we do?”

“The first thing we have to do is get him outside. Get him talkin’.”

“Yeah, and then what?”

“Then we try negotiatin’ with him.”

“I don’t think he’ll listen to you,” she told them.

Hutch turned to her. “Do you think he’ll listen to you?”

“Maybe. He loves me. He did this for me, for us. I think he’ll listen.”

Starsky was almost sympathetic. “The things we do for love, huh?”

“Well, some of us more than others,” she replied softly.

Hutch checked the side view mirror and saw what looked like half a dozen of Philadelphia’s finest pulling up behind them. After they’d parked he got out of the Dodge and went over to the captain as he exited an unmarked blue sedan. He shook the blond’s hand as he approached. “Hutchinson, I’ve got half my men out here,” he said. “What the hell’s going on?”

Hutchinson stood next to him. “We’ve got a possibly volatile hostage situation. The guy’s in there with two women, only he hasn’t made a move since we showed up. As it turns out, we might have an ace in the hole, it seems the widow and Mr. Emerson have a closer relationship then we might have suspected. We think she might be able to influence him to give himself up.

“Where is she?”

“In the car with my partner.”

Kraft pulled off his glasses and cleaned them, a nervous habit he’d acquired over the years whenever things got a little tense. “Okay. Let’s see what he wants.” He put the glasses back on and turned to his men. “We’re gonna see what this guy wants, if we can accommodate him, we’ll do it, up to a point. If it gets down and dirty, then we’ll have to get down and dirty with him. But I don’t want anything happening until we’ve heard what he has to say, got it? Everybody got that?”

All of the officers assented and stood ready at their vehicles, their guns drawn. Kraft turned to the detective beside him. “He’s all yours. See what you and your partner can do with him. If we have to, we’ll move in and take him.”

Hutch nodded, went back to the car and got in, closing the door behind him. He put his hand on Starsky’s shoulder. Even his lips looked grim. Starsky glanced at him sideways. “Well, what’s the plan?” he asked.

“Well, it’s like this, buddy, I thought maybe, just maybe, once we could get Emerson outside, get him talking to the lady here, then you could probably get around to the side or the back of the house and make it inside the same way he did. Then while you’re in there you could check and see if Frankie’s okay and maybe try and get her out of there. If that goes okay, we’ll take it from there. How’s that sound?”

“I don’t like it.”

“What’s not to like?”

“It involves heights. And you know how I hate heights.”

“Well, squelch it, turkey.”

“Hey, who you callin’ a turkey, Chicken Little?”

Sharon Colchetti sat forward and addressed them from the backseat. “I’m so glad you two are comfortable enough to joke at a time like this.”

Hutch peered at her. “And this too shall pass”, a wise man once said. Don’t worry, he does that when he gets anxious.” He turned back to the curly haired man. “Well, don’t just sit there, Superman, get going.”

“Wait a minute, just gotta readjust my cape.” Starsky winked and got out of the car. He hung back and disappeared into the assemblage of police officers gathered in a vigilant half-circle around the perimeter. On his partner’s signal, he would wait for Mrs. Colchetti to distract Emerson long enough for him to try and slip around the side of the house without being seen.

Inside the house, Emerson showed signs of losing his composure. His brawn and his connections meant nothing now. He felt horribly impotent and weak to the point of nausea. He heard the muffled sounds of the owner’s attempts to free herself from the closet trickling down the stairs. Angela sat in an armchair across from him, staring blankly. Without warning, the sound of an amplified male voice broke through the near silence.

“Emerson! We know you’re in there, come out and tell us what you want!”

Emerson jumped up from where he sat, going to the front door and looking out of it again, jerking the curtains aside. Outside, he saw a tall, solidly built older black man dressed in a dark business suit and tie, probably high ranking, holding a bullhorn to his lips. The breath caught in his throat. He was running every option he could think of in his head for a way out. But no matter what scenario played out in his head, each seemed to come to a dismal end, like that Newman and Redford flick he’d seen a few years back.

Kraft used the bullhorn again. “We’re waiting, Emerson! But we’re not going to wait long. What are your demands?”

Angel saw a wild look of fear grip Emerson’s face, and thought it looked horribly incongruous for someone who looked as imposing as he did. He looked over and glared at her, but said nothing. The next thing she knew she was out of the chair and being led towards the door. He held her arm stiffly with his left hand while the other steadied the gun; and then he told her to open it, which she did. “I’m coming out!” he yelled. Then using the girl as a shield, they walked outside and stood under the overhang.

“Nobody move!” he screamed at them. “I mean it!” He was holding the gun to her head.

The minute Emerson came out of the front door the officers went into alert mode. Captain Kraft handed the bullhorn off to Hutchinson and he put it to his mouth. “It’s okay, Emerson. It’s okay. Calm down. Tell us what you want, and we’ll try to negotiate something. There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt here!”

“I just want to get in my car and leave! And I want to take the girl with me!”

“We can’t let you take the girl. But if you let her and the owner go, maybe we can try and work a deal. You haven’t hurt anyone yet, so let’s keep it that way.”

“What kind of a deal could you possibly offer me that would make a any sense? If I don’t get out of this, then I’m as good as dead. Why should I deal?”

“How about for the love of a good woman?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Sharon are in love with each other, aren’t you?”

Emerson looked around, his composure lost for the moment, and then stopped in the detective’s direction. “Is Sharon here?”

Hutchinson now made eye contact with his partner in the crowd, signaling to him that Emerson was adequately distracted. When Starsky saw it, he acknowledged the gesture, and with a turn of his head slipped away from the squad of officers watching the stand off take place. The blond cop put the bullhorn back to his lips and waited until his partner had disappeared then addressed the suspect again. He stood watching the man’s eyes dart back and forth. Searching… waiting.

“Would you like to speak to her, Bruce?”

Emerson’s eyes glazed over. The orbs searched the area as though lost. Feeling the time was now at hand; Hutch handed the bullhorn back to the captain and walked over to the Dodge; he opened the passenger door and helped Sharon Colchetti out of the car. She swung her legs out, taking the detective’s hand when it was offered to her, and they walked side by side up to the front of the house, going as close as they dared. Emerson forcefully put up his free hand. “Stop! Don’t come any closer.”

“She wants to talk to you, Bruce. What harm can that do?”

“She might get hurt. I don’t want her hurt!”

“No one wants that. So why don’t you just listen? See what she has to say. Hopefully, we can solve this thing.”

He turned to her. “Sharon?”

She turned to the man beside her and looked once into his eyes, communicating to the detective without words that she needed to do this alone. Hutchinson backed up about ten feet. Far enough to give them the distance they needed, but not so far away that he couldn’t tackle the man if he had to. When the detective was behind her, she moved closer to Emerson, her hands stretched out to him. “Let it go, Bruce. I told them everything, it’s over.”

“No. We can still do this. You and me, we could charter a jet and go someplace, get out of town. We could take her with us.”

“No. Innocent people have died. We need to put a stop to this, right here. Right now.”

“But the money. All that money…”

“Don’t you know that all I ever wanted was for you and I to be together? It never was about the money for me. You’ve always thought that it was about the money.”

His attention diverted, emotions running high, she moved a step closer to him and with each step he backed away, trying to keep his eyes on her, the girl and the policemen all at the same time. It was like an intricate dance. Hutchinson inched forward from where he stood as well, but the minute movement put Emerson on his guard. He held onto Angel’s arm a little tighter with his left hand and pointed the gun at the blond with his right. “I said, nobody moves!”

Hutch put up his hands in a placating manner, returning himself to where he’d been standing earlier, though not exactly.

Sharon put out her hand out to him again, pleading. “Please, put down the gun.”

Emerson fixed on her again, a pained expression on his face. “You told them? How could you tell them, Sharon?”

“I had to. It was the only way out.”

Starsky was in a holding pattern; watching and waiting as the hostage situation before him played itself out in front of a captive but volatile audience. With Emerson still preoccupied with his girlfriend, he started for the roof. Climbing had never been his strong suit, but he didn’t shirk it. For him, the trick was resisting the urge to look down after he was up. He was wearing his blue and white Adidas running shoes and a royal blue work shirt over a pair of weathered jeans, properly dressed for the task ahead. When he was onto the slanted portion of the roof, he inched across it carefully until he was at a right angle with the corner of one of the upstairs bedrooms. Once he was there, he could see the slightly open window that Emerson must have gotten in through earlier. He inched over to it, grabbing onto a pipe attached to the wall by several metal strips, and swung himself over, his hands sweaty and unsure, hoping the strips would hold his weight. He put one hand in the open window space and pushed up, opening it wide enough for him to climb through.

Once he was inside the house he knew what room he’d climbed into. His and Hutch’s suitcases were still lying on the double beds. He heard muffled noises coming from the room next door, the one that Angela had been using. He walked over and tried the connecting door, breaching it cautiously, brandishing his Beretta in the process. The muffled noise was clearer once he was inside the room and sounded as if it were coming from the closet. He tried it, but found it locked from the outside. He didn’t see a key, so he knocked. Surprisingly enough, someone answered.

“Who’s out there?

“Is that you, Frankie??”

“David? Yes, it’s me. Can you let me out of here?”

He looked around the room and whispered through the door, “I’d like to, but there doesn’t seem to be a key.”

Frankie was quiet. “That man who grabbed Angela must have taken it. Wait a minute.” He could hear her shifting around. “Maybe I have a copy. It’s dark in here, but…hold on…just a minute.”

Starsky waited with his gun still drawn, just in case Emerson decided to leave his reception committee downstairs and make a run for it the way he’d come in.

“Here, try this,” she said, painstakingly pushing a spare skeleton key through the narrow space between the bottom of the door and the floor.

As soon as it appeared, he knelt down and picked it up. He put it into the slot and turned it, trying the knob and opening the door. Light flooded in and he saw Frankie Brown sitting on the floor, unharmed, neither bound nor gagged. He put the safety on his gun and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, then pulled her up with both hands. She stood next to him adjusting her eyes to the light.

“What’s happening out there?”

“Emerson’s making everybody nervous.”

“What do we do?”

“We wait.”

“How long?”

“Until bright eyes out there gets wise or the police get tired of waiting to negotiate with him. Does this place have a back door?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Then I think we’d better high tail it outta here.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sharon Colchetti was at the bottom of the porch stairs now, her stepdaughter was close to tears and Emerson’s hand was trembling as he held the gun lax at his side. She moved slowly to the next step, inching ever closer. “Bruce. Please, I’m begging you, let her go.”

“I can’t. She’s all we’ve got.”

“Bruce. She’s not a bargaining tool. Let her go. If you don’t, I’ll have to go away.”

He moved the gun from his side back to the girl’s head. “No! You can’t do that! I did this for you, for us. If you leave, then it will have been for nothing.”

“I know you wanted to make me happy. But I also know that what you did wasn’t just for me, wasn’t just for us. Part of what you did was out of pure greed and selfishness, not love.”

“You’re right.”

“You want us to be together, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then there’s a way. All you have to do is give me the gun.”

As Sharon Colchetti pleaded with her lover to give himself up, Hutch found himself measuring and analyzing her words, how she said them, her body language as she spoke, putting all the elements together and trying to see if there was something in her tone that should make him uneasy. If he had to make a sudden move, things could go badly, Emerson could panic and might pull the trigger before he could get there, innocent lives might be lost. It gave him pause. He watched her continue forward and stayed where he was.

“Give me the gun, sweetie. It’s going to be all right.”

Her voice was soft, almost cooing. And in response to her gentle appeals Emerson lowered his head and began to weep. They were harsh sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep within himself. Hutch thought he felt the clutch of officers behind him surge forward, felt the captain stay them with a hand in the air. Emerson lowered his gun hand from the girl’s head and dropped it to his side. Then Sharon climbed the third and last step until she was close enough to reach the girl, extended her hand so that she could take it. “Take my hand, honey. Come on. I want you to go to Detective Hutchinson. You’ll be all right, I promise. I won’t let him hurt you.”

Angel took the woman’s hand with caution, stepped off the porch steps carefully. When she was safely out of his reach, she paused and looked back at the man who’d held her captive and a kind of sadness overwhelmed her, but only for a moment. She let go of Sharon’s hand and hurried down the steps into the blond man’s arms and he held her close, but kept his eyes on the couple. Mrs. Colchetti was standing in front of Emerson now; and he couldn’t see Emerson’s face anymore. She whispered to him as if he were a child. “Now, give me the gun, Bruce.”

He wasn’t sobbing now, but tears still fell down his cheeks, splotching the front of his expensive shirt. “I love you, Sharon. I always have, I always will. You know nothing can change that.”

“I know. Give me the gun…please,” she whispered again, and then she held out her hand to him, and he obediently put the gun into it, butt first. He dropped to his knees, contrite, waiting to be forgiven. Her hand immediately went to caress his lowered head. He put his arms around her hips, encircling them, and held onto her for dear life.

Starsky watched the entire scene take place from his vantage point at the side of the house. The owner, Frankie, was behind him, not seeing the full scene, but hearing everything. He alone could see Sharon Colchetti’s face and the glimmer of hopelessness that shown in her eyes. She looked at the gun, then down at Emerson, then back at the gun again. She turned her head toward the knot of policemen, their captain, the girl and the blond detective who stood between them, waiting for her. Then she did something strange, she turned her back to them all, shuddered, seeming to come some decision in her mind. Starsky inched forward a bit. Then she turned the gun around in her hand, away from her. It was then that he realized what she was going to do. At about six running steps away from them, he wasn’t close enough to prevent a catastrophe, but he was close enough to make the effort.

Just as she was aiming the gun at Emerson’s head, Starsky clambered onto the porch, shouting as he ran. “Hutch, gun!” In that split second she quickly and mercifully cocked the lever back on the gun and pulled the trigger. There was a solid bang and blood splattered. Now Starsky was up on the porch hitting her full force with the solidity of his body, tackling her onto the planking as Emerson’s now lifeless body toppled off the porch, settling at the bottom of the steps in a heap. Hutchinson reacted viscerally to his partner’s alert, but was too far away to be of any real assistance. When it was over, he stepped away from the girl and scrambled up the stairs, his gun drawn, but useless.

Sharon Colchetti was near hysterics as she struggled with the darker detective for control of the gun, apparently intending to turn it on herself. Starsky instinctively straddled her body just below her chest and held both of her arms down over her head, grimacing. He glanced outward and saw his partner and most of the officers running toward them, then he looked back down at her. Her face was contorted into an awful mask of grief and anguish and she was screaming at him.

“Please let me go! I have to do this! It’s the only way!”

“Nope, we can’t let you go out this way, little lady. Somebody’s got to pay the piper.”

Hutchinson tucked his gun away, stepping around his partner and the woman to try his hand at getting the gun away from her, but without success. Finally, he lowered his head and spoke to her, his voice soothing, “Let him go, Sharon. He’s gone now, it’s all over.” She froze, and then her fierce hold on the gun relaxed and she started to cry, softly. Hutch took the gun from her and held it up for one of the nearby officers to confiscate. Then Starsky released his grip on her arms and lifted himself off of her chest. Hutch put his hand on his partner’s knee as he sat down. “You all right, buddy? That was some tackle. I didn’t know you could run that fast.”

Breathing hard, he looked down at Emerson’s lifeless body. “I wasn’t fast enough.”

Hutch nodded and both men watched as two uniformed officers helped the distraught woman onto her feet, handcuffed her and put her in the back of a patrol car. After Starsky had caught his breath, the blond pulled him to his feet and they walked toward Frankie, who had taken Hutch’s place as Angel’s comforter. She turned her head toward them and nodded. Hutch nudged his partner. “Let’s go, huh?”

“Wait a minute, Hutch. I got some loose ends to tie up.”

Hutch put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Okay. Just don’t be too long, okay?”

“I won’t.”

As his friend walked toward the two women, Hutchinson drifted over to Captain Kraft’s car and talked with him for a while. Starsky put his hand on the black woman’s shoulder and she looked into the girl’s eyes. “Detective Starsky wants to talk to you. I’m going back inside now, I’ll see you later.” She gave the detective a sympathetic smile and left them alone.

Angel took a deep breath, canted her head up and gave him a wry, hopeful smile. “So you know, huh?”

“Not everything. How about clueing me in?”

“I will, but not here. Let’s go to the tree.” She pulled him by his arm and he hesitated.

“I don’t know about that.”

“Please, for me? This is probably the last time I’ll see you again.”

Despite himself, he acquiesced. He followed her to the same sycamore tree where he’d promised to marry her only a few days earlier. Though preoccupied with formalities, Hutch watched them go.

Birds were nestling in the trees above them and a cool breeze rustled through the leaves. She sat down on the grass and crossed her legs Indian style and he knelt in front of her, a too serious look on his face. “I don’t know how to begin,” she said to him.

“How about at the beginning?”

She reached for his hand but self-consciously withdrew it, then shuddered and lowered her head. “I…I never meant to hurt you.”

“I just wanna know whose kid you’re carrying. I’ve pretty much figured out it’s not mine.”

Her lips trembled as she spoke. “It’s Bruce’s. I knew it was his all along; he was the only one, before you. I lied to you about everything. That’s why I went to the clinic alone. I was afraid you’d find out. I’m really sorry.”

“So you knew it was Emerson’s kid and you were going to let me take responsibility?”

“I…I didn’t know what else to do. I mean, you were so there for me. The way I wished he was. But he was in love with Sharon or Jessie or whatever her name is. So I lied about the pregnancy and the identity of the father, because I wanted you to be its father.”

He lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger and looked into her eyes. “How old are you really?”

“Seventeen.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “And a quarter.”

He dropped his hand away and whistled through his teeth.

“It wasn’t your fault. I look older than my age.”

“And act it too, apparently.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I do. Does that make me a bad girl?”

“Not necessarily.”

“What’s going to happen to Jessie?”

“She’s an accessory to two murders, and she just executed a man in front of several eyewitnesses. I doubt whether the judge will go easy on her. She’s going to have a tough time.”

“I guess she was really in love with him, huh?” Starsky nodded, she pursed her lips. “So, now that you know everything what’s going to happen?”

Starsky leaned forward and looked into her eyes. “Well, it’s somethin’ I don’t understand myself yet. I mean I know you had your reasons for doing what you did, and in some weird way, I kind of understand them. Even after I knew what I knew, about Emerson, about the kid, I still thought maybe we could work things out. I was willing to try. But after I found out how old you were, well, that’s where things started to turn for me…I mean, I’m a cop, and I have to abide by the law, no matter how I feel about people, I have to do my job, that’s the bottom line. What scares me is, I don’t know for sure if knowing your age beforehand would have made any difference, ’cause how I feel about you is that strong. And as for the father thing, well, I mean, look at it this way, I chase criminals for a living, the possibility of me getting shot or killed out there is 50/50 out of my favor. I do business with snitches and other lowlifes on a daily basis. So what kind of a role model would I be for a kid?” He put his hand on her cheek. “What I guess I’m tryin’ to say is, kid, I don’t think we stand a chance.”

She smiled, covered his hand with hers and caressed it. “Don’t sell yourself short, David. You’d make a great role model, and a great father.” She averted her eyes. “Just my luck, huh? I find the absolute most perfect guy in the world and it’s against the law for me to be with him. If you ask me, the law stinks.” She swung her eyes back and they were pleading. “Couldn’t you quit your job and come stay with me? I’ll bet you could do that and nobody would ever have to know.”

“Yeah, but that wouldn’t be very grownup, would it? Even if nobody else knew, I’d know, and so would my partner. I know me, and as tempting as it sounds, I know that eventually the novelty would wear off and I’d be itchin’ to be back on the streets again. I think it’d be pretty selfish for me to try.”

“So I guess I can’t give you a look this time and make you change your mind, huh?” He smiled, shook his head and she frowned. “You and your principles, I guess that’s why I love you so much.” He grinned at that, and she lowered her gaze. “Well, I guess there’s nothing else to be said then.” The last words were hard for her to get out; she looked up at him and tried to put on a brave face. “If…I…if I…would it be all right…if I asked for a kiss?”

Starsky’s eyes began to tear a little, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and a weak smile tore at his lips, he nodded, pulled her close to him and kissed her. A long kiss, seemingly endless, that did nothing to dispel the sense of longing between them. But the spell was soon broken by the appearance of a large, familiar hand on his shoulder.

“Starsk?”

“Yeah?” He said and opened his eyes, his lips still on hers.

“Hey, buddy, I hate to break this up, but we gotta go.”

He pulled himself away and made a study of her face; committing the features to his memory, wiping away her freshly shed tears with a thumb. He held her hand as he stood, not wanting to let go, but knowing that he must. Finally he did and she looked after him, her eyes still hopeful praying that this was not the end. His partner turned away, offering them a few seconds more privacy. And Starsky turned to her. “Tell you what, what say I look you up in, oh, about eight years? If you’re still available and I’m not an upholder of the law, we can hook up from then.”

Her face shone brightly. “Okay, it’s a date. And I’m holding you to it. You don’t even have to call first. Just show up. You know where I’ll be.”

“I sure do. So long.”

“So long, Dave.”

“Come on, let’s go.” Hutch put his arm around his partner’s shoulders and squeezed. And she watched the two men as they left. Starsky regarded His Blondness and smiled. “You know after all this I’m feelin’ kinda homesick for Dobey and some of your home cookin’.”

“Oh, boy, now I know you’re sick. We’d better get you home fast.”

They both laughed as they went up to the house to pack up and head for home.

EPILOGUE

Kenneth Hutchinson was puttering away in his kitchen, putting the finishing touches on what looked to be a very elaborate candlelit dinner for a very special someone. He was dressed to impress, wearing a cream-colored cable knit sweater over a pair of snug blue jeans and a pair of tan Frye boots. His blond hair was freshly layered and coiffed and he was wearing the most expensive cologne he owned. As he checked the heat under a saucepot on the stove a knock came at his front door, prompting him to run and answer it.

“Just a minute!”

When he opened the door, David Starsky and Huggy Bear Brown were staring back at him. His disappointment obvious, Hutch craned his neck past the two men for a glance down the stairs, saw no one else, and then turned back to them with a half-smile on his face. “You’re not exactly who I was expecting.”

Starsky appraised his friend’s appearance. “We can see that. Mind if we come in?”

Hutch didn’t have a chance to answer as they brushed past him and came into. He shut the door and watched Huggy Bear make a beeline for his kitchen, sniffing the air inquisitively and opening the oven door a crack to see what was cooking. He noticed that Starsky was holding a bottle shaped brown bag in his hand. “What’s in the bag, Starsk?”

“I brought over some vino. You know, to make up for draggin’ you along the last two weeks.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, Starsk. It’s in the past, forgotten.” He checked his watch, still standing very near the front door with one hand in his pocket as he did so.

“Yeah, but I still feel kinda bad though, draggin’ you all the way out there on somethin’ personal.”

Huggy now lifted the lid on the saucepan of the something on the stove, sniffed it and covered it again. “Hey, Hutch, my man Starsky is bein’ as close-lipped as a monk about the whole incident. What’s the scoop?”

“Ah, let’s just say Starsky got a little overly involved in the investigation.”

Starsky slid the bag off the already chilled bottle of wine walked into Hutch’s kitchen and set it on the counter. He took down three wineglasses from Hutch’s cabinet and started pouring. “It was really nothin’, Hug.”

“Come on, Starsky, spill it. What happened? Some chick get you hooked?”

“It was nothing, Huggy.”

Hutch sucked his teeth. “Nothing, he says. Would you call nearly getting married to someone you’ve only known for few days and almost becoming an instant father nothing, Huggy?”

The black man whistled. “No, I’d definitely call that gettin’ carried away.” He leaned against the counter. “But you’ve gotta tell me, Starsky …why? How?”

Starsky winced. “Well, there were a few things the young lady neglected to tell me.”

“More like you didn’t care to find out,” Hutch tossed back.

Huggy smiled. “Well, you know what they say about true love, Hutch. It’s blind.”

“Yeah, but in this case, it was also deaf and dumb.” The blond man consulted his watch again. “Hey, you guys, I hate to rush you, but I do have a date coming over in about three minutes. I really would like you two not to be here when she arrives.”

Starsky took a glass of wine over to the couch with him and sat down, not ready to leave just yet. “I was out of the loop for a while, they ever find out who it was that wasted Angel’s parents?” Huggy took a glass of wine for himself and motioned to Hutch to see if he wanted one, but got a declination.

Hutchinson answered, but exasperatedly. “It was like Kraft said. Apparently Emerson needed a lot of cash to pay off some heavy debts, so he paid some guy, a mercenary, to do the hits for him. Whoever he got rented a truck under an assumed name; did the job, and ditched the truck. Kraft’s men found it abandoned in an alley somewhere not long after we left. They dusted it for prints and checked it for a match with the flecks of paint we got off the BMW and got a match on the paint. They have to assume that the same guy who did Angel’s mother was the same one who pretended to be the pool man at the estate. Colchetti must have thought the guy was long gone and left his glass unattended or the guy must have stuck around and waited for an opportunity to slip him the poison. Any way you look at it was a pretty cold deal. Emerson got off easy. On the up side, with both parents’ dead, and Sharon in jail, Angela stands to become a very rich young woman. I think you missed out, Starsk.”

“Whatever. You think they’ll ever catch up with the guy?”

“Not a chance, he’s probably out of the country by now.”

“Long gone, huh?”

“Yeah, like I wish you were,” Hutch said under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about the situation between you and Angela. Basically, you did something for her that neither her father nor Emerson was able to do.”

“What’s that?”

“You showed her what it was like to be unconditionally loved.”

“Humm. I guess I did at that, didn’t I?”

Hutch nodded and watched in dismay as Huggy picked up the bottle of wine and exited the kitchen, pausing to refill Starsky’s glass before plunking himself down on the couch with him. The detective was just about to hint again that they should get ready to leave when there was another knock at his door. He went over and opened it, and this time Cassandra stood there looking as gorgeous as ever. She’d flown all the way out to California from Philadelphia to be with him for a few days. She was wearing a chocolate brown jumpsuit zipped low in front to reveal a comely bosom, a visual enhanced by the flowing brunette hair that cascaded onto her shoulders in luxurious waves. A medium sized overnight bag stood to her right. She brightened as he opened the door and stood there agog.

“Hello, Ken. Sorry I’m late. How’ve you been?” she purred.

“Fine. Fine. How was your trip?”

“Good, good.”

“That’s great.” He stood there gazing at her, not realizing he hadn’t invited her in yet.

“Um, is it okay if I come in?”

“Oh…ah…I’m sorry, sure. Come on in,” he said, quickly bending over to pick up her bag, inhaling her scent as she walked by him. Starsky and Huggy Bear looked at each other and stood up as she entered the living room.

“Cassandra, you’ve met my partner, David Starsky.”

Cassandra stepped forward and extended a hand to him. “Yes, so nice to meet you again, Detective Starsky.”

Starsky took her hand. “Same here. But call me David.”

“All right, David.”

“And this exotically dressed gentleman to your right is our mutual friend, Huggy Bear.”

Huggy took her other hand and kissed it. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

She took her hand back and glanced at the table setting. “Will the two of you be staying for dinner?” she asked, letting Hutch know with a look how much she disapproved of the idea.

“Ah, no, they were just leaving. Weren’t you, guys?”

Starsky looked at his half-finished glass of wine. “Well, ah. We would like to finish up before we go.”

“Oh, but of course,” she answered.

Hutch set the bag down next to the couch and put an arm around her waist, guiding her away from his friends and into the kitchen for a private moment. He held her in his arms and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Don’t worry about them,” he said in a low voice. “Starsky just came by to get debriefed on the case we were working on out there. As soon as they’re finished, they’ll be on their way out, I promise. Then we can spend some magic time together.” He smiled.

“Well, as long as they’re not staying for dinner,” she pouted, touching his full bottom lip. “Because I have plans for you when we’re finished.”

Hutch raised an interested eyebrow and snuggled up to her, more determined now than ever to get rid of his unwelcome guests. As the two of them made their way back into the living room, both Starsky and Huggy looked up at them. Hutch noticed that their glasses were both very empty. He picked up the bottle and held on to it. “Well, I guess you guys will be on your way now, ” he said.

“You know Huggy and I were just talking it over, and we were thinkin’ maybe we could stay for dinner, after all. Whatever you’re cookin’ sure smells good.”

“That is, if the little lady doesn’t’ mind,” Huggy added.

Hutch looked at Cassandra and he at her. Her eyes were polite daggers. He knew what he had to do.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, guys. Cassandra and I have other plans.”

Something menacing about Hutch’s tone made Starsky lift himself up from his seat, furtively motioning for Huggy Bear to follow his lead. With his date’s arm fixed around his waist the blond man started forward, physically forcing his partner and their friend toward the door. When they were there, he opened it for them, waiting for them to leave. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

“Aw, c’mon, Hutch. You wouldn’t throw out your two best friends, wouldja?”

Hutchinson took another look at the beautiful woman on his arm and had no trouble making up his mind. He nodded and said; “In this case, yes.” And then promptly helped them out the door.

“That’s pretty cold deal, Hutch!” Huggy shouted through the door.

After they were gone, Hutch turned to Cassandra to kiss her, but had to stop mid-way as the door opened up and Starsky poked his face in the crack. “You sure you won’t change your mind?”

The blond detective put steady pressure on the door with his left hand without looking until it was shut again, his eyes remaining on the ravishing creature in front of him. “Positive,” he answered, and then kissed Cassandra on the lips.

FREEZE-FRAME.