Mirror Images

101

Author Note: No offense is intended for any veteran of World War II. I have great and abiding respect for the men and women who served our country and lost their lives during this enormous world conflict. However, war is Hell, to borrow a phrase, and often has dire consequences on the individual. Also, no offense intended for any Japanese readers. Tragically, Americans and Japanese were enemies between 1941 and 1945 and I continue to hope for healing of some of the difficult memories associated with those years. Finally, this is not an AU story. It takes place post-Sweet Revenge in Bay City. Has a bit of fairly graphic implied violence through case files. Again, not a story for small children. Thanks so much to Sue, my wonderful beta-reader! Thank you all for reading!—Anna M.

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Mirror Images – Part One
A Starsky and Hutch Novella

by Detective Sergeant David M. Starsky

Editor: Kenneth R. Hutchinson
Ghost Written by: Anna M.

Part One

Here goes. Now anyone in Metro Division will tell you that I’m not the first person who comes to mind when you say the word “author.” I’m not illiterate. If I’m interested in a subject I can read thousands of pages on it. And if I do say so myself, I’ve done some background research in some of our cases—i.e.; the history of Vampirism believe it or not—that staggered Hutch. But Hutch is usually the textbook type, not me. So when we started talking about Holmes and Watson one evening recently, and the dare got put on the table that we should write out a really memorable case the way Watson always did, I thought it only logical that Hutch do the honors. But no. Blondie was determined to be hard to live with. He reminded me…repeatedly and over my howls of protest…that I am Watson in this partnership. Hmmph. And therefore, according to the all-knowing Hutch, I should do the writing. Now I remember just a few years ago, Captain Dobey accused my writing style of sounding like a comic book gone bad, so the only way I agreed to this caper was if Hutch promised to proofread. That’s what’s happening here, ladies and gents. I’m writing it from my point of view—also Hutch’s idea—and he’s playing editor. So if there are places I sound like Blintz it’s because of his overactive editor complex. Sometimes I get really carried away and forget to show him a section—and then I’ll have to hope you can understand Starskyese.

Now personally I think all this Watson stuff out of Hutch is bunk. I think the real reason he wants me to write is that I’m the one who had the first dream. Can’t really explain it. I didn’t consume half a pizza at 1 AM or have a gut-wrenching day out in the trenches. But I woke up halfway through the night sweating, chest pounding and seriously running through a mental list of heart attack symptoms just to be sure I wasn’t having one. When I finally calmed down enough to think straight, I remembered nothing but fragments.

She was a little thing…five feet even at best…soft dark curls in a bob on her head, deep blue eyes, a face that looked strangely familiar, like I ought to know her. A little thing quivering in a corner looking more terrified than I felt the whole time I was in custody of Mr. Weirdo Marcus. And that’s saying something.

The next morning when I swung by to grab Hutch since he’d left his precious rust-bucket at Merle’s for some ridiculous elective surgery—I say elective because his car is past any real help– I greeted him with, “You ever had a dream that sticks with you no matter how much ya try an’ think of something else?”

He shut the passenger door, turned in the seat and folded his hands in his lap. “You mean other than the fervent fantasy that you’ll quit nagging me about that surf-and-turf dinner I supposedly owe you?”

“Come on, Hutch, it’s been almost a week since I beat you at one-on-one–”

“Only because you hogged the water bottle. I was dehydrated by the end of the game,” Hutch sniffed.

“I won, sucker, wiped the court with your blond butt, and I don’t forget free food. You don’t start payin’ up better on your debts, I’m gonna quit placing bets with you.”

“Heaven forbid,” Hutch cringed with mock horror before he donned that utterly-pleased-with-himself grin and slipped on his shades. I growled at him as I started the engine and then he adopted that fake pity voice. The same one he used on me when I just about gave myself a lobotomy in the fireplace at Pine Lake. “Ah, Starsky, you should thank me. I just did you a favor.”

“Yeah, what?” I griped. “I know your favors. Fake amnesia, let me get drunk on potentially poisonous moonshine….”

Hutch looked like a cat with a corner on the market of canaries. “You’re not thinking about your dream anymore, are you?”

“I—Smart ass.” But I couldn’t help laughing because Hutch was flashing me that grin, the one that’s always made me wonder if the universe having a sun isn’t overkill.

My laughter didn’t last long. We had just laid fingertips on coffee cups when Dobey’s voice upset the Richter Scale. “Ya know, people all the way in Frisco must get tired of hearing our names yelled out this early in the mornin’,” I grumbled as I held the door open for Blondie. But his hand on my arm restrained any further joking comment. Dobey was not alone. A middle-aged woman sat in one of the chairs crying. A tall, broad-shouldered man stroked her arms and murmured soothing words. Not just any middle-aged couple. Commissioner and Mrs. Riley.

“Starsky, Hutchinson, glad you could join us,” Dobey said in that soft, we’ve all got to tread lightly voice. At his words, the couple turned and acknowledged our arrival. The commissioner tried to offer us a smile, but his wife was beyond any niceties. And for Mrs. Riley that spoke volumes about her distress. She’s one of the kindest ladies I know.

“Has something happened?” Hutch asked kinda lamely but with concern in his voice. In that tone he could say dogs are blue and people would feel comforted. The tone worked on Mrs. Riley. She snuffled, choked off her tears, and lifted her eyes.

“S-something aw-awful, Detective Hutchinson.”

“Annie,” he and I said at the same time, both assuming the worst, that these waterworks were connected to the Riley’s’ fifteen-year old daughter.

“No,” Commissioner Riley answered, relief flooding his face. He turned to the desk. “Dobey, could you fill them in—This has been a great shock for Margo and perhaps I should take her–”

“Don’t be silly, Robert. The boys may need to ask me questions,” Mrs. Riley sat up straighter in the chair and wiped her eyes. “Captain Dobey can relate the facts and I’ll sit here and listen until I’m needed.”

“Mrs. Riley has been auditing a World War II history class at Jameson College. She’s become friends with the professor, a young woman of 31 named Kim Grace–”

“Young enough to have been my daughter if Robert and I hadn’t started our family so late. That’s—that’s the way I thought of her… like a-another d-aughter…”

Hutch and I noted the past tense in her statements and I swear both our bodies stiffened on cue. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere good. Dobey cleared his throat and continued, “Dr. Grace did not show up for class yesterday. Mrs. Riley says this is highly unusual–”

“She came to teach one day when she was still recovering from a bout of pneumonia. She never ever missed a class without posting a note with a reason on her office door— Oh, sorry, Captain.”

Captain Dobey waved off the apology with a slight smile, yet another sign that we were in the presence of “police royalty.” “This morning Mrs. Riley went by Dr. Grace’s office to see if she had come to campus. She found the office door closed, but not locked, and when she opened it, she found blood on and around Kim’s desk chair. A substantial amount of blood.”

I flung a look at my stone-faced partner. Dobey was already classifying this mentally as a homicide. “Crime team?” Hutch asked.

“Already in place,” Cap’n answered. “Now, officially, gentlemen, we’ve got to tackle this like a missing person’s case, but–”

“But I want you two leading the investigation,” Commissioner Riley broke in, piercing us with his steely gray gaze. Also silently telling us he thought she was dead and wanted a suspect in her murder.

“I’ve got to tell them, Robert….”

“Are you up to this, Margo?” Love flowed through the words like rose-scented perfume.

Instead of answering him she shifted in her seat and made the preposterous statement: “This is all my fault, you see.”

“Margo–”

“No, Robert, it is! Five days ago Kim’s office was vandalized. Desk overturned, papers everywhere, books thrown off the shelves. She reported it to university security but you know how they are. Then three days ago she told me, laughing, about this phone call she’d received from someone with a faked Japanese accent telling her she’d better not ‘make it public’ or her life would be forfeit. I suggested she go to the police, but she just chuckled and said she’d seen too many Bela Lugosi movies to be worried about some fraternity pledge using her as an initiation stunt.”

I think I felt my eyebrows crawl an inch up my forehead. Hutch couldn’t suppress a startled cough. Mrs. Riley wrung her hands. “If I’d just pushed her or refused to respect her wishes and come to you all anyway, she might still be….” She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘alive.’ She finished with, “…unharmed.”

Hutch stared Mrs. Riley down with unadulterated compassion. “This is not your fault, Mrs. Riley. Dr. Grace should have listened to your advice. You can’t force someone to be careful. Can you tell us something about her? A description to begin with?”

Then came the next shock. Mrs. Riley smiled despite her tears and pointed at me. Hutch and I paused a few beats and then I said, “Excuse me?”

“It’s true. I often teased her about being secretly related to a famous police detective and not even knowing it. She could be your sister, David. Very petite, short dark curls, blue eyes, strong profile….”

I felt a chill crawl up my back starting in my toes. “About five feet even maybe?” Hutch stared at me like I had spontaneously generated a third ear on my forehead. Mrs. Riley nodded, surprised. Great, salvage the situation, Watson. “Did she have any known enemies…besides the caller, I mean?”

“Not that I know of. She treated us all like colleagues more than students. Always in her office with the door open and coffee brewing. She joked about not being able to bake and cook to save her life but she always bought fresh donuts and had them sitting around…I’m sorry th-this isn’t r-relevant… I just miss her already.” The tears started again.

“We can go through official channels, but you’d give us a jump-start if you could give us an idea about friends and family.” Hutch steered the conversation gently back to business.

“She’s been divorced a year now. Ex-husband Michael Alexander is a cellist with the Philharmonic. Th-they were only married six months. Her brother and his wife live in Alaska. Parents have moved back East. She’s originally from Maryland, but her father’s company transferred him out here when Kim was 13. As for friends….”

“Yes?” I prompted.

Margo Riley sighed expressively. “Kim was—is—a very friendly person. But I think she doesn’t have a really close friend. Let me rephrase that. I think—I think she had a very close friend at one point in her life who hasn’t been around for quite some time. Nothing she ever said, but I can read between the lines. Having learned from an expert,” Margo beamed at her husband, who’d remained quiet throughout the exchange of information.

We took down some vital statistics: addresses, phone numbers, etc. Then Margo stood shakily, thanked us both, and left the room. The commissioner sat down in the chair his wife vacated and folded his hands. “When you see the crime scene, you’ll know what I mean when I say I don’t hold out much hope. I can’t say that around Margo even though I think she knows the score, too. I want answers, detectives. As soon as possible.” He flashed us a grave smile and went to join his wife. I let out a soft groan.

Dobey nodded, “These missing person cases that are probably homicides never sit well. Get out to the college and see what you scrounge up. The commissioner wants answers. Give him answers. Don’t let me see your faces again till you have some.”

On the way to Jameson, Hutch said softly, “What the hell was that about?”

Didn’t even have to ask to know that he meant my guessing her correct height. “You’re not gonna believe this, Hutch, but I think I was havin’ a Joe Collandra moment.”

“A—a what!? Damn straight I don’t believe it. You? A Collandra moment! You’d rather go vegan. Who are you and where have you stashed my partner?”

“My dream, Hutch. I think she’s the girl in my dream.”

Hutch sat back against the seat and threw his hands in the air. “I don’t believe this. Dobey and the commissioner are breathing down our necks and you’re having psychic dreams. Wonderful. Why don’t you turn around and head back?”

“Huh?” The question had come out in Hutch’s serious tone.

“Because I want to turn in my resignation before they have a chance to fire me.”

“Ah, gee, Hutch, thanks for the vote of confidence. You believed Collandra. Why not me?”

Hutch smiled softly and patted my shoulder. “Sorry, buddy. Bad joke. I just think this case is gonna get sticky enough without introducing elements we can’t control.”

“Didn’t ask to have the dream, Hutch. Woke up like I’d been drenched with half an ocean. Scariest damn thing—Oh, hell. Never mind.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Yes, we did see what the commissioner meant. Kim’s desk chair looked like it had been the site of a ritual animal slaughter. While we were contemplating exactly what the hell happened to produce that much blood, someone knocked on the door.

“Detective Sergeants?” He was a short, round man with balding red hair and Santa Claus cheeks. “I’m Dean Wilshire. I was told you might want to see me.”

“Yes. Come on in.” Hutch went into respectful mode. I decided to let him tackle the dean while I walked around the room soaking in the atmosphere. Posters of naval battles on the walls, shelves of books, rolled up maps. Not a very feminine office, but then maybe I’m being old fashioned when I say that.

“When did you last see Dr. Grace?”

“Two days ago. We had a faculty meeting; she was there, enthusiastic about a new class idea she’d developed.”

“What exactly is her concentration? Pacific Theater?” Hutch sounded like he’d been an academic all his life. I felt a rush of pride in my blond genius and continued to scan the walls.

“Yes. Well, a little more general than that officially. She did her doctorate in modern war period 1914-1945. But her specialty is Pacific Theater, 1941-45. Pearl Harbor to Hiroshima, she did it all. Prolific research.”

“Do you know if she was working on anything special? Perhaps controversial. Something that might have been embarrassing to someone if publicized?”

I turned around at that question to get a good look at the dean’s face. No sign of surprise or concern. Just a matter-of-fact toss of the head. “Not that I know of. Her last book she co-authored through correspondence two years ago with Dr. Tanaka of the University of Hawaii. It was a re-examination of the Great Marianas Turkey Shoot. Impressive, thorough, but nothing to incite a riot. Last I heard she was putting together an article on the Navajo speakers who helped us send coded messages that could evade Japanese deciphers. Again, nothing that should rock anyone’s boat.”

I broke the sudden silence. “Any complaints about students? Any complaints about her from students?”

“No to both, Detective. Kim was known to be a lenient professor who developed good working relationships with others, both colleagues and students. We’re none of us perfect, but Kim gave us no anxiety on any issue. I can’t imagine why—why–….” He caught sight of the desk chair and turned quickly away from the spectacle.

“Rather unusual career for a—I mean…this particular part of….” I was floundering and felt my face heat when Hutch turned his oh-for-crying-out-loud,-Starsky expression on me.

“You’re right, Detective Starsky,” Dean Wilshire surprised us both. “There are not a lot of female historians who tackle World War II naval strategy. Kim’s father was a veteran who fought under General Patton in Sicily. Apparently Kim’s brother didn’t care much for the stories, but Kim did and grew up listening to her father spin tales of ‘the last great, righteous war.’ They made a large impression on Kim. And she has a wide multicultural streak. A lot of scholars don’t want to work with Tanaka even though he’s a world-renowned expert because his position on that war is said to be somewhat pro-Japanese. Kim liked him. Called him Uncle Iko. She told me with pride about his brother, Shiro, a young naval doctor who died at Pearl Harbor trying to shield a nurse from strafing Zero bullets. Despite his brother’s heroism, Iko and his entire family ended up in a Japanese internment camp. Left a mark on him, no doubt. Anyway, Kim had this innate sense of fair play…always wanted to be able to see more than one side to the coin.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Hutch said quietly, smiling over his shoulder at me. I know my cheeks had to be sporting a pretty pink so I turned my back on them and concentrated on an impressive model aircraft carrier. “The USS Hornet,” I read on the plaque beneath it. I wondered briefly if Kim had put it together. All at once the room seemed to spin.

She was much younger, longer hair. Stomping around a tiny room…dorm? Waving a stack of papers. A young blond man lounged nearby at a desk, working on a model of an aircraft carrier. “Angel,” he said. “What’re you getting worked up about now?”

“Wade, this is due in two hours! My conclusion is crap! Are you listening to me? Pure-T crap!”

Laughter from the blond. “More colloquialism? Pure-T?” He let go of the miniature anti-aircraft gun and tweezers and crossed over to her, taking her by the shoulders and pushing her down until she sat on a bunk. Definitely a dorm room. “I hope your roommate doesn’t let you stay all up in the air like this.”

“Sally’s never here. She has a boyfriend off campus and practically lives with him. She thinks she’s doing me a favor so you and I–” For some strange reason her entire face turned red. The blond threw his head back and laughed. I wish I could have seen his face… the laugh sounded so familiar…

“I can just bet what she thinks. Enough about Sally. I want you to take a deep breath and hum softly and slowly to yourself.”

“Wade, you know I can’t hum but one thing. Aren’t you tired of hearing it?”

“Tired of hearing you squawk out ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’? Never. But it isn’t for my musical enjoyment; it’s to calm you down. Hum, girl.”

So she hummed. Then she smiled. The blond reached a long, slender hand out and stroked her eyebrow with his thumb…almost a brotherly gesture. “See,” his voice gloated. “What would do you without me around?”

“Get my damn history paper done!” She tried to sound gruff and failed. Then she flung the papers down. “Forget the paper! We bought that model kit to do together so I’m gonna help you with that carrier, Paulson.”

“Starsky!!” Hutch was shaking me. I blinked. “Are you okay?” I realized Dean Wilshire and one of the crime lab boys were staring over his shoulder at me.

“Slept late and skipped breakfast,” I murmured. “Sorry.”

Hutch looked like he could throttle me and hug me and couldn’t figure out which to do first. He finally resorted to a frustrated sigh and swiveled. “Dean Wilshire, we’ll need to talk to the rest of your history faculty.”

“Of course. I’ll see what I can do about arranging interviews.”

The various professors, secretaries, and student assistants all said about the same thing. She’d been seen around the department two days ago, happy and bouncing about her article and new class idea. No idea why anyone would want to hurt her. Didn’t know a whole lot about her personal life. Very friendly but closemouthed about herself. No one heard any kind of struggle or witnessed anything unusual.

“Next step her house,” I said, flooring the gas pedal in my lingering embarrassment from the odd experience in Kim’s office.

“Yeah.” Hutch’s baby blues were fixated on my profile, and for once the weight of his stare was more heavy than comforting.

Kim’s little house was situated on a nice, quiet, tree-shaded street with large driveways, basketball goals, and treehouses. We were halfway to her door when a shrill feminine voice assaulted us from next door. “Hey now…what are you doing at Kim’s there?”

Hutch had his badge out first, flashing it for the benefit of the tall, brassy housewife who stared us down like unwashed dogs. Her demeanor changed immediately. Guardian at the Gate was replaced by shock and fear. “Something—something has—hasn’t happened to her?”

“When did you see Dr. Grace last?”

“Couple days ago. Took her a home-cooked meal. Poor kid practically lives off Italian take-out when she’s working on an article. I keep telling her she needs to learn to cook for herself, but she says she likes it because her family lived close to this great Italian restaurant when she was a kid— What, did I say something wrong? You both look white as a christening gown. Did she h-have an a-accident?”

I relocated my tongue and tried it out for size. “We’re uncertain about Kim’s whereabouts. Didn’t you worry when you didn’t see her car in the driveway for over a day?”

“Nope. Thought she was gone to a history conference. She attends a lot of ‘em–” The sounds of whining, barking, and scuffling on the other side of Kim’s door interrupted us and it was the neighborhood watchdog’s time to go pale. “Oh, my God. Something has happened to her!”

“What makes you think that?” Hutch asked, obviously confused. I seconded the emotion.

“Because that’s Mac,” she said cryptically, gesturing at the doggie door while fumbling about in her pockets. “Where’s my spare key… ah here it is.”

“You have a spare key to Kim’s house,” Hutch said significantly. The woman looked at him like he was three years old and snotty-nosed.

“Of course I do. I’m her next-door neighbor. When she’s gone for an extended trip, I look after her place.” She hastily opened the door and a bundle of wiggling, salivating, and clawing white fur greeted us. She scooped the vibrating bundle into her arms, murmuring, “Hey, now, easy, Mac, these are friends.” We stood in the foyer until the small dog quieted in the capable arms. “Kim loves Macbeth more than herself I think. She’d never go away and leave him here by himself. He’s a West Highland terrier and needs lots of attention. See how frightened he is? She hasn’t been here for awhile, that’s for sure.” She set the dog down and as if to illustrate her point, he dashed into the living room and under the sofa.

“How long has Kim lived here?” I asked, glancing around.

“A year now. Since her divorce.”

“Did she ever say anything to you about that?” Hutch asked.

“Not much. One day when she was kinda sad and we were having coffee, she said, ‘Maggie, it was my fault. Should have known I couldn’t make a go of it with anyone else.’ Didn’t explain her comment. Just sat there and passed judgement on herself and then got quiet. That was about six months ago. Look, I’ve got to get back…my seven year old is over there alone with her baby brother. How ‘bout I take Mac with me?”

“Yes, thank you, that would be helpful.” Hutch watched Maggie descend on the sofa and extricate the terrified critter. Mac plunged and writhed and then relaxed and let Maggie cart him out of the house. She turned in the doorway. “If you find out anything, will you please let me know? Even if it’s bad, I wanna know.”

We reassured her and she left, Mac’s mournful whines trailing back to us from across the front yard. I closed the door and stood still, my brain whirling. Why did I feel like I was investigatin’ my own… nope, not even gonna dignify that thought by writing it down. But Hutch looked almost green.

“I feel—strange,” he said. Then he straightened, rolled his shoulders in typical Hutch fashion and gestured with his hands. “I’ll take the bedroom…you start in here. Meet in the study. I’m sure she has one. What professor doesn’t?”

But I didn’t hear him. I’d moved over to the fireplace mantel—yes even in Bay City some houses have fireplaces—and frozen in my tracks. A picture in a frame of four young girls with the panorama of what looked like Yosemite behind them. Four college girls, judging by the university sweatshirts two of them wore, but the two women in the middle interested me most. Kim, looking a lot like she did in that—whatever I experienced in her office—and…and Terry. My Terry. I felt the floor under me before I realized I sat down. Maybe I didn’t sit. Maybe I fell. Anyway, I got that spinning sensation again….

“Hey, shush, it’s okay. The others will wait farther up the trail for us. Just sit here and rest a minute,” My Terry being comforting, compassionate as ever. Kim sobbing, pulling her hair. Banging fists on the ground.

“I don’t want to rest, Terry. I want to run—I want to run and keep running until someone comes and tells me they found him in that godforsaken jungle and he’s coming home again. Why—why Terry!! We were called The Inseparable, you know? Where is he, Terry! Where’s Wade! Just tell me where’s Wade!!”

“Hey, girl, I know. I know, sweetie. It’s unbearable. I learned about real friendship watching the two of you. Friends like you should never be separated.” Terry cradling her in her arms, stroking her hair. Kim growing quiet. I know how comforting that embrace, those arms could be…

“I’m sorry, Terry. I know you arranged this whole trip so I—I could ge-get away and for-forget… I’m grateful… I’m…really! Terry, let me tell you this now. I’m going back east for my PhD. I—I can’t be here anymore… I see him e-everywhere.”

“Starsky, for God’s sake, answer me dammit!”

“Huh… Terry?”

“T—Terry!!?” Hutch’s voice climbed the scale from annoyed to alarmed. “Buddy, look at me. Come on… There you go. What in the hell’s wrong with you? You’re acting like you missed three meals instead of one.”

I realized I had tears streaming down my face, dripping onto my jeans. Terry had been so real… I felt I could reach out and touch her. A younger version of my beautiful… I handed the picture to my partner. “Kim knew her. Must have been at the university with her.”

Hutch traced reverent fingertips around the border of the frame. Then he sat down beside me and draped an arm around my shoulders. “Lots of memories came back, huh, buddy….” His infinitely gentle voice cradled me like a baby blanket.

“I know, Hutch… I know now why she understood us so well…ya know, you and me. Wasn’t jealous of us…ever.”

“What? Starsky, you’re not making a bit of sense. Do you need to see a doctor? No, wait a minute, what am I asking? If I took you to a doctor every time you didn’t make sense, your insurance company would declare Chapter 11.” The laugh and teasing jab were intended to snap me out of my funk, but I failed to rise to the occasion. I squeezed out a grunt and then Hutch pulled me to my feet and pierced my eyes with his, hands on my shoulders clamping down hard. “Starsky, tell me the truth. Were you hallucinating a minute ago?”

“It—It was Collandra in reverse, Hutch. Memories. So vivid.”

“You didn’t really skip breakfast this morning.” Matter-of-fact. “You haven’t had a cold…tried to drown yourself with over-the-counter stuff, right?”

“Hutch, when have I ever been sick that you didn’t know about it?”

“Good point.” Hutch pressed a hand against my forehead just to quiet his mother-hen impulse. I must not have been burning up with fever because he sighed and let his hand drop. “I’m all ears.”

“Nah. Don’t wanna talk about it yet. Let’s get back to work.”

“Work it is, buddy. I found the study and you’re not gonna like it.”

He nailed that guess. The room resembled the ground-zero of a tornado strike. But the walls—God! Pictures haphazardly tacked all around the room depicting scenes of warfare so brutal that I had to hold my stomach to keep my intestines from jumping up and runnin’ away. But even more scary were the Japanese characters scrawled around the pictures in…. “Also blood,” I confirmed. Suddenly, the Satanic symbol painted on the cabin door at Pine Lake seemed a tame memory.

“I’m calling the crime team. We need pictures. Someone who actually knows about this stuff’s gotta help us out.” Hutch gave one more shudder at the horror in the room.

“Right. Last I checked I wasn’t fluent in Japanese either. I’m glad we got Maggie out of here before she saw this.”

“Starsky, I think even Mac would have been affected by this.” Hutch disappeared and I felt a momentary qualm about being left alone in a room that simply radiated hatred. Who hated Kim this much? Her ex-husband?

Hutch picked up the other half of my brainwave because he suggested we head by the Civic Center when we’d sealed up the room in Kim’s house. “I want a look at this Michael Alexander.”

I disliked Michael Alexander after thirty seconds in the same room with him. That’s the full out truth. He dressed like something out of one of those society magazines and he had perfect hair. Now Hutch dresses nicer than I do, sure, and he’s… well, hey I’m masculinely secure enough to say he’s a good-looking guy. But he doesn’t let on that he knows it. Sometimes I wonder if he really does know what that combination of blond, porcelain, and baby blue can do to people. But this Alexander dude! He oozed “I’m hot crap” out of every pore. Worse than that, he didn’t even seem to care why we were there asking him questions in the first place.

“I have to say, gentlemen, I haven’t corresponded with Kim except through my lawyer since the day she asked for a divorce. I think she preferred it that way too. And with my schedule and travel itinerary it only made sense not to drag things out worrying over the possibility of reconciliation. We knew two months into the marriage that we had just made a mistake.”

“Pardon my asking, but then why did you stay together four more months after that?”

“Kim’s damn sense of ‘give it your best shot.’ She could be a like a kid sometimes, you know, who just had to prove she could skip-rope 100 times in a row. But I knew two months after the wedding that she was in love with someone else. And I…frankly, I loved my music too much to care. I’ll admit that.”

“Someone else?” I heard my voice come out in a squeak. Hutch’s head whipped around, his eyes signaling me to hold it together whatever had me in a snit. “Ya sayin’ she was havin’ an affair?”

“Oh, no! No. Kim wasn’t like that. No… this sounds odd…but I think the person she loved is dead. Has been a long time. Whoever he was, she never talked about him. But a couple times I found her staring out the window at the sky on a really fair day and she’d have been crying. One time I heard her say out loud, ‘I never thought I’d hate the color of the sky. Sky-blue.’”

I had to turn away for a minute. Thankfully, Hutch continued the interview. “How long did you know Kim, Mr. Alexander?”

“Not very long. Quick courtship, about three months. Married for six.”

“Do you know anyone who actively disliked her? Would have wanted to hurt her?”

Michael did flinch a little at that. So he had a shred of humanity in him. “God… so something really has happened to her?”

“She’s missing, Mr. Alexander, and there is evidence of foul play involved.” Hutch sounded like he was talking to the President of the United States. The cold, impersonal but respectful tone got through to Mr. Better-Than-You more than a slap in the face.

“And you think— you think I–” He laughed out loud. I wanted to smack him with the back of my hand. “I’m this close to an invitation to join the London Philharmonic. Do you think I’d really risk that by exacting revenge on my ex-wife for setting me free to concentrate on my career?”

I had had enough. “No, Mr. Alexander. Revenge takes emotion. ‘Fraid you don’t qualify.”

“What the hell does he mean by that?” Michael demanded of Hutch, the he spat out like it was a virus he didn’t want to catch. Hutch smiled.

“You’ll have to forgive my partner. He gets worked up about possibly brutal homicide cases. One of his quirks I guess.” The sarcasm was solely for Alexander, not for me. I heard the underlying compliment and wanted to give Hutch a tap on the back of the head for thanks. “One last question, Mr. Alexander. Do you read or write Japanese?”

Alexander shook his head. “Only a snatch from a few musical selections.”

“Thank you.” Hutch indicated the conclusion of the interview and we made the trek back to the Torino in silence. The minute we closed the doors, the radio squawked at us.

“Zebra-3.”

Hutch snatched the mic and barked, “Zebra-3. Hutchinson.”

“Zebra-3, switch to Tac-2 for Captain Dobey.”

Hutch caught my eyes and that right blond eyebrow slid up an inch.

“Hutch?” Dobey’s voice sounded gruffer than usual.

“Yeah, Cap’n, go ahead.”

“I know I said I didn’t want to see you down here but something’s come up. Get back here pronto. No stopping for a snack on the way, Starsky.”

I glared at the radio and Hutch laughed before he signed off. He squeezed my shoulder. “Big dinner tonight, Starsky. You can pick the where, what, and when. Promise. In fact, how about that surf-and-turf I supposedly owe you?”

I could tell that my outlook must have brightened immediately because Hutch’s smile widened into a grin of epic proportion and I knew if I didn’t get the show on the road he’d make a crack about my being so predictable. It felt good. Good to smile, laugh, and know what he was thinking…good to have him here with me. Where did that come from? I pushed the key in the ignition and we sped off with a roar.

When we plowed through Dobey’s doorway, having taken all of thirty seconds in the hallway for me to snag a candy bar out of the machine—no snacks, be damned!—our captain greeted us with hollow eyes and none of the Dobey bluster. That’s when we knew something major had gone south.

“Something came over the wire a little while ago. Not good. Seems Kim isn’t the first.”

We plopped down in our usual position, me in the chair and Hutch propped on the arm. In his sudden distraction, Hutch confiscated my candy bar for a nibble and then dropped it haphazardly back into my lap. “You mean….”

“Two professors murdered in Hawaii over the course of the past two months. As of yesterday the State Homicide Hawaii 5-0 people had just gotten close enough in their investigation to realize that the killer may have slipped through the cracks and headed mainland. But the amount of time they believe he may have been gone matches the time frame with Kim…and judging from the pictures the crime boys just dropped in here, the MO is the same. Except in those cases, there was definitely a body to be found. I talked to a Dan Williams over there but he wants you two to call back and confer with Steve McGarrett.”

Hutch and I swiveled simultaneously and mouthed, “Steve McGarrett.” McGarrett is a legend in the law enforcement community even if his territory is six hours away from the US Mainland. Hawaii 5-0 only deals with the big fish. Sharks, more like. If we were going after a guy who’d escaped McGarrett’s clutches…. “What tipped ‘em off?”

Dobey retrieved a pencil from behind his ear and tapped it restlessly on the desk. “A lucky break in their investigation. A super in a run-down month-by-month apartment complex decided to break policy and show a prospective tenant an efficiency that was about to come available without asking the current tenant’s permission. The apartment was empty, but the walls had Japanese characters painted all over them in blood. Let’s just say the manager was scared enough to call the police. Not a single decent fingerprint in the place but the fairly rare blood type matched Tanaka, one of the victims. And one of the passages on the wall indicated Bay City as the end of some journey toward love’s redemption. Whatever that means. All the super and the neighbors could say is that the tenant kept pretty much to himself. Not much of a description: medium build, late fifties, Caucasian. Name on the apartment lease, Anthony Marshall, is an alias. When pulled up, the social revealed that Anthony Marshall has been dead since 1962. Died in some private sanitarium in Hawaii but that lead didn’t produce. The sanitarium officials reported no patients missing or any recent releases who would have known Anthony Marshall. Whoever this guy is, he’s a dangerous combination of cuckoo and clever. And the local FBI is backing off this one, boys. They’re neck-deep in some ongoing gangland crossfire and are leaving this one square in your laps.”

I shuddered at the mixture of brains and sickness and saw the lids come halfway down over Hutch’s eyes. Dobey noticed our expressions because his voice deepened a notch. “If Dr. Grace crossed paths with this guy, you’re gonna be glad you didn’t have a body. Finding it would have left Margo Riley in therapy the rest of her life.”

“Excuse me?” Hutch queried.

“McGarret’ll be in his office in approximately five minutes. I’ll let you hear it from him, Hutchinson.”

True to his word, Dobey waited all of five minutes before snatching the phone receiver and dialing Honolulu. “Mr. Williams? Captain Dobey again. Has Mr. McGarrett arrived? Yes, I have two detectives anxious to speak to him. Okay; I’ll switch to speakerphone.”

We exchanged yet another paragraph of thought between our eyes before a strong, resonant voice broke the silence. “McGarrett here.”

I nudged Hutch, who leaned forward out of habit and said clearly, “Mr. McGarrett, this is Detective Hutchinson. I’m here with my partner, Detective Starsky. We’re told you might have some information for us regarding a killer targeting college professors.”

“Yes, detectives, I do, and not just college professors. No, these are experts in the field of World War II Pacific Theater. I’m not really surprised the pattern seems to have originated here, with Pearl Harbor being on the island. We’ve run the sketchy information we have through Interpol and have turned up no evidence that anything like this has happened elsewhere around the world recently. I’ve got Danny expressing you a complete file of our investigation, but I should probably hit the high points with you now. Save time.”

“Yes, we’ve got a young lady here who might be the third victim,” I stated. McGarrett’s voice cracked through the long-distance telephone line. “Young lady?” I smiled at the surprise inherent in his voice. So I’m not the only one who doesn’t automatically connect a young woman with a doctorate in military strategy. Hutch and I quickly filled him in on our current situation. Then Hutch spoke up. “How did you know what you were dealing with?”

A long sigh. “We didn’t until the second murder. The first victim, Dr. Iko Tanaka, never reported any of the more violent threats. The status of the body tipped us off that something unusual was in the air. His housekeeper found him in the garden room. His head was shaved, the Japanese rising sun painted across his forehead in his own blood, and death had resulted from assailant-afflicted Hari Kari.”

“The Japanese ritual suicide?” Hutch couldn’t force down a shiver so strong that I felt it echo in my body.

“Correct. Upon investigation of the crime scene we discovered that his library had been locked for the past two weeks. The housekeeper had questioned the professor about cleaning it but he kept refusing her. We forced open the door and found a mirror image of the room you described to me, Detective Hutchinson. He had said something to her about not answering the phone while she cleaned. Told her he had received an unpleasant prank call and did not want her subjected to something similar. When we questioned his colleagues, we learned that his office had been ransacked almost three weeks before the murder. Dr. Tanaka refused to report the incident beyond the university security because he blamed it on a young student who was failing his course and had fallen below academic good standing. He told his dean that ‘slashing tires’ and a ‘trashed office’ were just mechanisms for letting off steam and insisted that he be allowed to follow up the situation at his own discretion. That decision cost him his life.”

Hutch and I traded looks with Dobey. Kim had fallen prey to the same line of reasoning. Some harmless prank…some initiation stunt…maybe a disgruntled student. Do people ever readily believe a murderer has targeted them?

“Now the second killing… hand me that file will you, Dan-O? Thanks….”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Something cold to drink and our usual favorites, Hug,” Hutch called over to the bar as we settled into a nearby booth. My mind was still reeling from the phone call with McGarrett and Hutch knew, as he always did with that Starsky-crystal-ball he carries around, that I’d think better on a full stomach. I clutched my head, feeling the beginnings of another headache, a side-effect from my brush with the hereafter. The doctor had given me a bunch of medical reasons why I’d get them occasionally for the rest of my life; all I care about is that I’m alive enough to feel pain anywhere. “Head, Starsk? Need some aspirin?”

I extended a hand involuntarily and then looked up, “Yeah, like you have a bottle of—” My eyes widened as Hutch fiddled in the pockets of his cords and brought forth the lifeline I needed. I popped two back dry and then regarded him with a thankful smile. “Hutch, why do you have a bottle of aspirin in your pocket when I’m the one who gets the headaches?”

Hutch grinned. “I wouldn’t want you to think now you’re all brand new and energized that I’m expendable.”

I almost choked on the sudden onslaught of emotion that comment encouraged. We no longer shied away from saying meaningful things to each other…not after my shooting. Death loosens your tongue more effectively than an entire case of scotch. But right now I knew I couldn’t respond with even close to the intensity I felt at the moment. So I sought refuge in humor, my old stand-by. “Well, gee, Hutch, not everyone has their own walkin’ pharmacy. What would I do without ya?”

Huggy appeared then with his impeccable timing and deposited two plates and two ice cold sodas in deference to our still being officially on duty. Hands on hips, the creatively dressed in shades of red and purple proprietor of The Pits gave us a slight frown, “Heard you guys have a properly gruesome bodyless murder on your hands.”

I had already chomped into my burger and found myself coughing with a mouth full of food. Astonished, I glanced at Hutch who looked at Huggy in awe. “I’m not even going to ask how you know that, Hug,” my partner breathed. “This case isn’t even an afternoon old.”

Huggy slid into the booth beside Hutch, “Yeah, man, well, you know me. I gotta remind you super heroes every now and then that I know what I need to know when I need to know it.” He winked at Hutch. “So you won’t ever think I’m expendable.”

That’s it, I decided. I’m in the twilight zone. Hutch dropped his Californian turkey sandwich as his eyebrows twisted into that glare of miffed dignity. “I’m surrounded. Starsky’s having physic dreams and hallucinations…and you must have our Torino bugged.”

The slender black man laughed. “Nah, Hutch. Calm down. I don’t know about Starsky’s brush with the paranormal, but I’ve got a good source. My newest waitress, Candy, is a part-time student at Jameson. It’s all over the campus now.”

“See, Starsky. Logical explanations. Gotta love ‘em.”

“Hey, you think I wanna be gettin’ visions of a dead girl before she got dead… I mean, a long time before she—aw, hell!”

Huggy threw his head back, roared with good humor, and slapped his hands together. “Oh, but my batting average is sweet. Here just two minutes and I’ve initiated another lively discussion between the Dynamic Duo. Now that I’ve got the party started, I’d better get back to the bar.” He tilted his head to the side, bounced his eyes between us with this incredibly knowing expression and said, “I’d ask when the two of you white boys are going to wise up, but you wouldn’t have a clue what I meant, and I’m savin’ that discussion for when I can participate freely.”

“What the hell did he mean by that?” Hutch demanded, his eyes following Huggy to the bar. I shrugged and said something about Huggy just being himself. Hutch grunted, attacked his sandwich again, and then sighed. “All right. We need a game plan.”

I suppressed an inner groan. Back to the case. Back to Kim. Back to this feeling of crushing grief I couldn’t wrap my mind around and understand. “Well, you heard McGarrett. He and Dan think putting the second victim under direct police protection only shortened the killer’s timetable. And the protection turned out to be crap. Here, he scrunched his threats into an even shorter timeframe. And we don’t have a mutilated body on our hands. Why?”

“Can’t answer that one, I’m afraid. But the one I want answered is: what does he want? I think that phone call about something not being publicized is genuine.”

“Tanaka!” I slammed my glass down. “Uncle Iko. Kim wrote with him two years ago. Wonder if Burkehalt had any connection with him?”

“Something to look into. Think our next stop should be Jameson for another chat with that other modern America expert?”

“Yeah, maybe he can shed some light on those hieroglyphics all over Kim’s wall. And the pictures.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dr. Ted Goldman plied us with coffee and made horrified clucking noises over the photos from Kim’s study. “I’m sure you recognize at least one of the phrases. Tora, Tora, Tora: the Japanese code signal associated with Pearl Harbor. The other phrases are anti-GI sentiments affiliated with some of the more brutal Pacific battles. Bataan, Corregidor, Peleliu, Okinawa. The pictures are of actual atrocities commonly associated with the last two of those campaigns. Atrocities American marines had to watch their buddies suffer. Nineteen year old marines with ears, noses, and even more intimate parts removed after they’d been killed. Some of the Japanese soldiers wore the parts around their necks almost as war decorations. Now before you get all disgusted at the Emperor’s boys, let me tell you, some of our guys stooped to responding in like kind. Peleliu and Okinawa were hells on earth, gentlemen, no two ways about it.”

“Dr. Goldman, we’ll have to ask you to be very discreet about this information but we need your expert advice. What would you say to a possible Caucasian suspect despite all this Japanese fanfare?” Hutch had his I’m-gonna-figure-all-this-out-if-it-kills-me look squarely fixed on the professor’s face.

Dr. Goldman trembled for a minute. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I have to act very detached about this or I’ll break down. To think Kim may have been…subjected….” We both lowered our faces, feeling the same thing: regret at having to divulge some of the particulars of the murders in Hawaii. We needed a professional’s opinion about the symbols associated with the murders. “Whoever this guy is, he’s wallowing in pain and hatred. I’m no forensic psychologist, but the more I think about it, I see this as a personal vendetta of some sort. I think this guy has experienced World War II firsthand. Intimate knowledge of that era’s Japanese customs, symbols. It’s like he… was punishing those professors for some heinous crime he perceives they’ve committed. That he must think Kim committed too. Hari Kari is the ultimate—usually self-inflicted—punishment for dishonor. Having one’s head shorn is not necessarily a symbol of Japanese origin, but some cultures view it as a declaration of shame, guilt. Being branded by the Rising Sun… If he’s Caucasian, then he’s got a major gripe with Japanese World War II soldiers. So twisted that he’s acting out his hate through the actions of the people he despises.” He took off his glasses, fidgeted with them, rubbed them with a handkerchief, and replaced them crooked on his nose. “Ronald Burkehalt was Dr. Tanaka’s student. Did his dissertation under him. A controversial dissertation, I might add. It attempted to re-analyze the idea that Japan would have been prepared to launch a full counterattack to a land invasion had we chosen that as an alternative to Hiroshima. Ronald’s stance is—was that atomic weaponry might not have been necessary to end the war. Some scholars terminally inflicted with tunnel vision accused Ronald of succumbing to his mentor’s pro-Japanese tendencies.”

Hutch emitted one of those soft whistles that told me he’d soaked in the information and expertly sifted the wheat from the chaff. “Okay. Kim wrote a book with Tanaka. Ronald was his student. Tanaka has a reputation for Japanese sympathy. Guilt by association to an unhinged brain? Do you know of a project involving all three of them?”

“Nothing comes directly to mind.”

I suddenly experienced a flash of inspiration. “Photos can be very personalized, style and all. I mean, these didn’t just get cut out of an encyclopedia, right? Do you recognize any of the pictures?”

Goldman gave me a nod of respect. “Astute question, Detective Starsky. I’ve done years of research in this field and I quite frankly don’t remember ever having seen these before. I—I do know of someone… how far are you willing to travel for information?”

“We want to nail this guy,” Hutch said emphatically. “Any help you can offer….”

“His name’s Billy Walker and he lives in San Diego. He’s almost supernaturally gifted at photo recognition and is actually on a first-name basis with most of the surviving war photographers. If anyone can plunk down a name on those photos, it’s Billy.”

“Do you know if Billy is—stable emotionally?”

Ted laughed shortly. “What you’re asking is do I think he’s involved in this. I highly doubt that, Detective Hutchinson. Shrapnel snipped his spinal cord in the last days of the Guadalcanal Campaign. He came home to his wife and baby son a paraplegic and has spent his post-war days in a wheelchair.”

Hutch and I gave a collected sigh of relief. This was no case of Bellamy in a fake leg cast. Over thirty-five years in a wheelchair put Billy effectively out of the running. “Okay, we’d like to show these photos to Billy.”

“Fine by me, but I’d better give him a call and prepare him for your visit. He can be quite a character sometimes.” Ted reached for his phone, dialed a number, and we all waited in silence. “Carol? Billy there? It’s Ted Goldman. You—oh, God. Oh, I didn’t realize…. Yes, it would have been. I’d forgotten…Carol, I have two detectives who really need Billy’s help. Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson. Yes, they’re looking into Kim’s situation. Yes, I’m sure they’ll understand. Certainly.” He re-cradled the receiver and rubbed his eyes again just beneath the lenses. “That was Billy’s wife. Apparently his niece is a student assistant here in the Department. She called them earlier this afternoon about this mess with Kim. I’d forgotten but Billy’s been almost an adopted Father to her for years now. It was quite a shock and his wife had to give him something to make him sleep, but she said he would be back at the store tomorrow around 10 AM if you could come then.”

I frowned. “Just can’t keep things like this quiet for long. Makes our job harder.”

“I imagine,” Ted said. Suddenly he let all the emotion flood his face. “Do you think—damn, this is hard. It’s hard enough hearing about Ronald and Dr. Tanaka… but Kim!”

“Officially,” I said quietly, “we’re still treating this like a missing person’s case–”

“Yes, but I hope you’ll pardon me, everybody knows you two are homicide detectives….”

“Normally, yes. But we were requested specifically.”

“Calling out the best and brightest, eh? Any pair who can bring down James Marshall Gunther can restore Kim to us.”

His quiet confidence shook us both. Hutch couldn’t sit there and let him develop false hope. “I don’t know about the best, Dr. Goldman. I think experienced is the operative word. But we can’t make promises. This killer, if he is involved in Kim’s case, does not have a pattern of leaving victims alive. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not a child, Detective Hutchinson. I know the odds. But there are some things in the Torah about the compassion of God that I can’t ignore.”

“I second that,” I said with an answering smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

We spent the rest of our shift making several unpleasant phone calls. We had to cover the bases with Kim’s family as tactfully as possible. Carefully wording our questions to allow them maximum hope, we discovered that Kim had made her weekly calls on schedule at the beginning of the week. She did not sound distressed. She sounded pleased with herself, happy with the progress on her article. Laughing about some of her funnier conversations with the Native American interviewees she worked with. They told great stories apparently. Kim liked to laugh. Hutch and I finished the phone calls feeling like scraped and bloody heels. Then Margo Riley showed up.

She sat down in a spare chair by our desks and said quietly, “I—I know she’s d-dead.”

Hutch all but wet himself with his coffee and I swallowed my gum, “Ya—you’ve heard—something?” Thinking of the irrational possibility that the killer contacted her, knowing her affiliation with the police….

“No. I’m just facing facts. I’ve been eavesdropping. I know what Robert won’t tell me… about those tragedies in Hawaii. I want this animal to—I want him to pay. Do you want to know why?”

We didn’t know how to answer. Even Mr. Strunk-and-White couldn’t find the words. She didn’t wait for us to untangle our tongues. “Kim loved to stir things up a bit. Keep the Department from getting stale and stuffy, she said. She hated those two words. Repeated them like the twin crimes of the world. Stale and Stuffy. About a month ago she whispered in my ear that she was going to shake her grad seminar up a little bit, so I brought my camera, not knowing what to expect. She showed up the next day rigged out in a full costume of one those cigarette girls wandering around the club in ‘Casablanca.’ Taught class in this ‘40s Hussy voice. Had the whole class in stitches. She smiled at me after class and said, ‘Toldya I’d knock ‘em out of their stuffiness, schweetheart.’ Here’s the picture I took.” She handed it to Hutch. I waited patiently for him to hand it over. All at once his face went ashen and he jumped to his feet and ran out of the room.

I found him in the hall outside the squad room bent over double, swallowing convulsively, almost retching. Other officers stared at him with concern and confusion. I waved them off impatiently and took Hutch by the shoulders. “Hey, buddy…want to get some fresh air outside?”

“No, I—I’ll be fine. Just that picture. Damn it, Starsky, I can friggin’ see what she means by Kim being your sister. God…did you get a good look? That grin, those eyes… Seeing them on the face of a person who’s –” He shuddered again and shook my hands free.

“Hutch, is this gonna—I mean….”

“Starsky, I’m still a cop! First and foremost. Don’t you ever forget it.” He strode past me into the squad room. I stood still in the hallway and rubbed a hand over my eyes before I followed.

~~~~~~~~~~

I pulled the Torino in front of Venice Place and let the engine idle for a minute. Then the aromas steadily seeping out of the bag carefully balanced between us got the better of me. We’d decided to save the surf-and-turf for when we weren’t chasing down a serial killer and settled for picking up Chinese. My stomach expressed its enthusiasm and I killed the engine, grabbed the bag, and bounced up the stairs behind Hutch. Following him into the apartment that was as much a home to me as my own, I felt a warmth settle over me that had nothing to do with an upcoming Chinese feast. Suddenly I wanted to put a name to the warmth. Friendship. Companionship. Closeness. Security. Hutch. He mouthed something about changing clothes and dashed into the other room.

He emerged barely a minute later wearing his oldest pair of jeans, a cornflower blue shirt that screamed his eye color, and a smile to light the bottomless pit. I just about dropped the bag of Chinese en route to the table. I hadn’t seen that expression on his face since the early days of his relationship with Gillian. For a minute I thought the whole room was turned upside down. Then I commanded myself to walk calmly over to the table, deposit the bag of food, and remove its contents methodically. Praying that my voice sounded normal, I quipped, “Jeez, if shedding those cords can make you feel that good, ya oughta burn ‘em. Might be orgasmic.”

Hutch laughed and whisked behind the table into the kitchen. He rooted about in the fridge, suddenly tossing a root beer over his shoulder in my general vicinity. That is the extent of our ESP. He knew exactly how to gauge the throw so the bottle landed easily within my grasp instead of in fragments on the floor. When he turned, his face was a study in rapture. I tilted my head, slapped my hands on my hips, and batted my eyelashes at him. “Hey, d’ya want the food or can ya exist on euphoric sentimentalism alone?”

Hutch grinned, “Where’d you get that?”

“You taught it to me, Blintz. Where’s your memory? Remember when we first met Molly? The year you tried to turn into combination Grinch and Scrooge and failed miserably. You’re lookin’ all master of euphoric sentimentalism again. What gives?” I flung a fortune cookie at him with what I know had to be a sappy expression of affection on my face. Hutch’s care and concern for the orphaned little girl that Christmas only cemented my fervent belief that Kenneth Hutchinson is one of God’s more special creatures.

Hutch opened his bottle and sat limply down in the chair. “Just glad to be here with you.”

“Picture really got to ya, huh?”

The smile vanished as he sorted through the various white cardboard containers and I cursed myself to the nether pits of Hell for shattering his good mood. “I think she’s alive, Hutch.”

Hutch seized the chicken with cashews and pushed the Moo Goo Gai Pan my way. No response. “Spring rolls?” I delved once more into the bag and offered Hutch’s favorites with a longsuffering sigh.

“Are you gonna be mono—mono–”

“Monosyllabic.”

“Yeah, that… Can’t we at least hold out a shred of hope?”

“Starsky, I want to. Really, I do. But you have to admit… the blood all over her office chair matches Kim’s type. Her study perfectly fits the MO of a serial killer who has murdered twice. From the look of the pattern he’s developing, this nutcase has been getting increasingly aggressive. Where do you see any hope in all that?”

I felt a knot of tension between my shoulder blades. Then I took a deep swig of root beer, cleared my throat and settled against the damn uncomfortable chair back. Since Gunther, I have some scars that just don’t like Hutch’s dining chairs. He rose wordlessly to his feet, grabbed one of the smaller cushions off the couch and with a strong hand on my shoulder, pushed me forward and arranged the cushion behind me at the perfect location. I sat back against it and smiled at the improvement in sensation. “Thanks, buddy.”

Hutch nodded and pounced on the cashew chicken. I folded my arms across my chest and asked, “Where’s the body?”

“Huh?”

“You wanted to know where I find the hope. That’s it. This sicko has been using the bodies of his victims to make a statement. Why not in this case?”

“Maybe he moved her after he killed her. Would have been risky to…um…set about his mutilation activities right there in her office.”

“You think this fruitcake would be worried about that?”

“He’s been displaying some higher brain function too, Starsk. Even if it’s twisted.”

“Okay, why didn’t he kill her at home like the first victim? Unlike Ronald, Kim wasn’t under police protection somewhere. And the ME couldn’t find any traces of tissue on the chair. With a wound that generated that kinda gore, wouldn’t you expect tissue fragments?”

“Starsk, you’re not basing—this—I don’t know…on that dream you had?”

I abandoned my chopsticks and glared at him. “Thanks, Hutch. I oughta smack ya. I tell you about one lousy dream and suddenly I’m no longer a sane and rational cop capable of reasoning through a murder investigation.”

Hutch smacked his lips with the gentility that only Hutch has and pushed his plate away. “All right. Point taken. But it wasn’t just the dream… that stuff this morning. You had me pretty scared, partner.”

“Hutch, whatever that was… they were like memories. If they were—I dunno—real, then they happened when she was in college, I think. Shouldn’t have any impact on my belief that she’s alive now.” Then I fell silent because I felt dizzy….

Kim sitting at a table with the young blond man. He had his back to me again and I wanted so badly to see his face. They were sharing a plate of spaghetti. Kim was rambling on about something in a singsong joking voice. Then all of a sudden the blond man stopped her and said, “Who’s Hutch?”

“What?” Kim’s face a complete blank.

“You just said… ‘and then I thought I was gonna laugh till I wet myself, Hutch.’ I’m Wade, remember? Wade, your bud. Who’s Hutch? You found a boyfriend I don’t know about?” Teasing, laughing tone. Kim’s face still blank.

“Angel??”

“Whew, that was weird!” Kim shook herself and dropped her fork. “For a minute… I… you looked like you wearing this sweatshirt..”

“It’s the middle of April, 1969, Angel, you with me?”

“Yeah… it was a police academy sweatshirt. Must be that cough syrup I’m taking.”

“Oh, that’s a laugh riot! Major league baseball all the way, Angel. No cops and robbers for me. Coach says the Angels are making noises on the sidelines. What do you think of that?”

“I think it’s great!” Kim beamed. “Maybe with a whole team full of Angels you won’t have to worry so much about this one.”

“Hey… don’t think like that. We’re best pals. The Inseparable, remember? Don’t you know if I didn’t have you I wouldn’t be sure of the sun rising every morning?”

“Starsky!? Earth to Starsky!! Either you have X-ray vision or you really are psychic, pal, because you’re staring at that fortune cookie like it just solved all life’s mysteries. Only you haven’t cracked it open yet. Hey, buddy, what’s bouncing around in that hollow cranium of yours?”

Hutch and I don’t lie to each other. Our honesty is one of the things that make the Me and Thee partnership work. I’ve told him things about me and my inner ticking that would make my ma’s hair fall out. And she’s a Jewish mother, the toughest and hardiest species of Mother to walk the earth. But right then I froze. Choices: speak your mind and let him think you’re insane or fib and keep him happy and save the battle for another day. At that point choice two was head and shoulders more appealing. “Uh, nothing, Hutch. Just trying to get all our case info straight in my head.”

Hutch wrinkled his brow at me and then studied his root beer with sudden disfavor. “Maybe I ought to switch to the real stuff. Join me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He offered me the beer with a blinding smile and then shifted our base of operations to the sofa. Curled up on one side, he draped an arm across the back and I sat a couple feet down from him, leaning back against the strong arm.

“At least tomorrow we might very well get a lead on our psycho. And McGarrett’s using his clout to crack the nut of patient confidentiality in the Hawaii Veteran’s Association. We’re gonna get this guy for Margo, Starsk.”

I swirled the beer around in the can and grunted agreement. The hand attached to the arm I leaned against found its way to my shoulder and squeezed tightly. I relaxed in the warmth of the familiar, friendly sensation. Then my brain had to go and ruin it with a mental picture of Kim standing in front of a window hating the sky’s blueness. I had a feeling I knew why. That thought talked me out of finishing my drink and I started to stand. “Well, don’t know about you, buddy boy, but today’s events have taken their toll on this street veteran. If I don’t head on home and get my beauty sleep, Dobey’ll be screaming that I look like reheated death. Can’t afford that when I’ve got to be the poster boy for a miraculous, bionic physique.”

“Why don’t you just crash here?”

I laughed. “One half of a beer does not a drunk Starsky make.”

“Didn’t say you were drunk. You’ve stayed over before when you were perfectly sober.”

“Drunkeness, illness, tragedy, or gunshot wounds. That’s our list of reasons to date.”

“How about friendship? How about my needing to remind myself that you’re really all right… really still here…. Sorry, I know that sounds—I just thought we might play a game of Monopoly or catch a movie on the tube. Hell, I’ll even spring for popcorn. Extra butter. I won’t accuse of you being cuckoo because you’re having visions.”

I swiveled quickly, “You can say anything to me, Hutch.” I meant it. I was going to be his best friend no matter what weird kind of snit my brain was trying to throw. But despite those generous thoughts I must have turned again because a soft, determined word halted my steps.

“Stay.”

I turned around again, “You wanna talk about it, Blondie?”

“About what?”

“What’s bothering you.”

Hutch set his empty can on the coffee table and leaned back against the sofa cushions. “I think this case is going to get ugly, Starsk, and I’d like to keep that ugliness at bay for just a little longer.”

I smiled slowly and plopped back down on the sofa, “Well, if you’re begging me to wipe the floor with you, I suppose we could break out the Monopoly. I’ll just relax here and think over my strategy.”

“Whatever, King-of-the-Utilities. ‘Sides, you don’t have a broken leg. You know where the board games are. I’ll tackle the popcorn.”

I laughed. Gruff, half-heartedly bossy Hutch was back in control.    

~~~~~~~~~~

The dream hit me in the middle of the night. I think I fell off the couch.

“I’m not leaving you, Angel.”

“Wade, don’t be silly. I just fell off a stupid bicycle.”

“Yeah, in the middle of the state park, Angel. Trust you to turn your bike into a mess of tangled metal just to avoid clipping a chipmunk.”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Well, it’s getting dark and you may have broken your leg.”

“I’m just fine. If you ride back down that path now you might catch a ranger.”

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Wade said softly. “I shouldn’t have dragged you here.”

“You didn’t drag me, dummy. I know how much you love trees and nature. I wanted to share this with you. Now park your butt on that bike and go get us some help.”

“Next time you suggest a workshop theater production don’t let me talk you out of it with a damn fool idea like this…” the blond had his arms around her now, a friendly embrace. I think I stopped breathing when I finally caught a glimpse of his face.

“I wouldn’t have given this up for a Broadway production. Now will you quit feeling guilty already? Guilt is not going to get us out of this mess. Go.”

“Nope. Not leaving you. Hear me? I’ve got a better idea.” He stood and rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a flare.

“Wade, are you sure about that?”

“Look, I’m not leaving you, Angel, all right? I want you out of here ASAP…us…together. This is a high altitude flare, some newfangled thing especially for backpackers. We’re in a pretty decent clearing, mostly dirt, and it rained a couple days ago. I think it’s safe enough to take a chance.” He smiled at the flare. “I’ve never used one of these new ones before. If it blows up in my face we’ll know it.” He grinned at her, his teeth shining in the twilight. Kim laughed.

“Well, that would be one way to get rid of that nose you say makes you look too much like David McCallum. I won’t be able to call you Illya anymore.” He was just about to set off the flare. Kim looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Wade, I was just kidding about the nose. Be careful, okay?”

The screaming woke me. Not my screaming. Bloodcurdling howls coming from the sleeping area. “Angel! ANGEL!! Oh, God, Angel!!!”

I picked myself off the floor and tore a streak in the floor on my way to Hutch. I found him thrashing around in the sheets, soaked in sweat, face contorted with fear. I grabbed hold and shook him awake. “Hutch! Wake up, you’re dreaming!” His eyes flew open, connected with mine, and his hands grabbed the sides of my face. “Angel,” he said softly. Then he seemed to wake the rest of the way up and he said, “Starsky?” and released me.

“I see you’ve gotten acquainted with Wade Paulson,” I said simply. “Bet ya didn’t know ya had a twin.”

Hutch cleared his throat and scooted into sitting position against the headboard. “I.. I was in this whitewashed room by a window. This guy who looked like…well, like a slightly younger brother if I had one…sat by the window mute. I could tell he was terrified. And I knew why. It was something to do with a girl named Angel. It was some kind of hospital room. His left arm was all burn-scarred.”

“Kim Grace, Hutch. Nickname Angel. Welcome to Vision Land. Same check-out policy as the Hotel California.”

“Are we both going insane?”

“I don’t know what the hell’s happenin’. Why am I the paranormal expert?”

“How can you ask me that, Mr. Friday Fright Nite on channel 10.”

“Think you can go back to sleep okay?”

“I better. It’s a vastly more acceptable alternative than staying awake thinking about this.”

 

Part Two

I woke the next morning with the afghan tangled between my ankles and half my body off the couch. I should be used to Hutch’s couch by now but I sleep like an octopus on a high and always have. Consequently I felt the sudden onslaught of about a million kinks that needed stretching. I was in the process of performing these necessary contortions when Hutch stumbled through to the kitchen, scratching his orange terry robed back and yawning wide enough to swallow a cat. He stopped in mid-stride, turned his head, and blinked at me. Then he burst out laughing.

“Holy Jeez, Starsk, there are better ways to get out of facing Dobey this morning than requiring traction in an ER.”

“Ah, whaddya know, Mr. Always-Has-a-Beautiful-Girl-to-Massage-the-Sore-Back?”

My characteristic morning grump only put a smile on his face as he gathered the ingredients for his nutritious glass of goop. I was grateful that he had returned to his healthy routine over the last year. He exercised fiercely, watched what he ate again, and generally looked very much like the Hutch of early in our partnership except for the mustache he wouldn’t part with even though I told him it made him look older. Still, a far cry from the worn out, disillusioned, and depressed man he’d been the last few months before the attempted hit. He might need all that vim and vigor before the end of this ordeal.

Hutch pushed open the squad room door and said something about wanting those files from Hawaii. I snagged a donut and gulped it down. Dobey bellowed for us a minute later. I slapped Hutch on the back, “Looks like you got your wish, partner. That’s definitely Dobey hating to deal with something nasty in the morning.”

When we entered his office, Dobey sat at his desk with his head in his hands. Hutch and I stood rigidly still and stared. I think we’d never seen our captain look so defeated. Hutch stepped forward first. “Uh, Cap’n?”

Dobey glanced up, sighed, and pushed back in his chair, for once not even frowning when the furniture creaked its protest. “Got those files.”

I sat down and propped my feet on his desk. He did not even notice. Now I knew something was horribly wrong. Hutch and I shared a look, eyebrows raised. “Not very pleasant reading material, huh, Cap’n?”

“That’s an understatement, Starsky. McGarrett’s description doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He shoved the files in my direction first. I flipped through them until I came to the homicide crime scene photos.

“God in Heaven!” I heard myself gasp before I swallowed hard and cupped my mouth in my hands, suddenly unsure about the donut remaining where it ought to. Hutch grabbed the files out of my lap before I could stop him. Seeing the pictures hit me much worse than McGarrett’s description.

“Damn!” He jumped up and paced the room. “God, what a sicko.”

“I want this Neanderthal behind bars, gentlemen. As soon as yesterday, you understand? Tell me you have some leads.”

“One kinda important lead, Cap,” I spoke up, glancing at Hutch with concern. He looked like he’d spent a night in Hell’s hottest corner. “We’re trying to trace the photographs in Kim’s study. Goldman’s put us in contact with an expert in San Diego. We have an appointment with him this morning.”

“In fact,” Hutch continued, “we should probably grab those photos from Evidence and be on our way. Something tells me you don’t keep this guy waiting.”

“Well, then, move! What are you still sitting around for?”

We moved.

~~~~~~~~~~

The drive to San Diego was quiet. Hutch had snapped at me the moment I brought up the crime scene photos and hadn’t opened his mouth since, except to tell me with that cutting sarcasm that we’d be later than we already were if we got pulled over by the Highway Patrol. Normally that would have instigated my smoothing Hutch’s ruffled blond feathers, but something about his clenched jaw and twitching hands told me to leave well enough alone. I hoped Goldman’s directions were as clear as they sounded because we had precious little time to go tooling around the city looking for this guy’s pad.

The address led us to a crumbling section of the business district. Sandwiched between a barber shop and a liquor store, the painted sign on the window of the run-down storefront announced, “Billy’s Military Surplus.” I looked over and realized that Hutch had fallen asleep. I watched him for a minute. His face looked almost peaceful. Anyone who didn’t know him as well as I do would have thought he hadn’t a care in the world. I knew better, because the lines in his forehead revealed that he hadn’t let himself truly relax even in sleep. I clasped his shoulder and shook gently. “Hutch…buddy, wake up. We’re here.”

He groaned as his upper body jerked and his eyes popped open. “Wha’ oh Sorry. Didn’t get much sleep after that venture into the twilight zone last night.”

“You needed a break. ‘Sokay.”

He looked at me, his eyes suddenly deeper than I’d seen them in a long time. He had looked at me like that before, I remembered, transported suddenly to a rooftop on the night I thought would be my last on earth. After I’d discharged my Beretta with only the thought that Bellamy wouldn’t win out over both of us if I could help it.

“You’d carry it all, wouldn’t you?”

“What, are you still asleep, Blintz?”

“All the problems,” he answered. “Every burden, even me…no matter how heavy it gets. I shouldn’t have ripped you a new one just because of the crime scene photos. You’re not the enemy.”

I smiled but I was secretly astonished. Outright apologies are not Hutch’s specialty. “What does that song say… ‘he’s my brother.’” I watched as guilt drooped the corners of Hutch’s answering smile. “Hutch, it’s equal. You’ve saved my butt, kicked it when you had to, and generally done for me all I ever done for you. Now let’s go in there and solve this case… and maybe even, God help us, end up finding Kim.”

“Yes, sir!” Hutch grinned.

We were only fifteen minutes late but Billy, driving his wheelchair around the narrow store like an experienced stock car champion, let us hold it with a wide grin that didn’t quite match the string of four-letter words and insults about lazy cops and bums who had no military discipline. The cheerfulness of his face took the sting out of his dressing down but I could still have kicked Hutch when he spoke proudly that I’m a veteran.

“’Nam?” Billy eyed me with a new light in his gaze. “Nothing to be ashamed of, son.” Billy raised an eyebrow and I suddenly felt like we were treading on sacred ground.

“Not ashamed of serving my country. But there’s a lot about ‘Nam in general to be ashamed of. I saw stuff I’m never gonna be proud of no matter what country was responsible.”

“Can’t argue with that, soldier. Shame I didn’t know I’d be entertaining a fellow freedom-fighter or I’d have had something proper around to toast you with. My missus won’t let me keep the hard stuff around the store anymore because too many vets still live around the area and I end up coming home half-sloshed because they all drop in for a spell.”

Ever the conscience in our partnership, Hutch said nicely, “No problem. We’re on duty anyway.”

Billy snorted. “Like who would have told on you?” He looked at me and jerked a thumb in Hutch’s direction. “He always this goody-goody?”

“A perfect saint,” I responded with just the right bite in my voice. Hutch shot me a drop-dead glare and I felt avenged for his bringing up my military past without my permission.

“All right, enough friendly chatter. You got the pictures, we’ll move to the back room.”

The back room was even more cluttered than the front of the store. The only space not filled with military-issue uniforms, helmets, knives, and other memorabilia was a corner table where four folding chairs waited. Billy moved two of them out of his way with the ease of much practice and gestured for us to take advantage of the other two. We settled down and Hutch extended the manila envelope. Billy ran his hands over the outside, seemed to be thinking of something, and then looked at us with his eyes full of concern.

“The only reason–” His voice cracked. “The only reason I’m sittin’ here smilin’ and straight-thinkin’ enough to even look at these is I’m sure— I’m sure, you two’re gonna bring my Kim-girl home–”

I watched intense pain flicker over my partner’s face. “Mr. Walker, we’re going to do everything in our–”

“In your power, yeah yeah, blah blah. Spare me the disclaimer, sonny. I can read between the lines of cop talk. My son’s a cop. Detective First Class SDPD. I called him at work when my wife told me you were coming and believe it or not, he knows who you are. Gave me the whole song and dance about your being super-cops. I think he would have been here with a pen and pad begging for an autograph if his lieutenant had spared him the time. So, I have faith, boys. You’re gonna bring her home. All right enough of that, both of you are beet red and look in danger of swallowing your tongues. Lemme at these pictures.”

He tore into the envelope and spread the pictures out on the table. Despite his battle experience he uttered a grunt of disgust and fiddled in his shirt pocket for the bulge that was his cigarette pack. He fished a lighter out of his pants pocket and lit a smoke, dumping the pack on the table invitingly for us. We shook our heads in unison and waited for him to study our evidence. Suddenly, he pushed back in the wheelchair and snapped his fingers. Hutch and I sat forward, both of us hoping and praying this was our break.

“I’ll be damned.” Billy waved a hand at the scattered pictures and then folded his arms across his chest, puffing at the cigarette like his life depended on it. He removed the smoke and said quietly, eyes locked on ours, “That’s gotta be Matt Moriarty’s work.”

Neither of us was quite ready to accept such a quick answer but Hutch voiced our concern, “How sure are you?”

The question obviously rubbed Billy wrong. “As sure as I am I’d be wasting my money if I paid for dance lessons, sonny.” The words dripped acid.

Hutch looked about to implode and I knew I had to take control before we re-enacted Hiroshima. “Could you please tell us why you think this is…Moriarty’s work?”

“For one thing, he was in the right places at the right time to take these. Then there’s the fact that I’ve seen some of his other footage. Powerful, gripping stuff. Moriarty once told me in a drunken haze that he most wanted to record the indignities our boys had to suffer so people back home would understand that GIs sacrificed more than just their lives to preserve the American Way. He brought in a sample of his work when I had some buddies back here and let me tell you, I watched those combat vets cry like teething infants and those photos were nothing like this…not by half. He told us then he had some stuff they’d never print in high school history books. The pictures suitable for general consumption had already gone to magazines and newspapers during and immediately after the war. But Moriarty had a special collection that never saw the light of day when he got back from the Pacific. He came in here awhile back and after about six shotsof Bourbon announced in a fit of tears that he was going to sell that collection. Fell on hard times, you understand, and his wife was dying of something and needed hospitalization and some such. Anyway, he was going to sell it all. I think he was trying to offer me a crack at it, but hell, look at this place. I didn’t have a prayer of raising the sum he was obviously looking for.”

“So you think he would have sold this special collection to an individual rather than a museum?” Hutch questioned. Billy frowned.

“Like I told you, he was selling to the highest bidder. His wife’s health meant more to him than his damn pictures. But I can tell you this: I know Matt. He wouldn’t have sold to just anyone. The guy would have to put up some credentials as well as dough.”

“Credentials?” I asked, confused. Hutch looked at me and said, “Combat experience.” Billy nodded his approval.

“You wouldn’t be a total hero and have a current address for this Moriarty?” I grinned at Billy who ground his cigarette in the nearby ashtray and laughed.

“’Course I do. That’s why Goldman sent you to me. He knew there were academic fuddy-duddies closer by who could hem and haw and give you a list of names but that I would actually give you something useful. Hold on a sec.” He wheeled around the back room directing a stream of profanity at an address book that had the gall to get itself lost. He finally found it and hunted about for pen and paper. When he wheeled back over to us, he offered me the slip of paper and I read the address.

“Back in our neck of the woods,” I informed Hutch.

Hutch shifted in his seat and waited for eye contact with Billy, “What would you know about Moriarty’s emotional state?”

“You mean, is he responsible for what has you driving all the way here to consult me? I highly doubt it. Sure, he came back from the war with some issues. Who didn’t? He’d give way occasionally to this cryin’ jag about being a yellow Non-Com when there were good men dying around him…never mind that he was in as much danger as they were and no legal right to protect himself. But he’s been focused on his wife since she took ill and from what I hear through the grapevine, there’s actually a chance of her pulling through. So, no, I don’t think he’s your man.”

“Billy, you’ve been a gold mine,” I offered my hand and winced at his bone-crushing handshake. Billy grinned.

“Would you let us buy you lunch? We can grab some take-out, bring it back here…” Hutch smiled widely, his happiness at having a lead washing over us both. Billy seized his hand and shook it too.

“Lemme take a rain check on that lunch, fellows. I need to mind the store. Never know when I’ll have a rush.” The words held not a trace of bitterness. Hutch and I shared an intense silent consultation.

When we stepped out into the sunlight, I slapped Hutch on the back. “You are an absolute pushover, Blintz.”

Hutch looked at the parcels in his arms. He’d forked over hard cash for a Navy issue overcoat, a WWII era canteen, and a horribly ominous knife large enough to slice through the trunk of my car. “Yeah, well, we’ll owe him big time if his information leads to us nailing this asshole.”

“Get in the car before the sun overheats all that armor you wear around—”

“Starsky, I swear, if you make one more White Knight crack–”

I fired up the engine and flung my arm across the back of his seat as I backed out. “Oh, I’m sorry, Blondie, I forgot about your huge collection of dime-a-dozen World War II memorabilia….”

To my surprise Hutch didn’t growl or snipe at my turning the sarcastic tables on him. He merely grinned and settled back in the seat.

If I thought the ride to San Diego was quiet, it was a screaming laugh-riot compared to the drive home. I think we both wanted to talk about our ‘visions’ but couldn’t be the one to broach the subject. On the way, when we were in range of Metro, Hutch picked up the mic and put a call through requesting a check on Matthew Moriarty. Not even an unpaid parking ticket. We both knew that didn’t necessarily mean a thing.

The Moriarty residence kept company with a row of other middle-class houses. Brick and wood split-level ranch with a basketball goal in the driveway and a station wagon visible in the open garage. I pulled up at the curb and sighed. “How you wanna play it?”

Hutch jumped slightly at the sound of my voice. “At this point as an innocent source of information. I don’t know about you, but I’d trust Billy blindfolded. The man’s got his head screwed on straight.

“Yeah, I agree. Okay. Here goes.”

The man who came to the door answered to the name Matthew Moriarty. He was taller and even thinner than Hutch and despite his age had a head of shockingly red hair not even touched by gray. Deep purple bags hung under his eyes and his pale skin was almost sick looking. Not hard to understand if he’d been coping with a seriously ill spouse for some time. He didn’t even flinch when we flashed our badges, identified ourselves, and asked to come in. He stepped aside calmly and waved us inside.

He situated us in a messy living room. Looking around, he sighed heavily. “Sorry about the clutter, gentlemen. My wife’s at dialysis today and I just haven’t felt like keeping up appearances. Could I offer you something to drink? Tea, lemonade, something stronger?”

“No, thank you,” Hutch spoke softly. When Moriarty sank down in a wing chair across from the sofa we occupied, Hutch glanced at me and then extended the manila envelope to our host. “Would you take a look at these and tell us if you recognize them?”

Moriarty accepted the envelope with visibly shaking hands and investigated its contents with a choking gasp and a pained expression. At first he shook his head violently as though compelled to deny recognition, but the shaking turned to a forced, slow nod. “Yes… they’re my photos. I was a war photographer.” He seemed for a moment lost in another day and time. And not pleasantly so. Then he jumped back to the present and hurriedly shoved the photos back into the envelope and surrendered the envelope to Hutch. “Where did you get these?”

I sat back and let Hutch tackle him. “Mr. Moriarty, before we answer that, we need to ask you a few questions. Have you been in Hawaii recently?”

Moriarty’s eyelids drooped and he looked away for a fraction of a second before he glanced back and replied that he had not. “My wife’s been too ill for me to leave home.”

I wasn’t satisfied. I’ve been a cop too long not to recognize someone struggling to put on a brave front. I didn’t get a sense of guilt but something brewed in those strange, pale eyes having a difficult time focusing on us. “Could ya give us an exact account of your activities on September 4^th?”

Moriarty gaped at us. For a moment his lips moved like they had been inflicted with a tremor. Then he rose to his feet. “I—I’ll need to consult my day calendar, but I think I had a doctor’s appointment that day. Annual physical, you know.” He left the room and returned a few minutes later with a small appointment book clasped tightly in his right hand. “Yes, I was at Dr. Herndon’s office for a four o’clock appointment that day. I remember their office was packed… I was there quite awhile. Other than that I probably spent the rest of the day piddling around here. Do you need Dr. Herndon’s number?”

I took down the necessary information and Hutch gestured for Mr. Moriarty to sit down so we could tackle the important question. Again, I let that task fall to Hutch so I could sit back and read Moriarty’s face. “We’ve spoken to a reliable source who says that you decided to sell your private collection of World War II footage?”

“Yes…my wife’s sickness forced my hand.”

“Would you tell us who purchased the collection?”

Moriarty groaned and covered his eyes with his hand. “I think I know who your source is. You talked to Billy, didn’t you? Oh, God… what he’ll think of me.”

“Mr. Moriarty,” I said, trying to adopt Hutch’s reassuring tone. “We have no plan to share this info with Billy Walker.”

“The whole collection went to Dr. Iko Tanaka of Honolulu.”

My mouth fell open and Hutch parted his lips, then raised a hand, gesturing vaguely in the air, a sure sign he was stunned. “Dr. Tanaka…Professor Tanaka?”

“Y-yes. H-he made me the best offer. Still, I’d always promised myself I would either sell to a museum or to a combat vet who’d truly appreciate the photos. But Dr. Tanaka told me about his brother and Pearl Harbor and he seemed so desperate to have the pictures.”

“When did you turn over the photos?”

“That was kind of strange, actually. He made a point of coming over here from Hawaii and accepting them on a specific day. August 14^th.”

Two months ago. I noticed that Hutch had a funny look on his face but my mind was headed in another direction. “By the best offer… how much are we talking about?” I didn’t care how abrupt the question sounded. I wanted answers, like Dobey had said, as soon as yesterday.

Moriarty flushed vividly and shook his head. “What possible good can that information do you? Please may I maintain some dignity? I mean, you haven’t even told me why you’re asking me all these questions…or where you got the pictures.”

“These photos have been present at multiple violent crime scenes. Murder, Mr. Moriarty. Two professors in Hawaii and a young lady professor is missing here in Bay City. These were pulled from her vandalized study.” Hutch used his don’t-even-try-to-evade tone.

The red disappeared in a flash to be replaced by ashen white. I’ve never seen such a rapid change in facial coloring. For a minute I thought Moriarty was going to sway out of the wing chair and slip to the carpet in a dead faint. He collected himself and said softly, “Tanaka’s gone?”

Hutch swung startled eyes in my direction and I shrugged slightly at my partner. How you wanna play it indeed, buddy? How much is saying too much when we don’t know what this guy’s game is? But Moriarty didn’t press us. He seemed to take our silent conversation as an affirmation. When we looked at him again he appeared utterly defeated. He didn’t even seem to have any bones left in his body. “Seventy-five thousand dollars.”

Hutch coughed trying to cover up the fact that he’d almost strangled at the answer. I felt a similar sensation. But Hutch recovered first and asked, “Did he give you any reason why he was desperate enough to offer you that much money? Or why the special date and extra trouble… I mean, surely you could have sent the materials to him special post.”

“H—he said something about wanting to improve Japanese-American relations. I- I didn’t want to pry.”

“You’ve held this deep-seated conviction about only selling to a combat vet and you didn’t want to pry?” Hutch’s voice didn’t conceal the hint of accusation. Moriarty’s head flashed up and his eyes burned bright.

“Look, keeping my wife alive until that new drug came on the market and my being able to quit work to be with her meant more to me than who bought the damn footage, all right? I didn’t want to scare off a potential buyer by pressing him with personal questions. Haven’t you ever had someone you’d put everything on hold for no matter what the cost?”

I felt Hutch glancing at me through the corner of his eye and I swallowed hard. Friendship, brotherhood, togetherness, partnership, a common cause, united souls…does he know if he hadn’t come back through those hospital doors I wouldn’t be alive right now?

“Mr. Moriarty, you’ve answered all our questions for right now but we may be back again.” Hutch rose and I followed, my mind slowly crawling back to the task at hand.

Back in the car, I tossed the keys back and forth in my hands and waited for the explosion I knew was coming. 1,2,3,4….

“Something decidedly stinks here! And I’ll be damned if I… Since when is a group of photographs worth seventy-five thousand dollars?” Hutch’s voice shifted gears slowly from furious to frustrated. I sighed.

“Ask another. Notice how Moriarty didn’t even ask us for details? You tell him his own pictures for God’s sake have been found at murder scenes, and he doesn’t even ask the basics. Just turns all white and shakes.”

Hutch shifted in his seat and slapped my shoulder in that manner that tells me he’s pleased with my detective’s skills. “Yeah, now that you mention it, he just jumped to the conclusion that Tanaka was the victim. Sure it could be a logical deduction. He sold the pictures to Tanaka, two professors in Hawaii are dead, and suddenly we have the pictures, but it doesn’t have to necessarily follow that Tanaka was one of the victims. And that crap about not prying. Starsk, something about that August 14^th date is nagging at me.”

“I can’t see Moriarty as the guilty party, though, Hutch. I know we gotta check the doctor’s appointment…but with a sick wife he’s obviously nuts about, I don’t see him prowlin’ around Hawaii slashin’ the professors’ tires, ransacking their offices, and all. He could always have had an accomplice but I–”

“You think this is a one man job,” Hutch said. “I agree with you. On all counts. But I still think there’s something Moriarty’s not telling us.”

I stuck the keys in the ignition and slammed a hand against the steering wheel. “Yeah, and tell me, Hutch, how a history professor racks up that kinda pocket change. I know some of ‘em make more’n we do…not that that’s hard to do. But still, 75 G’s a lot of money to invest in a thirty-five year old scrapbook.”

“I don’t know about you, buddy, but I’ve got some questions I’d like to run by McGarrett.” Hutch stared at his hands.

I grinned at him. “Right with you, partner.” Always. No matter what. No matter where you want to take me.

~~~~~~~~~~

That afternoon I think we broke a world record for frustration. Moriarty’s information checked out and even in the jet age he’d have to be omnipresent (a Hutch word, ladies and gents) to be guilty of Tanaka’s murder. So if we linked the murders as serial and assumed a singular suspect…

Hutch slammed down the phone. “McGarret says bank records indicate a wire transfer of precisely seventy-five thousand dollars to a Mr. Matthew Moriarty. Funny thing is, those same records indicate a deposit of one hundred thousand dollars into Tanaka’s account just two weeks prior from a Society for Improved Historical Japanese-American Relations.”

I perched on the back of my chair flipping through books. “Ah hah! August 14^th. The Japanese surrendered to the US on August 14^th. The official ceremonies weren’t held on the USS Missouri until September 2^nd, but August 14^th was declared V-J Day.”

“For someone who’s supposed to be so damn pro-Japanese, he seems to have been trying hard to mend fences on both sides.”

“And Kim and Ronald… What about the three of them stirred up this guy’s blood?”

“That thing about publication is still eating me, Starsk. Couldn’t be the pictures he wanted to prevent reaching the light of day, not leaving them smeared all over the crime scenes–”

“No, Hutch, I think Goldman’s right. This is a personal vendetta of some sort–”

The phone’s shrill ring almost knocked me off the back of my chair. Hutch grabbed the receiver while I clung to the chair with the last amount of my balance.

He opened his mouth and didn’t get a word out. Then he hung up, grabbed his jacket and blinked at me. “Well, come on, lazy.”

“Where? Or are you gonna put a blindfold on me too?”

“What? You wouldn’t trust me blindfolded?” Something in that smile threatened to be a challenge. A challenge I’d never seen in those eyes. I pushed by him and said, “Nope. You might get me back for lettin’ you fall down my stairs.” His laughter followed me out to the car.

~~~~~~~~~~

Our destination turned out to be an art studio owned by an older version of one of the other girls in the photo on Kim’s mantel. Natalie Carstairs greeted us wearing a cross between a robe, lingerie, and evening dress and clinked away on high heels back up the stairs to the loft apartment above the gallery portion of the studio. She lit a slender cigarette and turned around to face us.

“I want him dead.” She said calmly.

“Mind clarifying that?” Hutch narrowed his eyes. “You said something on the phone about knowing who hates Kim.”

“Andrew Paulson. I want him to suffer for this atrocity.”

The name ran through me like high-voltage. I felt Hutch’s form shiver beside me.

“Why would he… Who is he?” I thought I knew the answer but I couldn’t very well tell her I had it revealed to me in a dream.

She clinked over to a curio cabinet and plucked a frame from the third shelf. She thrust it forward. “This is why. His son Wade and Kim in 1969.”

A tall blond, blue-eyed young man dressed in a university baseball uniform held a miniature female with long dark curls up in his arms as though she only weighed an ounce. She was waving her legs and arms and grinning stupidly at the photographer. Although he held her in a parody of a groom carrying his bride over the threshold, I had the sense there was no sexual intimacy in the pose. Staring more closely I noticed the strong resemblance on the features of the blond to the person I know better than myself. At a distance and not knowing every line in Hutch’s face the way I do, you’d be hard pressed not to think this was Hutch in 1969 minus the police academy sweat-suit. I looked to the side and saw tears pooling in Hutch’s crystal eyes.

Natalie puffed for a minute and then waved her hand dramatically. “Kim met him when she first moved out here as a seventh-grader. He was in the ninth. I was a recent transplant too from the UK so she and I got to be chums. But those two… their souls fused. Did everything together. Shared a baseball card collection, she taught him to roller skate, he taught her to swim… She watched every baseball game he played in from little league through college. They went to the prom together. But I don’t think they ever even kissed. Some malicious little shits in high school started the rumor that he kept her around just as smokescreen. He was artistic as well as athletic. Could play the piano and leave a room in tears. Didn’t go out with any girls but Kim. So that made him gay. Kim knew better. She confided in tears to me one day that she thought he just didn’t want to be like his father. Emotionally abusive, sexually controlling, mean-hearted bastard, made his mom’s life a living ninth level of Hell. I think Wade was afraid to start something with Kim that might bring out some latent inherent tendencies. Sheer, shrieking lunacy if you ask me. Wade was one of the gentlest creatures to walk the earth. Didn’t have that in him. May of ’69 Wade showed up one night at Kim’s dorm room at 3 AM. His father and mum had been arguing and she’d called Wade at the university just before she collapsed with a heart attack. After the funeral, he told Kim he’d volunteered to go to Vietnam. I think mostly Wade wanted to do the exact last thing his father wanted. Left right after graduation. Threw away a chance at the Major League baseball draft. That’s the last she saw him alive.

“Six months after he arrived in Vietnam his father received notification that Wade was MIA. I was with her when he called her. Drunk bastard said to her, ‘Just letting you know that queer son of mine got his fool self killed in that damn jungle.’ For a few minutes I was seriously afraid her heart stopped. I called the bugger back and told him where he could stick his drink—in that hollow cavity in his chest. It broke Kim. She went back east for her PhD after she graduated and called me one night from Yale sobbing that she’d realized she was in love with Wade…had been in love with him all along. Didn’t know until he’d been ripped away from her, she said. Broke my shaggin’ heart, let me tell you that. She called that worthless cretin Paulson every month and asked for news of Wade. My one sin, boys, is that I introduced her to that walking prick Michael after she came back here for a faculty position. Thought he’d help her get over Wade. He couldn’t help a kitten across a street. She made the supreme error of calling Wade’s father one last time after her divorce. Somehow it came out in the conversation that she loved Wade. He blessed her off the map and said if she’d been hot for him why didn’t she jump his damn bones and get him away from his perverted lifestyle. Then he said she deserved whatever she got. I just about had a heart attack. I mean, I’d lost our chum Terry during the year I spent in England visiting family and here I thought I was going to watch Kim die right in front of my face. I could cheerfully have killed the bleedin’ wanker myself. Now I wish I had because I think, gentlemen, that he finally flipped his top and took out his twisted spleen on Kim.”

~~~~~~~~~~

We sat in the Torino in strained silence. Finally Hutch slammed his fist against the car door and didn’t even flinch at my screech of disapproval. “Jesus God, Starsky, it’s like… it’s like I—I’m having to solve your murder!!” He flung his face around, tears streaking down his cheeks. “I—I don’t… I don’t think I can do this.”

I wiped the tears way with my thumb. “Sure ya can. You saved a whole restaurant full of people held hostage by hit men; you saved me from poison; you saved me from Marcus…you can do this.”

“Starsky, I—What Natalie said about….” Hutch shook himself, cradled his brow in his hand and swallowed. “Never mind. Let’s check out this lead.”

“Sure thing, partner,” I said cheerfully, wondering why I felt like I’d have sold my Torino to hear him finish that sentence. “You know, this could be our break. We could be dealin’ with two different crimes here. I mean, what if Paulson got to her before our nutcase finished his pattern? She could still be alive.”

“There’s still an awful lot of blood missing out of her body for her to be alive, Starsky. She hasn’t turned up in any of the ERs, or clinics.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Andrew Paulson reminded me immediately of one person so distinctly that I had to hold my gut to keep from spitting in his face. Wade must have gotten his personality, looks, and character from his mom because his father was as soulless as George Prudholm. By the time we left his house Hutch had to restrain me twice. Paulson had just arrived home from an extended business trip, unfortunately dashing our hopes of his being involved, but we did pick up one amazing piece of information. When I pushed him repeatedly that I wasn’t letting him out of my sight because he might have hired someone to do his dirty work and that his history with the missing girl showed evidence of a revenge motive, he broke out laughing.

“You crazy cops. I’ve had my revenge. I’ve had it for years.”

“What?!” I think we screamed it at the same time.

“Wade’s not dead.”

I sat down in the near vicinity of a chair arm and Hutch wavered on his feet. “H—how could Kim not know?”

“Because I didn’t want her to know! They found Wade in 1971 several months after he went missing. He’s been in a private institution here since 1972, a worthless shell of a human being. Deep battle trauma or some nonsense. Hasn’t spoken a word, doesn’t give any indication he knows who he is. Oh, she knew all right… Had a feeling, she said, that he wasn’t dead, that he was out there somewhere if she could just find him…So she’d call me and call me and I’d give her the same tap dance. And she tried going through the military but they laughed her off because she’s not family, not even his girlfriend. So you see, why should I kill her? I’ve had the last laugh at her for almost a decade and enjoyed every damn minute of it.”

That time I had to restrain Hutch.

“We need to go see him,” Hutch said on the way to the station. “I—I can’t explain it… don’t want to go into it…but I know what kind of pain he’s in.”

I knew he meant the dream. “We’ve got to finish this with Kim first, Hutch.”

“Yeah.”

“Zebra-3.”

“Zebra-3. Go ahead.”

“Zebra-3, see the man named Huggy Bear at his place of business. Information deemed urgent.”

Hutch’s face lit up. “Zebra-3, 10-4. We’re on our way.” He turned to me. “Huggy’d never page us urgent unless it has something to do with this case.”

Huggy was torn between a complaining waitress, a rude customer drenched in beer, and the man’s obviously jealous and outraged date when we arrived. I laughed out loud. “If this is how Huggy’s day is going, can you imagine what tonight’ll be like?” I motioned to distract Huggy and make him aware of our arrival and then sank down into a booth. Hutch plopped right down beside me. I smiled.

Huggy placed both hands on the table and leaned on them shaking his head, “There are times, man, when I think humans ain’t the highest lifeform, dig? Jerk over there grabs Candy by the back of her pants—tight as they are, I shoulda asked him how he did it—and pulls her around and then wonders why she spills beer all over him. Never mind that his wife—yes, his old lady, gents—is sittin’ right there watchin’ all this and she chooses to get mad at Candy rather than her overgrown bully of a husband. Sheesh.”

Hutch bit back a smile and I covered my mouth and coughed. “Um, Huggy…we sympathize, but you got something for us?”

“Starsky, bro’, I never let you down yet have I?” Huggy slid into the other seat and threw back his head, breathed deeply and sighed, “Business ownership sucks sometimes, you know. Oh, yeah. I ‘sume you two know Good Charlie.”

“Runs the homeless shelter over in the warehouse district, right?” Hutch rubbed his brow. Huggy nodded.

“That’s the man himself. Anyway, he was in here earlier for a bite of lunch. Got him talkin’ and heard something mighty interestin’. He had this guy in his shelter last night that really got to him…which is why he wanted to talk t’me about it. Dude was obviously disturbed. Good Charlie said he thinks the guy may have been off some kinda medication. You know, the anti-psychotic kind. Old guy wearin’ military threads. Man kept thrashin’ around, screaming about Pele—Pel–”

“Peleliu,” Hutch contributed.

“Exactly, Blond Genius. Good Charlie said the two words he kept shoutin’ to high heaven were Peleliu and Tanaka. Over and over. Talkin’ some violent jive apparently.”

Hutch and I spit out the same sentence, “Huggy, you said Tanaka. You sure about that?”

“Sure as I am I have better taste in clothing than either of you.”

We drove lights and sirens over to Good Charlie’s place, a small, falling down warehouse he’d turned into a one-man mission of mercy for the homeless. Charlie, a friendly middle-aged black man, never minded the stench of unwashed bodies, drunks drying out, and various other difficulties that discouraged most people from working with those forced to live on the street. He was feeding a particularly weak and trembling older man from a bowl of soup when we walked into the shelter. He glanced up at our entrance and frowned suspiciously at us.

“Lemme guess. Huggy sent you.”

“Is he still here, Good Charlie? The man you spoke to Huggy about?” Hutch scanned the cots lined in rows for signs of a man who fit Huggy’s description. Good Charlie set the bowl of soup down beside the old man’s cot and rose to face us, hands on his hips.

“No.”

“When did he leave?”

“He was gone when I got back. One of my guests said his brother came for him while I was at The Pits.”

“Why dincha call us, Charlie, if you had someone actin’ out?”

“Starsky, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You know my motto in here: ‘He ain’t hurtin’ me, Let him be.’ I’d have men dying out on the streets if they knew I’d turn ‘em into you boys the minute they showed up a little worse for wear.”

I felt dutifully ashamed. I knew that. Hutch and I both allowed Good Charlie leeway because he’d turned some tough cases into good people before they ended up criminals and became our problem. Hutch was not satisfied. He glared at Good Charlie until the other man flinched.

“Don’t look at me like that, Hutchinson. Just shut that blond fury down. Since when have you been into hounding old men who have more internal wounds than you have gunshot scars?”

Did I mention that Good Charlie has a law degree? He faced Hutch down until my partner looked away. Then Good Charlie smiled, “I had to cut this fella some slack, boys. This guy was with the Old Breed.”

“The what?” Hutch demanded. Good Charlie smirked at him, feeling no doubt victorious that he knew something my partner did not.

“Well, Hutch, if I have to answer that question, you wouldn’t understand.”

Hutch swung dangerous eyes in my direction and I knew in a minute we were going to have a white-hot and blue-blazing explosion if I didn’t step in. Time for the Starsky charm.

“We might be ignorant, Good Charlie, but our intentions’re good. What do you mean by the Old Breed?” I laid a casual arm on the older man’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eye with all the respect I’d always had for him. It worked.

“First Marine Division. Sent into that hellhole called Peleliu in the Pacific. I know that because the saint of a man who helped me buy this place, a white banker dude named Lance Austen, was actually one of ‘em. He and I’ve had many a drink together talkin’ over man’s indecency to man. Philosophical chit-chat, you know, but if any man’s got a right to be philosophical about that subject it’s a Peleliu veteran.”

“What did he say specifically?” Hutch had calmed down somewhat. His blue eyes still flashed but there was no longer any hint of explosion. I sighed and relaxed too.

“Just kept thrashin’ around out of his mind and howling about Peleliu and… Tanaka, whatever that means.”

“We’ll need to talk to the guest who saw his brother pick him up,” I stated. Good Charlie frowned again.

“I don’t like having my boys questioned by cops, Starsky. You know that.”

Hutch promptly exploded. “Damn it, Good Charlie. I don’t care if this guy was one of Teddy Roosevelt’s original Rough Riders, he might well be a serial killer who’s abducted and/or killed a female college professor here. Now are you going to point out the guy who can help us?”

“Easy, Hutchinson,” Good Charlie waved a calming hand before I could jump in. “Fifth cot down on the left side. His name is Maurice. Go easy on him, fellows, he’s a really nice guy. Was apparently over here trying to talk with the soldier when his brother showed up.”

I patted Good Charlie’s shoulder again, “You’re good people, Charlie. Thanks.”

Charlie bent down to retrieve the bowl of soup. “Yeah, yeah. And if I didn’t know your partner here is too under all that cool exterior detachment, you’d both be standing here still begging for information.”

“That’s why I call him Blintz,” I grinned, draping an arm over Hutch’s shoulders and leading him away before he could read Charlie another lecture. “Admit when you’ve been bested, Blue Eyes,” I told him softly as we wove through the maze of cots. Hutch glared at me but then his expression softened.

“Happens so rarely, I’m out of practice,” he laughed.

Maurice was engaged in the same activity as Good Charlie, helping his neighboring cot-mate down a bowl of soup. The poor fellow was suffering DTs and Maurice had his hands full. Without a word Hutch sat down behind the guy and held his shoulders gently to steady him. I sat at the foot of the bed and pulled the blanket back over the thrashing legs. Within a few minutes the bowl of soup was empty and Maurice wiped his brow, thanking us with his eyes.

“He really wants to get clean so he can see his little girl, you know. And you gonna do it, aintcha Jimmy.” Jimmy only groaned in response and turned his head, covering it with a pillow. Hutch rose and flashed his badge.

“Maurice, will you tell us about that old soldier who was here last night? Good Charlie says you were with him this afternoon when his brother came to pick him up?”

“Yeah, felt real bad for him, dig? I mean, man suffered like he done don’t need no more crap this side a’the war. Had all his parts together ‘cept his brain.”

“Could you give us a clear description? Would you mind going down to the station and helping someone draw up a composite sketch?” Hutch’s tone was soft, kind, everything it hadn’t been temporarily with Good Charlie. As everyone did, Maurice responded to it.

“He done something?”

“Possibly. Something really bad,” I said.

“Yeah, I’ll help. Good Charlie’ll take me. He can help out too.”

“Can you tell us something about his brother? When did he pick him up?”

“Just after Good Charlie left for Huggy’s. That been…oh…’bout two hours ago.”

“What did the soldier’s brother look like?” I asked.

“Tall, pale, even paler than you,” Maurice directed at Hutch. “Thin. Almost skinny. Hair all covered up with a pull-down stocking cap. I didn’t like the looks of him, tell the truth, so I followed them out and watched the tall dude load the poor guy into a beat-up brown station wagon. When I saw the soldier go quiet-like, I figured everythin’ was on the up and up, so I come back in.”

After promising Maurice a steak dinner, and promising ourselves that we’d do more for him than buy a steak, we hurried out of the warehouse. Standing at the Torino, I glanced over the hood at Hutch.

“Thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“Stocking cap to cover that shocking red hair?”

“Yep, and no need to ask questions when you already got the answers.”

We called for back-up and ended pulling in behind the black-and-white. “Okay,” Hutch told the uniformed driver. “We’re going to the door. Be prepared to back us up. There’s the possibility that our murder suspect is in that house.”

“You ready?” I asked him.

Hutch smiled at me in that daredevil manner he gets just every once in awhile. Then he quirked his eyebrow. “What do you think?” The avenging hero. Good God. This was vintage Hutch, I thought suddenly, as I followed him across the street and to the door. I pulled my weapon and backed up away from the door against the side of the house. Hutch rapped sharply, with an outflung arm and his body away from the door in case bullets answered us instead of Moriarty. “Mr. Moriarty?” Hutch called. Nothing. Rang the doorbell. “Moriarty, are you home? It’s the police. Open up.” Still nothing. Hutch wrinkled his nose showing his suspicion. He toggled the doorknob and jumped back when the door creaked open on its own. Something’s wrong, his blue eyes flashed into mine. “We have every reason to suspect he might be in danger…” He was asking me if I agreed with his instincts to go on in, legalities be damned. I nodded. Hutch eased his Magnum from its holster and gestured that he was going to lead the way.

Suddenly, Vietnam spread before my mind and I saw trigger wires hidden beneath jungle foliage. I grabbed Hutch’s arm, yanked him back, and surveyed the open doorway carefully, running my fingers along the inside of the doorframe, down at the bottom. Hutch read my actions. “That’s not his game, Starsk.”

“Can’t hurt to be sure,” I said, my voice still hoarse from my recollections. “Looks clear.”

Hutch took that as all the encouragement he needed and stepped quickly into the foyer, allowing me to follow in his path. “Holy Mother of God,” Hutch breathed devoutly. I swung my gun around and my eyes took in what caused his outburst. In the middle of the living room Moriarty knelt, his body supported by the coffee table, but he was not praying. I wanted to clutch my stomach and gag, but I couldn’t waste any time. “He could still be here,” I whispered and Hutch waved a hand at the nearest hallway. We covered every square inch of the house but the killer—Moriarty’s brother?—was nowhere in sight. Finally we returned to the living room and Hutch went outside to motion for the uniforms. We needed a forensics team, coroner’s wagon… how the blinkin’ hell were we gonna explain this to Moriarty’s poor sick wife? And where was she anyway? Did you have dialysis every day? I asked Hutch this. He shook his head.

One of the uniforms told me the radio in the Torino was sounding off. I flew out the door. When I returned I quivered with a mixture of fury and sadness. Hutch took one look at my face and reached a hand out to pat my stomach. “He played us! That was Dobey, getting back to us with the background check on Moriarty’s family we’d requested. Doris Moriarty died three months ago. He played us from the get-go. All that stuff about putting stuff on hold no matter what the cost–” I felt my eyes widen. “His brother! He was talking about his brother.”

“Who is?”

“James Moriarty, patient in residence at Hakaleia Rest and Convalescence Home since 1946.”

“Correction,” Hutch breathed. “Patient there until say two months ago… wait a minute, Hakaleia? Isn’t that the sanitarium where Anthony Marshall died?”

I snapped my fingers. “James must have used his identity to rent that dive apartment. He would have known him.”

“But didn’t Dobey say the sanitarium officials reported no one recently released who would have known Marshall?”

“We gotta turn over every inch of this place. I have a feeling we’re not gonna find our guy or Kim’s… Kim…until we know more of the ‘why’ in all this. I’ve got Dobey on the look-out for Maurice. As soon as his sketch is complete, Dobey’s gonna get it out to all the units.” I glanced back at the body and shuddered. Seeing it in person was much worse than the crime photos of Tanaka and Burkehalt. Hutch eased up to me and placed both hands on my shoulders. Looked me straight in the eye.

“All right there, buddy? It’s gruesome, I know.”

“We shoulda known, Hutch. Somehow we shoulda been able to stop this.”

“I feel bad too, Starsk, but it’s not our fault. We had so little to go on and he was sitting there in front of us with all the answers. If he’d wanted our help, he could have asked us. Yes, he would have been turning in his own brother, but he’d probably be alive today.”

“He flipped, Cap’n. Matthew Moriarty, I mean.” I stated knowledgeably, my feet propped up on his desk. This time Dobey glared at the soles of my sneakers but refrained from comment.

“That has to be the saddest piece of non-fiction I’ve encountered,” Hutch added, plopping the spiral notebook on Dobey’s desk beside my feet. Our search of Moriarty’s house had turned up the green, well-used notebook. Inside we found every other sheet began with the heading ‘Dearest Lord Jesus.’ Officer Barkeley had come up behind us while we leafed through it and informed us that it was called a prayer journal. His mother’s church encouraged her to keep one too, he had said. Like a diary, Barkeley told us, it was his mother’s way of communicating her thoughts, wrong-doings, needs, with a higher power. The pages were dated and began with June 15, 1980, shortly after Doris Moriarty’s diagnosis.

“We don’t have the finished puzzle yet, Cap, but a lot of the pieces are making much more sense,” I smothered a yawn. Dobey chewed his lip.

“Well, how about explaining them to me then so I’ll have something to talk about when the commissioner calls bending my ear for answers.”

Hutch frowned. I patted his arm. As much as he wanted to be respectful to our main ally and friend in Metro Division, Hutch was miffed at Dobey. The teams sent to tear the streets apart had so far uncovered neither hide nor hair of James Moriarty. Hutch couldn’t help but feel we would have more luck. Hanging around here telling Dobey a bedtime story wasn’t allowing us to get out on the streets.

“Moriarty decides not long after Doris gets ill to sell his special reserve of photos. Goes to Billy and tells him about it and then comes home and gets blasted by his wife, who’s one tough lady and believes they can make it through without him hacking a piece of himself off at the neck. She dies less than a month later, July 13^th to be precise. Moriarty shuts himself off in a haze of grief. Has her cremated, casts her ashes over the Pacific, tells no one she’s died. Keeps writing in his journal though. Two weeks later he gets a phone call from his brother at the rest home in Hawaii.” Hutch sighed and bent forward, propping his elbows on his knees and cradling his face in his palms. I decided to take over.

“We’re gonna put a call into McGarrett to have him check on that place. From what’s in the journal, starting a coupla weeks before his brother phoned, some things’ve been goin’ down there that ain’t legit. Patients starved, over-drugged, molested maybe. Moriarty’s pretty fuzzy but he could tell his brother needed to get outta there. So he decides again to sell his stuff and raise enough to go get his brother, bring him home, and help him start a new life. Tanaka bites and makes an offer. Moriarty accepts: he feels he failed Doris so he’s not about to make the same mistake with James.”

Hutch rose and moved slowly to the coffee maker. “Tanaka flies out here on the 14^th of August, picks up the photos, returns to Hawaii. Moriarty calls the rest home but is told his brother is very ill and can’t be disturbed. Now, here, Cap, we’re speculating, but we think James made his escape from the sanitarium shortly before Matthew called. It makes sense because if there were illegal activities going on, the culprits wouldn’t want to encourage a relative finding their loved one and discovering the game. Nor would they announce James’ absence to the police. They probably figured that James wouldn’t make it long on his own out in the real world and end up dead in an alley somewhere. What they didn’t count on is: once a Marine, always a Marine… especially the kind that survived Peleliu. Even totally insane, he was strong and resourceful.”

“Probably the sudden brutal treatment at the home snapped James the rest of the way.” I confiscated Hutch’s cup of coffee en route to his lips and took a sip before handing it back. “There’s a period in the prayer journal where Moriarty hears nothin’ from James but just sits worryin’ too grief-stricken over Doris to do anything about it. This fits the time frame of the murders in Hawaii. We think there are probably some robberies that could be tied to James too. He had to get money. It took some funds to get around and accomplish the killings. Also to pay for that dive apartment.”

Hutch downed the coffee and leaned back in the chair, resting his head and closing his eyes. His voice was tired. “We’re going to put 5-0 on the airline records to confirm it, but we think they’ll find Matthew Moriarty arrived in Honolulu just five days before the first threat made against Kim. He had received a phone call the day before from his brother who sounded in horrible shape. Kept screaming into the phone about getting rid of two but not finding what he needed. Moriarty figured at first it was the drug or whatever James was on doing the talking. But he must have packed and caught the first available flight. James had told him just where to find him.” Hutch stood up, moved to the wall close to the door and leaned against it.

“James didn’t have him come to the apartment. He called Matt from a bar and tells him he’s gonna wait right there until Matt shows up. Sure ‘nough Matthew finds him in an alley behind the bar. Bundles him into a cab and goes straight back to the airport. Never mind that by now James is ravin’ about the killings in detail. Moriarty doesn’t even think about takin’ him somewhere, notifyin’ the police, nothin’. He wants to get him home, believes he can take care of him.”

“Like Starsky said earlier, Matthew flipped. Right around this time he starts writing in his prayer journal like Doris never died. He starts to believe James is…I don’t know…somehow Doris come back to him so he could make up for not saving her. Since James has been here he’s disappeared for periods… Matthew didn’t even think when James came home one afternoon crowing about having found the third one, that he might be getting ready to kill again. But this morning when we mentioned a professor being missing, some of his lucid brain cells probably started clicking and he must have gone out looking for James. When he caught up with him at Good Charlie’s, he must have tried to convince James that he needed help. Suddenly Matthew is nothing more than a roadblock in James’ way. So no more Matthew.” Hutch dropped back into his chair.

I groaned, removed my leg from the desk and stood to stretch. “What we don’t know, Cap, is why. Why Tanaka, why the other professor, why Kim? Matthew didn’t know either or he jus’ chose not to write about it.”

Dobey cleared his throat and fiddled with his tie. “Been a long day,” he said softly. We weren’t used to that tone.

“Gonna get longer.” I couldn’t fight the yawn. “We’ve got to nail this guy if we wanna shot at findin’ out what really happened in Kim’s office.”

“Got guys out poundin’ the pavement. You two can take your turn bright and early in the morning. Get some sleep. You’re no good to me in this condition.”

“We’ve pulled 14 hour days before, Cap—”

“That was an order, Starsky. Still don’t recognize ‘em, do you?”

Hutch took hold of my arm, nodded at Dobey, and dragged me from the office.

~~~~~~~~~~

I dropped a weary Hutch off at Venice Place and refused his offer of the couch. I wanted some distance, some space. Those thoughts attached to our partnership made me physically hurt. I’m not used to wanting to shut myself away from Hutch, even temporarily. But right then I did, I wanted to think clearly. When we’re around each other…and sometimes when we’re not…our brains function on the same plane and tend to get mushed together. I wanted my own brain tonight.

Okay, that’s not the whole truth. I also wanted to go somewhere and not get into a long, involved argument with Hutch about it. I didn’t understand these visions, dreams, whatever, but I knew I’d had a particularly vivid one in both Kim’s office and her living room. And I wanted another one because I was desperate. Dobey’s actions tonight told me he still believed we’re looking for a body, not a missing person. I thought maybe, just maybe another trip into Vision Land might produce an answer. I did not want Mr. Pragmatic giving me grief or worse, insisting on coming with me. Another joint dream like last night might leave us both ready for Cabrillo State.

So I drove to her place and let myself in with the key we’d confiscated from Maggie. I don’t know why but I made a beeline for her bedroom and opened her closet, running my hands along the hanging clothes. When my hand brushed over a long beige dress, I felt the floor sink beneath me….

Kim, dressed in beige, clinging to Wade who wore a graduation gown. She had her face buried in his chest and his hand patted the top of her head. “Angel, I gotta do this. Someday when I come back, I’ll make sure you understand. Hey, Angel?”

“Yes?” Squeaky sob against his chest.

“Don’t let anyone else call you Angel. Let that just be for us, okay?”

“Okay… but, Wade, I don’t call you anything special.” She sounded like that fact was suddenly a tragedy. Wade smiled, soft gentle smile.

“Sure you do. Every time you smile at me, you call me Love. And you know I’ve never heard it from anyone but you.”

“David… David…David….”

The sound of my first name broke my trance that time because of who said it. I opened my eyes in time to see Hutch go down on his knees in the doorway of the bedroom. I commanded my twin tubes of Jell-O, otherwise known as legs, to lift me off the floor. Finally they cooperated and I made it over to my partner, who looked like he’d been kicked in the groin and run a marathon at the same time. I patted his shoulders, waving my hand in front of his eyes.

“Hutch! Snap out of it!” I really did not want to slap him out of this. So I resorted to shaking him. He coughed, his eyes rolled back, and then he breathed deeply. “How’d you get here?”

“Cab.”

“Why?”

“Another dream… memory, whatever, of Wade’s. From ‘Nam. He was a medic, Starsky. He was holding this guy whose whole body had been on fire…cradling him like… and then suddenly the dream changed and I was holding you in the parking lot by the Torino that day….”

Time for our little trick. We’d promised each other if we got the heeby-jeebies about that day we’d call the other one and talk about that ping-pong match, the last normal thing that happened that day, and turn that day into just another one out of our lives. Hey, may not be sound psychology but it helped us handle post-traumatic stress so why the hell not! “If the phone don’t ring, darlin’, you’ll know it’s me.”

He coughed again and then his shoulders quit trembling and he smirked. “I’d rather have a bottle in fronta me than a frontal lobotomy.”

“Don’t cry down my back, baby, you might rust my spurs.”

“Hey, that’s my line.” He was smiling now.

“All right now?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Hutch, why did you come here?”

“Told you already.”

“No, dummy. Told me why you wanted to see me. Why not go to my place?”

“Oh.”

“Yes, light begins to dawn. Knew there was more between your ears than an endless supply o’sarcastic jokes.”

“Must be. I found you, didn’t I?” That offended dignity tone. I grinned and his scowl eased immediately into a soft smile. “Okay, I admit it. I had this feeling. All right, you happy?”

“Yes. If I’m going bonkers the very least you can do is be my travelin’ companion.” Then I looked right in his eyes. “Hutch, I think there’s a reason we’re both here right now.” I closed my eyes and then opened them rapidly. “Give me your hand.”

“You wanna hold hands with me, Starsk?” He had a full-teeth teasing grin on now. I rolled my eyes, realizing how silly we looked, both kneeling on Kim’s bedroom floor.

“Don’t get cute with me, Hutchinson. I have an idea.” He thrust out a hand and I took it, lacing our fingers together. “Now close your eyes.”

“Oh, this is getting good,” a teasing snort.

“Shaddup, motor mouth. Close your eyes and concentrate.” I knew when he did because the room tilted and suddenly Hutch grabbed me, pulled me hard against him, and screamed, “ANGEL!”

“Hu–…. Wade, let go.”

He let me go immediately. Then he shook his head, smushed his face between his hands and groaned loud and long. He opened his eyes again. “Starsky? She’s alive.”

“I know,” I breathed. “Ranch house…out in the hills…orchard in the back….”

“The mail.”

“Huh?”

“That’s how we’re going to find out where. The mail.”

“You mean Kim’s mail?”

“No, idiot. Kareem Abdul-Jabar’s. Of course, Kim’s. We didn’t check her mailbox today, did we?”

Five minutes later we thanked the Force of Good that pushed Hutch to the mailbox. I tossed the academic journal, bills, and junk mail into his waiting hands and gripped the large manila envelope that had been folded to fit into the box. It was addressed to Dr. Kim Grace and had several post office re-direction notices on it. The sender was the clincher, though. Dr. Iko Tanaka. I knew then that I had to be holding at least part of the remaining puzzle in my hands…from beyond the grave. The facts slid into a neat list in my head. Dr. Tanaka and Kim had worked together before her divorce. He must have mistakenly used her old address. The postmark was two days before his death. It had taken this long for the post office to get its act together. But James Moriarty would not have known that. I knew then that we had in our possession what he wanted enough to kill three people for, including his own brother.

I ripped through the envelope and extracted a thick manuscript and a cover letter. Hutch snatched the letter out of my hands and I glanced over the manuscript.

“The Memoir of Lieutenant Marcia Roy: Navy Nurse and Beloved,” I read softly.

“Beloved of Dr. Shiro Tanaka, MD, stationed at Pearl Harbor,” Hutch breathed, indicating the letter. “Professor Tanaka’s brother. Dean Wilshire told us about this, remember? Shiro died trying to protect a young nurse from Zero strafer bullets. According to this letter, they were secretly engaged. Professor Tanaka wanted this story told and got the permission of the lady involved along with her personal papers. He edited them together into this manuscript and was just about to submit it for publication when he received the threatening phone call. After the threats escalated, he decided to ship the manuscript away for its own protection. Decided on Kim because…” he read on silently for a minute, “because he saw her as having a heart for different cultures and for love.” He snapped his fingers. “Publication. Making something public. Tanaka must have told Moriarty he sent the manuscript to Kim right before he died.”

“Yes,” I grabbed the letter and handed him the manuscript. “But not exactly. Or she woulda been next. That Ronald guy came next. Tanaka must have told Moriarty he sent the manuscript to someone he’d written with in the past. So Moriarty puts together a list of possibles and Ronald musta been the closest geographically. Then Kim. If Kim’s not the last on that list, we’ve got a time bomb on our hands.”

“We don’t have time to scour the memoir, but how much money do you want to lay down that Marcia Roy is from around here and that she meant something to James Moriarty before she ended up in Hawaii. One of the blood-scrawled messages in Hawaii said something about a ‘journey to love’s redemption.’” Hutch’s grin outshone the light fixture in the room. It warmed me from head to toe.

“I’d bet my Torino she lives in the ranch house in the hills.”

“It’s a long shot,” Mr. Pragmatic cautioned me as he looked around in search of a phone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Forty-five minutes later we crouched behind the Torino and eyed the house while cursing the darkness. “Any ideas, boys?” Sheriff Carson asked us quietly. Officially we’d left BCPD jurisdiction a few miles back but this young sheriff made it clear that he had no problem with leaving this baby completely in our care.

“We have no idea how many people are in there.” I jerked a thumb off to the side, “The beat-up brown station wagon tells me we’re in the right place. But bustin’ in there unannounced is one way to get someone good and dead.”

“Got to split his attention,” Hutch agreed. “We’ve got what he wants.”

“Off-the-cuff or by-the-book?”

“Want it to go down quick. Best for us and them.”

“Yeah. Off-the-cuff it is.”

“Are you guys always like this?” Carson’s round, jovial face screamed confusion.

“Huh?” I asked, slightly frowning.

“You just had a whole conversation with each other and I haven’t got a clue what you decided.”

Hutch laughed, despite the tension in our situation. “My partner’s weird. I have to talk in a language he understands.”

“Speak for yourself, Blondie. My weirdness has kept your ass out of a sling in the past.”

“There you go again. Look, just translate this into Californian so I can understand.”

Hutch and I exchanged a final smile before I turned to Carson. “We’re gonna radio in and have dispatch patch us through to this phone number. Hopefully, we’ll get James to the phone. Then we’ll try to get him to let one of us in with the manuscript. That’ll be me. Unarmed, non-threatening. Meanwhile, my partner here will go around the back while I’ve got Moriarty’s attention.”

“Think you got that backwards, buddy,” Hutch said quietly in that all business tone.

“Nope, Blintz. Listen to me. You walk in there in plain sight of Kim and guess what’s gonna happen. Go look at yourself in the car window and tell me ya don’t know what I’m talkin’ about. Sudden hysterics. That’s not the kind of distraction we need.”

Hutch flushed straight to his scalp and Carson just shook his head and motioned for his deputy to bring over one of the bulletproof vests. I left Hutch grumbling about stubborn, dark curly-haired cops and put the first part of the plan in action.

I swear Hutch’s face fell six inches when I told him James was letting me in. “He sounds tired, Hutch. I think he just may be ready for all this crap to end.” Hutch stared at the ground, dug his toe around in the dirt, and then cast his baby blues around the perimeter of the house, taking in the rolling meadows beyond the structure, the pond nearly invisible in the night, the fruit orchard, and the faint edge of the mountains rising in the distance. A lovely spot in general, peaceful for so close to the city, and the beauty of the nature even in darkness seemed to soothe Hutch’s pinned-in tension. Finally he sighed before swinging those expressive eyes back to me.

“Starsk, tired or not, remember what McGarrett said. This man took out both the policemen guarding that second professor with a machete and they had guns.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mom, I’ll remember.” I tilted my head and winked at him. He gave my shoulder a shove and turned to the nearest cop.

“Give this lunatic a vest and let’s get this over with.”

I hurried into the vest and threw my shirt back on over it trying not to think about Moriarty’s handiwork. Hutch didn’t have to remind me what he was capable of doing. I shuddered and felt a warm hand against the back of my neck. Hutch and I started slowly toward the house, his hand pushing me forward.

“We can do this another way, buddy,” he said softly when we were out of others’ earshot.

“We’re gettin’ them outta there, Hutch. Now. Jus’ had a momentary flashback. I’ve seen VC, Hutch, who couldn’a carved a man up like this nut does.”

“Well, here we part ways. Don’t want him spotting me out a window. See you on the inside,” he turned to take an alternate path around the side of the house but he whirled before I had a chance to walk on ahead. “Starsk….”

I nodded at the silent “Be careful.” Then I smiled broadly, “We’ll be doing paperwork in an hour, Hutch.” He nodded and I turned my attention to the front of the house so I wouldn’t have to watch him walk away. Believe it or not I just knocked on the door and waited, fingers tightening on the manuscript I held in my other hand. A loud masculine voice shouted permission to enter and I forced down another instinctive urge to walk away from the sound. A sound I associated with nastiness and violence. But there was no way in hell I’d let Hutch get through a back entrance before I was in there and had Moriarty’s undivided attention. The knob turned easily and I stepped inside the house, shutting the door behind me. The voice called out again to let me know where to find them. I chose a cautious pace and my body froze when I witnessed the scene in the great room.

The woman haunting my mind knelt over a prone figure of an older, unconscious woman obviously suffering from a knife wound to the throat. James Moriarty stood over them waving a Japanese military-issue machete like a king’s scepter. At the sound of my footsteps, Kim looked over her shoulder and I just about cried at the sheer terror in her features. She was naked from the waist up and using her shirt to apply pressure to the other woman’s wound.

Moriarty clapped his hands sharply, “You have it… the book?”

I waited a few beats, sizing up the situation. Then I nodded slowly and extended the manuscript but remained rooted to the spot. He would have to approach to accept it. I did not want to make any sudden moves that might endanger the innocents. He grabbed Kim by the arm, pulled her up against him, the knife-edge against her throat as he approached me. Kim’s eyes widened and her face turned to chalk. He snatched the manuscript out of my hand and then backed off again, shoving Kim roughly in my direction. I caught her in mid-stumble and pulled her against my chest.

“Ma—Marcia n-needs help,” she squeaked out, burrowing her face in my chest. I let my face wander down into her curls to press comfortingly against the top of her head, still watching Moriarty through my lashes as I shed my windbreaker and draped it over her. What I saw alarmed me. What the blazin’ hell was taking Hutch so long? Moriarty stared at the manuscript and then up at us. His face changed and I knew we were in trouble the split-second before the volcanic eruption.

“You… had it…all along, little bitch. You gave it to him…instead of me…always will be another man, won’t it? Always betrayed… I’ll teach him!” The manuscript fell to the floor with a thud and Kim whirled just as I assessed the situation. Moriarty lunged, machete poised and ready, staring at me with death in his eyes.

“Down, Kim!” I forced her to the side and braced myself for the onslaught. Then the shot rang out. Moriarty collapsed in a heap on the floor and I looked up across the room and into the panic-stricken blue eyes that were more constant to me than the sun rising.

I pulled Kim back up and tried to assess her physical condition, searching desperately for the wound that could have produced the blood in her study. She swayed sickly in my grasp, “Ma-Marcia needs he-help,” she repeated. Then she looked behind her and I learned the meaning in all those corny books that talk about someone’s face draining of all color. “Wade….” And she turned into a rag doll in my arms. I swung her up and deposited her on the leather sofa before screaming at one of the suddenly milling uniforms to get the paramedic team. Then I watched Hutch stagger the rest of the way through the other door in the room and growled, “Took your sweet time.” I abandoned Kim for the moment to check for a pulse on Moriarty’s other victim and keep the pressure on the wound. Hutch shook his right leg viciously and I glanced up from examining the older woman. I couldn’t help cracking up at the expression of sheer outrage on his pale features. A determined beagle clung to his right leg by the ankle. With a final shake and a bellowed curse, Hutch sighed as the dog let loose, howled plaintively and sat baying at Hutch like a scorned lover.

Hutch sheathed the Magnum and took a deep breath, stepping away. The beagle howled louder. I covered my mouth with my other hand and just about choked with laughter.

“Aw, Blintz, she’s in love.”

Hutch stabbed an index finger in my direction with that don’t-start-with-me expression. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be quick and stealthy with a damn dog attached to you? He’s been holding on since I made into the screened porch. I was afraid to do anything to make him bark…figured that would spook Moriarty.” He collapsed on the sofa at Kim’s feet and leaned over to rub his hands up and down her arms. “She still alive?” I knew he referred to Marcia.

“Barely, I think. She needs help pronto. Come on, Marcia, stay with us. Where’s the–”

Oh, the paramedics were here. They pushed me out of the way and I turned my attention to Kim.

“She fainted,” Hutch said breathlessly as though I hadn’t been present when it happened.

“Yeah, well, if you’d been through what she has and suddenly I made an appearance after having been dead ten years, how’d you take it?”

“No kidding,” Hutch shuddered. He looked up at the crowd of people. “Hey, can we get some medical attention over here?” He pulled Kim up and cradled her in his arms, massaging her back, another hand stroking her forehead. “She’s ice cold.”

“First paramedic team’s got their hands full with the other lady,” one of the deputies informed us. Hutch frowned.

“Then call in another squad. They can handle the rescue traffic this close to the city.”

As soon as she knew Marcia was out of surgery and expected to recover nicely, Kim refused to remain another second in the hospital for her own medical condition. She wanted to stay in Marcia’s room, but we all managed to talk her out of that one. Marcia would sleep the night away, sedated, and Kim could come back in the morning to visit. So the long and short of it is a crowd of people ended up in Dobey’s office. Kim huddled in a chair smothered in blankets and wolfing down a sandwich and coffee, Margo Riley draped over her shoulder like a compassionate stole. Commissioner Riley leaned against the file cabinet and I sat in the other chair simply because Kim would not let go of my hand. She could not bring herself to linger on Hutch’s face. Every now and then she’d flash him a stunned, shy smile and then quickly turn her eyes away again. Meanwhile Hutch kept scanning our faces as though comparing them and shook his head several times. Captain Dobey regarded us all like we’d been dropped out of heaven. I would love to have been a fly hanging around his ham sandwich when he got the call that Kim had been found alive and relatively unharmed.

“I can talk about it now if you’d like,” Kim said suddenly, gulping down her last bite of food, the first she’d had since her disappearance. Margo jumped in the fray wielding her compassion like a sword.

“Nonsense, darling, you’ve been through an ordeal. You need to relax and unwind. I’m sure the police can wait until tomorrow morning.”

“By tomorrow morning I want this all to be a memory,” Kim said quietly.

Hutch and I crossed glances. We both knew that feeling. Margo squeezed her shoulders even harder. I thought Kim was liable to break under that onslaught of mothering.

“What’s…today?” She asked in a stronger voice.

“Friday night…well, early Saturday morning about 3 AM,” Dobey answered with a kind smile.

“Late Tuesday night then, I heard a sound down the hall from my bedroom. I thought Mac had gotten into my papers again so I just got up and walked into the study. I didn’t see him at first because I was distracted by the…oh, God, horrid stuff all over my walls. Then I… I think he must have hit me over the head from behind. When I woke up, I was bound hands and feet in a locked room. He kept saying something about making people believe I was dead like he’d been left for dead in that sanitarium. D-do you know what he meant—by that?”

I cleared my throat but the commissioner took charge. “We discovered a substantial amount of human blood in your office at school, Kim. We won’t go into gory details but we believe Moriarty must have killed some homeless person for the source of that blood. Blood-type was a coincidence. Gave us all a scare.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. I have a very common type,” Kim murmured, trembling like she’d been out in a rainstorm all night and put in deep freeze to dry off. “That must be what he meant about having an errand to run…he left me alone there most of that night. He was like that… he’d be there for awhile yelling obscenities at me and begging me to tell him where the… book…was… and then he’d be gone for hours on end. He had my car.”

“Yes, that’s been found not far from Good Charlie’s in the warehouse district. We think he kept leaving and going to Marcia’s nursing home to see if she was on duty. He did not know she was away on vacation. One of those times he must have collapsed with withdrawal symptoms from the drug he’d been taking at the home and called Matthew the next afternoon from Good Charlie’s when he was lucid again. This man was an unusual specimen. Lived three-quarters of his adult life in a sanitarium but functioned in 1980 like any one of us.” Dobey’s voice registered grudging acknowledgement of the brains and determination required to pull off Moriarty’s crime spree.

“Well…tonight he came back and walked in on Marcia untying me. She had arrived maybe five minutes before he walked in the door. She’d been in San Francisco visiting her sister. He went ballistic and started dredging up the past, shouting it at both of us. Apparently Marcia grew up close to James and they knew each other well. Perhaps dated a little but nothing serious. Then Marcia decided she wanted to serve as a nurse and ended up stationed at Pearl. She said she made James no promises and when she got to Pearl she met Shiro Tanaka who served as a naval doctor at the base. She said he was American all the way through. Patriotic but also not ashamed of his Japanese heritage like some of the other naval personnel thought he should be. She admired his dedication to both his blood and his nationality and fell in love with him. By the time December 7^th rolled around they were engaged. After—after Shiro was killed, Moriarty wrote to her and told her they could go back to where they left off. She refused him. Said something like ‘one love, one lifetime.’” Kim’s voice cracked and she jumped up. “She knew not to try and replace the other half of her soul. She—she’s never m-married.” She flung a desperate glance at Hutch like she wanted to drink in his facial features and then swiveled on her heel and leaned her forehead against the door, her back to all of us. Margo started to stand but Commissioner Riley shushed her back down.

“Anyway… James kept screaming about the hell he went through in Peleliu and knowing his Marcia had given herself to some Japanese. Oh, the words he used. God, I haven’t heard so many racial slurs in one stretch before in my life. He was institutionalized and he began to hate Marcia because she never came to see him. Marcia tried to tell him that she’d called his family and asked about word of him. Wanted to know he was okay. They wouldn’t speak to her. Apparently they blamed her for his ending up in the shape he did.” Again, intense pain flickered across her features and I hung my head. Hutch and I had already decided we couldn’t broach the subject of Wade with Kim in her present condition. Mostly, we wanted a look at him first. From what his father had said…

“Then he talked about how he’d seen Uncle Iko… um…Professor Tanaka on the TV in the sanitarium discussing an upcoming book about multicultural love and understanding even in time of war. When he realized Tanaka was talking about Marcia and his brother, James vowed he’d never let the book see the light of day. It was bad enough in his mind that she’d betrayed him but to have it read all over the country…. He ranted and raved a little more. Then he cut her. And then, the phone rang.” Kim turned around and looked at me with such gratitude in her eyes that I felt a lump in my throat.

 

Part Three

Two days later Hutch and I walked out of the commissioner’s office admitting finally that it could be a blessing to have friends in high places. We leaned against the Torino just inches apart and both folded our arms across our chests. “Eight years. He’s really been there eight years and she didn’t even know it.” I stared at down at my Adidas.

“You read what the evaluation said, Starsk. Possibility of full recovery but no positive signs since admission in 1972. He hasn’t spoken since he was found in that village. What can we say to Kim?”

“We don’t say nothin’ yet. We go over there and see him for ourselves.”

“What?!”

“Hutch, think! The doc’s report said he believed it a clear case of deep battle-induced trauma. Sole-survivor syndrome. He was a medic, Hutch, an’ he couldn’t save any of ‘em. Wouldn’t have made it out himself if the villagers hadn’t spirited him away and kept him hidden from the Vietnamese patrols. He’s withdrawn into himself. We gotta give him a reason to come out again.”

“We cannot, I repeat, cannot drag Kim over there and try to jolt him out of this, Starsky. I mean, do you really think she could face the shape he’s in knowing he’s been here all along and she couldn’t help him?”

I smacked him on the back of the head, “What kinda idiot you take me for? I gotta better idea. Come on, we gotta swing by Natalie’s.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Half an hour later we sat restlessly in a psychiatrist’s office in the suburban facility listening to him tell us why we shouldn’t expect too much, not to get our hopes up, and all the doom and gloom he could spout.

“Is he capable of fully functioning as a member of society, doctor? If he comes out of this self-imposed shell or whatever?” Hutch looked as serious as he had the night he questioned the ER doctor about Bellamy’s poison. I was so proud of him I could burst and didn’t know exactly why.

“Certainly. From the tests we’ve run, he’s a very intelligent young man. His records indicate that he graduated with a B.S. in Biology. He reads medical journals and a wide variety of other subjects. Won’t ask for them, of course. Just comes, knocks on my door, and waits for me to let him in and he’ll prowl around my office finding what he wants to read. He’ll play the piano in the activity room sometimes for hours. But he won’t speak, won’t really acknowledge you when you speak to him. And he won’t eat unless we take him by the arm, sit him down, and put the food in front of him. He watches television with some of our other residents but doesn’t give much indication that he’s paying attention. Well, that’s not completely true. He seems to have a spike in his awareness whenever there’s a baseball game on. To be honest, detectives, if his father had been willing, he could have given him adequate care at home. He hasn’t been on drug therapy. If we could find the right stimulus, I think there’s a definite chance he could recover at least 75% of his memory and social function and lead a normal life. But we’ve exhausted option after option. Nothing seems to reach him. We pleaded with his father for any ideas but… well… you’ve met Mr. Paulson. I must say I’m surprised you’re here right now…” Dr. Fisk trailed off and leaned back in his swivel chair. His brow furrowed and Hutch and I smiled at each other. The doctor was obviously fond of this particular patient.

“Police Commissioner Riley went by and visited with him. Riley could charm the scent off a skunk,” I said, grinning. Dr. Fisk laughed.

“So there’s never been a mention of a Kim Grace?” Hutch asked.

“No, I don’t believe his father ever said anything… let me look through my file to make sure.” While he perused the file, I felt my fists clenching. Hutch’s response was to tap his fingers ominously against his chair arm. Damn Wade’s father. Damn him to hell. “No, no one by that name. Is that important?”

I rose to my feet and held out the picture frame. “She’s your stimulus, doc.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Hutch stood beside me. “Just let us see him. Come with us and you’ll find out.”

We walked slowly down the corridor lost in our separate but similar thoughts. I could tell Hutch battled an inner fury that matched my own. Eight years wasted! Dr. Fisk finally stopped outside door number 27 and turned to regard us soberly. “Please don’t feel badly if your plan fails, gentlemen. In some ways he’s not far removed from a waking coma.”

Dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved red tee shirt, he sat in a chair in the corner of the whitewashed room by an open window, a book spread on his knees and a completely blank expression on his clean-shaven face. Hutch gasped audibly. He no longer looked like a twin, but he could have still easily been Hutch’s slightly younger brother or at the least a cousin. Tall athletic physique, short pale-golden hair, very youthful features, and a sensitive mouth, but what got me were the clear blue eyes. Haunted eyes, I told Hutch some time later. The main variation between this man and the one in the photo I clung to was a nasty patch of burn scars down his left arm all the way to his wrist. Dr. Fisk must have seen me staring at the offending arm because he sighed and pulled us over to the side.

“According to the army reports, when the villagers found him he was clinging to one of his fellow soldiers whose whole upper torso had burned from one of those VC concocted booby-traps. He must have put the flames out and was trying to get morphine into him when he died in Wade’s arms. The villagers had to pry Wade off. How they managed to salvage his arm until that American patrol came through and found him, I’ll never understand.”

“Jesus,” Hutch breathed. I seconded the sentiment. It’s not easy realizing with proof that you’ve experienced someone else’s memories temporarily. I felt like I’d been pummeled in the gut with stones because the poor guy in the chair had not even twitched since we’d been in the room and had not acted like he heard the doctor’s words. Enough of this, I decided. I approached Wade and knelt in front of him trying to snag his attention.

“Wade, I have something for you, buddy,” I heard myself talking to him just as I would Hutch. Hutch noticed because I heard a soft fond laugh in the background. Wade did not acknowledge me. I swallowed, knowing I had to actually get him to look at the picture.

“Put it in his lap, Starsk,” Hutch said. I complied and watched as Wade’s face shifted one fraction of an inch at a time until his eyes connected with the framed picture. For a minute he just stared as though nothing had been introduced into the same lap that held his book. I was about to pound my head on the floor in frustration when I caught a glimpse of moisture in the sides of his eyes. I jumped up and swung around.

“Has he cried any, doc?”

“No, not that we’ve seen anyway. Why is he—”

But I didn’t get a chance to answer. Wade clutched the frame in both hands and proceeded to fall out of the chair and onto his knees, not even registering the hard impact of his bones on the unforgiving floor. He trembled all over like he had a raging fever. Then he bowed his head and burst into wracking sobs. Dr. Fisk stared at Hutch and me like we’d just descended out of the sky on a cloud of thunder and lightening. But the fireworks display wasn’t over. After several minutes of violent waterworks during which we were all too stunned to move over to him and offer him any comfort, Wade lifted his eyes and focused on us.

“Angel,” he said distinctly. “Angel.”

“He’s not coherent,” Dr. Fisk clucked his tongue, “but he spoke!”

“No, he remembers her!” Hutch practically shouted. “That was his pet name for her.”

Dr. Fisk went over to Wade and assisted him back into the chair. Wade stared at him. “Major, they’ve suffered heavy casualties. Collins says the whole place was booby-trapped. Got to get to them, sir.”

“Wade, son…” Dr. Fisk began but Wade reached out and gripped his forearm comfortingly.

“Don’t worry about me, sir. I’ve got a guardian Angel. She’d kick me square in my rear echelon, sir, if I don’t come back to her.”

Hutch and I found our eyes connected without each of us really intending to stare. How many times had we said similar things about each other in intense situations? Oh, you don’t know my partner. He’d kill me if I don’t show back up in one piece. I’ll kick your ass, Hutch, if you go in there like a fool hero… He’s gonna be so upset I got myself into this mess…

Dr. Fisk captured both his patient’s hands and shook them, “Wade, do you know where you are?”

Wade stared at him blankly for a minute before the haze fell from the blue eyes so like Hutch’s and slowly Wade nodded as if still in a dream. He said softly, “Dr. Fisk.”

~~~~~~~~~~

We left that afternoon walking on pure adrenaline and a puffy white cloud of hope. Dr. Fisk threatened us within an inch of our lives if we brought Kim into the situation before he had a chance to subject Wade to the necessary tests, evaluations, and preparation for such a milestone event. We had explained to him after Wade’s initial awakening the importance of his friendship with Kim. After lengthy debate and haggling, we finally agreed with Dr. Fisk that Kim might not be able to tolerate the waiting period so we decided not to let her in on our project until we could re-introduce the other half of The Inseparable. Captain Dobey displayed an amazing interest in the proceedings and granted us breaks in our busy schedule so we could visit Wade. Something fueled a desire in both of us to oversee Wade’s progress personally.

Hutch bonded with him almost immediately. They shared opinions on music: Hutch even brought his guitar and introduced him to “Black Bean Soup.” My green-thumbed partner also brought Wade up-to-date on some of the environmental initiatives that had been in the press. Wade had read newspapers during his eight-year stint at the facility but his recall of the material was sketchy. He remembered vividly the biological and medical articles he’d confiscated from Dr. Fisk’s office and spoke with enthusiasm about his experiences as a medic. He never spoke again about that final rescue campaign, however, after the first day we met him. Dr. Fisk said that should not alarm us. Some memories are best left to sleep for all of us. We agreed with that, looking at each other with walls of glass and oxygen tent in my mind and a shattered, bullet-ridden Torino reflected in Hutch’s eyes. On some occasions I went alone to the facility and Wade and I spent several enjoyable hours absorbed in baseball related chat. He amazed me, never expressing bitterness that his big league baseball career was for all intents and purposes over. His age and battle-scarred pitching arm saw to that. One day Hutch and I found him in a state of excitement. He greeted us with a broad grin, waved a newspaper at us, and then flung it in my general direction.

“Dr. Fisk thinks this is something I could work toward,” he explained. “Do you think she’ll–” His eyes clouded over and he bit his lower lip before turning away momentarily. Then his face shifted, all sunshine again. “He says I haven’t lost sufficient use of my arm to keep me out of this line of work. What do you think?”

Hutch and I ducked our eyes and scanned an article about the continued success of the paramedic program in California. I smiled brightly and Hutch clasped Wade’s shoulder. “Pal, I think it’s a great idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Huggy found us later that evening contemplating the dregs of our beer with dulled faces. We’d filled him in on our undertaking, shown him the photo of Kim and Wade, and sworn him to secrecy. He settled into the booth beside Hutch and looked back and forth between us before he slapped a fist down on the table.

“Now, for two such good Samaritans, you dudes look like you’ve sentenced a fellow to twenty-years hard time. What gives?”

Hutch rubbed his eyes with a not quite steady hand and settled against the wooden back of the booth. “It’s Wade… Doc says he’s making miraculous progress, but something’s missing.”

“Yeah.” I echoed, swirling the last sip of beer around in the glass as if looking for the answer to our dilemma in the amber fluid.

“Like what?” The ever-curious Huggy folded arms across his purple clad chest and prepared to hold forth on whatever we had to say.

“Well, it’s Kim mostly. He asks us about her every day we go by. Without stealing her thunder, we’ve told him some of her accomplishments during his missing period. You know, her becoming a professor and all. And he’s thrilled. Starsk and I’ve agreed you can tell there’s a lot, I mean a lot of feeling there. But–” he fell silent, asking me with his eyes to help him put it all into words.

“But when we bring up the future…as in, her comin’ to see him soon, our tellin’ her about him or anything like that, he gets really uneasy. Almost like he’s afraid.”

Huggy snorted, “If you two are this dense all the time, no wonder you depend on me to help solve mosta your cases. He loves her, you dumb street cops. He loves her and he’s scared spitless that there’s no room for him anymore in her world…or that she’s changed…or that he’s changed…or that maybe he’s not what she needs…or he’s not good enough. Put your ignorant selves in his shoes for half a second. You’ve dated enough women to qualify as not entirely clueless.”

We stared across the table at each other dumbfounded and telegraphed over the litter of half-eaten French fries and hamburger crumbs, “Are we really that blind?” Huggy smiled as if he had heard us and delivered the ever-practical solution, “Someone should whisper a few hints in the pensive blond’s ear.” With a final nod, Huggy slid out of the booth and sauntered over to drape an arm around the shoulders of a shapely brunette standing alone at the bar.

I grinned. “Sounds like smart advice to me. I mean, all we’d have to do is drop a few hints that Kim’s been feelin’…. Hutch, you listening?”

Hutch shook his head like he was clearing out cobwebs and said, “Hmm, Starsky?”

“Kim and Wade, dummy,” I sputtered, astonished that he wasn’t on the same page. “Don’t you want to see them end up together?”

Hutch sighed in his best long-suffering Hutch fashion. “Wade’s a great guy—and I’m not saying that because he and I have some things in common. He’s what she wants. Has wanted for years and years. And it’s not like he’s mentally incapacitated. He has every hope of resuming a normal life. She should be in that life.”

“So we tell her tomorrow?” I asked quietly, feeling a swell of joy. Hutch nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning we called Kim at the college and made sure she wouldn’t mind our dropping by for dinner that evening after our shift ended. Hutch snatched the phone away from me at one point and complained loudly and bitterly that he hadn’t had time to attend one of her class sessions. She must have responded with a saucy retort because he grinned foolishly and stammered something incoherent before tossing the phone back my way.

“Whadya say to him?” I demanded, dying to know what had Hutch flushing all the way over to the coffee maker. Kim’s rich laugh filled my ears.

“Oh, just that he might be too much of a distraction in the department. The secretaries already have a pool going on his…um…vital statistics. I don’t know how they plan on getting the info needed to see which one’s the winner.”

I spat the coffee I’d been gulping all over my new tee shirt and howled uproariously. Hutch glared at me from across the squad room before he laughed too.

When we arrived at Kim’s around seven the aroma of cooking food ushered us through the door. We regarded each other with surprise. Kim shut the door behind us with an enigmatic smile and beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen. Hutch loped in behind her while I dropped to the floor and greeted Mac with enthusiasm. Poor little fellow had been rather traumatized by Moriarty’s brief and nasty visit. Food distracted me however as Hutch set a baking dish on the center of the table with great ceremony. Kim beamed.

“Wait a minute. What happened to your not cooking?” I asked, leaning over to drink in the intoxicating scent of mingled flavors.

“Maggie came by today for my first lesson.” She gestured at the dish as though she’d given birth. “It’s a casserole. Meat, vegetables, rice all in one fell swoop. I got an extra one to take to Marcia tomorrow.”

“How’s she doing?” I asked as Hutch dropped a portion of the casserole in my extended plate. Kim sighed as she divvied up the Riesling.

“She’s going to go stay with her sister for awhile since she’s on extended leave from the nursing home. They aren’t going to replace her, though, because she’s too good a head nurse. But it’s going to take some time. She’s such an incredible lady. Oh, yeah, and she’s given me permission to continue with the publication of her memoirs under Tanaka’s name. He put a lot of work into organizing her papers and creating a piece of historical importance alongside a romantic, sweet story.”

Hutch waved a forkful of casserole, “Speaking of Tanaka. Starsky and I got a line on that organization that paid for Moriarty’s photos. Turns out a corporation in Japan is funding it and insisted Tanaka serve as its first president. They plan on sponsoring scholarships for American students to study in Japan and vice versa as well as grants for Japanese-American scholarly interests. Another professor in Hawaii is taking over the post and Tanaka’s second cousin is requesting that all the photos be collected and turned over to the organization in accordance with Tanaka’s wishes.”

“I really wish I’d had a chance to get to know Uncle Iko even better…write with him again. He’ll be missed terribly.” Kim’s eyes grew sad as she contemplated her glass. Mac whined and climbed up into her lap. She laughed. “Ah, that’s my boy. Can’t let me stay down for a minute, can ya, fella?”

“Kim, you ever call your folks and tell ‘em about any of this?”

Kim scratched Mac behind the ears and stared into space. “Truth is, boys, I don’t really get along with my folks anymore. It doesn’t surprise me that my parents didn’t jump on the next plane when you called and talked to them about me. They’ve never really understood my desperation to stay out here after I got my PhD. They were so happy to move back to Maryland and when I divorced Michael, I think they assumed I’d just run happily back home like I had sense. Right now they’re focused on my sister-in-law’s troubled pregnancy and I’m going to leave them in peace to do just that. They know I’m safe and well; I called and told them that. I’m leaving it at that. When I call them every week I try to make sure I have happy things to talk about.”

Hutch and I made eye contact over the almost empty casserole dish. He confiscated her hand and tugged on it so she shifted her gaze. “Kim, we have something to discuss with you, but why don’t we go over to the sofa and get comfortable first?”

She stood between us and stared at the ocean like she’d never seen it before in her life. We waited patiently for the explosion. After the initial violent tears of almost painful joy she’d cried following our announcement, she’d gone into a trance. For the past two hours she hadn’t said a word and couldn’t stand us to look at her for very long. We felt compelled to scoop her up along with a change of clothing, drop Mac off at Maggie’s, and haul her to Venice with us. Suddenly she threw her head back and let out a murderous scream.

“What’s that for?” Hutch whispered.

She turned around and pounded fists in the empty air. “Eight years! Eight unholy, godforsaken years! How can anyone hate someone enough to let them suffer through that kind of half-life for eight years!!”

“I know….” again Hutch’s whispery voice. “I know the lengths displeased parents can go to,” he said with personal experience coloring his tone. “Parents who love the controlling of the child more than the child himself. Still, this is in a whole other league.”

“He—he never liked me. I think he thought I was proof of those ridiculous rumors about Wade’s sexual orientation. Wade kept me around all the time but wasn’t screwing me so I must be the willing accomplice. What did that make me in his eyes… a lesbian or just pathetic? And he—he hated me for it. I could tell it then…just didn’t know how much. Didn’t even begin to have a clue how much he hated Wade. Why can’t human beings leave one another alone to live the life that makes them happiest? I mean, as long as that life isn’t illegal or harmful to others?”

Hutch’s face turned sad. “I think it’s a particularly nasty facet of human nature to despise any form of happiness not easily understood or fit into specific categories. And those of us who don’t want to play that game very often can’t do anything to stop the others from participating.”

I agreed with that assessment of Andrew Paulson. We had not told Kim that Mr. Paulson called us at the station after having been notified of Wade’s awakening and cussed us with every name in the book. He had refused to even visit his son. Kim was heaping enough blame on herself without having that burden to carry as well. Right now she angrily stomped her feet in the sand.

“I let him down, guys!! What the hell do I say to him? Wade, I’m sorry you’ve been cooped up in a cell-like room for eight years because I was too dumb to figure out how to find you, help you. I tried! I went to Wade’s aunt and uncle but they just told me his father would make sure I was one of the first to know if he was found. Hah! Went to the military and got nowhere.” She looked at me and then at Hutch. “You wouldn’t let each other suffer like that.”

“Apples and oranges,” I told her with a smile. “For one thing we’re cops. There’s usually—usually been something we could do for each other. For another, we gave each other power-of-attorney a long time ago because of all the life-threatening situations we face. You didn’t have that authority. You’re just as much a victim in this as Wade is and he knows it.”

Kim grinned at both of us. “I can see you two each think the other can spin gold and weave rain clouds barehanded. Makes me feel good to be around you.” With that remarkable statement she turned and started the trek back to Venice Place.

We ended up all three staying there like a slumber party. Kim insisted on Hutch having the bed despite his continued arguing. Finally she stood right up next to him to demonstrate their drastic difference in height and that settled the sleeping arrangements. But she couldn’t get me to take the couch. I tucked her in and then made me a bed on the floor with blankets and pillows.

The next morning I came out of the shower dressed and ready for work to find Kim had downed an entire glass of Hutch’s morning health concoction. I glared at Hutch, “Thought you said that stuff made a man outta ya. What the hell you doin’ givin’ it to Kim?”

Kim responded by tugging on my hair and planting a sisterly kiss on my cheek. “Mornin’, Starsky. I’m still all woman. Promise. But I’m going to be all dead if I don’t get to the college in time for the faculty meeting. Especially since I’m leaving early. I mean, I have furniture shopping to do today.”

“Furniture shopping?” I asked, eyeing Hutch as if he might have the answer. He shrugged, equally ignorant.

“I’ve got to turn my study into a second bedroom in preparation for Wade leaving the institution. Thankfully, Maggie’s husband insisted on doing the re-painting. Can’t even tell Moriarty was there–”

“Oh, but why do ya need a second—” The question was out of my mouth before I realized what I was asking and I bit down hard on my tongue as I caught the annoyed roll of Hutch’s eyes. Kim didn’t even blink. She smiled mildly at me.

“Just because I’m in love with him doesn’t mean he returns or ever will return those feelings. I know that. I’m going to offer him a home as long as he needs it. If he wants to get his own place, move to Canada, or join the French Foreign Legion, I’ll support him. That is if the Department Chair doesn’t kill me first! Come on, you guys!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Over take-out breakfast the following morning in the Torino, our dining view the Pacific from an excellent look-out position, we debated paying Wade a visit before we escorted Kim to their all-important first meeting. Feeling proactive, I was all for hopping by there and playing Cupid. Hutch took a different view.

“Just because Huggy thinks he knows the ins and outs of this situation doesn’t give us the right to interfere,” he asserted calmly, spooning his yogurt concoction hungrily. “They have to work things out on their own. He’s had time to come to terms with this visit and how he feels. Nothing may ever happen. Or if it does, who’s to say it has to happen now?”

“Don’t be so damn logical about it!” I complained around my mouthful of scrambled egg breakfast burrito. “This is important!” My tone of voice must have conveyed how much this meeting meant to me because Hutch eyed me through the heart, probing the underside of my soul.

“Why? I mean, I know this is important to them, but why are you so worked up about it?”

“I’m not worked up!” I protested, realizing immediately that I was lying straight through my teeth and the burrito.

“Come on, Starsky. This is really important to you. I understand you want things to turn out well for Kim. So do I. And we haven’t even talked about those weird visions and stuff… But this meeting means more than all that to you, doesn’t it?”

It did. But why? What about this meeting seemed so momentous to me? I couldn’t even answer that in my own mind. “What time is it?”

“You’re not seriously going to make me reach for my watch right now?” Hutch pleaded, both hands occupied with his breakfast. I sighed and turned my wrist over.

“Yup. Might as well go pick up Kim if we’re not gonna play match-maker.”

Hutch braced himself for the start of the engine and the abrupt swing back onto the highway. “Are you sure she really wants us tagging along? She’s perfectly capable of driving herself, you know. You didn’t wrangle an invite?”

“Hutch, you oughta be ‘shamed.” I shot him one of my sidewinding glares. “I called her last night and she assured me she wants our moral support. Have we ever refused a lady moral support?” Then my concern antenna thought it picked up a signal. “Hey… you feelin’ uncomfortable or something?”

Hutch groaned, crumpled the yogurt container into a ball of plastic and tossed it into the bag of other breakfast relics at his feet. “Why the hell would I be uncomfortable?”

I risked a lengthy glance at his profile using my instincts for driving. The pale gold sheet of hair prevented me from catching a full view of his face, but what little I observed told me that something was warring within that green turtlenecked chest. “You could tell me what’s got ya lookin’ like ya got a crime to confess.” Then my mental calculator started clicking and I thought I’d spit out the right numbers. “Um.. Hutch, those memories of Wade’s you experienced…you didn’t…um…start developing feelings for Kim?”

“Feelings for Kim?” Hutch looked like he wanted to laugh out loud. “Of course not, idiot! You really are blind, you know that? Drive the car, Starsky.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Kim emerged from her house wearing an old pair of tennis shoes, faded jeans, and a university baseball jersey that swallowed her whole. I nudged Hutch in the ribs, frowning, “Now if a woman met you lookin’ like that wouldya think she had the slightest interest in makin’ it with you?”

Hutch eyed the approaching female with a soft smile. “Nope. But this is Kim. I think that baseball jersey screams her feelings better than a short skirt and tight blouse ever could.”

“Well, I hope he’s into readin’ symbols as much as you, Blintz,” I muttered and then boasted a bright smile when Hutch exited the car so Kim could crawl in next to me. Her face was several shades paler than her normal, naturally tan complexion. “Feelin’ okay?” I tossed a concerned glance at her.

“Are you kiddin’? I’m scared stiff.”

Hutch shifted in his seat so he could give her his undivided attention, “Now, what’s there to be afraid of?” he said in his best reassuring tone. A low sound, mixture of groan and growl I’d heard come out of my own throat some times, drifted from our passenger.

“Oh, Hutch. I’ve told myself ten times this morning alone that if he pats my head, says it’s nice to see me, and talks about Sequoia trees for half an hour, I won’t mind a bit. Then I take another look in the mirror and say, ‘BS, Kim Grace.’”

“Kim, you shouldn’t expect too much. He’s been subjected to a whirlwind of changes after having lived some passive existence for eight years. It might take him a while….”

“Take him a while!” Kim laughed, interrupting Hutch’s logic. The sound held no joy. “He had years to give me the slightest hint and he never did. Now that I’m faced with actually seeing him again, I’m having to fight down the little voice that tells me I’m stupid for feeling this way about him. I mean, I feel silly. What do I say? ‘Hi, Wade, I’m here. Your best friend, your buddy, only now I want you to take me to bed. Can you handle that?’ Yeah, I’m sure that would go over real well.”

I watched Hutch’s face turn a vivid shade of rose and laughed out loud because I figured it had to be caused by Kim’s frankness, one of the things I admired most about her. “Now that’s what I like to see. A woman who can sum up her wishes without feelin’ shy about it.”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know, being kidnapped by a serial killer seems to have loosened my tongue.”

I risked a side glance at her, smiling in a knowing way, “Tell me about it.”

Hutch emitted a loud groan, “Okay, if you two are through bonding, can I inject a thought? Kim, Dr. Fisk says Wade hasn’t even mentioned his father. Hasn’t asked about him. Hasn’t said a word. Now that may have something to do with the fact that he knows his father kept you from learning about his return to the States, but do you see what I’m saying? If he doesn’t respond automatically to you, please try not to take it personally.”

Great, Hutch, I thought with a quick flash of irritation. Just go ahead and spoil the mood with somber thoughts and preparation for a big, fat disappointment. That’s all she needs. I heard a forlorn sigh. “Thanks, Hutch, for grounding me. But don’t worry. As I’ve said before, I’m so happy to have him alive, breathing, and conscious of who he is, I’ll try my best to be thrilled even if he tells me he’s marrying a psych nurse and moving to American Samoa.”

“The only psych nurse I spotted looks like Helga the Viking Opera Singer,” I soothed, laughing. “Think you’re safe on that score.”

We spent the rest of the drive in silence. My joke had apparently calmed the need in Hutch to protect Kim from her own expectations and Kim seemed to have faced her own worst fear mentally and shored up her courage. Only when we parked in front of the institution did Kim’s resolve fade in a soft whimper as she contemplated the building. Ever the protector, Hutch held a hand out and took hers as he helped her out of the car.

“Whatever happens,” I heard him whisper, “just believe that your friendship is still as intact and precious as always.”

I patted her head. “Big smile, lady,” I encouraged her and then followed them through the main entrance and to Dr. Fisk’s office. He greeted Kim with a broad smile and firm handshake. We could tell the psychiatrist wanted to have a nice long chat with his favorite patient’s best friend, but Kim’s face betrayed her anxiety and nervousness. He smiled softly and said, “We can talk anytime, Dr. Grace, but I think someone in the activity room would hold a delay against me forever. He’s alone in there. He’s been playing piano for the last hour.”

“Calms his nerves,” Kim murmured, flinching slightly. Dr. Fisk’s smile disappeared and his kindly face flooded with concern.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? Wade has had longer to prepare himself….”

“If I have to wait another minute you’ll be fitting me for one of those tight, white jackets with the funny sleeves.”

Dr. Fisk laughed. “Well, gentlemen, are you to escort her the whole way?” Kim turned around and pleaded with us silently, her eyes brimming. We nodded together. “Then be my guests. You know the way.”

The walk down the corridor seemed to take three times as long as the one we strolled with Dr. Fisk on the day of Wade’s awakening. Right outside the double doors to the activity room, Kim froze, swaying slightly. Hutch gripped her shoulders. “Kim we can turn around and leave if you’re not ready. Wade isn’t the type to hold it against you.”

“I’m…I’ve…God, I’ve never even let myself dream about this for the better half of the last decade. I’m ready.” She squared her shoulders under Hutch’s grasp and he removed his hands slowly, flashing me a worried smile. I beamed, ever the optimist about Kim and Wade. We pushed through the double doors barely making a sound.

Wade was indeed lost in the possession of the musical instrument, his back to us. He appeared to have three hands, they moved so quickly across the ivories. It was a lovely sound… and I realized he was playing one of the songs Hutch had written and taught him. We hadn’t spoken and I swear that the double doors hadn’t even brushed against each other as they closed, but suddenly the hands on the ivories stopped cold and a voice fairly vibrating with emotion whispered, “Angel?”

Kim stepped forward, shaking all over, but I could still see enough of her profile to know that any theater in Bay City could fill the house with sentimental movie freaks at five bucks a pop just to see the expression on her face. “Wade….”

The figure at the piano jumped to his feet and whirled around. He didn’t even see us. I think Hutch and I must have suddenly become invisible. I felt my hand extend and clutch at the sleeve of Hutch’s turtleneck. His corresponding hand latched lightly around my wrist. We steadied ourselves as though bracing for a shift along a fault-line.

Wade’s face filled with light and his mouth opened in a smile that defied years, pain, separation, war, and everything unpleasant. Then he ran his eyes over the small bundle of quivering female in front of him, sized up the baseball jersey, and suddenly spread his arms invitingly. Kim choked out a sob and threw herself against her best friend without further hesitation. Wade’s arms closed around her and held her tightly against him, lifting her off the ground. “Angel, I should never have left you…please forgive me.” He buried his face in her curls.

Hutch and I looked at each other. We knew we should discreetly bow out but we literally couldn’t move, still held fast in this incredible moment. Besides, the two people had forgotten our very existence.

“Wade….” was all Kim could verbalize.

Wade pulled back slightly and looked down at her, and even at this distance I could tell that his lower lashes glistened. “I shouldn’t…not before we talk… but I can’t help it. Over there, in country, I promised myself I would… oh, hell!” He confiscated her chin and lowered his face. The resulting contact of their lips and Kim’s impassioned gasp broke the spell woven around Hutch and me. Still clutching each other’s arms, we moved backwards through the double doors.

Standing in the corridor, we released our hold on each other and stared into corresponding blue eyes. Hutch expelled a deep breath. “Looks like it’s just the two of us again.”

I felt like a cat given a lifetime supply of the finest fresh seafood. “That’s not so bad, is it?”

“No, Starsky, not bad. Never bad.” The words were coated with sincerity. I felt my chest propelling a grin from my heart to my lips. “Partners,” he said softly.

“Best friends,” I said with equal softness.

“Sidekick.”

“Sidekick! Let’s get something straight, Hutchinson! I am not your sidekick. Just because you think you’re the brains in this partnership—”

Hutch clasped my shoulder and smiled straight into my soul. “Most important thing in the world to me.”

I laughed, the sound sheer screaming joy. “Well, when you put it like that….” I threw my arm around his shoulders as we turned around. Then I froze. “Thing?! First I’m a sidekick and now I’m a thing?!” Hutch burst out laughing. I scanned his face and joined in. We walked back down the corridor. I felt fine. All was right with the world. The future was going to be great. But if there’s to be a continuance of this saga, Blondie’s in charge of the writing because I’ve officially exhausted the muse.

THE END

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Chapter End Notes: For those interested in understanding the experiences of American Marines on Peleliu Island and Okinawa, see Eugene B. Sledge’s autobiography: With The Old Breed