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Two friends, one woman, and a child who appears just as Starsky and Hutch realize the love between them.
I know kid!fic isn’t the most popular genre of slash fiction, but given how much these two guys slept around on the show, it’s really not beyond the realm of belief to acknowledge that a child could certainly have been conceived at some point. This theme gave me the opportunity to explore it more.
July, 2009
September, 1980
He swirled the golden liquid, watching the last remnants of foam cling and climb the glass sides. Not much unlike how he was feeling, himself. Clinging with nowhere to go.
He took the last swallow and set the glass down with a distinct crack.
“Hey, my man, your tab’s too big for you to be busting the glasses up.”
He shoved it across the counter. “Another, please.”
Huggy regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “It’s only noon.”
Hutch met the challenge with his own eyebrow. “I don’t care.”
Huggy shrugged, glanced at the picture, and poured him another.
Hutch picked up the photograph and stared at it some more.
The girl, according to the letter that accompanied it, was six years old. The photo was from last September, at age five.
He tried to recognize her within the two-dimensional stillness and stiffness of standard school photography. Blue eyes, freckles across her nose, and long, light brown, curly hair.
He downed half the beer in his glass before looking again.
Drawing upon a fading memory, he could see elements of her mother in her face — the set of her eyes and maybe the wideness of her mouth. But not the spit-and-image of her. Nothing he could put his finger on and declare, “This child is hers.” Or his. Or not.
He glanced up and saw himself in the mirror behind the bar.
Or maybe he simply was not looking hard enough.
He drank the rest of the beer more slowly, waving the photo to fan his face.
What the hell was he going to tell Starsky?
September, 1973
“I saw her first.”
“What, we’re in kindergarten now?”
Starsky turned a silent but intense dark blue glare on him.
Hutch rolled his eyes. “Two years we’ve been partners, and you still can’t take a joke? Go, go. See how far you get with the girl. I’ll just sit here and watch you fall on your ass.”
But it was that very ass he admired as it danced away from their barstools, and he wished for the tenth time that week that he had the guts to tell his partner so.
He could watch, though, and watch he did, following his partner’s dark head as it led a lighter brunette one about the crowded floor. When the crowd moved enough that he could see their bodies, Starsky appeared to be all gentleman — no pressing his pelvis close to hers, no wayward hand lower than her waist.
By evening’s end, after introductions were exchanged and more drinks consumed, it was Tori’s hand that pulled Starsky close, to bump and rub with the music, and Hutch knew from past experience that he’d need to find his own ride home that night. Although he’d asked a few lonely looking ladies to dance, none had sparked an interest in further evening activity. He cracked his back and leaned his shoulder against the wall. Not that he’d been looking for a one-night stand anyway. His dark secret pressed against the limits of his control, and without much difficulty, he imagined himself in Tori’s place, pulling that lithe, strong body against his, grinding together, a sensual rubbing; tongues flickering, dancing across lips and teeth and promising delights when flickered down below.
He closed his eyes, pulling temperance and control from years of practice, before gently working his way past gyrating dancers until he could grasp Starsky’s elbow.
“I’m gonna go home,” he said, close to Starsky’s ear, fighting the arousal the scent of his partner’s sweat generated.
“Hey, wait, we can drive you home. Tori, whaddya say, you ready to blow this Popsicle stand?”
Tori reached for Hutch, took his hand and pulled him in a circle. “One song with me first, Ken. I’ve been wanting to all night, but I couldn’t find you or you were dancing already.”
He looked helplessly at Starsky, who just offered him his widest grin. “I’ll get our coats.”
Petite where he was tall, she still fit sweetly against him as the music evolved into a slow song, her head just tucked under his chin.
“Tell me more about Dave,” she asked him. “If that doesn’t sound too nosy.”
Hutch offered a soft laugh, then asked, “What would you like to know that he didn’t talk your ear off telling you already?”
She smiled up at him. Her blue eyes captured him just as Starsky’s had, and he felt a little tug of need and want within him, reigniting his arousal — for whom, he couldn’t tell.
“Oh, things like, what’s he looking for in a relationship — am I going to be just a one night stand for him, Ken? Or could I hope that there might be more?”
More. The window that had opened in his mind and his heart, the one that had cracked its seal just enough to allow the fresh breeze of David Starsky to enter and soothe, threatened to creak closed again. The truth was, Starsky gave the idea of homosexuality a shrug, neither horrified by nor overly interested in the dealings of men with other men. That nonchalance had left Hutch hopeful that Starsky could see things his way, if it were sold well enough that it could be in his better interests to take up with a man and see what the fuss was about, but that hope had always been tempered with the knowledge that Starsky often spoke of home, Jewish mothers, and chicken soup, with a strong sense of familial history.
The woman responsible for Hutch’s looming heartbreak still swayed in his arms, and over her head he saw his best friend waiting by the bar, coats draped over one arm, the crooked grin full of affection.
What wouldn’t he do for this man? He could lie, tell the pretty girl that Starsky was only in it for one good lay, that his bevy of stewardesses had the flight plan logged well in advance and it always involved a round-trip ticket, and that dammit, he was in love with Starsky, he of the dark blue eyes and trim body, so go find some other man to dream about.
But he didn’t.
“Well, Tori, you never know. It’s up to you. Go with him and find out for yourself. Expect nothing and maybe you’ll get something. He’s a really good guy and if you’re the right girl…anything’s possible.”
*~*~*
“Talk to me.”
“Hey, you busy tonight?”
“Starsk? I thought you and Tori had a date.” Three weeks of dates. Three weeks of nearly every night dates. Three weeks of Starsky waxing romantic over Tori morning, noon and stakeout nights. Tori was the best woman in the world, and wasn’t Starsky the luckiest guy ever? Three weeks of watching his partner dash out the door at the end of the workday, leaving his partner behind.
“Well…we did, or we do, but I forgot about Kathy.”
Hutch wadded up his kitchen cloth and pitched it in the sink. Figures, Starsky would end up double-booking.
“Pocket calendar, Starsk. Helps you keep your appointments in order.”
“C’mon, huh? Would you mind filling in for me?”
Hutch brought Kathy’s image to mind. Met her several times but had never spent more than two minutes talking with her, a third wheel in the Torino when Starsky would pick her up at the airport during a layover before taking Hutch home after work.
Long, long legs, capable of wrapping around a man’s waist and hanging on tight. Breasts that filled out the stewardess uniform nicely, a likely perfect handful. Dark eyes and full lips and a voice that didn’t grate. If nothing else, he could probably get his rocks off instead of cleaning out the refrigerator like he’d planned.
“Sure, Starsk. Should I get her at the airport?”
“Tori’s at the airport?”
If hands could reach through a phone line, Hutch would have gladly strangled his partner then and there. “You didn’t mean Kathy?”
“No, I want to see Kathy — haven’t seen her in over a month. Thought maybe you’d take Tori. She’s really good company, Hutch.”
“Starsky, you are shameless. What exactly are you telling Tori, then? That you’re dumping her off on me so you can see your once-a-month stewardess?”
He could almost see the eyeroll. “Geez, Hutch. Tori knows about Kathy. Besides, I was plannin’ on tellin’ Kathy that I was gettin’ serious with someone and that this might be our last date until I figure out if Tori and I are the real deal or not.”
“Might be? Lately you’ve been making it sound like it is the real deal.”
Starsky cleared his throat. “Yeah, well…we’ve been talking. We really like each other but we’re both feeling that maybe it’s a little too much, too fast. We’re gonna take a little break, date a few other people, just to check what we’re feeling inside against that.”
“So I’m some sort of test?”
Silence. Then quietly, “Maybe. She asked me if I’d mind if she went out with you. And I told her no, and called you up myself, because of Kathy.”
Hutch pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, if I take Tori out, what are your rules? Is it a date or am I just keeping her company?”
“Rules? Why, you wanna kiss her? Kiss her. You’ll like it. Especially when she does—”
“Stop right there, Starsk. I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Hutch? I’m serious here. We’re doing this ‘dating other people’ thing so we can get a handle on it. If she and I are the real deal, you and she are gonna have to get along, you know? I’m gonna want lots of little Starsky’s and Hutchinson’s running around our backyards and going to the beach together and having barbecues.”
“In our perfect side-by-side houses on a perfect little street with perfectly painted white picket fences?”
“You got it, partner. And I’m gonna need to know that you and Tori will be friends. So date her like you’d date any girl; we gotta know.”
Hutch lifted the phone receiver away from his mouth and exhaled a resigned sigh. What the hell, he thought.
“Sure, Starsk. Remind me of her number and I’ll call her.”
*~*~*
He kept it simple. Dinner at a little steak house he liked, sharing the dessert. Walking along the shoreline in the warm October night, shoes swinging from fingertips. Talking about his childhood, hers, find compatibility in music and art, recognizing her compatibility with Starsky over photography and a shared love of his brand-new Torino.
“He calls me that, once in a while. ‘Tori-no’, she said quietly, staring up at the darkened sky.
“You’re far better looking than that Coke can on wheels,” he answered, and they both laughed. He took her hand. “No more talking about my partner. This is our date, right?”
She dropped her shoes, and made him drop his as she grasped his other hand, turning his back to the water.
“You’re right. And I think we should take the next step on that.” She lifted herself up on tiptoe as he bent his head to hers.
Their kiss was warm and sweet, and when it ended, she whispered, “I confess. I have wanted to do that since I first met you.”
He smiled, kissed her again, quickly. “Is this part of figuring out how serious you are about Starsky?”
She nodded solemnly, her eyes hidden in the darkness. “I think I may love him. I need to know if someone else can really turn my head. Make me change my mind.”
Hutch turned away to stare out over the water. “This is hard, Tori. There are things …” He trailed off, biting his lip. “I feel like I’m cheating on my best friend.”
“Or that I am cheating on your best friend?”
He felt slim arms slip around his waist. “Except…remember, Ken. He set this date up.”
He pulled her around so she stood within the circle of his arms. The dark water birthed the surf, a glowing strip of foamy white in the ambient light. It chased itself across the sand and kissed their toes, once, twice.
He began to whisper, bending to her ear. “Tori, there are things you don’t know about me. Starsky doesn’t know about them; I’ve only just come to realizing them myself. But believe me when I say I feel like I’m cheating on my best friend.”
She turned her back on the sea, took his face between her hands. “We all have our secrets. If you don’t say them out loud, they can stay secret, and I won’t have anything to resent you for or hold against you. Do you understand, Ken?”
He did understand. She could guess, suspect at his feelings for his partner, but unless he said it directly to her, she wouldn’t really know. And if she knew, she’d always know … that he was in love with his partner, and with that she could become a barrier between them, always worried, always wondering.
He opened his mouth to answer, but was silenced by hers. No sweetness this time; instead her demands were insistent, strong, and sexy. He pulled her closer, nearly lifting her off her feet as he returned the kiss.
The water rushed forward, soaking them to the ankles, and they broke apart, breathless.
“Find your shoes.”
*~*~*
In the low light, he could almost — almost — fool himself into believing she was the feminine version of his partner. The curls, her eyes, both half-hidden in shadowed darkness, her body willingly pinned beneath him in his bed.
Upon her climax, she cried no one’s name, just a vocalization like music, bringing his own orgasm at the eroticism. He wondered if this was how she was with Starsky, or if she saved any words for his bed alone.
Guilt tapped at his skull even as she cuddled close, smoothing her hands across his chest as they both slid toward sleep. Starsky’s girl, Starsky’s girl, his mind sing-songed, until her murmurings penetrated and he answered her sleepy questions. He thought instead of Kathy, of where she might have Starsky at this very moment, and tried to remember that this had all been Starsky’s idea.
Well, maybe not the sex … but surely, he knew that Hutch bedded a willing girl on the first date without qualms or hang-ups. Why would this date be any different? And besides, Tori had been the one to lead him home, undress them both, the one to kiss him senseless and open her body to allow his inside.
Feeling somewhat less guilty, he petted her hair and whispered words of praise, of how beautiful she was, how high she’d taken him, asking and affirming the same from her, before they crept fully into oblivion.
*~*~*
His dreams were full of Starsky: in his arms, his bed. He could feel curls beneath his palms, taste his lips, kiss the eyes closed as he plundered his body.
He awoke to Tori astride him, a wicked smile on her face, and it was far too simple a task to replace her face with Starsky’s. She rode him to completion, his hands gripping her breasts, fondling her nipples as she rubbed herself against him until she cried out, pulsing around him. In her ecstasy he blinked back unexpected tears.
They were too much alike, Tori and Starsky. Too much for his heart to bear, too perfect for the two of them consider breaking it apart.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, as she collapsed against him. He pulled the blankets over them both. Both of you, he thought.
*~*~*
For the next several weeks, Hutch and Starsky played ping-pong with Tori’s attentions. She didn’t appear to see anyone else, although Starsky tried his best to re-invest in his little black book and stewardess list. But Hutch could see it — as summer fell away and fall fell in, Starsky’s other dates dwindled. The mornings after those few encounters, Starsky would be pensive and guarded, but by afternoon he’d recover, ready to spend an evening with Tori. Tori mornings were met with smiles and a bounce and, Hutch knew, a more permanent place in his partner’s heart.
Hutch, for his part, pulled back a bit. Tori seemed satisfied with their one big night — and morning — of passion, and was completely agreeable to any other tumbles they mutually wanted following a romantic movie or slow dancing, but those romps were few, their dates involving more talking and sharing common interests.
They bonded strongly over the blue-eyed demon who’d pushed them together, sharing stories that would have Starsky sputtering indignant denials had he heard them laughing.
One night alone, Hutch lay awake, thinking. She seemed a perfect match for them both, really. Similar in so many ways, interested in so many of the same things, and seemed undaunted by the idea of dating cops, working in dangerous territories.
If the world were different and three-way marriages were the norm and expected, Hutch could see the three of them living a life together. Sharing a home and a bed — with that thought Hutch’s cock stood at attention. The idea of Starsky in his bed, a third party watching them fuck, joining in, encouraging…
He groaned, turned on faster than he can recall having ever been before. He fantasized further, spreading his legs and pulling up his knees, fondling himself in ways he’d never done before, until his climax shattered him. Images flashed — Tori and Starsky, their faces blurring and mingling and then separate, both loving him, both wanting him.
*~*~*
Two months after their first date, Hutch came home to find a note wedged in his doorframe.
Tori Folkert was gone.
Starsky had received the same message: something had come up, she was very sorry, she had to go, it had been a really great time, she would miss them both, she’d try to be in touch later, have a good Thanksgiving.
Starsky drove them to Huggy’s, and then later Hutch poured Starsky into the passenger seat to take him home.
“My Tori-no. I called ‘er that sometimes, Hush. Didja know that?”
“Yeah, she told me, Starsk.”
“I love her, Hush. I was gonna tell her, I was done figurin’ it out. I have a ring an’ ever’thing.” He fumbled inside his jacket pocket, and dropped a small box into Hutch’s lap.
Hesitating, Hutch opened the blue velvet box. The streetlights set the small diamond glowing, but dimly, befitting the sad situation.
“Didja fall in love with her, too, Hutch?”
The question caught him off guard. Accusation? Curiosity? Considering Starsky’s very inebriated state, it was hard to define the quality of the question.
He pulled Starsky’s lax hand from where it rested on Starsky’s thigh, pulled the fingers open, and carefully placed the tiny box against the palm. With a deep breath, he closed those fingers around it, carefully, and squeezed.
“No. No, Starsk, I didn’t. I liked her a lot, we had a good time together, but no. My heart…” he stopped, licking at his lips. “Our hearts just didn’t click together. She made a great friend, but no, I didn’t fall in love with her.”
“Just friends with benefits.”
Hutch had to chuckle, patting Starsky’s hand. If only he knew what friend Hutch really wanted those benefits with. “Yeah.”
“She left us, Hutch.”
The little fantasy of a three-way marriage twisted away, like the dying of a tornado, disrupting everything in its path and then disappearing, leaving those behind to clean up the mess.
Mentally, he cursed her, then. He loves you, dammit, he thought. And you just…left him. And me. Us.
“I won’t leave you, Starsk.” His promise fell on deaf ears. Starsky slept, and the box fell from his hand to roll away into darkness beneath the seat.
August, 1980
Starsky’s recovery had been, in some ways, fast. In others, it had seemed maddeningly slow. At nearly a year to the day from his meeting with Gunther-ordered machine gun fire, he had stood before the chief, a proud and emotional Hutch standing to one side, accepting his badge once again.
He’d never be the street detective he once had been, and knew it, but the sharpness of his mind had never been at risk. Hutch knew what it cost Starsky to become more a desk-rider than an active cop, but they both agreed — better to help the other detectives solve the tricky cases than to leave altogether.
The last three months had been a retraining of sorts — the Torino, repaired and repainted, still drove them through the streets of Bay City, but she didn’t give chase anymore. Their call sign didn’t change, but the calls did. They spent more time gathering information and teaming with other detectives on cases then they did alone, but they quickly gained the reputation of being the brains of the BCPD. If a case seemed to be at a dead end, ask Starsky and Hutch to take a look. More often than not, they’d ask the right questions resulting in more arrests with Starsky and Hutchinson named as assisting officers than ever before.
Captain Dobey, while missing their presence as truly active cops on the street, still popped his buttons whenever another case resulted in an arrest and a conviction.
Starsky seemed satisfied with his lot, even if it involved riding the dreaded desk more than before the hit. Hutch’s thankfulness that his partner was still at his side overrode any nostalgia for the old days, when they’d chase the bad guys up an alley on foot. It simply didn’t work anymore, and he set those feelings aside to take pride in the quick thinking of Starsky, and himself, and still making a difference on those streets.
Of course, the best part of the last year was that he had finally told Starsky how he felt.
August, 1979
The details were never-ending. The deeper Hutch dug into Gunther’s jungle of influence, the more tendrils he found, creeping vines of power and greed wrapping around the roots of the most innocent fronts.
Discovering that the man had a finger in a teen prostitution ring sent a furious Hutch to the precinct gymnasium, beating on a punching bag so hard that it swung back at him at an angle that had Babcock yanking him out of collision’s way.
He shook off Babcock’s concerned questions and hit the shower, standing for long minutes under the pounding spray. Rousing himself enough to half-heartedly lather his body and hair, he trudged to his car and drove listlessly home, trying to remember what was in Starsky’s cupboards that he could make them for dinner.
Thoughts of food disappeared when he discovered Starsky, seemingly well on the way to recovery, lying on the sofa with a high fever and a cough that hurt him so badly tears leaked out.
“How long?” Hutch shook the thermometer.
“Woke up feeling not so hot. Coughing a little at first. Kinda hard to breathe. Thought it was just one of those not-so-great days.”
Hutch pushed the thermometer into Starsky’s mouth. “Should have told me.” Starsky just shrugged, closing his eyes as they waited for the required three minutes.
Hutch didn’t even tell Starsky what the end number read. “Up you go, we’re going back to the hospital.”
An unresisting Starsky fell asleep in the car, and Hutch couldn’t rouse him upon arrival. Shouting for help at the ER entrance, he followed the gurney into the exam room where he stood in a corner, hoping to remain unnoticed.
The doctor and nurses seemed grim in their vitals reporting. “Pulse 140, temperature 104.2. Can’t wake him up. Sluggish response to pain. Wet breath sounds.”
The pounding in Hutch’s ears nearly drowned out the diagnosis. “Pneumonia. Admit him and start an IV with…”
Hours later, in the dark quiet of three-fifteen a.m., he sat in a chair at Starsky’s bedside, a sense of déjà vu permeating his mind. When Hutch refused to go home, the doctor had told the nurses that as long as Hutch stayed out of the way and didn’t cause stress to the patient, he could sit.
Hutch knew that pneumonia was a severe setback. All the progress Starsky had made in his weeks home seemed inadmissible in this hospital courtroom, a judgment of some sort, though he didn’t know what. It was unfair. Wholly unfair, and no one to fight over it, except that all roads led back to Gunther and his assassins.
Overwhelmed, exhausted, and with heart-stopping fear making needed sleep elusive, he dropped his head to Starsky’s hospital bed, breaking down in the seclusion of the room.
“Starsky. God, I love you. I do. I hate that you’re sick, I hate that this all happened to you. I want to make it all go away. I wish I could. God, Starsk, I wish I could.
“You gotta fight this. I-I need you. I want you. God, I want you. I do. Always have. I love you. I do. I really do. And — I know you can’t love me that way, but…”
He trailed off, miserable and defeated, his head aching. “No matter what, Starsk, I won’t leave you. I promise you that. Never. I won’t. As long as you need me, I’m here. Buddy, I’m here.”
He drew a shuddering breath, ashamed of his tears. He gasped and raised his head when he felt a hand in his hair.
“Hey.” The simple whisper brought a smile to his face.
“Hey, yourself. How you feeling?”
Starsky slid his hand up to cup Hutch’s cheek. “Say it again.”
“What?” Breathless.
“‘I love you’. Say it.”
Hutch covered Starsky’s hand with his own. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. And as soon as I get out of here, I’ll show ya just how much. I promise.” With that, Starsky slept, but Hutch sat holding Starsky’s hand against his cheek for a long time.
By morning, Hutch had convinced himself that it had been delirium talking, the fever making Starsky say things he wouldn’t remember later. His partner had slept through the night, and when the nurse came to check his vitals, Hutch excused himself to the tiny bathroom adjoining Starsky’s room to wash his face and get his bearings.
Starsky had said he loved him. He’d never said it before — done in deed more than word, his devotion to Hutch was apparent to anyone who spent any sort of time with them. But he’d never said the actual words, not like Hutch had done on occasion.
This was a simple case of Starsky taking care of Hutch, saying what Hutch wanted to hear to make him feel better, in the middle of the night, after another traumatic health situation.
Resigned to this disappointing but likely true conclusion, Hutch dried his face, drank a handful of water, and returned to the room.
The bed had been cranked up and Starsky regarded him with sleepy eyes and a crooked grin.
“Was beginning to think you’d fallen in.” The hoarse voice sounded stronger than just a few hours ago.
“Like you could have rescued me,” Hutch quipped back with a grin, resuming his seat. “How you feeling this morning?”
“I hope to hell I look better than you do. Did you sleep at all?” Starsky tensed and coughed, groaning.
“Easy, easy. A little, here and there.”
“You should go home. Get some rest.”
Hutch sighed. “Yeah, I will. Hate to leave you here, though.”
“Don’t worry about me. ‘Sides, I got a goal to reach, so I want out of here as soon as I can.”
“Goal?”
“Yeah.” Starsky shifted in the bed, reaching for Hutch’s hand. “I told you I’d show you how much I love you, as soon as I get out of here.”
Hutch’s eyebrows felt like they’d climbed clear to the ceiling. “You remember saying that?”
Starsky’s grin held pure devilment. “Course I do. Meant it, too.”
Hutch’s voice had suddenly lost all power. “You did?” Even his whisper sounded weak.
Starsky nodded. “Yep. Now, you got two choices. One, you can go home and go to bed and get some sleep, or two, you can put your head down right here on this bed and get some sleep. Either way, you’re sleeping, pal.”
Hutch chose Starsky. The medical staff would just have to work around him.
*~*~*
Starsky came home a week later, loaded with instructions, medications, and exhortations from the doctors managing his care.
On the third night home, Starsky pulled Hutch down to his bed and explained the truth of his growing feelings.
Their first lovemaking had been gentle, more mutual hand job than anything else, but seeing the elation in Starsky’s face as he came sent Hutch over his own edge of ecstasy. Starsky was his, he was Starsky’s, and they were together. Every dream had come true.
Disguised by the excuse that it was easier, work and care-wise, Hutch had found and rented a small house.
For nearly a year, they’d lived together with little to no comment from anyone outside their circle of friends. And once Starsky returned to work, life began to feel complete again.
September 1980
Addressed to them both via departmental mail, the letter had landed in Hutch’s inbox. Starsky had gone to the doctor for one of his series of follow-up visits, required by the department as part of his reinstatement, leaving Hutch to open it himself. The return address was local, but included no name.
The photo and contents of the letter had him clocking off and heading straight to Huggy’s, after leaving a message for Starsky to join him there.
He was still scrutinizing the child’s face when he felt Starsky take the stool beside him.
“What’s up, Hutch? Why are we here in the middle of the day?”
He put the photo on the bar and slid it over. “Her name is Melinda. Melinda Joy.”
“And?” Starsky picked it up and squinted.
“She’s Tori’s.”
“Tori? Tori who? Wait…Tori?” Even in the dim light of the bar, Hutch could see Starsky’s face pale. “Tori-no, Tori?”
Hutch nodded, gulping down the rest of his beer. “The one and the same.”
“How…what?”
Hutch passed the letter over, watching the play of emotions on his lover’s face as the words became clear.
Dear David and Ken,
I’m sure this letter will come as a shock to you both. I know that I’m a complete wreck so I hope I’m coherent enough that you’ll help me. I know how I left was terrible of me, but I hope you will forgive me enough to help.
She turned six years old last week. This is her kindergarten school picture, taken last fall.
Melinda has been taken. My ex-husband, I believe, has taken her, because he’s quit his job and left his apartment — we’ve been divorced for a few months now. It’s too much to explain in a letter, and I’ve not gone formally to the police as yet because I’m afraid of what he could do if he found out. I’m coming to you instead, hoping you will help me.
Please call me right away. I want my baby back. I want our baby back.
555-2884.
Love, Tori
Starsky raised wide eyes to him. “Our baby?”
Hutch closed his eyes and nodded. “One of us is that child’s father.”
*~*~*
Starsky had been mostly silent the rest of the day, alternately staring at the small photograph and staring out the window or into the ceiling. Occasionally, Hutch would see his jaw clench as he seemed to fight an inner battle of memory and lost love.
Hutch didn’t push him to talk; he wasn’t much inclined to discuss it all right now, either. Instead, he took the phone to the greenhouse and placed a call to Tori.
He kept it brief, and they agreed she would come to their house that evening with some more recent pictures and to explain exactly what had led up to Melinda’s disappearance.
Waiting for her seemed endless. His mind couldn’t help but track back to their times together, nearly three months of the three of them, together and not, sharing more than words. And then her abrupt departure.
Knew she was pregnant, Hutch mused. The dates fit. Didn’t want to tell us, though.
He wondered what she’d think if they told her the truth now — how they were together as a couple, lovers. One comparison of the two small bedrooms in the house would make it clear.
A knock at the door jolted him from his reverie. Starsky had leapt to his feet at the sound.
Hutch walked quickly to his lover, kissing him. He ran soothing hands down his arms. “It’ll be okay, Starsk. Just relax.”
Starsky didn’t answer him, but didn’t move, instead stared at the door with a mix of anger and curiosity.
Hutch opened the door.
She hadn’t changed much — a little older, as they all were, but still her lovely slim self, her hair pulled back into a ponytail and no makeup. Her eyes were red, probably from crying, and she held a manila envelope in one hand.
“Ken. Oh, Ken, it’s so good to see you.” Hesitantly she opened her arms and he drew her in, hugging her briefly, before she turned to Starsky.
“Dave? You look good.”
Starsky looked at Hutch for a long moment before he acknowledged her. “Hey, Tori.” He too accepted her hug, and the three stood awkwardly for a few moments until Hutch took charge.
“Let’s get started. What did you bring us?” He led them all to the kitchen table, where two yellow pads and pens sat waiting for the detectives to take their notes.
She handed him the manila envelope and sat down. “There are more recent pictures included with all of these. I had to get them from storage — I’ve just moved and things are in boxes still.”
Hutch knew without looking that Starsky was examining the photographs for evidence of himself in them, because Hutch was, too.
Photographs showed the progression of newborn to little girl, curly hair light as a baby, darkening as she aged. Blue eyes sparkled as she splashed in a kiddie pool, her smile dazzling as she learned to ride her shiny red and white bike.
A little fearful on her first day of school, lunch box gripped tightly in her little hand, and then her mouth open, singing at a school holiday program, her red dressed trimmed in furry white seemingly at odds with the Star of David she held over head as she sang.
“Tori.” Starsky’s voice rumbled low, gravelly, hurt. “Who is…”
“I don’t know, Dave,” she answered bravely. “I honestly don’t. I thought that maybe, as she got older, I’d be able to tell, but so far, she just looks like my dad.” She pulled a particular photo from the pile, Melinda laughing with delight as an older man “rode” her on his knee as if it were a pony. Indeed, she was the image of him. “I only know, it’s one of you two.”
“Blood type?” Hutch asked. He and Starsky had different ones.
Tori shook her head. “Never had it tested. I don’t know.”
Starsky cleared his throat, looking away. “Let’s get to the point. You said she’s been taken. Fill us in.”
Tori nodded. “May I have a glass of water?” As Hutch poured one for her, she focused her attention on Starsky. “I never meant to hurt you. Either of you.” Starsky didn’t respond.
Hutch set the glass down. “Start at the beginning, Tori.”
*~*~*
“When I realized I was probably pregnant, I got scared, I admit it. I ran from you both. Went home to my parents. I didn’t tell them about it at first; I was still trying to decide just what to do if it were true. And then it was. I did consider getting an abortion, but…”
Starsky made a sound, and Hutch glanced at him, but Starsky said nothing more.
“I didn’t see myself going through with it. Then I thought about adoption, about making some family happy with a child, but the thought of giving the baby away without ever knowing anything about it ever again, well…” She took a sip of water, then set it back down in the damp ring on the table, twisting it in place.
“But you were willing to let us go on with our lives, knowing nothing of a child that could belong to one of us,” said Starsky.
Hutch played with his pen, his notepad still empty beyond the name of the little girl and her birthdate. August 7, 1974. So close to his own.
“Knowing that the baby had to belong to one of you two made me want to keep it. To still have a piece of you both. If that makes any sense.”
“It doesn’t.” Starsky said, with a touch of anger and hurt emotion. “Why didn’t you just tell us? Why were you scared? Did I — we — say something, do something, that made you think that you couldn’t be honest with us?”
Hutch’s hand instinctively reached for his partner, but he drew it back, unsure of revealing too much to Tori right now, but Starsky completed the move. They squeezed each other’s hands briefly before letting go.
Tori saw it, too and glanced between them. “I — well, no, not so much that. Look, you two were really tight back then. And I think…you still are.” She raised her eyebrows as if for a confirmation, but the men simply continued to wait for her to continue. She sighed.
“So, the reason I left is because I foresaw a battle. Not over the baby, but over who the father was. Tests and proof and — what I really didn’t want was risking the two of you hurting each other over it. I really, really didn’t want that. I didn’t want this baby to come between the two of you. What you had felt too important to risk.”
Memories of Kira and their idiotic fight over her floated into Hutch’s mind. How easily they had done just that, over a woman. What would they have done over a baby?
Starsky nodded, his gaze piercing through Hutch’s thoughts. “Yeah, okay. Keep going.”
“So, I decided I’d just keep her for myself. My time with the both of you felt so right, so exactly right, that I knew she had to be mine. And I always felt she was a girl, and I was right. And she was born so perfect, and beautiful, healthy and screaming.”
Tori stood and wandered from the dining room to the living room, picking up a picture of Starsky’s mother.
“My parents weren’t too happy to learn that I had a baby on the way and no wedding ring, but they also weren’t inclined to kick me out. My dad had the hardest time with the idea that I had no father to name on the birth certificate. I felt so badly that I’d disappointed him, but you know, once he held Melinda in his arms…” Tori smiled. “I was forgiven.”
Hutch leaned back in his chair. Starsky’s gaze locked on the photograph of his mother, and Hutch surmised he was thinking about those coveted grandchildren.
Tori wandered back to the table. “We lived with them until Melinda was almost three. I’d been seeing this man, and we’d fallen in love. He loved Melinda and she loved him, and we got married in the backyard with Melinda as our little flower girl and ring bearer, all at once. She was so proud of her little white dress and daisies in her hair. Here’s a wedding picture.” She pulled one from the pile.
Hutch and Starsky leaned together to examine the man. Tall with sandy brown hair and a mustache, a happy smile. Melinda shone like the three year old she was, and Tori looked — relieved, calmly happy.
“So what’s his name, and why did you two split up?” Hutch uncapped his pen.
“His name is David Kellan. David William Kellan.”
Hutch felt more than saw Starsky flinch at the mention of his own name.
Tori turned sad eyes to Starsky. “I’m sorry, Dave.” She shrugged. “Anyway, things were going well until about the time Melinda started kindergarten last year. That’s when David started getting really possessive over her. He insisted on being the one to walk her to school every day before he went to work, and I’d hear from her teacher that he would be giving really mean and hard looks to all the little boys in class, as well as other kids at school. She couldn’t understand why, and neither could I, but when I would ask him about it, he’d get very defensive and say he was just making sure she was safe. Pointing out that it was unlikely for five year olds to endanger one another beyond playing on the playground only made him angrier.
“Things got a little better a couple of months later when his job changed locations and he had to leave earlier in the morning to get to work. He would remind me every morning to make sure she got into the classroom safely, and to watch out for the mean kids. Personally, I never saw anyone be mean to Melinda; in fact, she had many friends who were happy to see her every day. Once in a while, I’d volunteer in class and watch them on the playground. Everyone wanted to be her friend. She’s so outgoing, so accepting of everyone. A real sweetheart, but David — he thought she was too friendly and asking for trouble.”
“Asking for trouble?” Hutch asked, eyebrows raised.
Tori clasped her hands together. “Asking for trouble. He acted like she was sixteen and dressing too provocatively! At five years old.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine it?”
Hutch picked up one of the photographs. Melinda’s mouth was open, as if she were singing. Would it seem so out there, if she were mine? Is she mine?
“No, I can’t imagine. Go on.”
“Anyway, we got through the first part of the year. The Christmas holidays seemed fine — if we invited any of her friends over to play or meet at a park, we were sure to have them gone or we were home by the time he got home from work. Then January came, and started the whole process over again.”
She pounded the table lightly for emphasis. “I tried again and again to get him to explain to me exactly why he was so worried about her, but he’d just cut me off and accuse me of not loving her enough to keep her safe. That obviously he was the better parent, even if he wasn’t her biological father, since I didn’t seem to care about her safety.”
Starsky visibly flinched at the revelation. “And what did you do?” Hutch prompted, when she didn’t continue right away.
“The last time he did that, I blew up at him. I admit, I even scared myself. I threw a pan at him, and broke the window. I told him I was tired of his accusations and to get out. I think I frightened him enough that he did, just went and got in his car and peeled off down the street. He was so mad, though, that I began to worry about my own safety, so I packed Melinda and I up and went and stayed with my parents for the weekend.”
“Had he ever hurt you or Melinda before? Made threats?”
“No, never, just very intense when it came to Melinda’s safety. Anyway, he came to my parents’ house but my father wouldn’t let him in. It wasn’t until he promised that he would go to family counselor with me that I relented and went back home with him, even though my parents didn’t want me to. But I believed him, believed he’d do as he promised.”
She pushed back her chair and roamed back into the living room, stopping at the small picture window, pressing one hand against the glass.
“He’d fixed the window and cleaned up the kitchen and on Monday, he stayed home from work. We looked up someone in the Yellow Pages and called him, a Dr. Patterson, and were able to see him later that morning.”
Hutch wrote down the name of the doctor. “Would it be a breach of confidentiality if you told us how those sessions went?”
She shook her head, dropping her hand and turning back to them. “No, I think it’s important to know. It turns out, David had been the target of several bullies when he was a kid, and his parents just kept telling him to grow up and be a man about it, fight back. It wasn’t until he was fourteen that three of the boys he’d been having trouble with for years ambushed him on his way home from school, dragged him into the woods, tied him up against a tree and sexually abused him.” She stopped, swallowing hard, twisting trembling hands together.
“He said — he said they undid his pants and pulled them most of the way down and opened his shirt. They masturbated over him, forced him to suck their penises, ejaculated on his face and his own penis. They rubbed him and then made fun of him when he got hard from it. Then they untied him from the tree, pushed him face down, pulled his legs apart and shoved their fingers into him.”
Hutch, horrified, drew a hand over his face. One glance at Starsky’s pale one confirmed that he was just as upset over Tori’s story.
“So, because of this, he felt that Melinda was also at risk?” Hutch asked, pressing the side of his foot against Starsky’s under the table. “Did this happen to him more than once?”
She nodded. “Yes, that’s why, and yes, it happened four times over the course of two months before he told his parents. They asked him about the state of his clothes after the last incident and he told them the truth. He was pulled from school and enrolled in a private one. They never even took him to a doctor to make sure he was all right. And although he named the boys who’d done this to him, as far as he knew, his parents did nothing with that information. Shame, he guessed, that their son would have had this happen to him.”
Shaking, she sat back down in her chair, dropping her head to her arms on the table, crying. “He was afraid that Melinda might face the same horrible situation and went overboard protecting her. He was so sure that I wouldn’t protect her enough.” Tori broke down completely.
Starsky fetched a box of tissues. He set it down on the table and crouched beside her, patting her back. “Hey. Hey. It’s gonna be okay. It sounds like he wouldn’t hurt her himself — would he?”
She shook her head and raised her tearstained face. She reached for a tissue. “No, I don’t really think so. He said he was the only one who could really keep her safe. But he might take her away completely.”
“What caused you to divorce?” Hutch asked.
Tori seemed to relax a little under Starsky’s ministrations. “The stress of it all finally got to be too much. It was beginning to affect Melinda, too. She became scared of going to school, or of going to another child’s house for a playdate. She wanted to be home all the time, and her progress stopped because she wouldn’t or couldn’t finish any assignments. We got a few phone calls from the school principal due to how many days she’d missed, but I couldn’t seem to force her to go when she seemed so clearly upset by going.”
“What was happening between you and — David, during this?” Starsky asked carefully.
“We continued the counseling and the psychologist even told him that while he was good to be concerned and to be vigilant, being overprotective had its own set of consequences and tried to help him rein it in. When I agreed with the doctor, David and I had a tremendous fight over it. That’s when I told him he was simply going too far with it. That I didn’t see us continuing this relationship, and that I felt it was best for everyone if we divorced.”
“Did he adopt Melinda?” Starsky’s voice was hushed, almost a whisper.
Tori looked at him, shaking her head. “No. We were always going to do it, but never got around to it. When it came to getting divorced, it was one thing I was relieved about. While she went by Kellan at school, her legal name really still was mine, Folkert.”
Could have been Hutchinson, Hutch thought, sharing a glance with Starsky. Or Starsky. If she’d just told us. I wonder what would have changed.
“Did you tell him about us — Hutch and me?”
Tori shook her head. “All he knew was that I became pregnant and the father was not involved.”
Starsky hung his head. Hutch wondered briefly what Starsky had done with the engagement ring, all those years ago. His heart hurt for him — Starsky, who’d always talked about being a dad himself, before giving himself to Hutch.
She touched Starsky’s head gently before she continued. “I’m so sorry, Dave. I am.” He nodded, still staring at the floor.
“So, he moved out, but called me every night. Sometimes the calls were okay, talking about simple things, but other nights, I think he’d been drinking. He’d remind me of the horrible things that happened to him as a kid and said again and again that Tori was at risk. I’d just gotten her back to school and he was bringing it up again. I wouldn’t let him talk to her on the phone, afraid of what he might say to her.
“His lawyer fought for visitation rights, but when the judge heard from the counselor about his over-protectiveness and accusations, and talked to Melinda himself in his chambers about her fears, he felt it best if ties were pretty much cut and that David shouldn’t see her.”
Tori reached out to them both, and they each held one hand. “When the divorce was finalized, David called me on a Sunday night, and I could tell he was crying. He tried to apologize, to say he realized now what a big mistake he’d made and that he wanted to come home, begged me to let him try again. But when I refused he got very angry and swore I’d pay if Melinda ever got hurt, because I pushed him away.” Tori began to cry again. “I didn’t believe him. He was drunk, I could tell, and didn’t listen. Then the next day, two days ago, Melinda didn’t come home from school with her friends. One of the girls said that after school, Melinda’s daddy came to pick her up and she left with him. It’s the last time anyone’s seen her.”
*~*~*
After a couple of hours of looking through the pictures, hearing the story behind each one and gaining insight into Melinda’s personality and early life, Tori left.
Hutch drew Starsky down to sit with him on the sofa. “How you doing?”
Starsky shrugged, looking strained and tired. “I don’t know. It’s a lot to take in. Part of me wants to treat this like any kidnapping and part of me wants to act like…”
“Like a worried father?”
“Damn, Hutch. Melinda’s…”
“Ours?”
“Yeah.” Starsky smiled. “Yeah. But aren’t you wondering? You or me?”
Hutch tipped his head to one side, considering. “Well, she’s an attractive little girl, right? Which means, she might well be mine.”
Starsky’s eyebrows lifted at the teasing voice. “Oh, you think so, Mr. Blond Perfection? Did you see that bike of hers?” He waved that particular picture under Hutch’s nose. “Candy apple red and white. Her taste in vehicles is like mine.”
“She sings.”
“She loves rock’n’roll.”
“She prefers yogurt to ice cream.”
“Frozen yogurt. And root beer.”
“Takes piano lessons.”
“And got under the hood of their car with Dav — him, learning how an engine works.”
Together they reached for the other photographs.
“She looks like Tori, and Tori’s father.”
“Yep.”
“We might never know.”
“Yeah.”
After a few minutes of shared silence, Hutch stretched. “Want some dinner?”
Starsky shook his head, his tentative humor gone. “Not hungry.”
“Yeah, me neither. So what do you think — should we make this a private party, or should we tell her to file an official report?”
“Well, you know what Dobey’d say. But he’d also tell us we couldn’t work the case if we told him that the child might belong to us.”
Hutch warmed at Starsky’s use of ‘us’. “Yeah. So we don’t tell him that part. Tori’s a friend, she came to us specifically for help. If it becomes something he needs to know later, we can tell him then.”
Starsky yawned, and nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
Hutch squeezed his partner’s neck. “Tired?”
“Yeah. That was a lot to take in.”
Hutch nodded. “I can’t seem to shake the image of what David went through.”
Starsky tensed under Hutch’s hand briefly. “Me, neither.”
“It bothers you, doesn’t it? That she left you — and married another man named David.”
“Us, Hutch. She left us. But, yeah.” He snorted. “David. Dumb, huh? It’s not like I have a unique name. But still…” He stood, walked restlessly around the room, came back and sat down again. “That she didn’t feel she could tell us, when she found out about the baby. That she’d instead marry some other guy who really isn’t Melinda’s father, biologically — that hurts. I was all ready to ask her, and she left. Married someone else. He helped raise that little girl. We didn’t. And now she’s not even married to him. Melinda doesn’t really have a daddy anymore.” He stopped, his face pensive.
A tiny shard of fear, haloed with impending loneliness, pierced Hutch’s heart. “Are you thinking that — uh — if we weren’t together, you and me, you might want to go back to her now?”
He might as well have been punched in the gut, the look Starsky gave him was that full of anger and shock.
“I don’t believe you just said that.” The force with which Starsky launched himself from the sofa nearly knocked it over, and Hutch with it. “I don’t believe it.”
“Starsk — ”
“Shut up. Just shut up, and listen to me.” Starsky leaned over Hutch, arms to either side, trapping him. “I admit I’m thinking of that little girl, of how she could be mine, and how she could be yours. But for a one-on-one, grown up relationship? I love you. It’s you I’ve chosen. I don’t love Tori, haven’t since she left years ago, and it makes that child ours. That you would even think — ” He seized Hutch’s mouth in a dangerous, possessive kiss, grinding and nipping and battling with his tongue.
Hutch tried to keep up, tried to raise his arms to hold him, but Starsky gripped his biceps, held him down.
Hutch relaxed and surrendered, gave in to Starsky’s need to prove his love, to prove his loyalty and want and desire. Starsky unbuttoned Hutch’s shirt, pinched his nipples, opened his pants and pulled them off in one strong move. Hutch wove his fingers into the dark curls that bobbed before him, trying not to thrust into the hot, wet mouth that descended so aggressively over his surging cock.
He wanted to do more, to touch Starsky’s cock, to at least strip him down, but Starsky would have none of it, battling blindly with his arms to prevent it. Not until Hutch tensed beneath him and arched with an inarticulate shout did Starsky stop. He was relentless, sucking and fondling and drinking Hutch’s come greedily. Once the pulses stopped, Starsky nursed and teased until the sensitivity was so close to pain that Hutch begged him to set his cock free.
Starsky heaved himself back onto the sofa, leaning against Hutch’s shoulder as they both gasped for breath.
“Mine, Hutch. You’re mine. I don’t want anyone else.”
“I know. I know.”
“Do you?”
Hutch pulled Starsky against him. “Yes.”
“Love me, Hutch?” Starsky’s voice dropped into little-boy quality, needy and hopeful.
“Ah, Starsk.” He kissed him and dragged him to bed.
*~*~*
Starsky called Kellan’s workplace and Hutch called his apartment manager. Together they confirmed where David Kellan worked and where he lived. Both Kellan’s boss and landlord expressed some concern that neither had seen the man for a few days, and grew more concerned when they realized the police were looking for him.
They drove to Kellan’s apartment, where a nervous manager let them in. “Mr. Kellan showed me pictures of his daughter, but I’ve never seen her in person,” he explained. “He did tell me that he wasn’t allowed to see her but didn’t tell me why. Just said I wouldn’t have to worry about any kid being loud or anything.”
While the living room and kitchen were tidy and neat, the bedroom looked as if it had been robbed. The closet door hung open, shirts fallen to the floor from hangers clinging haphazardly to one another. Dresser drawers pulled to the floor, their contents tossed and muddled. The double bed was unmade, and personal care items were not evident in the bathroom.
“Looks like he was in a hurry,” Starsky remarked, squatting to peer under the bed. “Nothing here.”
“No suitcase anywhere, either.” Hutch kicked the clothes into the closet and closed the door.
“When was the last time you saw him, Mr. Quinn?” Starsky asked, pulling his notepad from his pocket.
“I don’t even know. We didn’t cross paths that much. Maybe a couple of weeks ago, when he paid his rent, I guess.”
“Good tenant?”
The little man nodded. “Oh, yes. Never a complaint about him, rent on time, all that. Seemed sad a lot, and sometimes nervous, maybe, but a good tenant.”
Hutch pulled a card from his pocket. “If he returns, or if anyone else comes asking about him, please give us a call right away at this number.”
“Of course, of course.” Quinn bobbed his head and put the card in his pocket. “Just let me know if you need anything else,” he added as he left.
“Thank you.”
Hutch picked up a framed photograph sitting on the top of the dresser. It had been knocked over at some point, and the glass had cracked. Through the jagged prism he could see Tori and David, posed for a photographer, Melinda Joy perched on Kellan’s knee. Starsky came up behind him and looked over Hutch’s shoulder.
“Seemed so happy.”
“Yeah. Let’s get out of here, go see his boss. Maybe there’s something there that’ll help.”
Steven Minter’s office looked neat and tidy, with large windows overlooking the manufacturing floor below.
“Please, sit,” he invited, gesturing toward the two chairs in front of his desk. “I’ve pulled Kellan’s file. Looks like he’s been gone for three full days now. Left early on Monday afternoon, has never come back since. That automatically puts him as suspended. If we don’t hear from him by tomorrow, Friday, he’s fired for certain.”
“Can you tell us a little about his state of mind while he was at work? Was he a good worker?” Hutch’s pen hovered over his notepad.
“He’s been with us a few years. A real up and comer. Computers are going to be the future, and he has a really good head for them. Everything was going well until he got married.” Minter tapped the file with his fingers. “Then he started acting — paranoid, almost. Said that now he was married, he needed to be thinking about the safety of his family, of his little girl. He’d be looking behind him all the time, joined the safety committee and started making noises about having locked doors all around, wanting the exits equipped with alarms for emergencies only. On breaks he’d call home to check up on his family. He insisted that overtime wasn’t something he could do, since he needed to be home with them whenever possible. He got really upset when we moved production here.”
Starsky turned to look out over the busy workers below. “Why was that?”
“Said he liked to walk his daughter to school, and moving here meant a longer commute that would make him have to leave earlier in the morning. I told him that was too bad; we’re growing and needed to move to a bigger location. He seemed to get really angry, but didn’t say anything else, just left. He seemed to accept it, showed up on time always, until now.”
“What about his coworkers-anyone he confided in that you know of?”
Minter thought for a moment. “Yeah, there’s his office mate, Todd. They had lunch together a lot, too, so maybe him. I don’t know of anyone else, though. ”
“May we speak with him?” Hutch asked, leaning to rest his arms on Minter’s desk. “If he knows anything about why Kellan would have gone or where, it’s important we find out.”
“Of course, of course. One second.” He picked up the phone and dialed a four digit extension. “Todd? Could you come up to my office, please? Thank you.” He cradled the phone. “Would either of you like some coffee, or water? He has to come from the other side of the building, so it’ll be a few minutes.”
“No, no thanks,” Hutch answered, and Starsky just shook his head, still watching the activity.
Minter poured himself some coffee. A knock sounded on the door. A youngish man walked in, with a nice smile and a firm handshake.
“Todd, this is Detective Hutchinson and Detective Starsky with the BCPD. They’d like to ask you some questions.”
“Me? Uh, what’s this about?” His warm manner turned nervous.
“Have a seat, Mr. Allen. We just wanted to ask you about David Kellan. We understand you spent some time together, is that right?”
“Oh, David. Yeah, we hung out a little.” His face went white. “Oh, no! Has something happened to him, is that why you’re here?”
Starsky said, “We don’t know. We know he’s missing, and so is his daughter. Can you tell us, did he say anything to you about taking her anywhere?”
“Melinda? She’s gone, too? Uh, no, he didn’t say anything to me.” His eyes darted from Starsky’s face to the floor, and then to Hutch. “But he had told me he couldn’t see her anymore, and he was pretty upset by that, though.”
“Did he ever talk about places he wanted to take her eventually, someplace that maybe he could have taken her now?”
At first, Todd shook his head slowly, but then cocked his head to the side. “Wait. Yeah. Last spring he was telling me — he said his parents had a cabin up in the woods, out by Pine Lake. He mentioned probably going to stay up there during his vacation this summer, but he never did take vacation. Maybe there?”
“Pine Lake, huh?” Hutch asked, glancing at Starsky.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure of it. He said something about there being a devil cult up there once some years ago but that they got rousted out by the cops. Now it’s a really nice place, or so he said.”
Hutch hid a smile and Starsky rolled his eyes. “Could you take us to his office? We’d like to check that out, too.”
*~*~*
The office wasn’t very big; two desks were pushed together so the occupants of each could talk to each other, similar to Starsky and Hutch’s own setup back in the squad room.
Rough piles of papers and folders cluttered Kellan’s desktop, arranged in some way that probably only made sense to him. Starsky and Hutch poked through them a little, but they seemed to be obviously work related, not personal. With Mr. Minter’s permission, they went through Kellan’s desk drawers and file cabinet.
“Hutch,” Starsky murmured. “Look.”
In the center desk drawer he found a penciled map, with directions written on it. “Looks like he took notes on how to get up to Pine Lake,” Hutch remarked, remembering some of the landmarks listed. “Do you know when he might have done this, Mr. Allen?”
Todd nodded. “That was Monday morning. He’d called his parents and I noticed he was taking those notes and thought maybe he’d finally take that vacation. After all the divorce stress, I was kind of glad to think he’d get a break. He spent a few minutes redrawing that map, making it clearer. I didn’t know they were directions to the cabin, though.”
“Do you know where his parents live?” Starsky held the map up to the light, squinting.
“They live here in Bay City but from this end of the conversation it sounded like he’d just caught them — they were heading for the airport to fly up to Seattle to visit his mom’s sister, or someone like that. I don’t remember exactly — just that they were leaving town for a couple of weeks.”
Hutch pulled a card from his shirt pocket and gave it to Mr. Minter. “We’ll take this copy of the map, if that’s all right. And if either of you think of anything else that might help us find him, please call us at that number.” He patted Starsky’s arm to draw his attention, and they left.
*~*~*
“Think Tori knows about the cabin?”
“Maybe. Wanna call her?”
“Yeah.” Starsky pulled a U-turn into a parking lot. Parking the car, he jumped out, digging for a dime. Hutch came up behind his partner, putting one arm on his shoulder while he dialed.
“Tori? It’s Dave — Starsky. Yeah. Hey, do you know anything about a cabin up by Pine Lake?” He looked back at Hutch and shook his head. “No, we don’t know yet, just got a lead on that. We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything, okay? Hang in there. Yeah, I know. Me, too. Yeah.”
He stood silent for a moment, holding his eyes closed with his fingers. Hutch squeezed his shoulder. He could just hear Tori’s voice, tinny through the line. “I know, hon. We’ll find her. I promise. Tori — do you know how to reach David’s parents if they’re up in Seattle? Yeah, maybe something about his mother’s sister? No — do you know a last name? Murphy. Okay. Thanks — we’ll be in touch. Just — right. We’ll call you. Bye.”
He hung up the phone and held it there a moment. Hutch finally forced him to turn.
“Hey, partner. What did she say?”
Starsky shook his head slowly. “Uh — his mother’s sister up in Seattle is a Mary Murphy. She didn’t have a number, though, just knew the name. Never met her.”
“Okay. We call it in, see if maybe Dobey can track her number down and call up there. Anything else?”
“Yeah — just that — Melinda didn’t have her favorite doll. She sleeps with it every night, always has, and — it’s there on her bed still. It’s upsetting Tori to think Melinda is not only with Kellan, but without her dolly. Ah, Hutch,” he sighed. “We gotta find that little girl.”
“We will, Starsk. We will. Come on.”
Once back in the car, after Starsky refused Hutch’s offer to drive, Hutch called Dobey on the radio. “Cap, we need to try to reach Kellan’s parents. Can you do a phone search on a Mary Murphy in Seattle?”
Dobey’s voice boomed, even through the radio. “Who is she?”
“Kellan’s aunt. His parents left Monday to go visit her, and had given Kellan reminder directions on how to get to a cabin they have up by Pine Lake. If they’re still visiting, we can maybe talk to them.”
“All right, I’ll see what I can do. If I can’t reach them, I’ll get a hold of the Seattle PD, see if they can assist.”
“Thanks, Cap. We’re heading back to the station; hopefully we’ll be able to make a call when we get there.”
As he racked the mike, he glanced at Starsky’s stony profile. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m just worried what he might do. I mean, Tori says he just wants to protect Melinda, but how far will he go to do that?”
Hutch squeezed Starsky’s thigh. “I don’t know, buddy. Hopefully not too far.”
*~*~*
“And ammunition. I see. How many again? Three. Okay. Yes, Mr. Kellan, I know you believe he wouldn’t, but it’s important that we be sure. How much longer will you be staying in Seattle, sir? And you’ll still be at this number? Yes, sir, we’ll let you know as soon as we know anything. Thank you, sir.”
Hutch pressed the receiver against his forehead for a moment before dropping it in the cradle. He tore paper from his pad and read from it. “Says there are three hunting rifles in a gun safe up there. The key is hidden but Kellan knows where it is. There’s no phone, but there is canned food stocked and firewood. It sounds just like your cabin, Cap.”
Dobey nodded. “All of them up there are pretty much the same design. I’ve already called Sheriff Tyce, and he remembers the two of you. Now, it’s his territory, and all of you are guests under his command, so you follow his lead. I’m sending a couple of black and whites with you, and you need to wait for Babcock and Simmons to get there, as well. Remember, with all those trees around, Kellan will probably see you before you see him.”
Hutch nodded in agreement. “Thanks, Cap. Where’d Starsky go?”
“He went to gas up the Torino at the garage. Guess this time he’s not going to insist on taking your car up there.” Dobey paused. “Hutch, do you think he’s been acting a little — strange about this case?”
Hutch hesitated for only a moment. “Well, it’s involving the child of a friend. You know how much he loves kids.”
Dobey huffed. “This is the first hot case where you two are basically leading since he got back, you know? So keep an eye on him, don’t let him get ahead of himself.”
Hutch nodded, suddenly realizing the truth of that. “I’ll always back him up, Cap. You know that. With my life.”
Dobey gave him an intense look. “Yeah, I do. Go on, he’s probably downstairs getting antsy.” He patted Hutch on the shoulder before heading back to his office.
Watching Dobey leave, Hutch wondered if his superior might actually know the truth. He shook his head, grabbed his jacket and hurried out.
*~*~*
“Zebra Three, this is Zebra Seven. Over.”
“Zebra Three. Zebra Seven, switch to tach two for sheriff.”
“Roger, Zebra Three.”
Hutch flipped the knob. “Zebra Three to Tyce, do you copy?”
“Tyce, copy. Nice to see you again, boys.”
“Zebra Seven to Zebra Three. Reading you loud and clear.”
“Zebra Seven, rendezvous with Adam squads at Canyon Road East. We’ll follow Tyce from Canyon Road West to Pine Lake Road and meet you there. Cabin is approximately one mile north on Pine Lake Road. Suspect’s vehicle is a blue ’78 Jeep, license 458-JUY. Instruct Adam squads approach behind us as backup. Zebra Three out.”
“Ten-Four. Zebra Seven out.”
Starsky pulled up alongside Sheriff Tyce’s cruiser. Hutch rolled down his window.
“Sheriff. Thanks for letting us work this.”
“You’re welcome. You guys are more experienced with this sort of thing anyway, so I look forward to learning a bit from you.” He gestured ahead. “I’ll lead you up there; there’s a turnout about a quarter of a mile from the cabin; I figure we can pull off there and approach on foot.”
“Sounds good.” Hutch nodded.
As Tyce pulled away, Hutch glanced at Starsky. “You okay?”
“Yep. Want to find Melinda, safe and sound.” He gave Hutch a lopsided grin. “I won’t go in with blazing guns or nothing. I want Kellan in one piece, too.”
They followed the cruiser, pushing through the dust raised by the car’s tires. Memories of the last time they were here floated into Hutch’s mind — another kidnapped girl, taken by crazy Satan worshipers. He fervently hoped this case would turn out as well as the last time, finding her safe and unharmed.
He reached for Starsky’s thigh, patted it. Starsky let go of his white-knuckled grip on the wheel long enough to pat back, smiling.
Once more they pulled alongside the cruiser. As they waited for the dust to settle, Hutch took up the mike again.
“Zebra Three to Zebra Seven, we are in position approximately one-quarter mile south of the cabin. Will begin approach when you are ready.”
“Zebra Seven. We’re ready to go, coming up on the east side. Lake is to the west, right?”
“Affirmative. Everyone keep out of sight; Starsky and I will go first, sheriff behind, and Adam squads, provide cover if necessary. Watch for any attempt at escape but do not, I repeat, do not shoot at suspect as he could use the child for cover.”
“Ten-Four.”
Starsky, Hutch and Tyce all checked their own weapons. Satisfied, Tyce nodded and silently they walked the edge of the road, keeping low and close to the trees.
Within a few minutes the roof of a cabin came into sight. They stopped to listen, but heard nothing. Carefully they crept closer.
Hutch felt Starsky’s hand on his arm and warm breath in his ear. “Jeep.”
Looking to his right, he saw what Starsky had — the blue Jeep, parked far into the trees opposite the cabin. The angle of the sun just poked through the branches to reflect off the vehicle’s rear-view mirror and draw attention. Starsky turned to point it out to Tyce, who nodded and glancing about, then ran quickly across the road to investigate.
Hutch could hear waves lapping on the shore. For a moment, he remembered fishing on this lake, so peaceful and quiet that morning years ago. Then he heard something else — the dip-and-slap of oars against the water. He leaned forward, turning his head, and Starsky gripped his arm.
“Someone’s in a rowboat.”
“Coming back, do you think? Or going out?”
“Coming back. I want to think we’d have heard voices if they were heading out.” Hutch looked toward the Jeep where Tyce nodded and gave a thumbs up. “It’s his.”
Just then the tinkle of childish laughter rang out, followed by the deeper voice of a man.
“Daddy, are we going to cook the fish? How do you get the guts out? Will they taste ok? Do we have to eat their heads, too?”
“No, Melinda, we don’t eat their heads. I’ll cut them open and clean out all their guts — here, take the poles up to the porch there, and I’ll clean the fish right here in the water.”
Starsky went left to the side of the porch while Hutch went right toward the lake to hide in the trees. Tyce ambled up the road to the front of the cabin.
Hutch stood with his back to a tree, leaning around it just enough to see Tyce approach Kellan, who was busy with a knife and fish at the water’s edge. Just at the edge of his view, he could see Starsky at the porch, ready to reach out to Melinda if necessary. Further up the shore, Babcock raised his hand just enough for Hutch to see and nod back. Babcock pointed to his right, then raised one finger, and pointed at Hutch. Again, Hutch acknowledged with a nod that Simmons was working his way up through the trees behind the cabin.
He turned his attention back to Tyce’s approach.
“Howdy! I’m Sheriff Tyce. How’s the fishing today?” Tyce put out his hand. Kellan stood and reluctantly shook it, glancing quickly up at the cabin where Melinda had gone.
“Uh, pretty decent. We got four in about ninety minutes out in the middle. Is there, uh, anything I can help you with, Sheriff?”
“Oh, no, just doing an amble around the cabins. I like to keep tabs on our visitors here, make sure they’re okay and all. What’s your name?”
“Oh, uh…” Kellan began, flustered. At that moment, the cabin door banged open.
“Daddy! I saw a — oh!”
Tyce turned toward the porch. Hutch tensed, seeing Kellan glance around and focus on the far end of the porch, where Starsky had frozen, hands held up to show he held no weapon. The knife in Kellan’s hand gleamed in the sunlight.
“Come here, Melinda,” Kellan called quietly.
“Hi, there miss! What’s your name?” Tyce called.
Melinda shrank against the door, frightened eyes on Kellan. “Daddy?” she asked uncertainly.
Starsky leaned over the edge, reaching with one hand. “Melinda. It’s okay. We’re police officers.” She startled at his voice, staring at him for a moment before looking back to Kellan.
“Come here,” Kellan repeated, with a little flick of his hand, beckoning.
She took the steps cautiously, keeping her distance from Tyce and Starsky until Kellan had her tucked against his side.
“Hi, honey. I’m Sheriff Tyce, and I’m just here to make sure everyone is all right.”
Kellan’s knife flashed as he pushed Melinda in front of him. “You aren’t taking her from me.”
Starsky walked slowly around the front of the porch, hands still in view. “David, we just want to talk you.”
Kellan whirled. “Who are you? Get away, I’m warning you.” He started walking backwards, toward the water, pulling Melinda with him.
“My name is David, too. David Starsky. I’m a detective with the Bay City Police. I’m a friend of Tori’s, and she’s very worried about you, David. She asked the sheriff and I to come make sure that you’re all right, and that Melinda’s all right.”
“Of course she’s all right. I said I’d protect her. No one else can protect her like I can.” His confidence was belied by the tremor in his voice.
“I’m sure no one could, David. Tori told us how fiercely you’ve protected Melinda since you became her daddy. She also told us why, and I’m very sorry that those things happened to you. David, listen to me. I think maybe you’re frightening your little girl right now.”
While Kellan held eye contact with Starsky, Hutch watched Melinda. She blinked rapidly at the knife hovering near her face, and winced every time Kellan clenched his hand tighter around her middle. Tears began to streak silently down her cheeks. A touch of breeze blew one brown curl into the track of one of them, effectively sticking the hair to her face.
Starsky walked to Kellan’s right, forcing him to turn his body to keep Starsky in sight.
“Melinda, are you okay?” Starsky asked with a gentle smile.
Hutch noticed that the woods had fallen silent, and was once again reminded of their last visit here. The tension in the air became palpable. Hutch drew a deep breath and pulled his gun.
Melinda glanced up at Kellan, then back at Starsky, too scared to answer.
“It’s all right, Melinda. He isn’t going to hurt you, and neither am I. But I would like you to get away from that knife. It’s not safe to be around one that close. But you know that, right? Because you’re a smart girl. Your mommy told me so. She misses you very much. David, please. Send her to me.”
“No.”
Starsky took a few more steps to the right until Kellan stood with his back directly to Hutch. Tyce followed Starsky’s lead, coming up on Kellan’s left.
Starsky’s voice was gentle and quiet. “David, what happened to you was wrong, very, very wrong. Those boys should have been punished for what they did. But, David, right now, you’re scaring your little girl just like those boys scared you. That isn’t what you want to happen, is it? You don’t want her scared, do you?”
Kellan blinked, then shook his head. “No. I don’t. I want to teach her how to be safe.”
“David, please. Let her come to me. I’m a cop; she’s supposed to learn that the police are her friends too, right? Melinda? What did your mommy teach you to do if you got lost?”
Melinda snuffled once and then whispered, “To find a policeman.”
“That’s right. That’s right. It’s our job to help you. Will you let me do my job? Will you come to me?”
Kellan’s arm tightened again. The knifeblade flashed, two, three times.
Melinda saw the knife and tugged a little at David’s hand. “Daddy, please? Let me go. You’re hurting me.”
Hutch took the advantage of not being seen and took small, silent steps towards Kellan, gun held steady with both hands.
Kellan moved the knife away from her. “Melinda Joy? You know I wouldn’t hurt you.” His arm loosened slightly.
“Please, Daddy. I’m scared.”
Kellan’s knife hand dropped. Tyce took two steps closer. Babcock and Simmons moved into view, completing the circle around Starsky, Melinda and Kellan.
“Now, Melinda,” Starsky ordered, arms open.
Melinda pulled away and ran to Starsky, who swept her into his arms and ran to the cabin. Hutch moved at the same time, hacking at Kellan’s right wrist with his arm, forcing him to drop the knife. Quickly he pulled Kellan’s right arm behind his back and pinned it there, while he pressed the barrel of his gun against Kellan’s spine and force-walked him towards Tyce and away from the cabin. Tyce met him halfway, snicking his handcuffs shut over Kellan’s wrists.
The clearing suddenly filled with officers, guns drawn, but Hutch waved them all to put them away. “It’s all over.” He drew a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart.
Simmons directed the uniforms to collect the knife as evidence, while Tyce read a silently sobbing Kellan his rights before hustling him down the road to his cruiser. Hutch was happy to let him take charge of man. Melinda was his concern now.
The door to the cabin stood open and just inside, Starsky knelt on the floor with Melinda’s head against his shoulder. She was crying, soft little sobs that nearly broke Hutch’s heart. Starsky petted her curls and held her tightly, looking up at Hutch, a question in his wide-eyed gaze. Hutch smiled his own relief and nodded. “Tyce has him now.”
He stood close, one hand on Starsky’s shoulder until Melinda was calm again. When she raised her face to look at Hutch, side by side with Starsky’s, the true blue of her eyes nearly took his breath away. A brief stab of loss pierced his heart, battered by the force of twin gazes.
“Where’s my mommy?”
“Melinda, this is Hutch. He’s my partner. And we’re going to take you to your mommy right now.”
He knelt down to her level and smiled. “Hi, Melinda. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I think he needs a hug, too. He was really worried about you there for a minute. Think you can give him one?” Starsky asked. She let go of Starsky and launched herself at Hutch, arms tight around his neck.
“Oh,” he said, tucking his chin over her shoulder. “Thank you.”
He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, a wave of affection crashing over him. When he looked at Starsky, he knew the feeling was shared and doubled by love.
*~*~*
Melinda Joy had finally fallen asleep. It had taken three songs from Hutch and a story from Starsky before her exhaustion finally caught up with her.
“She’s a wonderful girl, Tori,” Hutch said, as Tori gave her daughter a final goodnight kiss. “You’ve done great.” And now will I get to sing to her more? Show her how to hold a guitar, ask her to sing with me? Will you let us in now?
“Thanks. I regret the part David played in her life, now, though. It may be a long time before she’s over this.”
“Expect a few nightmares,” Starsky said. He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her to the sofa. “She’ll need you there to talk her through them until they go away.” Hutch nodded, remembering the long nights when Starsky’s intense memory dreams didn’t let either of them sleep for long.
Hutch poured them all some wine, and set it on the coffee table. He sat on Toir’s left, Starsky on her right, and both stretched their arms across the back of the sofa, enclosing her between them and touching each other. Hutch recalled when they were close like this, so many years before.
“I read about you in the papers,” Tori admitted, shaking her head. “I thought about calling you or coming to see you, but it didn’t feel right, you know? Too much guilt in the way.”
“Hey. It’s okay. I understand.” Starsky leaned closer and took her hand in his. “Hutch took good care of me. I don’t think I would have made it without him.”
“Somehow, I knew he would.” Tori shook her head again. “With you two, it’s almost like…as if you were…oh, what am I saying? Never mind.” But Hutch could see the probable truth becoming clear to her.
“What, Tori?” Hutch asked, curious. Being inside their lover’s circle, he’d always wondered what their relationship looked like from an outsider’s point of view.
She blushed. “Like…you’re very close.” She took up her glass of wine and gulped, hiding behind the stemware.
“We are,” Hutch said, and Starsky leaned back again, replacing his arm behind Hutch, gripping his shoulder. “Very, very close.”
She glanced between them, then closed her eyes and nodded once. “It’s hard to find that ‘one’ in this world. If you find him, you should hang on tight.”
They sat in silence for a minute, Hutch knowing she understood exactly what they meant.
Starsky cleared his throat. “Tori, we’d like to be more involved in Melinda’s life, if that’s okay with you. I mean, if one of us is her father, wouldn’t it be okay for her to know us? To have other adults she can turn to if she needs? Not that she wouldn’t go to her mother first if…”
Tori cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Of course you can. I want you to. I’ve always wanted you to, I just…I was scared.”
“You don’t need to be scared anymore.”
*~*~*
“Uncle Ken! Watch!” Melinda waved before bouncing on the diving board, her forward motion culminating in a cannonball of six-year-old proportions, sending water splashing over the other swimmers in the public pool.
Once her wet head surfaced, sleek as an otter, he waved back. “That was a great one, Melinda!”
He turned his attention back to his drawing pad. Brown curls framed a young face. He poised a blue pencil over the outline of her eyes.
“Hey, that’s great. Tori’ll love it.” Starsky plopped a box of hot dogs and soda down on the table with a thunk. “Mel still swimming?”
“Melinda, yes, is still swimming. Just did a cannonball off the board.”
“I like ‘Mel’.” Starsky grinned. “Think she’s ready to eat?”
Hutch stopped his coloring to glance at his watch. “She’s been in there nearly an hour. I’m sure she’s worked up an appetite. Tori’s supposed to meet us here in about half an hour.”
“I’ll go get Mel, then.” As Starsky sauntered to the pool, his cut-off shorts drawing more than a few admiring stares from several women lying in the lounge chairs. Hutch smiled to himself, smug with his sole rights to the ass enclosed in that worn denim.
He touched the pencil again to one outlined eye. The color was just right — brilliant blue, clear and bold. A few more telltale signs had made it clear to Hutch just whose child this was. The shape of her eyebrows, the jut of her chin. The hair seemed Tori’s; the angles of Melinda’s face belonged to her mother, certainly, and curve of her mouth.
Then there was the sheer stubbornness of her personality, and the way she seemed to bounce on her feet.
She was a perfect combination of Tori and Starsky, but he seemed the only one to see it.
Starsky sauntered back, coming around behind him. “Right there — that’s what makes me wonder if she’s yours, Hutch.”
He shook his head. “What does?”
“There. That little crease between her eyebrows. It’s just like yours. I’ll bet if we look next time she’s thinking hard or worried about something, we’ll see it cut real deep. And you’ve got her eye color wrong.”
Startled, he stared at the picture. “Wrong? They’re blue.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got them too dark. Her eyes are lighter than that, like her grandfather’s. And yours.”
Hutch shook his head. “I don’t have them wrong, Starsk.”
Starsky straddled the bench and leaned close. “Are you looking for me in her?”
Hutch glanced up at him, then turned back to his pad. “I’m not looking for you in her. I just see you.”
“Her hair may be brown and curly like mine, Blintz, but it’s baby fine, like yours. And have you really looked at her fingers? They’re shaped like yours. An artist’s hands. I see you in her. I don’t see me.”
“Starsk, you don’t have to do this. I know how much you wanted to have kids, and it’s fine with me that she’s probably yours, it really is.”
“That’s not the point.” Starsky slid closer until their heads were nearly touching. Hutch chuckled at the audacity of him, clad in those shorts, at this public pool, sitting so close. To any observer, though, it probably looked like he was just watching Hutch draw.
“What is the point, then?”
“The point is, we don’t know. Tori doesn’t know, we don’t know, and Melinda sure as heck doesn’t know. Does it matter?”
“It might, later.”
“Then we’ll let later take care of itself. For right now, she’s got her Uncle Ken and her Uncle Starsky, and that’s all she needs. We’re both filling that ‘father’ space for her, and that’s okay. Together, you and me.”
“Me and thee? Together we can do anything?”
“That’s right, Babe.”
“Uncle Starsky!”
Hutch let it go. Starsky swept the dripping little girl onto his knee, and then teased her about getting him all wet. The sight of the two of them together left no room for doubt in Hutch’s mind as to who her father was, but if Starsky wanted to deny it or ignore it for now, he’d follow his lead. What Starsky couldn’t know, though, was the burgeoning blossom of pleasure it gave Hutch to know that Starsky — his looks, his quirks, and the sheer power of his love — would live on in Melinda.
Patting at Melinda’s tangled hair with a towel, Starsky asked her a question. Hutch didn’t even hear it, just heard the lilt of his voice, and as Melinda frowned, considering, he stared at the crease between her brows, and then noticed the taper of her fingers as she clutched at the towel around her.
He glanced down at his own hands.
Or maybe…
Maybe.
~end
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks to Dawn, who oversaw too many drafts of this puppy. Any remaining mistakes in voice or punctuation remain my responsibility, and to both Dawn and Sue for input on the medical aspects included. Written for the Con*Strict conzine, 2009 — challenge: Kid!Fic.
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