St. Cloud

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A painful journey home.

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“On a bus to St. Cloud, Minnesota…
I thought I saw you there…
With the snow falling down around you…
Like a silent prayer.”

 

I’d flown to California to pay my last respects to one of the greatest men I’d ever known. I hadn’t seen Captain Dobey in 15 years. I’d spoken to him over the phone a few times, received a Christmas card every year. But I hadn’t actually seen him since the day I walked out of Metro for the last time. When his son, Cal, called to tell me he’d passed away, I knew I had to go back. He’d been an important part of my life all those years ago, and I needed to say goodbye. So I left my pregnant wife and our four children, got on a plane and flew back to my past life. A life I had loved a long time ago, a life I would probably still love had things been different.

The funeral was every bit as hard as I thought it would be. So many faces from my past-Cap’s wife Edith, his now grown children Cal and Rosie, Minnie, even Huggy. Seeing them was bittersweet. So many memories came flooding back, most of them good. But then that dull ache that often haunts my soul was brought to the surface full force; a painful reminder of the one thing missing in my life. Starsky.

My non-stop flight from LA to Minneapolis had turned out to be too good to be true. Due to an ice storm, the flight had been diverted to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. The only way to get home to St. Cloud before tomorrow night was to take a bus. I was surprised the buses were still running and even more surprised to find one going directly to St. Cloud. They were calling for all passengers to board when I hung up the pay phone after explaining the situation to Leanne. We’d been married for 12 years now, together for 16, and we’d never spent more than one night apart. I’d been gone for three days and was anxious to get back to the comfort of home so I could shake the ghosts that were haunting me. Still, it was going to be a good seven hours before I was home. Seven hours on a bus with 25 complete strangers and the memory of one man who had never been a stranger.

It’s no wonder that when I saw that thick, dark head of hair move in front of me, I almost reached out and touched him. My heart in my throat, I almost reached out and touched a dark-headed stranger. But then he turned around and looked at me. Those weren’t his eyes; that wasn’t his smile. I had allowed myself to believe it was because I wanted to see him. No, needed to see him, really. But it simply wasn’t him. The dark-headed man who now stood three people in front of me as we boarded the bus wasn’t my partner, but simply a stark reminder that those ghosts were not going to go quietly. He looked just like him from behind, though. All these years and I could still picture him clearly in my mind. That unruly head of hair, the rumpled clothes, eyes that sparked with anger and danced with joy, the mischievous crooked grin or thoughtful scowl. God, I missed him.

I took a window seat five rows behind the man I’d thought was Starsky, and was happy that no one decided to sit next to me. The bus wasn’t full, and the few of us who were traveling alone apparently wanted to remain that way. I casually peered at the dark-haired man’s profile. He was with a young woman and was smiling at her, but it definitely wasn’t the smile I still had dreams about on occasion. I turned my eyes away when he glanced back at me, apparently sensing I was staring at him. I chuckled to myself, wondering what he thought I was up to anyway. Wearily I leaned my head against the cold windowpane and watched the faces of the shivering people lined outside the station. As the bus rumbled to life and pulled away, I closed my eyes and let out an exhausted sigh. After two days of doing battle with my own mind, I couldn’t fight it any longer. My thoughts drifted back 15 years, to a time when I had all that I could ever want and the unfortunate circumstances that took a big part of it away.

~

It had started out like any other assignment. Starsky and I had gone undercover at Bartley’s, a combination restaurant/bar that served a relatively highbrow crowd. The owner, Thomas Wilson Bartley III, had long been suspected of heading up one of the biggest crime syndicates in California, with drug running and money laundering at the top of his resume. There had never been proof, however, or probable cause, until one of his managers, John Ferris, turned up dead. It appeared that Ferris was pilfering money from Bartley’s and could no longer live with the guilt or thought of facing time in prison, so he conveniently gassed himself to death in his own garage. At least that’s what the suicide note claimed. A crime team had determined the death suspicious, however, and homicide was called in. Officially it went on record as a suicide, but Starsky and I were to go undercover as soon as possible.

There were only two employees of Bartley’s who would know our true identities. Leanne Carter was a head waitress who worked part-time four nights a week. She and manager Stanley Baker had both undergone careful background checks and had come back clean, so they were apprised of the situation and asked to cooperate with the investigation. One of them was to be there at all times when Starsky and I were on just in case anything should happen. The motive for Ferris’ death had yet to be determined, but Baker did not wish to meet the same fate, so he readily agreed to cooperate fully. Leanne was a bit more cautious, as she had a young son to consider, and was concerned about any retribution if Bartley found out she was involved. I spoke with her at great length about the situation, assuring her there was no way Bartley would ever know of their involvement should a case be built against him. Not fully convinced but wanting to see justice served, she hesitantly agreed to cooperate and our assignment began.

Starsky always had a flair for making his undercover personas interesting. He’d spent over half his life in California, but had never managed to shake the East Coast dialect he’d acquired as a child. Oh, he could speak without it, if he concentrated hard enough, but his words would come out slowly and forced, and you’d swear his eyes were going to bulge right out of his head. Over the years he had managed to perfect a small cast of wacky characters with diluted foreign accents to cover his speech pattern, and I’d expected him to go with one of those. This time, however, he decided to add a new character to his repertoire.

“Carlos” was an overzealous, flirtatious Spanish bartender with a penchant for just breaking into song. In his broken English, he would croon anything from Sinatra’s “My Way” to Jimmy Buffet’s “Margaritaville” while gliding from customer to customer, endlessly pouring Tequila shooters or drawing draughts of beer. His lighthearted wit and naïve charm had made him an instant success with the women who frequented the bar. And, I suppose, his snug-fitting black jeans and crisp white shirt unbuttoned to show just a few tufts of thick, dark chest hair may have come into play as well. Whatever the appeal, he was a definite hit and was loving every minute of it. It was his best work to date. Little did we know it was to be his swan song.

I, on the other hand, decided to remain low-key and became “Phillip,” your average, run-of-the-mill host. No, there was nothing interesting about Phillip. He was pleasant enough, quiet, polite and very organized. He, as well, had become a hit with the customers in his own right. They were always quite pleased with the swift manner in which he ran the front lobby, rarely having to wait longer than 15 minutes for a table, and NEVER if they had reservations. I found myself surprised each night at the generous tips that I’d accumulated during the course of the evening. Of course, Carlos always had twice the amount, along with numerous phone numbers scrawled on cocktail napkins or receipts.

Normally I would have been annoyed at my partner’s antics and his knack for turning business into pleasure, but my more subdued hosting position was proving to have some perks of its own. It allowed me to spend a great deal of time with Leanne. I was instantly smitten with her and, despite my better judgment, couldn’t stop myself from asking her to go out with me. I was ecstatic when she said yes and our fist date was nothing short of perfect. She was beautiful and sensitive and caring and funny–everything I’d been looking for. She was also a single mother to a five-year-old boy named Sean. His father, to whom Leanne had been married, was killed in a car accident before Sean was born. He’d never known a father, and I’d never known a son, so the two of us hit it off immediately. I found myself falling as fast and hard for him as I was for his mother.

Some nights, when her mother didn’t mind keeping Sean, Leanne would stay with me and we would sit quietly in the corner of the lounge, watching Carlos as he dazzled his way around the bar. After last call, he would usually join us and we’d sit and laugh and talk for hours. Leanne had won the Starsky seal of approval. My best friend and the woman I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with had formed their own bond. It was a perfect situation all around. I should have known it wouldn’t last.

We had been under for a little over a month, and nothing had turned. Starsky, having more occasion to work with Bartley than I, had established a fairly good relationship with him. Bartley appeared to be trusting of Carlos, but despite Starsky’s strong hinting that Carlos was willing to do some “extra work” on the side, Bartley didn’t waiver an inch. There was no indication he or his most trusted and loyal employees were involved in any illegal activity.

The department was becoming frustrated with our lack of evidence, and Starsky and I were frazzled as well. We didn’t want to drop the operation completely because we were certain Bartley was guilty of all the crimes he was suspected of, but at the same time we wanted to shed Carlos and Phillip and get our lives back in order. I had practically moved in with Leanne and Sean and was anxious to find out how they would adjust to my “normal” way of life once Starsk and I were back on the streets. Starsky was itching to get his social life back on track as well. He’d changed his swinging bachelor ways a little over the years, exchanging his string of one-night-stands for relationships that would last at least all of a week or two. But he’d been experiencing a bit of a dry spell before this operation began, and his frustration over not being able to take advantage of the countless phone numbers Carlos had accumulated was starting to wear on his nerves.

Once Dobey finally made the decision to pull us, it was determined that it would appear too suspicious if both Carlos and Phillip quit at the same time. I left first, using the excuse of having to return to my hometown for an extended period of time to attend to a family emergency. I was assured a job awaited me when I returned and was sent off with a small cake and ice cream. Carlos, on the other hand, was about to have some serious green card trouble and was to be noisily escorted away a week later. Carlos’ extravagant departure never happened, though, as all the evidence we would ever need to send Bartley to prison for the rest of his days fell neatly into Starsky’s lap just three days after I’d left. It was the way that it fell that caused our lives to change forever.

~

I was sitting in Leanne’s living room waiting for her to come home. Sean had been tucked in bed for a few hours now and I was half-watching some bad late-night movie with Bella Lugosi that Starsky would have known line for line. It made me start to think about Starsk and how little time we had spent together outside of work lately. I’d been spending what little free time I had with Leanne and Sean, and he’d been–well, I wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been doing. It was rare that I didn’t know what was going on with my rambunctious partner. He had pretty much made himself scarce when we weren’t at Bartley’s, knowing Leanne and I needed time to get to know one another. In what little time we did have alone, I’d shared with him how I was feeling about Leanne and Sean, and I knew that he was genuinely happy for me. He’d joked about refusing to wear some ruffled tuxedo when he was best man at the wedding. I knew he understood, but I missed him.

I was thinking that he had mentioned plans to wax the Torino over the weekend and that maybe I could pop over to help him then we’d eat pizza and watch a game or something, when Leanne pulled into the driveway. I looked at the clock and realized that she was close to a half an hour late. As I stood from the chair and walked toward the door to greet her, I noticed a familiar set of headlights turn on to the street. I pulled the curtain back and watched as Starsky’s Torino pulled into a parking space on the side of the street about four driveways down. I opened the door for Leanne, who had made her way up the steps, and kissed her as she flew past me, frantically asking me to close the door. I did as she asked, and peered once again through the curtain at Starsky, who still remained in the Torino. Something was definitely wrong.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I turned and faced her.

“David will be here in a minute, honey,” her voice was shaky as she shed her jacket. “We’ve got to wait for him.”

I raised my eyebrows and stepped closer to her. “Leanne, what is it? Are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” she answered and kissed me on the cheek. “I need a drink, though. Will you pour me a glass of wine?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Sit down.” I moved toward the kitchen as she flopped down on the couch. “What is Starsky doing?” I called out as I poured some wine.

“He’ll be in in a minute, Ken. He wants to make sure we weren’t followed.”

“Followed? What the hell?” I handed her the wine and watched as she nervously lifted the glass to her lips.

“David will explain everything,” she said after taking a sip.

“Leanne…” I sat across from her on the coffee table.

“Ken, please,” she motioned for me to be quiet with her hand. “Just wait, honey. Please.” She looked over her shoulder down the hall. “Is Sean asleep?”

“Yeah, he’s been asleep for hours.”

“He’s OK?”

“He’s fine.”

If I hadn’t have been listening for it, and if it weren’t such a familiar sound to me, I never would have heard Starsky’s car door close. I got up from the coffee table and went back to the door. Peering through the curtain, I watched as Starsky cautiously slinked across the street and around the back of the house. I moved to the back door and opened it just as he reached the top step. His eyes met mine only briefly as he brushed past me.

“Starsk, what the hell is going on?” I asked, instinctively checking behind him before I closed the door.

“I need a drink, Hutch. Got any beer?” He looked back over his shoulder at me as he moved into the living room.

“Yeah, I got beer.” I rose my arms in frustration, then opened the refrigerator and retrieved two beers. I had a feeling I was going to need one as well before whatever was going on was over.

“You OK?” I heard him ask Leanne.

“Yes, I’m fine.” She smiled at him as he took the beer from me and settled himself in the rocking chair.

I couldn’t stop myself from checking the street one more time. Everything looked fine, so I sat next to Leanne on the sofa. “OK, you two, you wanna fill me in on what’s going on?”

Starsky sucked in a long breath and his eyes shifted to the floor. “It’s Bartley. We got him.”

“What?” I sat up straighter. “You got him? Well, that’s-that’s good, right?” My eyes darted between Starsky and Leanne. “What happened?”

The two of them looked at each other, and Leanne took a deep breath. She opened her mouth to say something, but Starsky quickly interrupted.

“I heard him,” he said, still looking at her.

“David,” she began.

Starsky didn’t let her finish. “I heard him in the storeroom.”

My eyes continued to shift between the two. “You heard him? You heard him what?”

“David…” Leanne began again but was abruptly interrupted once more.

“I needed some limes,” Starsky said, shifting his gaze in my direction, but not looking me directly in the eye. “I was in the storeroom looking for them. Bartley came in with one of his henchmen-someone I haven’t seen before. They must not have realized I was there, because they started talking about business.”

“Business? You mean…”

“They’re planning another murder. ” His eyes finally found mine.

The eye contact did nothing to calm the growing concern that something was wrong. “Who? Someone at the restaurant?”

He shook his head. “No. Bartley’s assistant. Apparently he’s starting to balk.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

I smiled, hoping I was just imagining that something wasn’t right here. “And you heard the whole thing?”

“Mm-hmm.” He nodded slowly.

“God, Starsk. We’ve got him!” I reached over and patted him on the knee. “You’re right, we’ve got him!”

“Yeah.” He attempted a smile as well, but his tone was low and flat.

My suspicion continued to grow by the second. “Well, try to sound a little more happy, huh?” I took a drink from my beer, trying not to let on I knew something was wrong. “Where’s it going to go down? When tomorrow?”

Starsky sat back in the chair and absently ran his hand through his hair, something he only did when he was nervous. “Tomorrow afternoon. Apparently his assistant has a nasty habit.” He took a drink from his beer and fidgeted with the bottle. “He’s going to be the unfortunate victim of a drug deal gone wrong.”

I slapped my knee with the palm of my hand. “All right!” I sounded more excited than I actually was. “We’ve got to call Dobey,”

“I already did.”

“David.” Leanne looked up quickly and sat forward on the couch.

Starsky ignored her, continuing to fidget with the bottle. “We’ve got to be in first thing in the morning. He’s lining up some other detectives to go undercover, but the bust is ours.”

“Wait a minute, you two,” Leanne said more to Starsky than to me as she put her wine glass down on the coffee table. “So you bust the hitman? Do you really think he’ll name Bartley?”

“No, he probably won’t, sweetheart. He’d be killed if he did,” I took her hand in mine and tried to ignore the fact she was looking at me like she just remembered I was in the room. “But Starsky heard it all. We’ve got his testimony to seal it.”

“So what’s going to keep him from going after him?” Her voice shook as her attention returned to Starsky.

“I’m a cop, Leanne,” Starsky sighed. “It won’t be as easy for him to get to me.”

“Yeah, honey,” I said reassuringly. “We’ll be able to protect him.” I squeezed her hand tighter, trying to regain her attention. “We’ve both testified in big cases before. It is dangerous, but we can handle it.”

“It’ll be fine, Leanne.” His voice reaffirmed what I’d just said, and I watched as the two of them exchanged a long, troubled look.

It was time to find out what was really going on. I turned back toward Starsky and snickered. “My God, Starsk! All this time, and it just took you looking for some lemons to nail him.”

“Yeah, go figure.” He smiled nervously and shrugged.

“Or was it limes?” I asked suspiciously.

He swallowed hard and gave me a puzzled look. “Limes?”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “You said it was limes before.”

“I did?” He bit his lip, another nervous gesture I was all too familiar with.

“Yeah, you did.” I nodded.

“Well, it was one of the two.” He shrugged and looked away.

I cocked my head at him. “So which was it? Lemons or limes?”

“What difference does it make?” he asked, his attention suddenly back to his beer bottle.

That was it. I’d gotten him. Now I needed to know why he was lying.

“All right, you two. What’s going on here?”

They exchanged a long look again. Starsky finally broke eye contact with her and laughed nervously as his gaze shifted toward me. “Nothing. What do you mean?”

“Something’s going on between you two. And I want to know what it is.”

He swallowed and looked away from me without saying a word. He could pull off lying to anybody but me, and he knew better. This had to be serious for him to even try. My heart began to race as my eyes shifted between the troubled faces of the two most important people in my life.

“Tell me what’s going on now.” I demanded.

“He’s got to know, David.” Leanne’s voice shook.

“Know what?” I asked again, my patience wearing thin.

Starsky blew out a long breath and Leanne picked up her wine glass and took a small sip. “David didn’t hear anything.” She said finally, placing the glass back on the coffee table.

“What?” I stared questioningly at her.

“Oh, Leanne…” Starsky barely whispered and shook his head.

She stood up and looked down at Starsky, determination in her eyes. “David, we can’t do this. He’s got to know.”

“Know what?” I stood up as well, blocking her view of Starsky. I grabbed her by the elbows and looked worriedly into her eyes. “Tell me what the hell is going on now!”

Her eyes wearily wandered over my face and she shrugged. “It wasn’t David who overheard Bartley in the storeroom. It was me.”

“You?” My grip tightened on her arms.

She shook free of my grasp and turned her back to me. “Yes, me.”

I looked back at Starsky, who was staring blankly at the floor. All of a sudden it made sense. He was covering for her.

“Leanne heard Bartley?” I asked him.

He wouldn’t look at me. He simply nodded his head and closed his eyes.

I took a step closer to him. “Starsk?” I needed to hear him say it.

He opened his eyes and looked up at me. “It was Leanne, Hutch. Not me.”

I nodded my head disbelievingly. “I see,” I managed to breathe out as I sat heavily on the couch.

Starsky sat forward and put his beer on the coffee table. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned toward me. “Hutch, she told me everything. No one has to know that it wasn’t me.”

When I didn’t say anything, he reached out and touched my knee. “She can’t testify, Hutch.”

I nodded at him and lowered my head into my hands, kneading my forehead with my fingers. He was right. She couldn’t testify. Her life, Sean’s life-both would be in danger if she did. But was this really the answer?

“Starsky, do you realize what you’re proposing we do here?” I finally found my voice and broke the heavy silence.

“Hutch, she told me everything. It’s not lying, not really.”

A small laugh escaped my throat. “Then what is it, Starsk, huh?”

“It’s just replacing Leanne with me that’s all.”

“Replacing?”

“Yeah, replacing.”

I shook my head and looked up at the ceiling, then at Leanne, who still stood silently with her back to us. I got up from the couch and walked over to her, putting my arms around her. She leaned back into the embrace and I placed a soft kiss in her hair.

“We can’t do this, Ken,” she said softly as I squeezed her tighter and rested my chin on top of her head. “We can’t do this to David.”

“So what do we do then?” Starsky asked as he walked toward us. “Do we let Bartley off? Do we let him kill that man tomorrow?”

“No,” I said flatly, briefly looking back at him.

“Do you have any other ideas?”

“No.”

“Then what else can we do, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

The three of us stood silently for a few moments, Leanne and I holding on to each other with Starsky off to the side watching us. I reached out and grasped his shoulder, knowing he was right, but still trying to come up with another solution.

“There’s got to be another way,” Leanne said finally. It was more of a question than a statement.

“There isn’t.” Starsky took her hand in his and smiled slightly. “It’s done anyway. I told you, I talked to Dobey already.”

“What exactly did you tell him?” I asked.

“Just what I told you. That I overheard Bartley and that it’s going down tomorrow. There’s no way out of it now.”

Suddenly I was mad. Not at him really, and certainly not at Leanne, but at the situation. I let go of Leanne and took him by the arm, leading him in the kitchen.

“Dammit, Starsky. We should have talked about this first.”

“Why?” He sighed and sat down at the table.

I sat down across from him. “Because we’re partners. Because this should have been our decision. Not your decision. Our decision.”

Starsky folded his hands on the table and leaned toward me. “Hutch, we would have come to the same conclusion, and you know it. All we would have done was waste precious time. This way it’s done.” He looked down at his hands. “I told you, everything is in place. All we have to do is make the bust tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Make the bust and then you commit perjury. Real simple, Starsk.”

Starsky looked up from his folded hands. “Perjury? Hutch, she told me everything. You believe her, don’t you?”

“What? Of course I believe her! That’s crazy.” I raised my voice.

“Then what difference does it make whether it was her or me, huh?” His voice rose as well. “We’re not lying about the evidence, just who heard it. All that matters is that we nail Bartley and we save that guy from getting killed tomorrow.”

I stared at him for a moment. “It’s just not right,” I finally said.

He lowered his voice and leaned in closer to me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Well, then what is right, huh? Do we let Leanne testify? Is that what you want? You want her to have to go into hiding until the trial? You want her to testify, then have to worry constantly that she’s going to be killed? Is that what you want?”

“No.”

He let go of my shoulder. “Or do you just want to ignore what we’ve got, and let Bartley walk? Do you want that?”

“No.”

“Then what else do you propose we do?” He shrugged.

“Dammit, Starsky.” I got up abruptly from the chair and slammed it against the table. I leaned against the counter and lowered my head, frustrated that no matter how much I wanted to argue, I knew he was right.

Starsky followed and stood next to me, leaning his backside against the counter. “Look, don’t get mad at me, Hutch. I only did what I thought was best for all of us.”

I looked up at him and watched him stare at his feet. “I know, Starsk. And I’m not mad at you. I’m just…”

“Mad?” He looked up at me.

I nodded at him. “Yeah.”

“Well, I’m a little ticked myself,” he said, resting his shoulder against mine and folding his arms. “You have any idea how many tips I was making there, hmm?”

I smiled despite myself. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

He shrugged and half-smiled at me and we stood together, our shoulders touching and eyes locked. That was it. It was decided. There was no going back now.

“So you two have made up your minds, huh?” We both snapped our heads in the direction of Leanne’s voice. She stood in the kitchen doorway with her hands on her hips. I turned back and smiled again at Starsk, then walked over to her and pulled her into a hug.

“It’s going to be all right, sweetheart.” I breathed into her ear.

“What if Dave gets hurt?” Her words were muffled against my shoulder.

“I’ll be fine.” He sounded so convincing, I almost believed him.

Leanne, on the other hand, was not so easily persuaded. She pulled away from me and stood between us, taking Starsky’s hand.

“How can you be so sure?”

Starsky smiled at her and jutted his chin in my direction. “That’s what I keep Blondie here around for.” He placed his free hand over hers and kissed her on the forehead. She smiled softly at him, then pulled him into a hug.

“All right,” she said, still with hesitation, then pulled away from him.

“All right,” he repeated, loosely hanging on to her hand until she had moved out of his reach.

She brushed past me then stopped suddenly and turned to face us both again.

“Oh, and, David?”

“Huh?” He cocked his head at her.

“It was limes.”

“What?”

“I was looking for limes, not lemons. You might want to get that straight.”

She disappeared into the living and left us alone to devise our final plan.

~

“In a church in downtown New Orleans…
I got down on my knees and prayed.
And I wept in the arms of Jesus…
For the choice you made.”

 

After a sleepless night for both of us, Starsky and I went to the station the following morning and faced Dobey. Starsky gave him all the details of what he’d supposedly heard without even a twitch. The details of his story were airtight, and by the time he was through, I was beginning to wonder if I hadn’t just imagined the scene at Leanne’s the previous night. But once Dobey left the office, I watched Starsky let out a long, relieved breath as he sank heavily into the chair, and the reality of the situation passed through me like an electrical current. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the growing feeling of dread and the sickening ache in the pit of my stomach. I was convinced a dear price was attached to this stunt-a price greater than I was willing to pay.

The arrest went off without a hitch. We saved the life of Bartley’s assistant and nabbed his professional hitman. As expected, the hit refused to name Bartley, forcing Starsky to reveal all he’d supposedly heard. Bartley was brought in for questioning, complete with a set of lawyers being paid a handsome price to pull out all the stops to clear his name. There were cries of entrapment and false accusations. Starsky’s entire career was placed under close scrutiny, but there was nothing that they could use against him. My partner was an outstanding cop, and his record was impeccable. His testimony could not have been deemed more credible. The FBI was brought in immediately to take over the investigation with assistance from the department. Their investigators had found solid evidence of Bartley’s involvement in numerous crimes. Coupled with Starsky’s damaging testimony, the case was pretty much airtight and charges were formally filed. It appeared Bartley was going to go down, and the leading crime syndicate on the West Coast was going to go with him.

Because of the caliber of crimes involved, there was talk of possibly being able to offer Starsky anonymity. The judge on the case would hear nothing of it, however, and Starsk was set to testify. The FBI warned of the dangers and offered to put him in seclusion until the trial, but he refused. He reasoned that a hit on him would be too obvious and would only guarantee Bartley’s conviction. I knew he was right, but that didn’t stop me from worrying about him constantly. The guilt Leanne and I felt was overwhelming. She and I would sit awake night after night, debating how we could possibly allow this to happen. But there was simply no way out. Telling the truth now would only get Bartley off the hook and Starsky fired from the force, possibly even brought up on charges. Not to mention placing Leanne’s life on the line as well. So I sat back and watched as the best friend I’d ever known was put through the ringer and testified to things he’d never really seen.

The trial carried on for two long months. Starsky’s testimony took a day and a half, and was brought up again and again during the course of the trial. It was, without question, the final nail in Bartley’s coffin. He was found guilty of all counts of the numerous crimes and faced the rest of his life in prison. The trial may have been over, but I feared the true danger had only just begun.

Starsky and I both knew that we’d really fallen into it this time, and I was afraid there was no getting out. I became obsessive in my protectiveness of him, needing to know where he was at all times. Loud noises made me jump out of my skin, and I would become nauseous each time he started his car. Despite his assurances that he was not being threatened, I was certain an attempt was going to be made on his life. I had experienced the same thing a few years prior after he’d been shot in the parking garage, but not to this extent. The guilt over the fact that he had so blatantly put his life on the line all for my happiness was dangerously close to consuming me. He begged me to get over it, to move on, but I simply couldn’t.

The only lifeline I really had was Leanne. While she struggled with her own guilt, she came to the realization that if we didn’t move on, allow our lives to go back to normal, then it all was for nothing. Starsky had risked his life, his career, our partnership for what? So that I could become a total basket case? She was right, I knew, and I worked hard at pulling myself together. I could tell Starsky was struggling with his decision as well, and my reaction was doing nothing to help him. I made up my mind to get a handle on my emotions for all of our sakes. It was difficult, but I managed, and soon everything began to feel normal in my life again. Starsky and I were back on the streets, our friendship never stronger, and my relationship with Leanne continued to thrive. All appeared to be well. But, then again, things are never really quite what they seem, are they?

Looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t see it coming. I was concentrating so hard on NOT worrying about him, I overlooked all the signs. He had become a bit distant, preoccupied, always had somewhere to be or someone to meet. I asked him repeatedly what he was doing, and he told me he’d joined some sort of book club. A good way to meet intelligent women, he’d told me. Truthfully, a part of me may have known what was really happening, but I denied it to myself. That I was going to lose him was the last thing I wanted to admit.

I’ll never forget the last time I saw him. It had been an ordinary day. We were actually pulling a normal shift for once, 8-5. There were no major busts to speak of, no dangerous situations. Just us in that car, roaming the streets, talking to a few connections. We’d laughed and argued, ate bad food and drank even worse coffee. A typical day in the life. But as the afternoon approached, our moods changed. He became quiet and sad, and so did I, though I wasn’t certain why.

We were getting ready to leave the station, and I was following him down the hall. He opened the door to one of the interrogation rooms and checked to see if anyone was there. It was empty, so he signaled for me to follow him. He shut the door and stood in the middle of the floor looking down. He looked sad and confused. He was obviously struggling to find words, so I placed my hand on his shoulder.

“What is it, Starsk?”

He didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the floor. I shook him slightly, a lump growing in my throat.

“Starsk? Hey, come on. You’re scaring me here.”

He looked up at me, his eyes a midnight shade of blue and rimmed with tears. I squinted as I searched his tormented eyes for an answer as to what was wrong. He swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling, and suddenly, out of nowhere, I knew. It all made sense. The secret meetings, his preoccupation with this “book club.” He’d been planning to leave. And now he was struggling with goodbye.

“No,” I breathed as my own eyes filled. He pulled me into a tight embrace and we stood that way for a few moments, silently sobbing into each other’s shoulders.

When he finally spoke, there were no jokes about cowboy boots or capped teeth, no bad Bogey impressions. Just a simple, whispered, “Be happy, Hutch.” Then, “I love you.”

God, no. This wasn’t happening. What could I do? How? Why? I couldn’t just let him go, not like this. I held on to him and shook my head in disbelief. He managed to pull away from me and our tear-filled eyes met for one final time. He forced a crooked grin and it swam in and out of focus in my tear-clouded vision. He sucked in a long breath, nodded once and wiped at his eyes. I just stood there, unable to utter a word as he opened the door, looked back over his shoulder and slowly sauntered away. I stood stunned, looking at the empty space for a moment, then somehow regained my senses. My God, he was leaving and I didn’t say one word to him, didn’t tell him I loved him too. I stumbled out into the hall.

“Starsky!” My voice trembled, more of a tiny squeak than the intended shout. Others in the hall looked up at me, but if he heard me, he didn’t let on. I couldn’t force my feet to move, so I stood there, barely breathing, watching as the man I had loved more than any brother swaggered down the hallway, paused for a short second, then disappeared down the corridor and out of my life forever.

~

The story was all over the morning news, along with his police ID photo and footage of the fire-ravaged Torino being hauled up the rocky side of a cliff. “Burned beyond recognition,” they’d said, “no evidence of foul play.” Bay City had awoken to the news that one of its heroes had met his death after failing to negotiate a sharp corner of a rain-slicked canyon road. No one was certain where he was headed and no one was available for comment, other than to say he was one of Bay City’s finest and he was going to be sorely missed.

Captain Dobey showed up on my doorstep with an apology that I hadn’t been told of the news personally. No one had bothered to inform him either, and heads were going to roll. Huggy arrived at one point, though I wasn’t aware of his presence until after my emotions broke and I overturned the small television in my kitchen. I remember him staring blankly at me, then down at the upset TV. The picture tube was smashed, but the distorted voice of the too cheerful anchorwoman bantering with the weatherman over when this rain would end just mere seconds after reporting on my partner’s death continued to fill the otherwise silent kitchen.

There was a funeral a few days later. I don’t remember much about it, except the guilt and sorrow that overwhelmed me as I watched his mother mourn the death of her eldest son. I wanted to tell her what I knew. But what good would it do? Whether the corpse that lay in the closed silver casket was him or not, made no difference now. He was gone. Nothing was going to change that. So I sat quietly in my dress uniform, shaking hands and acknowledging the heartfelt words of condolence from those who knew how close we were.

I returned to work and kept up the charade for a few months. I refused to be assigned another partner but did agree, at Dobey’s urging, to take the lieutenant’s exam. My relationship with my co-workers became strained, and I soon found myself simply going through the motions of doing my job with little interaction with anyone except Dobey. We rarely spoke about what happened to Starsk, and I don’t know if he knew the truth or not. Someone in the department had to have coordinated the accident and covered up the lies. When Starsky’s name did come up, the conversation usually ended in laughter, and something about the look in his eyes told me that he knew. It really didn’t matter. Starsky was gone. And so was a part of me.

I had passed my exam, but never did pin on lieutenant. I gave my notice exactly two weeks before the ceremony. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I had given thought over the years, of course, to what I would do if I lost him. Would I be able to continue on? Somehow I always thought I could because that’s what he would have wanted. And I think if circumstances had have been different, if he had have really gone over that cliff, or if I had have lost him that day in the parking garage, I would have carried on. I know that sounds terrible, and it’s difficult to admit. But at least in those ways I would have lost him while he was doing what he loved, while he was being who he was. This way just seemed so wrong. I think it’s because I knew he was out there somewhere, living as another person. My partner hadn’t died; he’d been removed, erased. I sometimes wished I’d never known the truth.

I guess I’d always thought that as long as we both remained on this earth, we’d be together in one way or another. At least remain in close contact. But knowing he was out there somewhere, wondering what he was doing, who he’d become, was more than I could handle. So, under the guise of grief over his death, I quit. Dobey didn’t even try to persuade me to stay. He knew there was nothing he could do or say that could keep me. My life as Police Detective Kenneth Hutchinson was over.

So I packed Leanne and Sean up and we headed to the only other place I’d ever known as home: Minnesota. I didn’t want to go back to Duluth and my family, so we moved to St. Cloud, about a hundred miles south of “I told you so.” I had managed to put some money away, but Leanne decided to get a job as a secretary in an insurance firm, while I took time to figure out what I wanted to do. I found myself spending the majority of my time writing songs and playing my guitar. I eventually took a job playing with one of the local bands at weddings and dances on weekends. I even managed to sell a couple of my songs. Nothing anyone would have ever heard. A couple of throwaway B sides. But I was proud of them just the same.

Leanne and I eventually got married. We wanted to keep it small and private, but our families had other ideas. We compromised and settled for a medium-sized outdoor wedding, complete with bridesmaids and ushers. There was no best man.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about my past life and my best friend. I wonder where he is, what he’s done with his life, if he ever regrets his decision. I know he’s still out there somewhere and I know he thinks about me, too. Sometimes I’ll be working in the garden or playing with one of my kids, and I’ll hear his voice in a soft, raspy whisper, “Be happy, Hutch.”

I am, Starsk, I am. Are you?

~

“And you chase me like a shadow.
And you haunt me like a ghost.
I hate you so…
And I love you so…
But I miss you most.”

 

The ringing of a cell phone snapped my mind back to the present. Blinking rapidly, I glanced down at my watch. Close to four hours had passed, and I barely remembered one of them. The bus had rumbled to a stop at a couple of terminals along the way and more passengers had boarded, but I had been too lost in my thoughts to get off and walk around. My back and shoulders ached in protest of sitting too long, and I groaned as I stretched my stiff legs as far as the cramped seating would allow. I reached out and wiped at the condensation that had formed on the window of the bus, and a “Welcome to St. Paul” sign blurred into my tear-clouded vision. God, I was crying? For how long? I wiped at my eyes with the back of my sleeve and self-consciously looked around at the other passengers. An older lady sitting across the aisle glanced away from her crocheting long enough to offer a faint smile, and I smiled back, relieved that no one else had seemed to notice. I leaned my head against the back of the seat and watched as the familiar Minnesota landscape passed outside the window. Just a few hours more and I would be home.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the bus driver’s deep voice startled me. “I’ve just been informed that a good portion of the highway is still frozen over and has not been cleared for traffic. Unfortunately, this means we will be stopping in St. Paul for a longer than expected period of time. We’ll be pulling into the station in approximately five minutes. All passengers will please exit the bus at that time and remain at the station. As soon as is possible, we will be back on the road. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.”

A collective groan echoed throughout the bus. I closed my eyes against the sting of the fresh tears brought on by the disappointing news. Sighing heavily, I slumped in the seat and attempted to pull myself together. All I wanted to do was go home. Was that too much to ask?

About 10 minutes later, the bus pulled into the station and we all filed out into the crisp, cold air. I phoned Leanne to let her know about the latest obstacle in my journey home. I assured her I was all right, and that I’d let her know when the bus was back on the road. After taking a much needed bathroom break, I got a cup of weak, tepid coffee from a machine, and settled myself on an empty bench. I sat back and sipped at my coffee, taking inventory of my fellow travelers. Looking at them all, I realized I had no right to feel sorry for myself. Each one of their weary faces seemed to display their own turmoil. We were all in this together.

The dull ache that had been forming behind my eyes was steadily increasing. I sat my coffee cup down on the bench and pinched them shut. Resting my elbows on my knees, I rubbed at the bridge of my nose with my thumb and pointer finger. The vision of the last time I saw Starsky had embedded itself in my brain, and I watched repeatedly as he disappeared around that corner. I rubbed harder at my eyes, trying to make the image disappear, but it simply wouldn’t go away.

Then I heard the voice. Somewhere in the distance, almost drowned out by the roar of activity in the station, I heard his voice. Not a voice that simply sounded like his; not a voice in my imagination, but HIS voice.

“Kendra, sweetie, we don’t have time for this. We’re gonna miss Grandma.”

I jerked my head out my hands and frantically darted my widened eyes in the direction of the voice. A little girl about seven years old with thick auburn curls standing next to a candy machine came into view. She was wearing a yellow rain slicker and galoshes. Repeatedly she pulled at one of the machine’s levers in an attempt to get the trapped candy bar to drop.

“But, Daddy, it’s stuck,” she whined, glancing up.

My eyes followed her upward gaze. There leaning against the machine was a man of average height and build with short, dark, wavy hair, just a touch gray at the temples. He wore a matching yellow rain slicker, jeans and blue tennis shoes. His back was partially to me, but I could see his left profile and that she was the spitting image of him. I stood from the bench and watched as a smile lit his face, causing the corner of his eyes to crinkle. He squatted down next to her and pulled heavily on the lever himself.

“It’s stuck all right, pumpkin,” he said, still smiling, and glanced at the big silver watch on his arm. “Daddy will buy you one on the way home. Grandma is going to be mad as a wet hen at us for not being right there when the bus gets in.”

“I’m hungry now!” Kendra stamped her boot-clad foot for extra emphasis.

The man straightened and rolled his eyes at her, taking her by the hand. I took a step forward as I watched the two of them head down the corridor, an eerie feeling of déjà vu stopping me in my tracks.

“My backpack!” Kendra cried and stopped dead, yanking the man back a step. He looked down at her, then back at the candy machine where a yellow and blue backpack leaned against its corner.

“Your backpack,” he snapped his fingers in the air and darted back to the machine, Kendra running a half a step behind. A dark brown Teddy bear hung haphazardly out of the front pouch of the pack and fell unnoticed to the ground as the man scooped it and Kendra up in one swift move. He shifted Kendra on his hip and the fluorescent lights caught a silver and gold pinky ring on his left hand, next to a gold wedding band, sending a quick glint of light in my direction. A shiver crawled up my spine as I watched the two of them once again hurry down the corridor.

My God. Was I imagining this? Was I going crazy? Right there in some God-forsaken bus stop, I was losing my mind. I shook my head slightly and looked to my left. The other dark-haired man that I’d thought was him earlier was sitting on a bench, his head leaned against the back, eyes closed. I glanced back in the candy machine’s direction and focused on the forgotten bear. My breath caught in my throat, and I stumbled over to the Teddy. I reached down and picked him up, my eyes watching the yellow rain slickers move farther and farther away. I could see Kendra laughing at something he’d said, her little hands wrapped lovingly around his neck, her eyes staring at him adoringly.

I never told him I loved him.

I clasped the bear to my chest and my feet began to move of their own accord. “Hey,” I called out as I ran toward them. “Wait! You dropped this!”

Kendra looked back at me and saw that I was carrying her bear. “Stop, Daddy!” she cried and reached out toward me.

He sighed heavily as he stopped and turned around. His smile faded and a stunned look overtook his face. Our eyes locked. I wasn’t imagining this. It was him. I was amazed at how familiar, how comfortable, it felt to be staring into that warm blue after all these years. It felt like I’d just left him yesterday. He must have felt the same thing because his lips turned up into a tiny grin and a twinkle lit the violet-blue spheres that were holding me captive.

“Blintz!” Kendra cried out as his grip on her loosened and she slid to the floor. The old nickname I hadn’t heard in years drew my attention to the little girl, and I watched her run toward me, arms outstretched. I shook my head in disbelief. She knew who I was. I smiled and took a few steps closer to her, realizing that her gaze was aimed at the bear in my hands and not at me. Blintz. They named the bear Blintz. I scooted down and held Blintz out, chuckling at the sight of her excited little face. She truly was her father’s daughter.

“Thanks, Mister,” she said and reached out for the bear.

“You’re welcome.” I smiled then looked up at him as he slowly moved to stand behind her. “I had one of those myself,” I said, still looking at him.

Kendra hugged the bear to her chest and I rose to stand level with him. “I loved him very much. Still do.”

“You still have a Teddy bear?” Her tiny voice asked.

I looked into her curious blue eyes and shook my head. “Nah, I don’t still have him. But I think about him a lot.” My eyes found his again. “And I never stopped loving him.”

He smiled and looked down at her, placing his hands in her hair and lovingly stroking one of her long curls. “I’m gonna love Blintz forever, too,” she said, burying her face in Blintz’s fur and leaning against her father’s legs.

His gaze shifted back to me and he swallowed hard. “That’s right,” he said simply, his voice cracking. “Thank you.”

I nodded and smiled and our eyes locked once more. Fifteen years’ worth of conversation took place in one silent moment. He looked happy, healthy and content. I, however, must have looked a mess, my long journey surely had taken its toll. But he didn’t seem to notice. He could see I was doing OK as well, and relief visibly washed over both our faces.

Kendra stared up at the two of us and tugged at her father’s hand. “Daddy?” she questioned, “What about Grandma?”

“Grandma,” he chuffed and rolled his eyes.

I snickered at the obvious implication of mother-in-law trouble. “Guess you’d better go, huh?” He nodded. I squatted in front of Kendra and tugged on Blintz’s ear. “Take care of him.”

She nodded and offered a slightly crooked grin. I brushed her cheek and stood, another comfortable moment of silence passing between us. There’d never been awkwardness with Starsky. There never could be.

“Grandma” I mouthed as I jutted my chin down the hallway. He nodded and a lone tear trailed down his cheek. I brushed away my own tear and nodded as well. He sucked in a long breath and our eyes lingered for a few brief seconds before he finally turned away. For the second time in my life, I watched as the best friend I’d ever have wandered down a long hallway and away from me forever. Only this time it was different. This time I knew where he was going. I’d told him I loved him. And, God, how I still did.

They’d barely disappeared when the announcement was made that my bus was ready to board. I made my way toward the bus and found myself standing once again behind the same dark curly-haired man I’d mistaken for my partner earlier in the day. I’d felt so tormented then, and now, mere hours later, I was at peace. It had taken me 15 years to get here. Fifteen years and I’d finally found answers to the haunting questions that plagued me for so long. Found them in a dingy bus station in St. Paul, Minnesota… on my way home to St. Cloud.

~

“And it’s strange, but it’s true…
I was sure it was you.
Just a face in the crowd…
On a bus to St. Cloud.”
  –Lyrics from “On a Bus to St. Cloud,” written by Gretchen Peters