Lay the Ghosts to Rest

202

Years after Starsky’s shooting, the guys are leading separate lives, but come back together after Hutch shows up at Starsky’s door one night.

 

Originally published in Hidden Secrets, Broken Hearts in 2004. Hutch art by Lorraine.

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Chapter 1

The alarm just wouldn’t shut off, no matter how many times he hit the button. Coming more fully awake, David Starsky realized with a groan that it wasn’t the alarm at all but the persistent ringing of the phone. With a hard swipe over his beard stubble to wake up, he reached for the offending instrument.

“Starsky.”

“Got one for you. When are you coming in this morning?” the voice of his secretary on the other end sounded much too cheerfully alert.

“What time it is?” Starsky asked with a flop back into the pile of pillows he longed to lose himself in.

“Ten ’til nine,” came the continuing-to-irritate cheerful reply.

“Stacey, I didn’t get home until a little after three this morning. I didn’t plan on getting in to the office before noon. Did you open your computer and see the memo I left for you?”

“Oops, sorry boss…I’m looking at it right now. Can you forget I said anything and go back to sleep?” His secretary’s voice sounded hopeful.

Hell no, you idiot, he thought with tired aggravation, but replied, “Never mind, I’m awake now. What is it?”

“A Jane Doe at the hospital. They’ve gone to pick her up. Seems the ER was really busy, holding patients in there because ICU had no beds. They just wanted this Jane Doe out ASAP. I guess she was stinking up the place, from what they said.”

“So what’s new about a Jane Doe smelling like old dirt and cheap booze?”

“No, this one smelled like smoke. She set fire to herself. That’s what the ER Doc said was the cause of death.”

“What was she doing? Smoking in her cardboard box?” Starsky asked as he stretched, then doubled over when the scar tissue on his chest rebelled like it always did with that particular movement.

“It was a weird story; you’ll have to read his ER notes. Anyway, since I was afraid they’d be bringing her in before you got here, and all the drawers are full, I was calling you to ask who you wanted me to move out?”

Starsky groaned, wishing not for the first time this busy week for the city to cut loose with some coins to enlarge the morgue. “Take out the guy in drawer #4. We’ll rotate them until I can light a fire under one of the other cities to give us a hand and off load somebody. Give a call to that mortuary in Lancaster, that’s where he’s slated to go. See if you can’t get a commitment from them for a pick up today.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of it…and boss? I’m sorry about the wake up call. I didn’t interrupt anything did I?” she teased.

“Only my dreams! Give me an hour, and then make a fresh pot of coffee. Normal stuff, please, not any of your Mocha-Java-Jasmine crap. Okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

Starsky let the phone drop when the line went dead and lay perfectly still until the ugly sound the phone was making being off the hook grated on his nerves and took all the pleasure out of lying there. With a growl he rolled over and hung up the phone properly, maintaining the momentum to sit, then stand. Scratching at his chest and belly he padded to the bathroom to pee. After turning on the shower, he glanced in the mirror to look at his face. “Too much beard to let it go, not enough to pretend there really is one and that’s why I’m not shaving.” He opened the mirrored cabinet and laid out his razor. He scratched absently at his chest again, his eye catching the motion in the mirror. He looked at where his fingers rested; a long scar ran the length of his torso from just above his nipple line to his navel. “A few more years and people will think you had open heart or something,” he said, letting his fingers run over the irregular puckered scars to the right of that line that were obviously not created by a scalpel. “If it weren’t for these.” He stood up straighter and sucked in his basically flat stomach a little tighter and turned to check his profile. “Not bad for an old man,” he remarked with a small smile. “Six years ago I didn’t think I’d ever see forty.” He stepped into the shower stall letting the hot water relax the customary morning stiffness.

* * * *

True to his estimation of an hour, he entered his office through the back door, smiling at the smell of fresh coffee. He punched on the computer at his desk and went to pour a cup while he waited for it to boot up. With a glance at the small stack of letters on his desk he swung around the door jam to the receptionist area. “Good morning, again. Did anybody call in response to my begging for some morgue space yesterday?”

“Andy Takei in Garden Grove can take two. He said give him a call.” She took two pieces of paper out of her pocket and stretched out an arm, “Here are your other phone messages.” She sat back from the stretch and smiled shyly. “I really am sorry about not checking the computer before calling you. I’m having a hard time getting used to the damn thing. It won’t happen again.”

“Okay,” he smiled back then sobered with obvious artificial sternness. “See that it doesn’t, or I’ll call you to tell you I’m just getting to bed at three AM as a reminder.” He watched as her eyes widened for a second, then melted again as she saw through him to the joke. God, was I ever that young? he thought as he took the messages back to his desk.

Starsky spent the better part of the next hour filling out the voluminous paperwork necessary to transfer a body from one morgue to another. He snatched up the phone and punched in the number, still filling out page after page. “Mr. Takei, please. David Starsky, Fullerton Coroner’s office. Yes, thank you.” He took another drink of his coffee, swallowing quickly when he heard the familiar voice at the other end. “Hey Andy, thanks, buddy, you are a life saver. I owe you one, two actually. Yes, I’ll remember you did this for me over the holidays, I swear. I don’t know what it is. I’ve been full and over-flowing for weeks now and we haven’t even hit the flu season yet. Maybe I should show up with a few of the over-flows at the next city council meeting. Think that would get their attention?” Starsky laughed at the mental picture that evoked, listening to his friend on the other end laugh too.

“If you do that, be sure not to list me as a reference when you go apply for your next job, okay?” Takei said.

“And after you loaned me How to Win Through Intimidation? What kind of friend are you?” Starsky fired back.

“One that will give you two morgue slabs and no more. Thanks for sharing the micro-toxicology screen you got back on the Drusker case. That was a smart call,” Takei continued. “What made you suspect the heroine was cut with anything other than normal cornstarch?”

“The sample smelled funny,” Starsky answered simply.

“Once a cop, always a cop, Starsky. You make us Loma Linda Science nerds look bad,” Takei jibbed.

“At first I thought it might have been one of the officers who collected it was wearing some strong after-shave. But later I caught a similar whiff at the grocery store when a little kid shook out half the bottle of the stuff his mother let him hold while he was sitting in the grocery cart. Aloe may be good for a lot of things, but it should come with a warning not to be taken intravenously. Sure gums up the lungs when the blood’s full of it,” Starsky said with a grim shake of his head. “I guess the kid thought he’d stretch his stash out just a little and recoup some of his cash. Too bad. He took out three of his buddies.”

“Yeah, and they shared with two other kids from my area. Could have been worse. Could have been the whole damn batch and we’d have dead kids all over LA,” Takei said over the sound of other phone lines ringing. “Hey, my desk phone’s looking like a Christmas tree, let me get going. Send me what you need to. Please, just tell me there’s some hope of finding family and getting them out of here in this century? Talk to you later.”

“Bye, Andy. Thanks again.” Starsky looked down at the papers he had finished filling out and grabbed up one set, ripping it in half and feeding it through the shredder. “That one won’t be gone any time soon.” Looking at the other stack of papers, “But you will,” he said as he chose another file on his desk and began the process of filling out the transfer papers on this new choice with a sigh.

His paperwork was interrupted a few hours later with a soft knock on his office door. “I’m going to lunch, boss. Want me to get you anything?” Stacey asked leaning against the doorjamb.

“No, I’ll grab something after I do the Jane Doe. It’ll set better that way.” He gave her a knowing smile and returned to the paperwork.

“Don’t forget those messages I gave you. Mr. Hutchinson called again while you were on the phone. He said he was still at the previously given number.”

“Right, ah…” he fumbled for a second, patting his pockets for the notes from earlier before his eyes fell on them at the corner of his desk. “Got it. Right here. I’ll give him a buzz, thanks.”

He glanced at the number and the name. “I haven’t talked to you in months and now two calls in one day? What’s the matter, Hutch? Either there’s something wrong or you’ve got an extra Laker’s ticket. It’s the office number so you’re not sick or hurt.” He took a breath and let it out slowly. “You can wait until after lunch,” he decided as he set the message back down on the desk.

Finishing up the month’s end report, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it on the hanger by the door before leaving his office. He put the forms on Stacey’s desk with a note to please call transport and schedule the transfers ASAP. Pulling off his tie he entered the morgue area to get started on the Jane Dow that awaited his examination. He picked up the file off the gleaming metal table and glanced at the emergency room record. “Shit, she was alive for an hour and a half,” he mumbled to himself, his voice sounding abnormally loud in the still, cold room. Starsky rested the file on the far counter at the side of the long room, then slipped inside the bathroom to change into scrubs. When he emerged he donned rubber gloves and mask before he pushed over the examination table to the morgue slot. Unlatching the door he secured the table to the rollout slab and removed the covered body.

Even above the other strong chemical smells in the morgue’s main room, once the door was opened the unmistakable smell of burned human flesh permeated the room.

He pushed the table with the morgue slab on it back under the bank of lights in the center of the room and locked it in place. Pressing the foot pedal in the floor he turned on the lights. With the touch of a second pedal he activated the tape recorder and spoke clearly into the microphone that hung from the ceiling. “Fullerton County Coroner’s case number 1122004149, County Coroner David Starsky dictating.” He touched the pedal to pause and shook his head at the smell in spite of his mask.

“Phew! I see why they wanted you out of the ER.” He touched the pedal again and resumed his dictation. “October 22, 1986, 12:31 p.m. Victim is a well-developed, well nourished white female, approximate age 45-55. Name unknown, occupation unknown, address unknown. Body discovered on equine trail, Brea Park. Time of death at UCI Medical Center 09:14 a.m. Body is intact. External evidence of extreme thermal injuries. Cause of death on UCI ER report self immolation with flammable liquid, surface examination of body in keeping with same. Upper respiratory passages singed, facial hair, eyebrows and eyelashes not visible. Much of the anterior aspect of hair on victims head singed. Palmar surface of hands and fingers blistered and third spaced. Scratches on forearms, mostly inside surface with corresponding scratches on chest and upper abdomen. Some of the scratches are quite deep; all are very close together. No other area of bruising or injury noted.”

* * * *

Several hours later Starsky finished the last of his dictation and pressed the foot pedal to stop the recording and again to kill the lights. He glanced down at the body before him and felt the old familiar cop-sense tingle. With a puzzled shake of his head he muttered, “Women don’t kill themselves this way. Not on purpose.” He drew the sheet back in place and unlocked the table to move it back to the waiting cooler space. He slid it in and secured the door. With another shake of his head he removed his mask and snapped off his gloves, firing them like a slingshot into the trashcan, then went to the sink to wash his hands. He picked up the file to again check over the emergency room records and the attached police report. He read the same words he’d read the previous two times, but something still didn’t set right. “Women go get their hair done and take pills. They don’t pour gasoline all over their body and set themselves on fire,” he muttered as he walked into the bathroom to change back into his street clothes then left the morgue’s main room and to return to his office.

Going to the small refrigerator in the corner of his office he took out an apple and a wedge of cheese to take to his desk to eat. He looked over the file once more, taking out a yellow pad from his desk to make his own notes on. Glancing at the signature of the police form he dialed a number and waited.

“Yes, this is David Starsky, Fullerton County Coroner. I’d like to speak to Detective John Meredith if he’s in, please.” Starsky pried off a piece of cheese and wiped at the apple with a tissue from the box on his desk before he took a bite from it as he waited.

“Yes, thank you. Hi, Detective Meredith, Dave Starsky here…”

“Hi, how ya’ doin’?” Meredith asked.

“Ah…fine thanks. Listen, I just finished with your Jane Doe from this morning and I’d like to ask a couple of questions if now’s a good time.”

“Sure, what do you need?” the detective answered.

“I don’t hold out a lot of hope of identifying her by fingerprints to Sacramento. Her fingers were too burned, the prints would be pretty well useless once that level of third space edema sets in. I can check to see if we have any dental records in the main frame. Did you look around in the area where she was found to see if there were belongings of any kind? Anything that would point us in a direction to look in?”

“You know, that was the weirdest thing. I really expected to hunt around a little and find a cardboard box and a stash of stuff. But there wasn’t anything. She did it on one of the horse trails, and there wasn’t anything there but the bottles she carried the gas in and the cage from the animals.”

“Animals? What animals?” Starsky asked, shuffling the pages of the file as he looked more closely.

“She had a cage with her. One of those carrier things. I guess that’s what she had the rabbits in. I wasn’t sure what they were at the time; the police lab identified them a little while ago as rabbits. She took them out with her. Weird, huh?”

Starsky closed his eyes against that mental picture. “How the hell do you hang on to burning bunnies?” he asked.

“I know, that bothered me almost more than her killing herself. I mean that was her choice, but she didn’t have to take innocent animals with her.”

“So you think she did this to herself?” Starsky asked, the doubt clearly audible in his voice.

“There wasn’t any evidence at the scene to suggest otherwise. Plus, out of her mouth to God’s ears. She admitted it. We asked her at the scene and again at the hospital, who did this to her and her answer was always the same. ‘I did it to myself, leave me alone, let me die.’ In fact, at the hospital she got pissed at being asked again and told us to shut up,” Meredith added.

Starsky shook his head as he sat at his desk in silence, staring at the close-up pictures of the Jane Doe’s face that he had just taken. “I can’t get a handle on it, and I don’t know why. It just doesn’t feel like suicide to me.”

“Well, let me know if you get anything from Sacramento as to ID and I’ll run with it. Maybe we’ll be lucky and someone will miss her eventually and file a missing person.”

“You’ve already run her against the existing, I’m sure…”

“Yeah, everything that’s in the computer locally. I can run her against the National and International files if you think I need to,” Meredith offered.

“Ah… yeah… national anyway. Let’s shake this thing a little and see what falls out.”

“Okay, you got it. I’ll get back to you if I have anything to share.”

“Thanks, Meredith. I’ll let you know if Sacramento pulls…” he stopped.

“A rabbit out of a hat?” Meredith finished for him. “Was that what you were going to say?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t seem quite so apropos considering, right now, does it?”

“Hey, it could have been worse… it could have been babies,” Detective Meredith intoned seriously.

“Yeah. Catch you later.” Starsky hung up with a shudder. Thank you for that mental picture.

He leaned back in his chair and stretched, one hand pressing against his right side under his ribs in deference to the scar tissue that remained stubbornly unforgiving in that area. It wasn’t something he consciously thought about much anymore, just an action of habit. And whether he would have stopped to analyze why, it brought the message on his desk to call his old friend and ex-partner to mind. He pressed the phone in the crook of his neck and dialed, peeling off more cheese and continuing to eat his apple.

“Kenneth Hutchinson’s office, Betsy speaking, may I help you?”

“Mr. Hutchinson, please,” he got out around the apple juice that threatened to escape his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hutchinson is in court at present. May I take a message?” the nasal sounding voice intoned.

“This is… just tell him Starsky says tag, you’re it.”

“That’s the entire message?” she asked.

“Yep, he has the number, thank you very much.” With a smile he hung up the phone. He pushed the note to the side of his desk in an obvious spot and glanced at a framed picture sitting on the bookcase nearby. His eyes searched over the group of men in crisp new police uniforms standing proudly at attention. The lettering at the bottom of the picture announced the graduating class of the Bay City Police Academy. On the shelf above was another picture of Starsky and another man, both men dressed casually, gold shields plainly visible and clipped on their belts. Starsky himself was hunched slightly to light a cigarette against the wind, the other man in the frame talking with obvious animation, finger pointing in emphasis. “Haven’t smoked since I made detective, Mr. Health Nut. You and Johnny nagged me into quitting. I still miss him. Still miss all of it… being a cop… you… especially you.” He let his eyes linger a little longer before with a sigh and familiar feeling of brief sadness, he looked away. “Where’d the time go, Hutch? How did we let it get away?”

 

Chapter 2

The rest of the afternoon was spent as many days of late… on the phone. One call after another followed up on police reports and possible identifications faxed to and from as various counties struggled with the laborious task of identifying unidentifiable bodies. He ended the day by sending off the fingerprint slide of his most recent Jane Doe to Sacramento. Maybe we’ll both get lucky, Jane, and there’s enough of your print there to matter, he thought, as he glanced a final time at the pictures and felt his cop-sense tingle again.

Getting up from his desk he went into the lab and opened one of the storage closets and rifled through it until he came to a belongings bag from the hospital with the name and case number he sought. Pulling on gloves, he opened the bag to examine the charred clothes and shoes and the patient’s copy of her emergency registration page. Most everything on it was blank since she had refused to answer any questions, and the police and EMT’s who had accompanied her to the ER had gotten no information from her at the scene either. He reached for the shoes and looked first at the bottoms, then the insides. They were good shoes, not worn-looking as if someone had thrown them away. A good brand, too.

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t find them someplace though, does it?” he muttered as he began to put everything back and reseal the bag. Or does it? he thought as he replaced the belongings bag and turned off the light in the morgue’s main room before he began to lock up the office. He glanced at Stacey’s desk on the way past and saw the receipt for the pick up of the two bodies and made a mental reminder to send a note of thanks to Andy Takei. Next time somebody gives me baseball tickets, I’ll pass them on, he thought with a smile. Grabbing his suit coat off the hook, he shrugged into it and patting his pocket to be sure he had the office keys, he punched the alarm settings and left the office for his car.

Halfway home his beeper went off and he pulled off the freeway to a gas station near the off ramp to answer it. He squeezed into a phone booth, his nose wrinkling at the smell of old urine, and dialed the number that he vaguely recognized. More solid recognition asserted itself when the operator answered.

“Memorial Hospital, how may I direct your call?”

“This is David Starsky, Fullerton Coroner’s Office. You beeped me?”

“Yes, sir, they wanted to talk to you in ICU. One moment,  I please. I’ll connect you.”

“Thank you,” he said to Musak noise before the phone rang again and was answered.

“ICU, Jennifer, may I help you?”

“Yes, Jennifer. You called the Coroner’s office, this is David Starsky. I’m on call tonight, what do you need?”

“We’ve had a death in a patient with less than twenty-four hours of hospitalization. No previous hospitalizations at this facility, but extensive cardiac history with open heart three years ago in San Diego.”

“Have you contacted the attending from San Diego?” Starsky asked, plugging the ear not resting against the receiver to block out the street noise so he could hear better.

“Yes, and the attending spoke with the ER physician who admitted the patient here. The admitting physician, after talking with the other doctor and getting the history, is comfortable signing the death certificate… if you don’t have any problem with him doing that.”

“What was the presenting complaint when the patient arrived? I’m assuming he came in through the ER, right?”

“Yes, presented in the ER at 1308, CPR in progress. Successfully resuscitated, well…marginally. They got a pulse and BP back, but pupils have been fixed and dilated since I got him. When they tried to stop CPR and call it, he had a heartbeat and it’s just taken this long for everything to shut down.”

“Okay, let the family pick a mortuary and I’ll get a copy of the death certificate with both attending doctors names, as well as the ER record. If I have any questions, I’ll get with one of them. No sense in making a bad situation any worse for the family.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Thanks. What was your name again?” Jennifer asked. “I’ll give a card to the family in case they have any questions later on.”

“David Starsky, that’s with a ‘Y.’ Beep me if there’s a problem.”

“I will, thanks again.”

Starsky let out a slow sigh. “Well, at least I don’t have to clear more morgue space,” he said to himself out loud trying to find a positive in yet another death.

* * * *

The evening passed with his beeper staying unacustomarily silent. With his fingers crossed he got undressed for bed. He was just drifting off when he heard the doorbell ring. With a start upright and a glance at the clock which clearly showed it was way too late for casual callers or solicitors, he grabbed his robe off the chest at the foot of the bed and tied it snugly around him, then picked up his gun off the table in the hall by the front door. He listened to the knock again, louder this time, as he looked through the security hole in his front door out to the lighted hallway of his condo. With instant recognition he thumbed the safety back on his handgun and unlocked the door. With a frown and feigned irritation he opened the door a crack to grate, “Hutch, do you know what the fuck time it is?”

“Yes, I’m well aware of what time it is. I’ve spent the better part of the last two hours trying to figure out something other than knocking on your door, but as you can see, here I am. You gonna let me in?”

Starsky stepped aside and opened the door wider as he let the other man pass. Ken Hutchinson entered carrying a briefcase, his leather jacket open over a suit coat and tie askew.

Once his old partner was inside and in a better light Starsky looked more closely and could plainly see the stress on the other man’s face.

“What’s up?”

“If you’d answer my damn calls I could have told you at a more decent hour. Didn’t you get my messages?”

“Yeah, and I called you back this afternoon but you were in court, didn’t you get mine?” Starsky jabbed right back, but waved a hand toward the living room. “Want a …” he hesitated, “a coke or something?”

“I’d like a scotch…a double and straight up, but yeah, I’ll take a coke. Hell, no. I’ll have water or juice or something so the caffeine doesn’t keep me awake. It’ll be hard enough to get to sleep.” Hutch tossed his briefcase on one end of the couch and jerked completely free of his tie and suit coat.

“Sleep? You plan on sleeping here?” Starsky stopped half way to the kitchen.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind…”

Starsky raised an eyebrow and then held up his hand in surrender. “Let me get us both something to drink and you can tell me all about it, buddy.” Starsky got two bottles of water out of the refrigerator and returned to the couch, snapping on one of the table lamps as he passed by it.

“What’s going on?” Starsky asked as he handed off the cold bottle, his concern escalating as he watched Hutch rest the coldness against his forehead and roll it across slowly.

“I need a place to stay for a few days. Just until I get things straightened out.” Hutch opened the bottle and tipped it back.

“Sure, but why?”

“Because I’m locked out of my fucking house. All my credit cards have been cancelled and the bank assets frozen. I’ve got sixty-two dollars and some change in my pockets and the damn bitch has me absolutely paralyzed. I can’t do anything.” Hutch’s voice fairly vibrated with anger.

“She served you and did all that at the same time?” Starsky asked, puzzled at what would have caused the soon to be ex Mrs. Hutchinson to suddenly become so hateful.

“Hell, no. She served me a couple of weeks ago, maybe longer…” Hutch got up to pace. “The marriage has been over for a long time. Probably a year or more. This wasn’t a surprise, but fuck… the timing. She knew I was busy, I’ve been working a really big case and several smaller ones. She knew I hadn’t had time to answer any of her lawyer’s demands for disclosure. She didn’t have to….” Hutch turned to face him and stopped. “What?”

Starsky couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at his lips. “You ignored her, and she got pissed and gave you an ultimatum, which you also ignored and this is the result. Does that just about cover it?” You can’t remember when your wife served you with divorce papers, but I know as surely as I sit here if I asked you the date and time of the last case we worked you could tell me.

Hutch stood taller in defiance, his trim and muscular body filling out any garment to perfection. In spite of the more than five o’clock shadow of his blond beard, he was still strikingly handsome. Ice blue eyes flashed out of his tan face and Starsky met the glare with practiced ease. His smile broadened as his friend gradually huffed out a breath and sat back down. “Yeah, that pretty much covers it,” Hutch replied, defeated.

“Come on, let me get you set up in the guest room. Stay as long as you need.” Starsky pushed up off the couch taking both of their empty water bottles to the kitchen doorway and tossing them into the trash can. He passed through the living room again and squeezed Hutch’s shoulder as he passed.

“Starsky… thanks, I appreciate it. I’ve got court all day Monday, but I’ll try to get something unfrozen so I can get a hotel at least…”

“Hey, I said stay as long as you need. I meant it. As many years as we spent in each other’s pockets, it’s no big deal.” Starsky stopped at the linen closet and grabbed a set of towels. “I will take this opportunity to say that I remember a certain Best Man, asking a certain groom if he was really sure he wanted to marry a lawyer…” Starsky teased to lighten the moment.

“Hey, best friends never say, ‘I told you so’. Don’t you know that?”

“Where’s it say that?” Starsky turned to go to his own room. “There’s an alarm clock on the dresser if you need to get up at a certain time tomorrow. I’m on call tonight until seven in the morning, so if you wake up and I’m not here, that’s why. There’s stuff in the kitchen. Help yourself. You know where everything is. Good night…” he paused. “Hutch?” Starsky stopped and turned back from where he stood in the hall.

“Yeah?” Hutch turned toward the doorway.

“I really am sorry things didn’t work out for you with Janice. I mean that, and I meant it when I said stay as long as you want.” Starsky turned but added, “Just don’t snore too loud or I’ll come in and stuff a sock in your mouth.”

“As if you could sneak up on me on your best day,” Hutch answered, his smile evident in his voice as Starsky heard the guest room door softly close.

 

Chapter 3

The smell of coffee registered as he slowly awakened. With a stop at the bathroom first he padded out to the kitchen following the decidedly great coffee smell. He walked past Hutch with a grunt heading directly to the coffeepot. He did a short glance back seeing Hutch sitting at the breakfast nook in sweats and a T-shirt. “Aren’t those mine?” he asked gesturing with his chin at Hutch’s attire.

“Yep. I got them out of your drawer,” Hutch answered.· “I never heard you come in.”

“Not your dresser, the other drawer where you keep most of your clothes… the dryer,” Hutch answered, hiding his smile behind his coffee cup.

“Cute.” Starsky carried his cup to sit down at the table as well. “This coffee is really good. What did you do different?”

“I went and bought some. All you had was Folgers.”

“I like Folgers.”

“You’re drinking Best of Africa and I got some Jamaican Blue Mountain for tomorrow. You didn’t have any half and half…” Hutch complained.

“I drink it black now, why would I?”

“You’re a heathen.”

“When did you become such a coffee connoisseur?” Starsky questioned.

“Yeah, well, when you drug me out of the bottle and I stopped drinking booze, I had to become a connoisseur of something else.” Hutch’s voice sounded casual but the look in his eyes was anything but.

Starsky reached for one of the pieces of toast on the plate in front of Hutch and began to swipe jam on it.

Hutch took a bite out of his own and chewed thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. “Well, I guess I owe you again.”

“For what?” Starsky asked, genuinely confused.

“For taking me in. I guess you’re stuck with being my personal guardian angel. It’s like it’s your lot in life to rescue Ken Hutchinson.”

“I don’t consider this much of a rescue,” Starsky replied with a snort. “What are friends for?”

“What about what you did six years ago? That was a rescue. Getting in my face when nobody else would have bothered. It couldn’t have been very pleasant listening to me scream and yell about wanting a drink. Taking the antibuse, then drinking anyway and puking for days. Shit, you’d done it once after Forest. That should have been enough,” Hutch reminded with a look of embarrassment.

“Forest wasn’t your fault and you know it. But the booze… it was just a matter of time before your drinking would have gotten you killed… or somebody else. I couldn’t just watch that happen.”

“No argument there. I admit my career was heading for the crapper. I appreciate the fact that… after everything… you still cared enough to kick me in the ass when I needed it. If you hadn’t… I don’t know if I would have dried out on my own.” Hutch looked down as he pushed the crumbs from the toast around on the tabletop. “I want you to know that this is a frustrating time, but I’m not going to go drown myself in the bottom of a bottle. You can be sure that the sobriety will stick. I’m not going to let that slip away…”

“I know that, Hutch. Hey, you’d do the same for me. You were there when I was healing. You’ve cleaned up your share of puke and worse.” Starsky rose and went to the counter and poured more coffee, bringing the pot back to warm up Hutch’s cup as well.

“That was different,” Hutch said not looking up. “That wasn’t in any way your own doing.”

“We’re not doing too bad,” Starsky said, letting Hutch’s comment ride for the moment. “You certainly seem to have taken to this law business. I hear things about you all the time. See you on the news or read about your cases in the paper. You’re a good lawyer and what you do makes a difference.” Starsky sat back down. “I’m glad somebody like you is in the DA’s office. You’re doing good and you seem happy doing it.”

“What about you, Starsky? Are you happy being a coroner?” Hutch asked pouring half-and-half in his cup.

“Yeah… I am. I still miss being a cop sometimes, but it’s a fact of life that I can’t do it anymore. Getting through school was the bitch; after that the job is easy. I’m a county coroner, not a medical examiner. So what’s not to be happy about? The patients in my cases don’t complain and nobody shoots at me.” Starsky delivered his pat answer to that question out of habit and was startled to hear the sharp intake of breath from the man across the table. He looked at Hutch’s face and saw it had completely drained of all color and Hutch looked as if Starsky had just sucker-punched him.

Starsky dropped the knife he had been holding to butter another piece of toast. “Hutch, I… I… didn’t mean it like that. That’s just my pat answer. It’s what I always say when anyone asks me if I ever miss being a cop. It’s… it’s… like a knee-jerk response.” Starsky reached out his hand to touch the forearm of his friend but Hutch stood abruptly and his arm was no longer in reach.

“Yeah, I guess that’s one way to look at it. Can’t help being a good thing. You work alone too, that can’t be all bad either,” Hutch answered tightly.

“That wasn’t a dig, man. I didn’t mean to bring up anything to make you uncomfortable. Hutch, come on… I thought we got through this a long time ago. We’ve been over it enough times. When are you going to let it go?” Starsky followed after the retreating back.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” Hutch answered, patting his pockets in search of car keys.

“Come on, babe… come back and sit down…”

“No, I need a little air… I’ll be back…” Hutch walked toward the living room still patting at his clothes looking for pockets that weren’t there and looking around the room for keys.

“Here, take my car.” Starsky picked up his keys from the kitchen counter and tossed them to Hutch who caught them easily. “You probably don’t have any gas anyway,” he added with a sad smile.

“I’ll catch you later. I won’t be long…” Hutch ran both hands through his hair and left.

Starsky watched grimly as the door softly shut. Shit, Hutch, why does it have to be like this every time we’re together? Damn it, I don’t know what to do anymore. It’s been over six years. Why can’t you get past it? Six fucking years! Starsky sat back down but pushed the food away, his earlier appetite gone. With a sharp slam of his fist against the table’s surface in frustration, he stood and cleared off the table.

 

Chapter 4

Less than two hours later he heard the door open and his friend entered tossing the keys back, his face an odd mixture of sheepishness and anger. “I got half way to my office and realized I didn’t have my keys to get in. But then given the mindset I’m in, I probably wouldn’t have been very productive anyway. So I drove around a little while until it occurred to me why you gave me your keys to begin with. You didn’t give a shit about how much gas I had, or that I didn’t have any cash to buy any. You just wanted to make sure I’d come back. That I had to come back.” Hutch moved slowly closer. “Did I ever tell you, David Starsky, that you are a manipulative bastard?”

Starsky felt a small smile tease at his lips as he answered. “Yeah, I think on occasion you have. But then that’s just part of my charm.” Starsky took a step from where he stood by the bookcase to clap Hutch on the back. “Come on in and sit down. I’ll make another pot of coffee.” Starsky held his hands up. “I’ll use your stuff, okay?”

Hutch nodded and Starsky led the way to the kitchen. He heard Hutch sigh as he took a seat at the table as, back still turned to his ex-partner, Starsky started the conversation.

“We’ve danced around this for years. I guess I was fooling myself as much as you were that the few times we hashed it over was enough. I think we dealt with what was likely to go to critical mass at the time, but never looked at the whole thing. Hutch…” He turned as he pushed the button to start the brewing. “I’m more grateful than I can tell you for what you did for me after I got shot.” Starsky held his hand up as Hutch opened his mouth to interrupt. “Let me finish. I don’t think I would have had the guts to keep trying if you hadn’t been there day and  night helping and bullying… whatever it took to keep me from giving up. I tried to get well enough to come back and be a cop again. Honest to God, I did. It was something I wanted more than anything.”

Starsky paused, as the pain of his own words swamped him for a second. He swallowed hard and continued. “But as the weeks went by I had to face the fact that it wasn’t in the cards. The partnership we had was over. I was never going to be a cop again. So nothing was going to be same. Not for either of us. I felt guilty about it for a while, you know? Like I was letting you down.” Starsky moved to pull out the chair next to Hutch’s and straddled it. “I know I started pulling away then. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t seem to stop it. I didn’t know how to face that big a failure.”

“That wasn’t what it was,” Hutch insisted interrupting.

Starsky smiled and reached out to squeeze Hutch’s arm where it rested on the table.

“It took me some time to accept that that wasn’t a failure, but the hand I was dealt and that was just the way it was. By that time, you were back at work. Paying your bills and helping me with mine. I think you already knew I couldn’t come back, even though you never said it out loud. You kept acting like everything was going to be okay. You kept talking about how I’d be back on the streets with you as soon as the Review Board cleared me. You wouldn’t even consider anything less because we both wanted it so damn bad. But before long it was laid out in black and white and I had a medical retirement and we couldn’t kid ourselves anymore.” Starsky wiped at a stain on the tabletop before he stole a glance at his old friend.

“That’s when we started to fall apart and I didn’t know what to do about it. I was going to school, trying to see what I could do given my limitations. Something that didn’t require me to run a 250-yard sprint after the bad guy. I guess I was pretty wrapped up in trying to find a new career that I’d like as well as the one I was losing. I didn’t see you were hurting as much as I was. I don’t want you to think that I chose being a Coroner as a consolation prize. I’m happy doing what I’m doing. I think with my police background, I’ve got a better handle on what cops need from my department to do their job than some Joe-Blow right out of school without that edge.” Starsky stood and brought the pot to the table and poured two cups.

“But I have to tell you… while I was struggling with all of that and trying to heal, it was really tough to see you doing the stupid stuff you were doing. You were able to go back and be a cop, but you were being such an asshole nobody wanted to work with you.” Starsky rested his hands flat on the tabletop in front of Hutch. “You were a great cop. You had it all and you were throwing it away. I knew you were better than that. You still had what I’d have given anything for and you were throwing it away. Damn it, how I hated you for doing that!” Starsky stood abruptly at that admission and paced a few steps away as if he felt the need for physical distance from his best friend.

“Still had what?” Hutch challenged. “Yeah, I was working  as a cop… but with more partners than Mickey Rooney had wives. Nobody wanted to work with me, you’re right. I was a glory-seeking hot dog who would get them hurt or killed. That’s how they all saw it.”

“You didn’t let them see anything else.” Starsky whirled to face Hutch, fighting the desire to let his hands curl into fists. “When the Review Board gave me my walking papers, that was the hardest thing I ever had to face. There it was in an official form I couldn’t ignore anymore. I was done… we were done. I was trying to put my life back together and still wheezing when I walked across the room and you went into some damn stupid self-destruct mode. Where did you get off thinking you could take half of one of the best teams the BCPD ever had and turn him into a drunk?”

“You said it… half… that’s what I felt like with you gone. Like I’d been cut in half.” Hutch pushed abruptly up out of his chair. “You think you were hurting after what those bullets did to you? What about me? I didn’t have anything to ease my pain… no prescriptions, no physical therapy… nothing but a bottle of Scotch and the glass I drank it out of. I felt like half of me was dead. Why was I supposed to care about the half that was left?”

“If you’d have gotten called in after you’d logged out for the day, you would have already hit the bottle on the way home. You were unsafe to work and you knew it!” Starsky hissed.

“I was on my own time. I didn’t drink on duty, not when I was on the clock… never then…” Hutch let his voice fade away as he slowly sat down again. “I didn’t care if nobody wanted to work with me. I didn’t want a new partner. Hell, I didn’t want any other partner… but they wouldn’t let me work alone. Without you there it wasn’t fun anymore. I never jelled with any other cop like I did with you. I mean that was the plan, since the Academy, wasn’t it? You and me…” Hutch looked up then, the light in his eyes making him look like a lost kid. “Me and thee,” his voice was barely a whisper.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hutch. There wasn’t anything you could have done to prevent Gunther’s hit. I told you that, Dobey told you that, Internal Affairs told you that.” Starsky walked slowly closer to squat on his heels in front of Hutch’s legs. “Why couldn’t you believe it? Why did you have to hide in a bottle?”

“I saw the car first. I should have reacted quicker. Black and white or not, I should have fired earlier, warned you sooner… I hesitated and you paid the price for it. I should have been the one to take those slugs in the chest, not you.”

Starsky drew in a deep breath and took the time to compose himself before he answered. “Listen, we were both caught off guard. You acted first and you warned me. It was just my bad luck that they were on my side of the car. If you had driven that day, it would have been you down.” Starsky stopped to stand up, running his hands over his face, before sitting in his chair and taking a drink of his coffee. “I’m getting sick of singing this tune, Hutch. It’s been six years!”

“So why did you come get me and shake me out of the bottle if you were so pissed about the way I was dealing with everything?” Hutch looked up, eyes piercing and demanding a truthful answer.

What are partners for? Starsky thought, but it hurt too much to say it. “Dobey called me. He told me I better go get you.”

“Told you to come get me?”

“Actually what he said was, ‘Go pull the plug on your crazy motherfucking partner.’ He told me he was giving you thirty days to be the guest of honor at a Police Department funeral. He thought you’d be so hung over a perp would get the upper hand or else you’d be taken out by friendly fire.” Starsky turned his cup in small circles on the table.

“All’s well that ends well, I guess.” Hutch went to the refrigerator to get the half and half. “Next time I see Dobey, I’ll have to thank him.”

“Ahhh… I think I’d steer clear. It might have been himself he was referring to with the friendly-fire crack.” The tension of earlier easily dispersed as both men laughed. “You’re a good lawyer, Hutch.”

“Yeah, Starsky, I know I am,” Hutch said as he returned to sit in his chair, “And with every piece of shit I get off the streets I say to myself it’s worth whatever I had to do… because that’s one that won’t hurt anybody else. That’s one less punk to shoot at a cop. It’s the only way I have to pay you back.”

Starsky sighed. “You don’t have to pay me back. Nobody’s keeping score but you.”

Hutch looked seriously at him. “Whatever it takes, buddy. If that little particle of victory gives me back my self-respect, don’t take the chalk away.”

Starsky leaned closer to Hutch where he sat at the table and clinked his coffee cup against the side of his friend’s cup. “Okay, whatever it takes.” The two men drank their coffee in an awkward silence.

When the pot was almost gone Hutch jumped up with caffeine-fed enthusiasm. “Enough of the heavy subject shit; let’s go have some fun. When’s the last time I kicked your ass at pool, huh? It’s long overdue. Let’s go. Loser buys pizza. I know it’ll be you, but if some miracle happens, I’ll pay you back when I can access my money.”

“In other words, Starsky, bring some cash. Is that what you’re saying?” Starsky teased, as he picked his wallet up off the TV and checked the contents. “Go borrow a pair of my tennis shoes. I’m not going anywhere with you in my ratty sweats and your alligator loafers.” Starsky gave Hutch a shove.

“Come out the front door and lock it; I’ll pull the car out of the garage.”

 

Chapter 5

It only took a few minutes to get to Imperial Highway and then over to Orangethorpe where Starsky pulled in at Franchone’s Pool and Pizza. Hutch looked at the building when they pulled in and his face broke out in a big grin. “I didn’t know this place  was still open. Great… Remember, no anchovies on my half.”

“Remember it yourself. You’re losing, and I may be paying for it, but you’re going to order it.” Starsky got out and shut the car door with an air of confidence.

The air in the pool parlor was heavy with the smells of cigarettes and beer, both floating on top of a thick layer of garlic and pizza sauce.

The first game went easily to Starsky and Hutch went to the bar and brought back two icy steins, one filled with coke, one with beer. Hutch handed the beer to Starsky. “Just because I’m not drinking doesn’t mean you can’t. It’s okay, really.” Hutch leaned over to rack up the balls for the next game.

The crowd was becoming louder as the evening patronage grew heavier, and with the influx was an increase in the smoke. Starsky noticed it was beginning to burn at the back of his throat and he felt his upper chest tighten. He coughed at intervals and wished he had anticipated this and brought one of his inhalers. Too late now, he thought as he coughed again and noticed that the last few breathes were carried on an expiratory wheeze. Hutch seemed to look concerned as he coughed, making Starsky all the more determined to ignore it.

The second game went longer than the first, each man taking his turn in the lead. Starsky coughed at a crucial shot and blew his aim, giving Hutch the advantage. The blond ran with it, clearing the table in victory. “Okay, one apiece. Next… one’s the tiebreaker,” Starsky said as his shortness of breath worsened.

“Hey, I’m starved. I’ll concede, if we can order a pie to go and get out of here. Deal?”

“The night’s young, you sure? There are a couple of  ladies… over in the second booth on the left… that have been there for a while all alone. Want to…?”

“No! I want to get something to eat and take it with us. The air is so thick in here I feel like it’ll take more than one shower to wash the smoke off. You must be feeling it.”

“Don’t blow out of here early on my account. I’m fine,” Starsky said, suppressing a cough until the sentence was finished.

“It’s okay, really, I’m done. Let’s order and go.” Hutch took Starsky’s cue stick and put things away as Starsky went to the bar to order their pizza to go. Joining Starsky at the bar he slid onto the stool next to him. “Want to give me the money and go wait outside or in the car?” Hutch asked.

He saw that his friend had to be aware of the fact that Starsky’s coughing punctuated almost every breath. Reluctantly, he finished his beer and with a nod of his head in agreement, he yielded to the logic of getting out into some at least marginally fresher air.

Starsky sat behind the wheel and waited for Hutch to come out. The hand that had been rubbing his chest stopped and he dropped it to the steering wheel.

Hutch plopped in the seat balancing the hot box and sniffing appreciatively. “I’d forgotten how great their pizza was here. Thanks for picking this place. Tonight has been great.”

“You got little fish on my half, right?” Starsky asked as he backed out and turned onto the street. When his question was met with silence he looked to the passenger seat. “Well?”

Hutch lifted the lid and Starsky saw his face fall. “That’s what I told them. I guess they didn’t hear so good.”

“Well, if they’re all over, then you can shoo yours over to my side and there’s more for me,” Starsky said with a hopeful smile.

“Yeah but if they were on my side to start with then they leave their little fishy smelling footprints on my part of the pepperoni. Please tell me you didn’t slip the guy a couple of bucks to fuck up the order…”

Starsky grinned and shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that to you… well… I was tempted, but only for a minute,” Starsky admitted.

Hutch leaned over the box to draw in another deep breath. “Who needs a wife with pizza like this?”

“You idiot…” Starsky’s laugh ended with a spasm of coughing.

The remainder of the evening passed with comfortable conversation over the last hour of a basketball game that neither man was willing to invest enough emotional energy in to care who was winning. When the last seconds had played out, Hutch stood to clear away the paper plates and empty pizza box with a large yawn. “See you in the morning, Starsk.”

Starsky watched as the tall blond moved down the hall to the guest room, the familiar ache he thought he’d put to rest rising like a phoenix.

Chapter 6

Hutch awakened at the insistence of his full bladder and got grudgingly out of bed to take care of it. Coming out of the bathroom, he heard a noise and stopped to listen more closely. It was coming from Starsky’s room, of that he was sure. He took a step closer and pushed the already open door slightly wider.

Letting his eyes adjust to the darker room, he could barely see the outline of Starsky sitting up in bed, bent forward, almost as if he were on all fours. Then he heard the sound again clearly, that ghastly stridor that he’d heard before. Reaching blindly along the wall, his fingers found the light switch and with a flip he bathed the room in light. Starsky was in fact on all fours in a crouch, his hair and T-shirt sticking to his damp face and body. He was trying to move to the edge of the bed, reaching weakly toward the nightstand.

“Oh my God.” Hutch crossed the room in giant strides, jerking open the drawer and rummaging quickly through the contents. He slammed it shut to jerk open the next one and searched frantically inside it also. His fingers finally grasped the right-angled cylinder he searched for and he shook it vigorously as he knelt on the bed next to Starsky. “Here, buddy. I’ve got your inhaler, take it.” Hutch pulled off the covering on the mouthpiece and helped Starsky’s hand grip it before steering it to Starsky’s lips. Hutch saw how pale Starsky was and that his lips had a slightly lavender tinge. Hutch helped him push the plunger to deliver the metered dose and frowned when Starsky’s intake of air was too shallow and rapid for the medication to get down as deeply as it needed to go to release the spasm of his upper airway. “That was no good. Here, let me help. Try it again. Blow out, push hard, that’s it. Now try.” Starsky pressed home the plunger again but shook his head weakly. His respirations were still far too fast, noisy and ineffective.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” Hutch announced as he reached a shaking hand to the phone.

“No…” Precious air Starsky couldn’t afford to waste on speech stopped Hutch momentarily.

“Like hell I’m not… you don’t know what you look like.” Hutch didn’t bother to try and sound calmer than he felt.

Starsky took another puff on his inhaler and was able to take a slightly deeper breath. He pointed to the closet and then to his face.

Hutch knee-walked off the edge of the bed and opened the closet door. Against one side was a small E-cylinder of oxygen and a mask. He lifted both and turned to Starsky in question. The man nodded and motioned Hutch to bring them closer.

Hutch pulled out the green cylinder and, using the metal key hanging from the top, opened the valve. Moving it next to the bed he fumbled with the mask and tangle of tubing to hand it to Starsky while he turned on the flow meter, hearing a reassuring hiss fill the room. Even though the airflow was loud, Starsky’s labored breathing still over-shadowed it. Starsky had taken the mask and was trying to adjust the straps more snugly to fit it to his face, but his hands were shaking so badly he wasn’t being very effective. Hutch batted his hands out of the way and snugged the mask in place. Grabbing pillows he piled them against the headboard and encouraged Starsky to ease back against them.

He stared as Starsky lie still, eyes closed, trying to pull enough air in to sustain him. Hutch pushed the damp curls back that stuck to his forehead and Starsky’s eyes weakly opened. He gave a ghost of a smile beneath the mask and a limp thumbs up before closing his eyes again and letting his hand fall back to the bed.

Hutch sat silently on the side of the bed, alternately watching Starsky and the regulator on the oxygen cylinder, wondering what the plan was when the pressure in the small green cylinder ran out. Hutch glanced at the bedside clock and noticed 20 minutes had passed. He was more than relieved that Starsky’s respirations seemed normal again. His color was better and he wasn’t pouring sweat like he had been when Hutch first entered the room. The immediate fear of the crisis at hand was waning and Hutch felt gripped by a profound sadness. I had no idea you still got this bad, buddy. What the hell would have happened if you’d been here alone? Hutch shuddered and out of the corner of his eye he saw Starsky open his eyes to look, no doubt feeling the movement of the bed.

“It’s over. I’m okay. You can go…back to bed now. Sorry I woke you. Haven’t had one…like that in quite a while,” Starsky said, his voice still broken and slightly muffled behind the mask.

Hutch stared, feeling his heart beat so hard it almost hurt. “These still happen?” His throat closed and he couldn’t say anything else. You’re sorry? Oh my God…Hutch felt the pain bubble up bright hot and piercing and he bolted from the room.

At first he didn’t know where to go or what to do. He just knew he couldn’t have stayed in that room a second longer. Unfortunately, there really was nowhere else to go. He paused… Except one place. He wandered slowly into the kitchen and stood for long minutes staring at one particular cabinet door.

Finally, his arm moved of its own accord, opened the door, and reached inside for the one place he knew he could hide.

He stood in the kitchen, unable to stop the trembling that shook his muscular frame. He stared at the bottle of whiskey that he had pulled out of the cabinet and was just reaching to uncap it when he heard movement behind him.

“Don’t…” Starsky’s voice halted Hutch’s hand. “Not over me being a little short of breath.”

“A little?” Hutch exploded as he turned. “I thought you were going to fucking die…”

“I should have done a nebulizer treatment before I went to bed. It probably would have prevented this episode completely or made it not so bad, anyway. But I was tired and blew it off. My own fault… that it got so bad. My fault, no one else’s. I’m sorry if I scared you…”

Hutch turned and leaned on both hands, resting his weight on the counter; his head hung, shoulder’s shaking.

“Hey, I said I was sorry, but that doesn’t mean you can laugh at me now, you turd…” Starsky put his hand on Hutch’s shoulder and started to turn his body but Hutch’s legs buckled and he slipped to the floor. He definitely wasn’t laughing. He tried but was unable to stop the wracking sobs that shook him. A lifetime of boys don’t cry in general, and the last six years of guilt in particular, created a flow that wouldn’t be stopped.

Starsky’s hand froze for a second on his shoulder, then Hutch felt himself gripped in an iron-armed embrace as Starsky hugged him, kneeling to sit next to him on the kitchen floor.

“I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry. Starsk… I swear to God there isn’t a day that goes by I don’t wish it had been me.” Hutch said, tears still falling.

Starsky held him tighter and Hutch could hear him swallow loudly as his breath hitched. After a few minutes Starsky eased back to look at Hutch. “And just where the hell would I be if it had been? Ever think of that?” The sincere and non-judgmental eyes of his friend searched Hutch’s face. “I’d have probably put a bullet in my brain not to have to deal with any of it. I think it worked out as well as it could have given the rotten cards we had to play with.” Starsky slowly stood and reached down a hand to pull Hutch up as well. “Besides, I’d have made a lousy attorney. Let’s go back to sleep, huh?” Starsky asked after a small cough.

“Yeah,” Hutch ran both hands over his face then dried the palms against his T-shirted chest. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Starsky answered firmly.

Hutch reached a hand out to run his fingers through Starsky short curls as his eyes searched that face for any signs of the earlier respiratory distress. He saw something in those deep blue eyes clear and open, then watched as it was turned off light a light leaving the gaze confusingly neutral.

“We don’t need this, do we?” Starsky asked, indicating the Scotch bottle with his chin.

“No…no, we definitely don’t need that,” Hutch answered. I’m not sure what we need, but it isn’t that. Hutch thought before he turned to plod back to the guest room.

 

Chapter 7

Starsky inserted the key in the door lock of his condo and heard a voice from within. Shutting the door behind him with a nudge from his foot, he fumbled the keys onto the hall table and followed with the belt holster holding his revolver. After a brief rearranging of the stack of files he carried, he followed the voice into the den and dropped his armload onto the coffee table. At hearing the noise, Hutch stopped his pacing and turned off the hand-held tape recorder he’d been listening to.

“What are you doing?” Starsky asked. “Rehearsing?”

Hutch laughed a little self-consciously. “Yeah, sorta. I’m playing back my closing arguments to make sure I’m coming across the way I think I am. Trying to hear it like the jury will.”

“You missed your calling. You should have been an actor, Buddy,” he gave Hutch’s shoulder a pat as he walked past to enter the kitchen, going to the refrigerator to get a beer.

“We tried that once, remember? Then I really would be broke and mooching off you.” Hutch went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of flavored tea. “It’s not too different from being under cover though. At least that experience has paid off.”

“Nobody was better under than you,” Starsky led them back into the den before he pulled his already loosened tie the rest of the way off and flopped on the couch, rolling the cool can across his forehead.

“Tough day?” Hutch asked.

“Long, frustrating, one dead end after another, if you’ll pardon the pun.” Starsky looked up questioningly. “Why the hell can’t Sacramento give me an ID if I send them a thumb print? Everyone who has a California driver’s license has his or her thumbprint taken. It should be a no-brainer. Why the hell has it been almost three weeks and I still have this Jane Doe in the morgue with no ID?”

“That street person you mentioned, the suicide?”

“Yeah, but I don’t buy the street or suicide part of it. She was in too good a shape. Her clothes were nice, her shoes were, too. How come nobody has missed this lady?”

“Hey, we both know the clothes and shoes could have come from somebody’s garbage can.”

“Yeah, but her teeth were in good repair, nails looked like she took care of them, leg’s and underarms shaved.” Starsky sighed and leaned back to rest against the back of the couch. “I should give up, and send her to the county for cremation and forget it, but I can’t let it go, you know?”

Starsky’s beeper interrupted further conversation. With a groan he pulled it from the case on his belt. “Please, whatever you are let it wait until morning.” Looking at the number he reached for the phone and pushed a speed dial. “Yeah, Stacy, what have you got?”

“Two things before I head home. The funeral home that picked up Mrs. Bloomings? They say the family wants her to have her teeth in for the funeral viewing and they weren’t with her belongings. I’ve looked around here and didn’t find anything. Do you remember seeing them when you did her autopsy or should refer them back to the hospital we picked her up from?”

“She didn’t have them when I did her post. If you’re sure there isn’t another bag or chopper hopper sitting around with her name on it, check with the crew that picked her up and make sure they didn’t fall out in the rig.”

“I’ll look once more to be sure before I call. The other thing is, you said you wanted to know right away if any missing persons report for a female came in… well I just got one from the La Habra PD. Want me to FAX it to you there?”

“Yes, please… Thanks, and ah… leave me a note if you find out anything about the teeth. Just in case I need to follow up some more. Okay?”

“Got it, boss. See you tomorrow.”

Starsky hung up the phone and went to his small office off the den to see that the FAX was on and the paper tray was filled. Hutch followed, his interest evidently piqued at hearing Starsky’s plea as he approached his desk. “Please let it be for: late 30’s, five feet, six inches, 145 lbs., frosted hair, blue eyes… please, please…” Starsky turned suddenly. “I can’t look, I’m too tired to handle the disappointment. You tell me.”

Hutch bent over the FAX as the paper slowly inched out. “Barbara O’Malley, forty-one years old. Five feet 6-8 inches tall, 135-45 pounds, prematurely graying blonde hair, and blue eyes. Address listed as 4161 Hindgewood Drive in La Habra. Employed at Service Merchandise Warehouse. Occupation Secretary. Report filed by Robert Deladotti, co-owner of the house it says.”

Starsky let out a war whoop and jumped on Hutch’s back. “I knew it!”

“Co-owner of the house, whoa…that sets off warning bells,” Hutch said.

“If he owned the house with her, why the hell did he wait so long to report her missing?” Starsky asked, as he slid off Hutch to his feet.

“I don’t know, but let’s see if Mr. Deladotti has a phone and you can ask him.”

“There’s a contact number at work and at home,” Starsky said looking at his watch. “Let’s try home, it’s after five.”

Hutch handed Starsky the phone with a grin. Starsky took it, dialing as he fumbled for the Jane Doe file out of the stack he had brought home to work on. “Mr. Deladotti, please. Do you know when to expect him? To whom am I speaking? Mrs. Deladotti, could you have your husband call me as soon as he gets in, please? It’s important. My name is David Starsky, and I’m with the Fullerton County Coroner’s office. It’s in regards to a missing person’s report your husband filed. Mrs. Deladotti, were you aware that your husband had filed a missing person’s report on a Barbara O’Malley?” Starsky hit the speakerphone button on the cordless base allowing the other side of his conversation to be heard.

“Yes, I was aware. He told me he did that when he went by the house and Barbara wasn’t there. He talked to the neighbors and they said they hadn’t seen her in quite a while.”

“What prompted him to go by the house, do you know?”

“The bank called him.”

“Excuse me?”

“The bank called my husband to let him know that his half of the mortgage payment was the only one made for the month of November. So Jim called the house but got the answering machine. That’s when he went over after work but no one was there. The grass was really high, and after what the neighbors said, he got concerned and called the police.”

“I see. Please, have your husband call me when he gets in. The number is area code 714, 555-4611. That’s my beeper and I have it with me all the time. If it’s after… oh, say eleven o’clock, have him call in the morning. Thank you for your time.”

“Certainly. He had a meeting. I expect him about nine or so.”

Starsky replaced the phone on the base. “Well… that may explain why there was a delay. He didn’t live there, and only just found out about the house payment being late.”

“Yeah… maybe. The warning bells might be ringing a little softer, but they haven’t completely stopped, know what I mean?” Hutch asked.

“Yeah… we’ll see what he has to say when he calls. In the meantime, I want to see the report from the officer who answered the call to the house. Find out what his take on it is.”

Starsky pulled the Rolodex over and rolled it to find the number he needed. He dialed and waited, putting the call on speakerphone.

“La Habra PD, how may I direct your call?” the dispatcher’s voice answered.

“This is David Starsky, with the Fullerton County Coroner’s office. I need to speak to the patrol officer who answered a call to an address on Hindgewood Drive in response to a missing person report filed by a James Deladotti.”

“May I have your number and I’ll have that officer call you?”

“My home number is 555-0344. The beeper is 555-4611. Thank you. I have a Jane Doe who fits the missing person description and I’d like to compare notes.”

“I’ll radio him as soon as he comes back in service. He’s 10-7 for dinner right now.”

Starsky hesitated, giving Hutch an amused look. “Right, thank you.”

“My, how things change. You ever remember getting to eat a whole meal if there was a call waiting?”

“Not many. But the times they are a changing,” Hutch answered sharing the humor of the memory.

“Well, I guess all we can do now is wait. Speaking of which…did you do anything about dinner?” Starsky asked, tugging his shirt tail out of his pants.

“As in cook something? I got here about thirty minutes before you did. Why don’t I call for delivery, then we don’t have to go anywhere. You know as well as I do that as soon as we sit down to eat your beeper will squawk and there goes dinner.”

“Suits me,” Starsky answered as he headed toward his bedroom to change into something sloppy and comfortable.

“What do you want?” Hutch asked at his retreating back.

“Surprise me,” Starsky threw over his shoulder. Grinning to himself, he thought back to a time that a challenge like that would have gotten him tofu and bean sprouts. Now he wasn’t worried. Their once absolute opposites in food choices had somehow mellowed over the years into a common ground that was acceptable to both.

Starsky stopped at his bedroom door and listened to Hutch’s voice on the phone as he ordered. He couldn’t make out all the words from this distance but found himself soaking in the sound of the blond’s voice like a warm sea breeze. How comfortable we’ve gotten with each other again, in just a few weeks, he thought with a twinge of sadness. Hutch’s bank accounts were all straightened out now with the soon to be ex-Mrs. Hutchinson. While Hutch had made several comments about apartments he saw advertised in the paper, he had yet to actually go to look at any, let alone make any attempt to stay in a hotel in the interim. Hutch seemed to need the closeness and Starsky didn’t want to spend any time on analyzing that. He was having trouble enough with his own feelings. The multitude of excuses and rationalizations he’d offered to himself were becoming laughable. The bottom line was he liked the company, too. Not just that it meant there was another presence to come home to; hell, if it were just that, he could get a dog. It was Hutch, and there was no substitute for that, and there never had been.

They had been best friends and spent so much more than just their working hours together for so many years, it had felt natural to slip back into old habits. A cold fist of fear gripped at his guts with the memory of how that closeness had fallen apart after the partnership was ripped away. We’ve got another chance now, he stubbornly insisted to himself. We can get it back, I know we can. He risked facing the fear to concretely think of the future in terms of “them,” all the while pushing the niggling thought of what losing Hutch again would cost him. I’d sooner get shot again, he thought with grim honesty. I still love him, he admitted easily, knowing that truth had never been far from his heart and mind. He had realized that fact after the debacle with Kira and had been ready to openly discuss it with his partner when Gunther’s bullets had put all aspects of his life on hold.

Every scrap of energy had to be directed at survival in those days. And by the time his recovery was reasonably assured, his return to the life he shared with Hutch had become the question. Between Hutch’s guilt over the shooting and his own anger and depression at being medically retired, what he wanted to explore with his best friend in terms of a radical change in their physical relationship seemed likely to be the straw that would break the camel’s back. In retrospect, the camel didn’t fare too well even though that sensitive issue was not addressed. As the chasm between them continued to widen at the time, Starsky thought it was probably just as well he’d never told Hutch how he felt. But now, with the past few weeks of close proximity, all those feelings were coming back with a vengeance and Starsky felt torn.

Was it better to let things ride as they were and be grateful for the companionship and not try to push the envelope that might cause the fragile reconnecting to crumble? Could he sublimate his desires and be satisfied with a platonic relationship? He wasn’t sure he was brave enough to really examine that question at present. All he knew was how good it felt to come home again. He felt alive and whole for the first time in a long time. He laughed again and had someone to tease with, someone to talk to and share ideas with. And it seemed to him that Hutch was enjoying it, too. He had been there to listen to Hutch talk about his failed marriage and help him bear the pain. Lately, there had been the familiar camaraderie of talking about various cases Starsky was working, or Hutch using him as a sounding board for trial strategy. It felt normal; it felt important… it felt… like losing it a second time would kill him.

“Have I got time for a shower?” Starsky called from the bedroom.

“Sure,” Hutch called in to him. “I’ll turn the oven on so it’s hot when they bring the food and it’ll stay warm until we’re ready to eat.”

Great, I’m starved. I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch and I didn’t realize how hungry I was until you mentioned food.” Starsky said as he tossed his robe over his shoulder and walked naked toward the bathroom.

Hutch appeared in the hallway leading to the bathroom at the same time. “You shouldn’t skip lunch. You didn’t eat much breakfast before you left this morning,” Hutch said seriously, his face clouded with concern.

Starsky stood at the entrance to the bathroom looking into Hutch’s eyes. The man’s body was so close to him, Starsky could feel the heat coming off it on his air-cooled skin.

“You don’t take good enough care of yourself,” Hutch continued softly. Starsky stood perfectly still wondering if it  was his imagination or was Hutch actually leaning even closer.

“Maybe you need somebody to do that for you…”

“Are you applying for the position?” Starsky asked, then held his breath for whatever answer would come in response.

“I know I loved doing it before, even if I wasn’t perfect at it. I… I wouldn’t mind taking another stab at it… if you’ll let me.”

“I always thought you did a damn fine job…” Starsky looked at the full lips of his friend, so close, and so tempting and moving closer as Hutch leaned down ever so slightly and let his lips touch Starsky’s. The softness of those lips as they brushed lightly across Starsky’s mouth was dizzying. Soft and sweet as any imagined dream he’d ever had. Hutch pulled back to look fully in Starsky’s eyes as if asking permission to continue. Starsky didn’t wait for Hutch to find his answer, but reached to grasp the back of Hutch’s neck and pull him down for another kiss, not soft or tentative this time but more purposeful. Their lips met and mouths opened, the kiss becoming more impassioned, all questions asked and answered.

At some point Starsky’s robe landed on the floor. He had no idea when, nor did he care. He was lost in the sensation of Hutch’s arms around him, pulling him tightly against his body. The rock hard outline of Hutch’s erection beneath his pants was pressing against Starsky’s nakedness, his own erection equally hard and aching.

“Want some company in the shower?” Hutch asked shyly.

“When does dinner arrive?” Starsky asked, but not really caring.

“They’re busy this time of night. We’ve got time.”

Starsky stepped into the bathroom, pulling Hutch in after him, then attacked the clothes the blond wore, dispatching them to the floor in a matter of seconds. Hardly taking time for one kiss to end before the next began, somehow the water got turned on and when the steam inside the shower stall matched the steam created by the two men outside it, Starsky stepped inside, drawing Hutch in after him.

They took turns lathering each other, warm hands and slippery soap discovering every nuance of the other’s body. Starsky’s fingers drew soapy circles over Hutch’s bare chest as Hutch’s hands lathered his furry one. Hutch’s fingers hesitated over the scars there and Starsky covered Hutch’s hands with his own and drew them down his flat abdomen to the bobbing cock that demanded attention. Hutch wrapped his long fingered hands around Starsky and began to stroke slowly. Starsky hissed in a breath at the incredible feeling, then reached to return the favor, letting his soapy hand engulf Hutch’s cock. He savored the sensation as they stroked each other in tandem. He felt Hutch’s balls begin to tighten as did his own and knew that neither of them would last long this time.

“Oh God, you feel so good to touch,” Hutch whispered against the side of his face as he placed soft quick kisses over Starsky’s jaw and down his neck.

“Oh yeah, babe…that’s right, so good…just like that…” Starsky groaned as he felt his orgasm begin. His hand moved faster on Hutch’s cock as he felt it swell and begin to ejaculate between their bodies to mingle with his own spent semen. They sagged against each other panting under the warm spray, as the water washed away the soap and come. They held tightly to each other in the aftermath.

Starsky looked into Hutch’s eyes as they leaned apart. “That’s the nicest thing that’s happened to me in the shower in a long, long time. I could get used to coming home to this.”

“That’s the idea,” Hutch said with a smile and a quick kiss to Starsky’s mouth. “But if we’re going to do this very often, I vote we buy a new hot water heater… one with a larger capacity so the water stays hot longer. This water is getting cold.” He reached down and turned it off.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Starsky agreed as they as they helped each other out of the enclosure to dry off.

Hutch held out Starsky’s robe as he slipped into it, then wrapped a towel around his own hips. Starsky couldn’t tear his eyes away from his friend. Hutch noticed the scrutiny and smiled a little self-consciously. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing, I just like looking at you…” Starsky said, then hung his head at the artificial answer that had nothing to do with what he was feeling at that moment. “No, that’s not the whole truth.”

“You don’t like looking at me?” Hutch feigned hurt.

“Yes, yes I do… but that wasn’t what I was thinking.”

“What were you thinking?” Hutch asked, his face serious.

“Just wondering if I was letting myself in for the biggest heartbreak of my life. You’ve just come out of a failed marriage… I shouldn’t be putting you in a position to make any big decisions about another relationship right now. It’s crazy…”

“So you think that this is you hitting on me while I’m on the rebound?” Hutch asked, his eyes widening. “I told you when I first showed up on your doorstep the marriage had been over for a long time. The divorce is just a paperwork formality.” Hutch trapped Starsky’s face between his hands. “I promise you. This is what’s real, what I want for the rest of my life. For as long as you want me,” Hutch intoned solemnly.

“For as long as I want you, huh?” Starsky managed to croak past the lump in his throat. “I feel like I’ve wanted this forever. Pinch me once in a while so I’ll know I’m not dreaming.”

Hutch smiled with a mischievous glint in his light blue eyes. “Ow!” Starsky yelped as he felt his butt cheek sting sharply.

“Any doubts that you’re awake, babe?” Hutch asked as he sidestepped out the bathroom door.

“Evidently not,” Starsky replied, rubbing his butt while being totally unable to keep the smile off his face.

With a decided lift to his step Starsky went into his bedroom to get dressed. He heard the doorbell ring and was glad when he saw Hutch moving quickly down the hall to answer the door. Soon after, he caught the smell of something delicious wafting in from the kitchen area. Starsky followed his nose, walking to the dining room table where Hutch was dishing out the food, wearing only a pair of faded cutoffs.

“Smells great,” Starsky said as he pulled out a chair, eyeing Hutch appreciatively.

They devoured the food as if neither man had eaten in days. As the last of the meal was consumed, Hutch stood to clear away the dishes. Starsky watched him work, a portion of his mind remembering the passion they’d shared in the shower, while the other part challenged that it was like just so many other day dreams.

“Hutch…” Starsky began.

“What?”

“I don’t mean to talk this thing to death, but are you really sure about, you know… us?”

“Since when did you get insecure?”

“We haven’t exactly been close the past few years. I just…”

“We lost sight of each other. I agree. For a lot of reasons. None of them very valid. But that’s the past and we can’t change it. No matter who I was with or what I was doing, there was always something missing.” Hutch moved from the kitchen sink to squat in front of Starsky where he sat in the chair. “I tried to plug that hole with a lot of different things. Booze, countless women, a wife, work, but it was always still there, cold and dark and just as empty.”

“Why didn’t you get in touch then?”

“Because I wouldn’t let myself believe that you’d be willing to fill that empty space. After everything that happened, everything you lost, I thought that every time you looked at me, I’d just be a reminder for you. I couldn’t handle that. I guess I never let myself believe you’d want me in your life again.”

Starsky leaned forward and drew his thumb across Hutch’s lips. “I can’t believe I ever let you get so far away. I guess we were both pretty dumb. I never found anything or anyone that made me feel complete either. I finally stopped looking. I think I figured that blank place was just going to be there always.” He feathered his long fingers through Hutch’s soft blond hair. “I know I don’t need to search anymore. You slipped right in when I wasn’t looking and it feels like we’ve never been apart.”

“We just both got a hell of a lot older without noticing, huh?” Hutch teased as he leaned his face into the touch of Starsky’s hand.

“I know I want to grow old with you now,” Starsky said seriously.

“Come grow old with me, the best is yet to be?” Hutch quoted softly.

“I love you,” Starsky answered, following his words with a gentle kiss. “I wanted to tell you that at the dinner you owed me when I beat you at Ping-Pong. But I never got the chance.”

Hutch’s eyes took on a haunted look. “I was going to make good on the bet. I wasn’t really going to take you to some burger joint. I had a really nice place already picked out in my mind.” Hutch’s face softened with the memory. “I was going to tell you how I felt. I wanted to try and make you understand about Kira… but that car pulled out and everything important in my world was dying at my feet. I think… I think I got so scared…  I took it as some fucked up sign that what I wanted with you was wrong, and if I didn’t stop feeling that way, you’d be taken away from me.”

“Where the hell did you get a screwed up idea like that?”

“It just seemed like the only explanation at the time. I’d been thinking about loving you, and wanting to show you how much, and the next thing I knew, you were on the ground, bleeding.” Hutch stood up and ran his hands through his hair. “I have never prayed so hard in my whole life. I begged God to let you live. I promised him… hell, I don’t even remember everything I promised now, but one thing was that I wouldn’t act on the feelings I had for you. I swore you’d never know about them, because I’d pretend they never existed. It just about killed me to do it, but I was too afraid of something going wrong with your recovery to go back on my word.”

Hutch turned to face Starsky, looking a little sheepish. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

“Yeah, but it tells me just how scared you really were. I’m sorry. I wish I had said something now, instead of keeping quiet. I was just afraid I didn’t have enough to offer you after that. I wasn’t your partner anymore. Couldn’t be a cop. I wasn’t sure for a while what I was going to do, but whatever it was I didn’t feel like I could come to you when we weren’t equals anymore. I guess I felt like you’d be getting the short end of the stick.”

“We were never equal,” Hutch said, his voice husky as he moved to stand in front of Starsky. “You were always the best part of me.”

Starsky stood and wrapped his arms around Hutch’s waist, then squeezed him tightly. “We wasted a lot of time, babe. I vote we try to make up for it the best way we can.”

“And what way would that be?” Hutch asked with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Let’s adjourn and take this to my chambers, Counselor.” Starsky said with a tug to Hutch’s sleeve.

Hutch followed eagerly as they prepared to let love lay the ghosts to rest.