Parallels

97

Starsky find the body of a dead woman and it brings up a lot of emotions he hasn’t yet dealt with on his own.

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David Michael Starsky sat on his kitchen floor staring at the empty amber colored bottles. Reaching over awkwardly he lined them up in neat rows, like pins in a bowling alley. Drinking beer on an empty stomach had done nothing to erase the heartbreaking image that was seared into his brain.

Earlier in the day, he had received an anonymous phone call from a worried citizen. Hutch had left early to do some banking and Starsky decided to investigate the scene on his own.

It really seemed so simple, so routine. A few newspapers had been stacking up on the porch of an older widow living in the Cherry Hill District of town. Her neighbors were worried and had tried unsuccessfully to gain entry, but the doors and windows had been locked.

Pulling up to the small brick house, Starsky parked the Torino under a shady tree. Whistling a tune, he approached the front door and knocked. As expected there was no answer. After peeking in the windows and trying the back door, he had no choice but to break a glass pane. Climbing inside, he was immediately aware that something was wrong. He sensed death in the air. It was hard to explain to the average citizen what a decomposing body smelled like, but it was foul and turned Starsky’s stomach every time. He pulled his gun out of its holster, and gently pushed open the bedroom door.

A woman lay on the bed, on top of a worn patchwork quilt. A very dead woman. She was wearing a floral housedress. Face pasty white, she had died clutching a photo in her hands. Glancing around the room, he also noticed an empty pharmacy bottle.

Suicide?

Reaching for the vial, he read the ingredients. Sleeping pills. “Oh God,” Starsky moaned into the air.

He had left the room, raced into the kitchen and picked up a phone to radio for back up. Something about the sight of this woman tugged at his heart and he didn’t understand it. He entered the room again hoping he could figure out why it was affecting him so strongly. Pulling his T-shirt up, he covered his nose to mask the offending odor and he quietly approached her.

She was not as old as he originally thought. Maybe in her late fifties. A pleasant, heart-shaped face with sightless blue eyes stared back at him. Her hair had a curly wave to it and the photo she held was yellowed and frayed at the edges.

Mom?

Reaching for the picture, Starsky felt the ground below him shift as he realized that the lady in the picture was the woman in the bed. Taken a long time ago, she was smiling from ear to ear. Next to her stood a uniformed policeman, his arm around her shoulders.

For some inexplicable reason, the Detective placed the picture in his coat pocket and left the house to await the coroner’s wagon.

********

Hutch was worried when Starsky didn’t call him as he had promised to earlier in the day. Pulling up in front of his partner’s apartment, he was relieved to see the tomato parked in its usual spot.

He walked to the door pushing it open and found his friend sitting on the floor surrounded by empty bottles of beer.

What the…? Hutch stared at his drunken friend in disbelief.

“Start the party without me, buddy?” Hutch asked as he knelt down in front of Starsky.

“Sorry, Hutch. I tried to wait for ya.” Starsky leaned his head back against the wall, feeling slightly sick.

“Man, you look trashed.” Hutch affectionately squeezed Starsky’s shoulders. “Let me straighten up and then help you get into bed.”

“Jus’ leave the bottles, Hush. I’ll pick them up later. No energy now though… tired.” Starsky slumped forward, resting his chin on his chest.

“Oh babe.” Hutch shook his head. With powerful arms, he grabbed his friend and pulled him into an upright position. Starsky leaned heavily into him.

“Come on, Starsk. Let’s get you settled into bed. How does that sound?”

“Sounds nice,” Starsky huskily replied as he attempted to put one foot in front of the other. The duo tripped and stumbled their way toward the bedroom with Hutch holding firmly onto his friend the entire way.

“Jeez, Starsk, you gonna make me carry you?” Hutch laughed, as Starsky started to pitch forward again. “Hang onto me you big lug, we’re almost there. See, there’s the bed.”

Leaning his burden against the mattress, Hutch attempted to maneuver his curly haired friend into a prone position. Once that task was complete, he made quick business of removing the Adidas and covering his partner with a flannel blanket.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hutch fidgeted. Something was wrong, that much was obvious, because it wasn’t Starsky’s habit to get drunk in the middle of the afternoon. Unless something was really bothering him?

“Starsk, you feel like telling me why you drank so much . . . alone, and in the middle of the day?”

Starsky turned to looked at his friend.

“Hutch, the room is spinning.” He grabbed onto the edge of the blanket, swallowed the acidic bile slowly rising up his throat. “God, I hate this feeling. Quit rockin’ the bed. ” Starsky placed one foot on the floor in an attempt to slow down the dizziness he was experiencing.

Hutch reached for the nearby trash can, just in case.

“Sorry, Starsk. I’ll try and sit still. Talk to me. What’s bugging you?” Hutch earnestly looked at his friend and waited.

“Why does something have to be ‘bugging me’ Hutch? Sometimes this job just gets to me…besides what’s with all the questions? I ain’t no perp. Just felt like having a few.” Starsky sighed deeply and then continued on with his ranting. “Why are ya making such a big deal out of it anyway? My own living room seems to be about the safest place to drink a few beers. Didn’t know I had to explain myself to my own partner.”

Anyone else would have taken offense to what Starsky had just said, but Hutch knew his partner and there was something else behind this defensive wall that Starsky was building up around himself.

“Okay, I know you must feel like crap right now but don’t you think for one minute that this conversation is finished. We’re gonna talk about this after you get some sleep.”

Looking at Starsky, Hutch could see that the beer and the events of the day were starting to take a physical toll on him. The curly head turned away and settled into the pillow. Not long after, soft even snoring came from the bed. For now, the answers would have to wait. Starsky was down for the count.

Hutch toyed with going back to the station and seeing what had happened between the time he had left his partner earlier and now. Maybe it would shed some light unto Starsky’s present state of mind. He was hesitant to leave Starsky alone in the condition he was in, so he sat down in the wicker chair in the living room, busied himself with the newspaper, and soon fell asleep.

A couple of hours later a clean, but scowling, Starsky emerged from the bathroom and without a word walked into the kitchen. Opening up the refrigerator he took out a bottle of root beer and slammed the refrigerator door shut. Glancing up at the wall clock, he saw it was now a little after 6:00 p.m.

He flung the bottle cap in the general direction of the kitchen trashcan and plopped himself down in one of the kitchen chairs.

Hutch looked over at his partner trying to gauge his state of mind.

Starsky looked like hell, he hadn’t combed his hair yet, his still wet curls dripping down his shirtfront. He had on a red flannel shirt, which he hadn’t even bother to button, his jeans were zipped up but his belt hung by its loops undone. Hutch knew that he must feel like crap from the drinking binge but the look on Starsky’s face and his uncommunicative attitude stopped Hutch from starting a conversation.

“You feel like going to the station for a while and finishing up some stuff? Neither one of us completed the reports on our desks and Dobey will have our hides if they aren’t done by tomorrow when he comes in.”

Starsky looked up from slipping on his already tied Adidas.

“No, but I guess I got no choice. Why did ya stay here Hutch? I’m not a baby; I can take care of myself you know. Didn’t need a baby-sitter.”

“Starsk?” Hutch’s tone was a quiet even one, he knew that what Starsky had just said was the beer talking, plus probably one whale of a headache.

Grabbing the keys to the Torino, Starsky angrily walked out of the house followed by an increasingly concerned Hutch.

“No way! I’m driving this embarrassment of a car, not you. Hand over the keys…now.”

Starsky relented, not really wanting to drive anyway.

He climbed into passenger seat, slumped against the cool window and remained silent for the entire drive into the station.

Sitting at their desks, Hutch tried to make small talk with his partner getting only grunts for answers. Unfortunately Captain Dobey had still been at the precinct, and as soon as the two detectives walked in, he had tossed the incomplete reports onto their desks with a scowl.

“Damn he’s mad,” Starsky muttered, as he picked up a pen and started to sign the forms in front of him.

“Starsk, you want something from the cafeteria?”

“Yeah, I guess I could eat something.” A slight smile flashed across Starsky’s face. “But I’m going to the cafeteria with you… the way my stomach feels I couldn’t hack one of your so called healthy meals.”

“Sure thing. I gotta go and speak to Dobey for a minute though. Wait here for me, won’t be more than a second of two.” Hutch walked into Captain Dobey’s office and shut the door behind him.

“Cap’n, you got a minute?”

The large man looked up from his desk and motioned for Hutch to sit down.

“Something wrong, Hutchinson?”

“Yeah you could say that, Cap’n. Something is bothering Starsky, something that happened earlier today after I left the station and he won’t talk to me about it.”

Captain Dobey slowly shook his head back and forth. “Hutch, I wasn’t going to bring this up unless it was necessary and now I see it is. Did Starsky tell you something?”

“Off the record, Cap’n, I went to his place and found him killing off a 12 pack of beer. That’s not like Starsk. What the hell is going on?”

Dobey filled Hutch in on what had happened earlier in the day.

“Hutch, he was following up on a call he got just after you left. Must have been a mighty gruesome scene that he found. According to what was in the reports he had found an old woman in her home lying on her bed. She had been dead for a while. Not sure yet just how she died, the coroner hasn’t gotten back to us yet, but there was a bottle of pills on the dresser and an almost empty glass of water nearby. Maybe her heart just stopped or maybe she took the pills…

“I do know Starsky wasn’t doing well with it at all. When he handed me his hastily written report his hands were shaking and he looked like he had seen a ghost—almost ran out of here. Hutch, he looked physically ill to me. Before I knew it he was out of the door.”

Hutch looked at his Captain with a puzzled expression.

“Thanks Captain. I think I’m going to take Starsk for a little ride, maybe get some food into him. Hopefully he’ll talk. See you in the morning.”

“Good luck, Hutchinson. I know how that stubborn partner of yours can be.”

Hutch returned to his desk and found his friend still sitting in his chair, head down on crossed arms.

“Starsk?” Hutch began tentatively.

“M’okay, Hutch. Just have a headache.” Starsky offered a lopsided grin.

Hutch ruffled Starsky’s dark curls. “Okay pal. Let’s skip the cafeteria; go to a real restaurant. The fresh air will do us both some good.”

“Sounds like a plan to me, Hutch.”

The ride to the diner went smoothly and soon both men were seated at a table in the back. Grabbing their menus they silently looked over the choices.

The waitress cheerfully took the order, a health food omelet for Hutch, and an order of dry toast and coffee for Starsky. Hutch remained silent at his friend’s choice of entrée.

Starsky looked out the window. He really needed to talk to Hutch, to tell him about the old lady he had found. Her image continued to plague him. She had looked so small, so alone…

Mom. Please forgive me.

God, but he felt awful. Maybe he was coming down with something other than the world’s worst hangover. The food arrived shortly. Starsky played around with his toast, and after a few bites gave up.

“You okay, buddy? Awful quiet there,” Hutch inquired as he drank the last of his iced tea.

Starsky’s mouth was watering. Not a good sign.

“Ohhh… Hutch. Shouldn’t have eaten that toast.” Starsky leaned back against the booth and started taking deep breaths. Not trusting his stomach any longer, he quickly stood up and exited the restaurant, leaving Hutch alone—shocked and worried at the sudden departure of his friend.

After paying for their meal, Hutch walked outside. He found Starsky sitting on a bench located at the edge of the parking lot. Starsky’s head was bent forward, his hands resting on his knees.

“Starsk. Feeling any better?” Hutch asked as he sat beside his partner.

“Not really. Ain’t gonna puke though.” Starsky rested his head on his Hutch’s shoulder.

“Starsk… we gotta talk.”

“Sure. But don’t think I’ll be much of a conversationalist, feeling like I do.” Starsky sighed and leaned further into his friend.

“I understand. But the thing is I need for you to tell me why the dead lady you found earlier has gotten to you like this? Something’s up, and I want you to tell me what.”

Starsky sighed. “Aw, Hutch. It was awful. She’d been dead for a while, the whole place reeked of it. Just thinkin’ about it makes me feel sick.”

“Go on,” Hutch urged.

“Not sure about the rest. Routine suicide I guess. Found the empty bottle of pills. Oh yeah, and she was clutching this picture.” Starsky pulled the weathered photo from his coat pocket. With unsteady hands he gave it to Hutch.

“Buddy, she looks an awful lot like your Mom,” Hutch observed.

“Yeah, I thought so too. The curly hair, and she had blue eyes too. And check out her husband, Hutch. He was a cop, like my Dad.”

“Yeah. You think it was her husband in this photo?”

“I saw her wedding picture on her bed table with that man. Yup, that’s her husband. Her neighbors also told me some stuff. How Mrs. Dunn, that’s her name, had died of a broken heart. That’s possible Hutch, you know. Sometimes people can feel so alone inside, they don’t want to go on. Ma’s been sorta feeling like that lately. Missing my Dad a lot. Complaining to me about Nick, how she wishes Pop was around to help her out with him.”

Starsky sat up straight and stared out at the empty parking lot.

“Starsk, how come you didn’t fly out to New York this weekend? I was going to ask you, but since you never brought it up, I thought it best to remain silent.”

“Huh? Oh, cuz it was Mother’s Day. I guess I was avoiding the whole rotten scene. Ma crying, and Nick lying and…I just didn’t wanna deal with it, Hutch.”

Squeezing his friend’s arm, Hutch handed the photo back to Starsky and stood up. Every year around Mother’s Day Starsky had a difficult time reconciling his guilt over not being with his mom. Even if he could get the time off, he really had no desire to be there. As much as Starsky loved his mother, Hutch knew something was broken between them. He wondered if Starsky had ever told his mother how he felt about being shipped off to California to live when he was a teenager. Although his head knew it was for the best, his heart felt sad and rejected.

“Let’s get going buddy. Get you some aspirin, put you back to bed. How does that sound?”

Starsky ruefully smiled at his partner. “Sounds terrific, Hutch. Thanks for listening to me. I know I sound like a dope, getting so wound up over this. It ain’t like I haven’t seen worse, right?”

“It’s okay, buddy. You’re just tired. A good night’s sleep and everything will look better in the morning, I promise.”

Hutch was suddenly anxious to get home; he had some unexpected work to do in order to right a wrong for his friend.

********

The dark mahogany wood was in sharp contrast to the stark white walls of Green’s Funeral Home. An eerie silence invaded the building as the two mourners slowly made their way up to the casket. Gently placing the picture into the casket, Starsky bowed his head and began to pray, inwardly grateful for the warm, loving figure hovering beside him.

“Come along, Davey. We have a lot to talk about.” Rachel Starsky grasped her son’s hand and they quietly exited the parlor.

From the corner of the room, Hutch looked at the entire scene thinking to himself that while Mrs. Dunn had finally found some type of peace, his partner still had a long way to go. At least the healing process could finally begin for Mother and Son, and knowing he had played a role in this Starsky family reunion, gave the detective a feeling of pride. It felt good to be able to help his friend like this.

Walking up to Mrs. Dunn, Hutch knelt in front of the casket. He began to speak to her.

“They say things happen for a reason. I’m sure at the time you would never have imagined that your own passing would play a part in the healing of two people. But it has. Rest in peace, Mrs. Dunn.”

 

THE END