Too Good to be True

124

Starsky’s newest love may be “too good to be true” and Hutch is out to prove it before his partner gets hurt. But even he doesn’t realize that by the time he has the proof he needs—Starsky may be dead.

 

Author’s Note: Contributions to story line & beta read by: Donna Engle. Thanks also to The Blintz, Brit and Linda B for their suggestions.

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Chapter 1

Starsky angrily slammed the desk drawer shut.

“Look, Starsk, I’m sorry,” Hutch apologized. “All I’m trying to say is—take it easy, huh? I think you’re moving too fast, that’s all.”

The dark-haired detective rubbed his tired eyes. Three hours of sleep had definitely left him cranky, especially considering that’s about all he’d averaged the last four nights in a row. “Forget it,” he mumbled. “I know ya mean well, Hutch; but I’m a big boy, okay?”

Hutch glanced around the squad room. Realizing their heated exchange had attracted attention, he lowered his voice and leaned in closer before continuing. “I’ve just never seen you get so involved this fast. You’ve known this woman less than two weeks and you’re already talking like you’re in love with her. I just don’t get it.”

“What’s to get? Sometimes you just meet the right person at the right time. I don’t see why you’re makin’ a big deal out of it.”

Starsky stood up and fished the car keys out of his jeans pocket and headed for the door. “You comin’?”

Hutch grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and followed his partner down the hall toward the parking garage. The two were quiet until they were in the car and on their way. “What do you know about her?”

“Huh?”

“What do you know about Angela, Starsk? You’ve not told me much. Where’s she from? What about family? Has she ever been married?”

Starsky glared at his partner then squealed the tires of the Torino as they jettisoned into the bustling traffic. “I know everything I need to know; she’s a beautiful, terrific lady, and she’s got great taste in men.”

Hutch shook his head in defeat. He was trying to carry on a serious discussion, but Starsky stalled him at every turn. “How come every time you’ve tried to introduce her to me something happens and she can’t make it? Can you explain that?”

“Simple. Things came up.” Starsky gave him a crooked grin. “Besides, she’s gonna meet us at Huggy’s in twenty minutes. What’ve you got to say about that, wise-guy?”

Momentarily caught off guard, Hutch just stared at him. “Great. That’s great, buddy. I was beginning to think she was a figment of your warped imagination.” Relieved that he was finally going to meet Angela, Hutch added magnanimously, “Hey, I’ll take you two out to dinner somewhere nice tonight. What do you say?”

Starsky looked over and flashed his best Starsky smile. “Sounds terrific, partner.” He waggled is eyebrows comically. “Just so long as it’s not one of your health food restaurants.”

“How about Italian?”

“Angela loves Italian—that would be great.”

Starsky’s expression was more sincere as he added, “Thanks, Hutch.” He looked back at the road and concentrated on maneuvering through the busy traffic.

Hutch sat quietly for the remainder of the drive and considered the changes in his partner’s behavior over the past week. Starsky seemed obsessed with spending every waking moment with this woman. His concentration at work had been lousy, Hutch having to prompt him to do things that should come as second nature to a seasoned detective like Starsky.

Furthermore, Starsky wasn’t his usual verbose self. What little he did have to say was about Angela. And when he talked about her, it seemed he never really said anything of substance; only how gorgeous she was, how exciting their time was together, and that he felt incredibly lucky he’d met her. But the thing that disturbed Hutch most was the way she seemed to evade meeting any of Starsky’s friends. Hutch could hardly believe his partner had met her in a grocery store only ten days ago. Maybe, at last, he was going to get a look at this mysterious woman who’d so completely captivated his partner.

* * *

The two detectives entered the Pits and went directly to the bar where Huggy was busy polishing a stack of heavy, glass beer mugs. He looked up as they plopped down on their regular stools. “Hey, what’s happening, brothers?”

Starsky scanned the room while Hutch ordered two beers.

“You expecting someone, Starsky?”

“As a matter of fact, I am, Hug.” Starsky smiled smugly. “Just the most beautiful lady in LA. Gorgeous blonde, with legs up to here. You know, with a smile that could sink a battleship.”

Huggy grinned back. “I think I would have noticed a chick like that. But what I wanna know is, why she’d be meeting YOU here.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Hutch chimed in.

Before either of them could get in another dig, Starsky was off the stool and headed for the entrance of the club. Huggy and Hutch watched as he approached a beautiful woman with hair the color of spun gold. A petite, five foot-four, the blond looked up adoringly at Starsky. Her delicate features and perfectly shaped body were a striking contrast beside Starsky’s dark, muscular good looks.

Taking her hands in his, Starsky leaned forward to kiss her softly on the lips, gazing at her as though they were the only two people in the place. Huggy and Hutch watched him slip his arm around the young lady’s waist and guide her toward them.

“He wasn’t just jivin’ about her looks. That’s one foxy lady,” Huggy commented.

“Sweetheart, these are the two turkeys I’ve been warnin’ you about,” he said, lips intimately close to her ear.

Angela’s mouth curved into a sexy smile, a smile that never quite reached her eyes. Despite the soft cloud of short, silvery, blonde curls framing her face, Hutch found himself drawn only to the frosty glint in her ice blue eyes.

“You must be Hutch,” she said softly. “And that would mean you’re Honey Bear.”

The men exchanged glances; then despite their best efforts, all three burst into laughter. Hutch watched as Angela’s perfect smile instantly hardened. From the look on Huggy’s face, Hutch could see that he hadn’t missed the transformation either. Apparently, a sense of humor wasn’t one of Angela’s endearing qualities.

“It’s Huggy, darlin’,” Starsky corrected her gently. “Huggy Bear.”

“Of course,” she snapped. Then, quickly added, “That makes so much more sense.”

“Huggy, how about mixin’ my lady a margarita, then joinin’ us at our table,” Starsky suggested.

Angela’s voice and expression softened again as she looked up into Starsky’s eyes and cooed, “What a marvelous idea, darling. I’d love a drink.”

She’s a regular Jekyll and Hyde, Hutch thought, watching the woman’s demeanor change before right before his eyes.

“I’ve been talkin’ about you so much, Hutch was beginning to think I dreamed you up,” Starsky said as they settled into the booth.

Hutch laughed casually, deciding to start over and get off on the right foot with Angela. “Seemed like we weren’t destined to meet for awhile there.”

Angela gave him another frosty smile. Contrarily, her voice dripped with sweetness when she spoke again.

“David talks about you all the time, Hutch. I’ve been concerned that without your stamp of approval, David may decide to stop seeing me.”

Although her tone was light and playful, Hutch could see in her eyes that she meant every word. The amazing thing was, Starsky seemed oblivious.

“Nothing so sinister. It’s just that when two people spend as much time together as partners do, it spills over into their personal relationships. Starsky’s like family to me.”

Starsky smiled to himself, understanding exactly what Hutch was trying to say. After all, he felt closer to Hutch than to his own brother, Nicky. He took another sip of his beer, unaware of the undercurrents between his partner and the woman.

“Tell me—where are you from, Angela?” Hutch asked.

“From the East Coast.” For moment, Hutch thought she was going to leave it at that. “New York. I was a model there.”

“New York? Hmmm—I thought I detected a slight accent. European?”

“How perceptive of you. I…uh…I was educated in Europe, but I haven’t lived there since I finished my secondary studies.”

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Starsky gazed at her as though he hadn’t heard a word of their conversation.

Starsky had never mentioned Angela’s accent at all, and Hutch found that rather strange. He stared at his partner for a moment, puzzled by the hold this woman seemed to have over him. “So, what brings you to California from New York?” Hutch pressed a little harder, not yet satisfied with her answer. “I’d think New York would be the ideal place to pursue a modeling career.”

“She’s planning to be an actress,” Starsky answered for her. “Right, sweetheart?”

“Well, I’m hoping to break into show business, that’s true. But even if that doesn’t work out, I just felt the need for a change.” Angela batted her eyelashes at Hutch, momentarily directing her charm at him.

“Where are you working now?” he asked bluntly.

“I have several options I’m considering.”

Starsky reached over and covered her hand with his. “You’ll get a break soon. Just give yourself a little time.”

“You’re so sweet.” Angela turned her hand over, lacing her fingers with Starsky’s.

Huggy sat down next to Hutch, placing the margarita on the table in front of Starsky’s date. “So, Angela, what kind of wild tales has this dude been feeding you about me?”

The blonde gave him a tight little smile, and answered shortly, “Only that you own this place, and that he hangs out here a lot.”

Though his face was passive, Huggy seemed a bit put down by her response.

“Now, that’s not all I’ve said about Huggy….”

“Oh, yes—and you’re their ‘snitch’?”

Even Starsky winced this time. “No, I said he helps us with our cases—”

“It’s cool, Starsky.” Huggy stood up. “I got customers and we’re short a waitress today. Nice to meet you, Angela.”

The black man quickly returned to the bar, leaving Starsky worried that his feelings had been hurt. For Hutch, there was no doubt.

“Did I say something wrong?” Angela asked innocently.

“It’s just Huggy’s our friend, sweetheart, and I think he misunderstood what you were saying.”

“Huggy’s more than a friend,” Hutch added. “He’s saved our butts more times than I can count.”

Angela poked out her bottom lip in a pretty pout. “Well…I’m sorry, darling,” she simpered. “I didn’t mean to. He must be overly sensitive.”

Starsky hurried to reassure her. “It’s okay. I’ll explain everything to him later. Don’t get upset.”

Hutch watched in silence, wanting very much to reach out and smack Starsky in the back of his head for acting like such an idiot, and allowing this twit to hurt Huggy’s feelings. He quickly came to the conclusion that if he had to watch her make a fool of his partner, he’d at least use the opportunity to get more information about her. “Do you have family back in New York, Angela?”

“No, no family to speak of; just a couple of cousins.”

“What about your uncle?” Starsky suggested. “Her Uncle Demetrius lives here in LA.”

“Oh, really? What does he do?”

“He’s a chauffeur,” Starsky continued.

“David, I’m sure Hutch isn’t interested in my uncle’s little business.”

“Oh, no, you’re wrong. I’m interested in everything about you,” Hutch said, making eye contact with the blonde. “By all means, tell me about Demetrius, about the rest of your family. Where do your parents live?”

Nervously, Angela checked her watch. “Oh, dear. David, I’m going to be late for my hair appointment. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to cut this short.”

Starsky squeezed her hand affectionately. “It’s okay. Hutch is takin’ us out for dinner tonight. I’ll drop you off at the hairdresser, then pick you up at your place around seven. You two can take up where you left off. Okay?”

Hutch watched as Angela cut her eyes toward him, then quickly back to Starsky. “Of course, darling. That sounds great. I’ll be dressed and ready at seven then.”

“Wear something dressy,” Hutch added. “We’re going somewhere very nice. It’s not everyday I meet the girl that stole my partner’s heart.”

“Very nice to meet you, Hutch. I’ll see you tonight then.”

“You got a way home, Hutch?” Starsky asked as he stood up to leave also.

“Sure. I think our snitch can give me a ride,” Hutch said dryly.

From the bar, Huggy watched the couple leave, then joined Hutch at the table. Hutch shook his head as the black man sat down.

“You don’t even have to say it,” Hutch told him.

“Man, that chick is so cold, she’s probably got antifreeze pumping through her veins.”

“I can’t believe Starsky could fall for someone like that.” Hutch was still amazed at what had just transpired. “She’s so different from the other women he’s been involved with—Terry, Helen…even Rosie. I’ve never seen Starsky act so—so—”

“Stupid?” Huggy finished for him.

“You could put it that way.”

“So, did you find out anything about her?”

“Very little. And you know, Hug—when I pressed a little about her family, she suddenly remembered she had a hair appointment. She’s hiding something.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s another personality,” Huggy said earnestly.

Hutch chuckled for a moment, then quickly sobered. “I’ll push a little harder tonight. I’m taking the two of them out to dinner. Also, I’m going to do a little checking up on her. How about you ask around through your sources too?”

“You mean you think she may have a record? Man, I don’t like the chick at all, but she doesn’t strike me as a criminal or nothin’.”

“No, I’m not suggesting she is. But there’s something strange about her, and I get the oddest sensation that I’ve met her, or at least seen her somewhere. We’re both off duty for the next two days, so Starsky won’t know anything about it.”

“That’s cool…I’ll see what I can turn. Don’t expect much though. And,” Huggy looked up from under hooded lids, “I don’t envy you one damn bit, man—havin’ to spend the evening with the Ice Maiden and her love slave.”

 

Chapter 2

Starsky dropped Angela off and headed home for a shower and change of clothes. As he drove, the events of the last few days played back in his head. He couldn’t believe his extraordinarily good fortune at having met Angela.

There he’d been, just picking up a few things to restock the fridge, when he and this incredibly sexy woman had reached for the same box of taco shells. Being the consummate gentleman, Starsky had graciously surrendered them to her. They started talking about food, and found they had similar tastes. That, in itself, was unusual. Most of the women Starsky knew, were into salads and healthy Hutch-type foods, but Angela seemed to like all the same things he did. He naturally took that as a sign that they were going to hit it off. One thing led to another, and before he knew it, they were having a candlelight dinner at Angela’s apartment.

Even he had been astounded at how quickly the romance had progressed. They’d barely finished their meal before she’d lured him into the bedroom to make love with her. Angela was an aggressive gal all right—one with insatiable appetites. Generally, Starsky went in for the old-fashioned type, but he found himself exhilarated at being the prey, rather than the hunter for once.

Since that afternoon ten days ago, he’d spent almost every off-duty moment he had with her. The only thing that bothered him was that creepy uncle of hers. Built like a lumberjack and about as bright as a dim light bulb, Demetrius was a brutish fellow who seldom spoke. Starsky had noticed the way he watched Angela when he was around; more like a body guard than an uncle. He made Starsky downright uncomfortable sometimes. But he seemed harmless, and perhaps a little lonely.

Starsky was pretty worn out from the late hours and lack of rest, but found himself drawn to Angela like an addictive drug. When he thought about it, he felt a twinge of guilt about ignoring his friends and letting his job performance slip. He knew Hutch had had to cover for him with Dobey at least twice already. Maybe he’d catch up on his rest over the next couple of days while he and Hutch were off-duty. Starsky grinned to himself. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t.

* * *

Hutch stepped out of the shower and hurried to wrap a towel around his waist. Why did the damn phone always ring when he was in the shower? He scurried to the other room and grabbed the receiver off the hook just in time.

“Hutch? Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, I just got out of the shower. What’s up, Starsk?”

“Hutch…I’m…uh…sorry…but we’ll have to take a rain check on tonight.”

“What?”

“I said, Angela and I can’t make it tonight.” Hutch could hear the disappointment in his friend’s voice; still, he felt a flash of impatience.

“Why not? What’s the deal?”

“She’s got a killer headache. She gets migraines,” Starsky explained. “You know how that is.”

“She was fine two hours ago,” Hutch snapped. He wasn’t sure why he was so angry about the last minute change in plans, but he was.

“It hit her at the beauty salon. She’s layin’ down right now. I’m really sorry, partner. We were lookin’ forward to spending the evening with you.”

Hutch felt his temper flare. It was a small thing, he realized, but for some reason he believed it was just another ploy of Angela’s to isolate Starsky from everyone except herself. Why couldn’t Starsky see that?

“How convenient,” he mumbled into the receiver.

“What?”

“Nothing, Starsk.”

“I heard ya, Hutch. Why the hell would you say somethin’ like that? I told ya, she’s sick.”

It was all the opening he needed. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because your lady friend has found yet another excuse to avoid spending any time with your friends. You do remember us, don’t you, buddy? The people you used to like? Those of us who used to be a part of your life?” Hutch could hear himself saying the hurtful words, but seemed powerless to stop them from tumbling forth.

“What? Now hold on just one minute—”

“No, Starsky, let me say what I think for once! Okay? You’re acting like a ridiculous, love-sick school boy. You moon over this woman like she’s the first one you ever slept with. Get a grip, partner! You’re going off the deep end here, and I’m concerned about you.”

Suddenly he was out of steam and out of words. All the anger that had been building since meeting Angela two hours earlier had erupted like a volcano. Hutch felt relieved, but at the same time, more than a little mortified by his own behavior. The silence between them was palpable.

When Starsky finally spoke, his voice was choked with emotion. “Are you finished?”

Hutch answered meekly, “Yeah. I guess I am. Listen, Starsk, I—”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Hutch. You know what I think? I think you’re jealous ‘cause someone like Angela can be in love with a guy like me. I thought you were my best friend. I thought you’d be happy for me.”

He paused, only for a second. “She’s too good to be true, Hutch, and I ain’t gonna let you, or anybody else spoil this for me. I’m gonna hang up now before I say somethin’ I’ll really regret later.” And with a click, he was gone.

The silence was deafening, leaving Hutch feeling cold and dead inside. He quietly dropped the receiver back into the cradle, sat speechless for a moment, then picked it back up and dialed Starsky’s number. After the eleventh ring, he hung up and tried Angela’s. No response there either. Obviously, Starsky assumed it was Hutch and refused to answer. For a moment, he considered driving over to Angela’s apartment to try and straighten things out, then realized he didn’t even know her address.

God, what have I done? Hutch closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Was Starsky right? Was he just jealous because his friend had found someone to love and he was still alone? He had to admit he’d had his share of failed romances.

No—there was more to it than that. Something was wrong with this whole thing. Hutch couldn’t lay his finger on it, but he knew instinctively that Angela wasn’t what she appeared to be; and, eventually, Starsky would suffer because of it. The only thing he could do now was get the facts about this woman, and present them to Starsky. That is, if he’d listen.

First thing in the morning, he’d start checking out her background; and that ‘Uncle Demetrius’ of hers. Starsky would have to believe him, if he had the proof.

* * *

“David?”

Starsky turned to find Angela standing within arms reach behind him. He hadn’t realized she was there, and hoped she hadn’t overheard too much of his conversation with Hutch.

“Is anything wrong?” she asked.

“Nah. Everything’s fine, sweetheart. Why aren’t you lyin’ down?”

“I’m feeling much better.” She came closer and wrapped her arms around Starsky’s waist. “Were you arguing with Hutch just now?”

“Nothin’ serious. He’s just disappointed we won’t be able to make it tonight.”

Angela lifted her face and looked up with sad eyes. “Oh…I’m sorry I spoiled your evening.”

Starsky reached out and smoothed an errant lock of hair back from her brow. “Forget it. I didn’t care about goin’ out. I just wanna be with you. And here’s as good a place as any.” He smiled, then kissed the tip of her nose.

“David, I only want to be with you too.”

Starsky gazed down into her ice blue eyes, mesmerized, as they glittered like tiny azure diamonds.

“Do you love me, David? Please say you do.”

The question surprised him, yet the answer sprang to his lips without thought. So what if they’d only known each other ten days? It wasn’t impossible. Stranger things had happened. There was a yearning in those breathtaking eyes—one that no normal man could resist. He slowly bent his head and kissed her.

“Yes, I love you, Angela Parson,” his lips a gentle whisper against her own. “I think I’ve loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you. I don’t know how, or why, but I do.”

“Oh, David—I love you too. I want to be with you every moment.” The kisses became more passionate, their bodies pressing more intimately.

“David, let’s go away for a couple of days. Just the two of us,” she whispered, trailing tiny kisses along his jaw line. “You said you have two days off. I know a place where we could have complete privacy—no interruptions, no meddling friends.”

Starsky felt his head reel with the sensations her hungry lips were stirring in him. Still, the meddling friends comment wheedled its way to the surface, causing him to wonder why she’d say such a thing. Was she talking about Hutch? Huggy? They hadn’t interfered. She hadn’t even met them until a couple of hours ago. Why would she feel the need to escape his friends whom she barely knew? Maybe she’d listened to more of his argument with Hutch than she’d let on.

“Imagine it, darling. Just you and I, a cabin on the lake, no telephones or distractions. We’ll steal away and not tell a soul. Will you come with me?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. It sounds terrific, but even when I’m off duty, Hutch, and Captain Dobey have to know where I am. Ya never know when something could come up and they’d need me.”

Angela pulled back slightly, and looked up, a pouty pose on her lips. “What about my needing you? You just told me you love me, yet you won’t grant me this one, tiny, insignificant wish? It doesn’t sound like you love me very much, darling.”

Starsky pulled her close and hugged her to his chest. “Okay, we’ll go. But I have to call Hutch before we leave in the mornin’ and tell him where I’ll be.”

“I told you, it’s secluded. That means no phones. So it won’t make any difference. He can’t call you anyway.”

“Well, I’ll give him the address. If somethin’ comes up, he’ll at least know where to find me. Don’t worry; he won’t tell Dobey. And I guarantee he won’t track me down unless it’s a matter of life and death.”

With Angela’s chin resting on his shoulder, Starsky couldn’t see her eyes narrow, and her lips compress into a frown. Damn! He wasn’t cooperating like she’d expected! She pulled back again, and smiling sweetly, looked up into his face.

“Oh, okay, David. You win. Now, let’s have a cup of coffee and make our plans. Then you can run home and pack an over night bag. We can leave from here in the morning, right after you call Hutch.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, gently stroking the back of his hand against her cheek. “And I think a cup of coffee sounds good—but I’ll make it. You take it easy. Don’t want that headache to come back.”

“No, no. I’ll do it, darling. I have a special blend I save for special occasions. You just sit here and relax. I’ll only be a moment.”

“I’ll put on some music then. We’ll just have a quiet evenin’ here alone.”

While Angela disappeared into the kitchen and prepared the coffeemaker, Starsky sat on the floor in front of the stereo and fiddled with the tuner, searching for some soft music to set the mood.

Quietly peeking around the kitchen door, Angela made certain he was occupied before slipping a tiny vial of liquid from its hiding place beneath the sink. Looking over her shoulder one last time, she carefully squeezed three amber drop into Starsky’s cup, blending it with the steaming hot coffee.

Infinitely pleased with herself, a wicked little smile transformed the beautiful face into chilling expression of unadulterated hatred.

 

Chapter 3

It was the constant bumping and shaking that finally woke Starsky from his deep slumber, leaving him confused and groggy as he tried to focus his eyes in the dark confines of the automobile trunk. He lifted his head, smacking it against the hard metal surface, causing stars to swim before his eyes, as he fought to hang onto consciousness.

Where the hell am I? How’d I get here?

When he tried to move his arms, a sharp pain shot between his shoulder blades and Starsky quickly realized his hands were tied firmly behind his back. He could also feel a tight rope binding his ankles, digging into his flesh when he kicked out and made contact with the wall of the trunk. Trying not to panic, he concentrated on the sounds around him, and after a few seconds, recognized the low whine of a car engine.

His mind flitted from one fuzzy image to another, as his brain tried to sort out his recollections and form clear images that would help him understand how he’d ended up here. The last thing he remembered was sitting on the floor in front of the stereo with Angela.

Starsky recalled the two of them drinking coffee while she described her friend’s lake cabin where they would be staying a couple of days. Then the room had begun to spin. He’d felt his hand give way, and the cup, still half filled with coffee had tumbled to the carpet. Oddly, when he looked up, Angela hadn’t seemed concerned. He remembered trying to apologize for the mess, but when he opened his mouth, no words would come out.

He’d tried to reach out to her, but his hand seemed paralyzed. Fear seeped through his brain, as he felt his senses slowly numbing. Why hadn’t she helped him when his body slowly began to lose all feeling…when his muscles seemed paralyzed…when he couldn’t speak? Couldn’t she see something was wrong? Why did she look at him like that? None of it made sense. The last thing he remembered was the sadistic little smile on her face.

Lying hog-tied in the dark trunk, Starsky reluctantly came to the only logical conclusion: Hutch was right. He really didn’t know much about Angela. In his usual manner, he’d gone off half-cocked, telling his well-meaning friend to take a flying leap. Now it was pretty clear Angela hadn’t helped him because this was exactly what she’d planned. She’d drugged him—just like Monique had. And thinking of that crazed serial killer caused his heart to lurch to his throat. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he and Hutch had solved that case; but not before Starsky had nearly became her last victim. Hutch had barely arrived in time to keep him from meeting the sharp end of a butcher knife.

No—please—not another weirdo. This can’t be happenin’—not with Angela. She loves me…she just told me so. What is it with me and crazy women?

As his mind slowly cleared, Starsky tested the ropes digging into his wrists, only to conclude someone had really known what they were doing when they’d trussed him up. He took a deep breath, fighting back the claustrophobia threatening to get the better of him. Hutch, I’m sorry, partner…. Guess it’s a little late to say you were right.

The detective lay quietly listening for sounds that could give him a clue as to where he was. He quickly realized they weren’t on the interstate; no sounds of the traffic whizzing by, nor irritable horns honking. The car took a wide turn, then dropped down an inch or two, rattling all the way through it’s frame as he heard dirt and gravel kick up beneath the tires. He knew they’d left the main road now, and were most likely traveling some unfamiliar, back road into the country.

He had no idea how long they’d been traveling. For that matter, how long he’d been unconscious. Hours? Days? His mind wandered back to Hutch, and their last conversation on the phone. How long will I have to be gone before you know I’m in trouble? It wasn’t as though they’d parted on the best of terms.

Visions of Hutch lying trapped beneath his car in the canyon flitted through the dark-haired detective’s memory. Hutch was missing two days before I realized anything was wrong, he reminded himself. He could have died there if it had been a weekend and I’d not been expecting him to show up for work….

Starsky swallowed hard, forcing the fear back down his throat. The bone-jarring rattle of the automobile frame was beginning to make his stomach have the jitters—or maybe it was just nerves. Inhaling the carbon monoxide, streaming into the truck from the exhaust pipe, didn’t help matters either. Every bump they hit, Starsky felt his stomach lurch.

At this point, he didn’t even know for sure who was responsible for his abduction; nor did he know why he was being targeted. For all he knew, he could be dead in an hour, dumped on some lonely country road, to be discovered days—even weeks later. Perhaps he’d be dead before Hutch even realized he was missing. That thought chilled him to his very soul.

What if he never had the chance to tell Hutch he’d been right? Or apologize for that final, bitter conversation? For some reason, that possibility bothered him almost as much as the prospect of dying. After all they’d survived together over the years, it seemed ironic that it could end this way, with words of anger hanging between them the last time they spoke.

Hutch would miss him…would realize he was in danger. Hutch would come for him. He always did. He just had to hold on.

That’s right, Starsky. Don’t panic. Hutch’ll come…

* * *

“Listen Hutch, I don’t mind helping you out, you know that. But this one’s Mission Impossible.”

The blond detective looked up in time to see Minnie straighten the black rimmed glasses perched precariously on her nose. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“There’s nothing on this gal. I checked every source available to the Department. I came up with three Angela Parsons—none of which fit the description you gave me. One lives in Colorado, and is fifty-seven years old. One, with a rap sheet a mile long, was stabbed to death in a fight while incarcerated last year in Raiford State Pen down in Florida; and the third one is a twenty year-old black female living here in LA. Are you sure you got the name right?”

“Yeah…positive.”

“Didn’t you say she had some sort of accent?”

“Yes, but she said that was just because she attended school in Europe. Claims her home is New York City.”

“Too bad. I might’ve contacted the embassies to see if she was here on some sort of visa. Actually, Angela Parson doesn’t sound like a foreign name to me. Maybe it’s an alias.”

Minnie’s comment only increased Hutch’s uneasiness about Starsky’s new love. If Angela was using an alias, she was most likely involved in something illegal.

“It’s possible,” he agreed. “Thanks anyway for trying. Maybe Huggy’s had better luck.”

“Say, isn’t this the gal Starsky’s been seeing?”

“Yeah—but please don’t say anything. You know how pissed he’d be if he found out I was checking up on her.”

“I do…but it looks to me like you may be onto something here. I don’t have a good feeling about this, Hutch. Starsky seems really serious about this one—and in such a short time, too. He sure hasn’t been himself lately.”

“I know. And meeting her yesterday didn’t do anything to ease my mind, either. Something about her isn’t quite right.”

“Well, if I come up with anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Hey…I just thought of something else,” Hutch added.

Minnie stopped and looked back over her shoulder at him.

“You mind checking the local limousine services and see if there’s one owned by some character who goes by the name ‘Demetrius’? Don’t have a last name.”

“Okay, but don’t expect much with no more than that to go on.”

Mumbling under her breath, Minnie left the squad room, as Hutch picked up the phone and dialed The Pits. Unfortunately, Huggy had been no more successful than Minnie at finding out anything about the elusive Angela Parson. He’d taken the initiative to ask around about the uncle while he was at it, but no one was familiar with the man or his limo service.

Hutch decided it was time to tell Starsky about his girlfriend’s mysterious background. He dialed his partner’s number and let the phone ring ten times. When there was no answer, he dialed Angela’s apartment. Still no response.

Where the hell are you, Starsk? I know you were steamed last night, but surely you aren’t still ignoring the phone…

Hutch hung up the receiver and grabbed his jacket as he headed out the door. If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain…. I guess I’ll just have to track you down, partner.

* * *

Hutch pulled up in front of Starsky’s apartment, disappointed that the Torino was nowhere in sight. He realized Starsky was most likely at Angela’s, but since his partner had never given him the woman’s actual address, there was no way of checking. Hutch looked at his watch and saw that it was already three p.m.

Why are you so concerned? He chided himself. It’s not like Starsky’s never spent a couple of days with a lady without telling you before. But at some level, Hutch sensed this was different. His conscience nagged at him, spurred on by guilt for the way he’d exploded at his friend on the phone the night before.

Can’t blame you for being bent out of shape, partner. Guess maybe you’re giving me time to cool my heels and think up a good apology. And apologize he would. Even though there was something strange going on with Angela, he realized he’d been way out of line.

Hutch rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, and looked at the building one more time, as if Starsky would miraculously appear before him. No point in borrowing trouble. Don’t make a bigger deal out of her background check than necessary. There’s a logical explanation. Could’ve changed her name or something.

Deciding to leave it alone for now, Hutch started up the Ford, and headed back to his own apartment for a late lunch and an afternoon of relaxing on the sofa with the latest Ian Fleming novel. Besides, if Starsky didn’t surface soon, he’d run Angela’s phone number and come up with the address. If it meant tracking his partner down to straighten things out between them, then damn it, that’s what he’d do!

 

Chapter 4

When the trunk lid popped open, Starsky’s eyes were assaulted by bright sunlight. He squinted up at the figure towering over him, and felt a massive hand grab him by the shirt front and roughly haul him out of the car. After a few seconds, his eyes adjusted, and Starsky recognized the Neanderthal figure of Angela’s Uncle Demetrius.

“Hey, careful!” Starsky complained, as he felt the backs of his denim covered thighs scrape across the trunk latch. “Ya don’t have to be so rough!”

That comment earned him a brutal landing on the ground at the other’s feet. Demetrius rolled his prisoner onto his stomach, then reached down with a pocket knife and cut the rope binding Starsky’s ankles.

“Get up!”

His legs, asleep from lying in the trunk with the ropes cutting off the blood flow, didn’t want to cooperate. When Starsky didn’t immediately comply, the point of Demetrius’s size fifteen boot landed squarely in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. “I said GET UP!”

Starsky tried to rise to his knees, but was still gasping for air. He watched helplessly as the boot came crashing against his jaw.” Now he saw stars as he struggled to obey, and avoid another attack.

“That’s enough for now, Demetrius. Save the rest for later…for when we do the photos for Hutchinson.”

With that, Demetrius reached down and snagged the back of Starsky’s jacket and lifted him partially off the ground. He dragged the semi-conscious man up the gravel drive, ignoring the damage the sharp rocks inflicted on his baggage. With a grunt, he lumbered toward a house which was set back from the road another hundred feet.

Starsky’s thoughts were a jumble. What the hell was happening here? How could things have become so mixed up so quickly? Was that really Angela’s voice he’d just heard? Why was she doing this? What pictures?

Angela hurried ahead and held the door open for Demetrius, who unceremoniously dumped his dazed prisoner on the floor just inside the door. Again, Starsky tried to regain his equilibrium and rise to his knees. Demetrius’s big, booted foot came down on his shoulders, forcing his face down against the cold, hardwood floor.

“I didn’t say you could get up, Policeman,” Demetrius bellowed, his speech distorted by a heavy accent.

“What the hell’s goin’ on here?” Starsky’s words came out slurred and barely audible. “I don’t know what ya want from me.”

Angela reached down and snarled her hand in the dark, curly locks, snapping Starsky’s head back savagely. “You really should keep your mouth shut, darling. I don’t know how long I can keep Demetrius from beginning the fun and games. So be a dear, and shut up,” she drawled in a syrupy, insincere voice, before shoving his head back against the floor.

“Demetrius, bring a chair from the kitchen. Sit him up in it and tie him in tightly. I don’t want him trying to escape once you begin working on him.”

Starsky’s cloudy brain registered her cruel words, but refused to contemplate on their meaning. Hutch. Where are ya, partner? I need you….

* * *

Hutch lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Two more trips to Starsky’s apartment that evening had yielded disappointing results. The last time, he’d even left a note pinned on the door, asking his partner to call him when he got in. Still, no word.

Unable to sleep, and unable to shake this uneasy feeling, Hutch lay there playing out all sorts of crazy scenarios in his mind, realizing as he did so, he was probably over-reacting. He hadn’t had a peaceful moment since their argument on the phone. Tomorrow morning, he’d just find out where Angela lived, and go there to talk things out with his partner.

He knew this disagreement between Starsky and himself couldn’t be allowed to fester. It wasn’t right. When two lives were entwined like theirs—literally depending on one another for their survival—there should be no harsh words left hanging between them…no unspoken apologies. There had been too many close calls, too many times when all they could count on was each other.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’d make it right…

* * *

Starsky lifted his head slowly, trying to pry open his swollen, bloodshot eyes. He’d taken quite a beating from Demetrius, and still had no idea why. Angela—his beautiful, ‘too good to be true’ Angela—had stood by silently watching. Starsky hadn’t given either of them the satisfaction of crying out, or asking for mercy. But he had asked more than once, why they were doing this to him, only to be met by stony silence.

Managing to crack one eyelid to a slit, he looked around the room of the cabin—if you could call it a cabin. It was a contrast of rustic and ritzy. The floors were white pine, but contrarily dotted here and there with thick piled Persian rugs. Unlike the upright, hard, wooden chair he was tied to, the rest of the furniture in the room was made of supple, overstuffed leather in soft, muted earth tones. The log-cabin interior walls were tastefully adorned with original oils, mostly abstract in design. Obviously, money had not been a concern for the individual who’d decorated the retreat. Somehow, seeing the plain and the opulent side-by-side gave the whole place an unnatural appearance.

On the mantle above the fireplace were several picture frames, displaying what appeared to be family photos, chronicling the life of a handsome, young, dark-haired man whose most appealing feature was a captivating smile. Many of the photos depicted him excelling in sports, almost always clutching a trophy or pennant of some sort. But the one that drew Starsky’s attention was of the young man with his arm wrapped possessively around a beautiful girl’s shoulders. They were posed beside a large, federal blue sail boat with the name “Angelique” emblazoned on the starboard in gleaming white letters. Starsky was struck by the resemblance the girl held to Angela. With the exception of her shoulder length, black hair that glistened in the sunlight, she had Angela’s features, her smile, and her build. Both people in the picture wore sunglasses and sailing regalia.

Letting his mind slowly take in his surroundings, it occurred to Starsky that the fact he wasn’t blindfolded didn’t bode well. Usually kidnap victims were kept in the dark regarding their whereabouts if the criminals planned to release them once the ransom was paid. He knew from his own experience as a detective, kidnappers didn’t take such precautions if they intended to kill the victim once the deal was concluded. There had been no mention of ransom, nor demands of any sort, for that matter—just the senseless, silent beatings.

Starsky could see from the front window that it was dark outside. Whether the wee hours of the morning, or early evening, he didn’t know. Drifting in and out of consciousness had obliterated his sense of time. He lifted his head and tried to present his best “face of defiance” when Angela entered the room from the back of the house.

“So, you’re awake, darling. I was afraid Demetrius had gone a little too far.”

“Angela, what’s this all about? You gonna tell me what I’m doin’ here? Huh? Or are you just gonna let Igor beat up on me till he finally finishes me off?”

“In due time, I’ll tell you what you want to know. It won’t matter in the end anyway.” She walked over and slowly bent forward, softly touching her lips to Starsky’s bruised, bleeding ones. He drew back sharply. The physical response due in part to the pain the gentle pressure had caused, and in part to his revulsion to her touch.

A bright light suddenly flashed, momentarily blinding him. When his one working eye finally refocused, he saw the source of the unwelcome light was a camera flash.

“Terrific,” he drawled, “I always wanted to be featured in Playgirl. Does this mean I’m Mr. January?” The flash went off again, the camera making a whirring sound as the Polaroid spit out the first shot.

“This isn’t the first set of photos. You’ve just been unconscious until now. Don’t you want to smile for the camera, David?” Angela grabbed Starsky’s chin and jerked it cruelly toward Demetrius. “One more,” she ordered.

The lumbering giant did as he was told, then stepped away and placed the camera on the coffee table in front of them.

“Now, Angelique?” he asked, a demented grin twisting his mouth.

“Yes.” She released the prisoner’s chin and stepped away.

Before Starsky had time to think about what was happening, Demetrius delivered another punishing blow to the detective’s face, causing blood to spew from his nose. And he soon realized that was only the beginning. The giant went about his work as though beating another human being to death was routine.

Finally, it stopped. But just as Starsky thought he was to be spared any further abuse, he felt a punishing blow to his solar plexus, forcing the wind from his body, causing him to gasp for one saving gulp of air. Then once again he surrendered to the kind relief of unconsciousness.

Starsky’s next lucid moment was another camera flash going off in his face. Dazed by the intense pain racking his body, he was unaware of the cardboard placard propped against his chest, bearing the message, “AN EYE FOR AN EYE.”

“See that these get to Hutchinson,” she said matter-of-factly. Starsky was struck by the lack of emotion in her voice. “I want him to know how it feels. And I want to drag this out until he’s insane with worry and guilt.”

Demetrius simply grunted his understanding before swiping his big hand across the table and gathering up the photos of Starsky. Angelique had taken them at various times over the past twenty-four hours, recording the progression of punishment the cop had undergone so far.

Slumped forward in the chair, Starsky heard the door close quietly behind his tormentor.

 

Chapter 5

Hutch pulled up in front of the two story, wood-framed house, and checked the number on the box to make certain he had the right place. Not exactly what he’d expected. Angela seemed more like the kind of woman who would’ve opted for a high-rise, not an old Victorian house with and ferns swinging elegantly from under the eaves and a wrap-around porch complete with rocking chairs. A plain white sign welcoming boarders, stood to the left of the sidewalk. Hutch figured the house couldn’t accommodate more than four or five guests at a time; not big enough for more.

Hutch checked his watch. Only 6:45 a.m. He knew it was pretty early to knock on anyone’s door, but he’d lain awake the last three hours, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that something was seriously wrong. And he’d learned long ago that a good cop should always trust his instincts, so he decided to at least check and see if anyone was stirring. Hutch hopped out of the car and went up the sidewalk to the front door. As he approached, he noticed the wooden door was open, and through the screen he could see an elderly lady sitting at a rolled-top desk, writing something in a large ledger book. He rapped lightly on the door jam, but she didn’t seem to hear.

“Excuse me,” he called.

“Oh, dear!” The elderly lady closed the book, as she stood up and came around the desk. “I beg your pardon; I didn’t see you there. I’m not used to such early visitors. May I help you, young man?” She pushed open the screen and invited him in.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m looking for Angela Parson. I understand she’s one of your boarders.”

“Oh, yes, she’s staying here—for the time being, at least. You must be Mr. Hutchinson.”

The look of surprise on Hutch’s face was obvious. “Uh…well, yes ma’am, that’s right. But how…?”

“She told me about you. She said you’re her agent and that you’d be taking care of her bill. You know, I wasn’t going to be able to let her and that uncle of hers stay here any longer without paying her bill. Such a cultured young lady, to always be so short on funds.”

The little lady fidgeted, worried by the shocked look on Hutch’s face. Perhaps Angela’s agent wasn’t prepared to settle the account after all. “Just can’t imagine her in show business. But I always say, ‘to each his own’…”

Hutch rubbed the brow between his tired, bloodshot eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that.” Reaching into his back pocket, the detective pulled out his ID and shield. “I’m Detective Ken Hutchinson, with the LAPD. Actually, I’m looking for my partner, Detective David Starsky. He’s a little shorter than me, dark curly hair, and he drives a red Torino with a white stripe down the side.”

“Yes, I have seen that young man here. In fact, last night his car was parked around back in the alley. They all left early this morning.”

Hutch turned his eyes skyward. This got more bizarre by the moment. “May I check their rooms?”

“Yes, of course. Follow me.” The landlady led Hutch upstairs and unlocked the doors to both efficiencies for him. She seemed completely surprised that all their personal items had been removed. It appeared they’d cleared out everything during the night.

“I just don’t understand this,” she lamented. “They owe me three weeks rent. And if you aren’t her agent, why did Miss Parson’s uncle leave that envelope for you?”

“What envelope?” Hutch turned anxious eyes to her. Maybe it would contain the answers he was seeking.

“Downstairs,” she told him. “Come along. Said you were expecting these photographs. I assumed they were her publicity pictures.” She toddled back to the desk and retrieved a large, sealed manila envelope and turned it over to Hutch.

He quickly tore the flap off the envelope, curious about the contents. What he saw made his blood run cold.

“Are you all right, Detective Hutchinson? You look positively pale. Please, come sit down… ”

Unable to tear his eyes away from the gruesome photographs, Hutch shook his head. His hands trembled as he sorted through the Polaroids of Starsky, beaten, and bloody, his face a mass of swollen flesh and bruises.

Believing the policeman was about to be ill, the tiny woman insisted a bit more forcefully, “Young man…please. Are you okay? Should I call someone?” Gently, she took Hutch’s elbow and guided him to the brocade sofa in the sitting room. Being the lady she was, she did so without trying to sneak a peek at the photographs.

Slowly, Hutch lowered himself onto the edge of the sofa. He continued staring at the photos, seeing that they were arranged meticulously in chronological order, each worse than the one before. The final photograph showed his partner, shirt torn open, barely able to hold his head up. A sign propped against his chest displayed the message, “AN EYE FOR AN EYE.”

Hutch felt the bile rise in his throat. What kind of sick animal was responsible for this? Was Starsky still alive? Suddenly he needed fresh air. He bolted from the sofa and ran for the door without explanation.

“Are you sure I can’t call someone for you?” Hutch heard the concern in the landlady’s voice, but didn’t take time to respond. He just shook his head and ran into the back alley, toward the Torino, covering the distance in half the time it should have taken.

Afraid of what he might find, Hutch hesitated before approaching the car. When he finally gathered the courage to look, he found the car locked, probably just as Starsky had left it the night before. No sign of Starsky nor evidence of bloodshed. Hutch fished out the spare key Starsky had made for him, cranked up the Torino, and sped away from the boarding house.

* * *

Harold Dobey struggled into his robe as he hurried down the stairs to his front door. He felt sure the loud banging had by now woken the entire neighborhood. It was seven-thirty, Sunday morning, hardly a decent hour for anyone to pay a visit. Cautiously, he peeked through the glass pane in the door before sliding the deadbolt open. He could see by the back of the blond head that it was Hutch.

“What’s the meaning of this, Hutchinson?” he blustered, as he opened the door. But one look at the other’s face told him it was bad—whatever had brought Hutch to his door at 7:30 a.m. was very serious.

“Cap’n, can I come in?”

Dobey quickly opened the door and let him enter. “What’s happened?” he asked, lowering his voice in case one of the kids was lurking on the stairs.

Silently, Hutch handed him the envelope. The hard set of his mouth told Dobey the explanation lay within. Dobey pulled the grisly photos from the envelope, his eyes going wide at first glance. Quietly, the air rushed from him, as he tried to control his reaction and remain calm and objective.

Hutch paced restlessly, tension and distress evident in every movement.

“Where’d you get these?”

“It’s a long story, Cap’n. All I know is, Starsky’s going to die, or maybe is already dead, and I don’t have a single damn clue where he is!” Hutch’s voice had escalated with each word.

“Try to get a hold of yourself, Hutch,” Dobey urged. “If we’re going to find Starsky, we’ve got to keep a cool head. Now, was there any note with these photographs?”

“In the envelope. I haven’t touched it. I didn’t want to ruin the fingerprints. I’d already handled the photos.” His decision not to remove the note before reaching Dobey’s house had been difficult, at best. But Hutch knew the importance of preserving any tiny bit of evidence.

Dobey plucked a tissue from a box on the bookcase behind them and carefully slipped the single sheet of paper out of the envelope, holding it by one tiny corner. Hutch looked over his shoulder as they both read silently.

“Detective Hutchinson,

How does it feel to see someone you love beaten and broken—near death? I know. I know because of you. David is in this condition because of YOU! I want you to know that I plan to kill him, in retribution for the part you played in the murder of my fiancé. I promise to send you more photographs. I’m not planning a quick, merciful death for your partner…Angela”

Dobey looked up at Hutch. “Who is this woman? And how are you and Starsky connected with the death of her fiancé?”

“I…I don’t know, Cap’n. She’s a woman Starsky’s been dating. He’s only known her a couple of weeks.” This was one time Hutch felt no satisfaction knowing he’d been right—only remorse, for failing to convince Starsky that Angela may not be what she appeared to be.

“I became a little suspicious of her and tried to run a background check yesterday. It turned up nothing. It’s as if she doesn’t exist.”

“How can that be? If she knows you well enough to know how close you two are, she must’ve had some prior contact with you.”

Hutch began pacing again. “She must be using an alias. There’s no Angela Parson fitting her description listed anywhere. I tried to check out her uncle, too—another dead end. Maybe she’s changed her appearance as well. I swear, I don’t know who her fiancé was, or what our connection is to his death. Maybe he’s someone we busted. Someone who tried to escape and was killed in the attempt.”

Frustrated, Hutch ran a hand over his face. “Hell, I don’t know! Half of LA’s criminal population has some sort of beef against Starsky and me.”

Dobey sat down, propping his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. It was just too early to be blind-sided with this kind of bad news. He needed to organize his thoughts. Right now, he knew it was up to him to keep Hutch from losing it.

“Did you check out her apartment?”

“Yeah…that’s where the photos were dropped. She seems to have anticipated my every move—left no tracks. The last time I spoke with Starsky was on the phone when he called me from her place Friday night. I looked for him on and off all day yesterday—but it seems they’ve all disappeared into thin air. Cap’n, we’ve got to do something!” Hutch’s face was a stark, desperate visage when he whirled and faced Dobey.

“We will, son. We’ll find him. Now,” Dobey stood up, taking charge of the situation, “I want you to go to the station and start pulling your most recent cases. See if you can connect this woman to any of them. Maybe you’re right. He may’ve been someone you killed when attempting to arrest him. If we can figure who she is, it may give a clue as to where she’s keeping Starsky.”

“Yeah…all right…it’s a start,” Hutch agreed. “I’ll, uh, meet you down there.”

Hutch headed for the door, then paused and added, “Cap’n, what if Demetrius shows up at the boarding house again? The note did say she’d be sending more photos.”

“Good point,” Dobey conceded. “I’ll get a stakeout set up, just in case. Now go on. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

Dobey picked up the telephone receiver and began dialing as Hutch let himself out the door.

 

Chapter 6

Demetrius reached down and roughly shook Starsky, who was handcuffed to the headboard of a heavy brass bed. Opening his eyes, Starsky tried to focus his blurry vision on the over-sized man who’d terrorized him the last two days. Expecting more abuse, he tried unsuccessfully to pull free of the bedpost. To his surprise, Demetrius stepped aside, revealing Angela, waiting in the wings with a food tray.

Demetrius unlocked one of the handcuffs and jerked Starsky into a sitting position. “Time to eat, Policeman.”

“Terrific. Make a guy eat so you can keep him around as a punching bag.”

“Exactly,” Angela said, setting the tray on the bedside table. “We aren’t finished yet, darling. Detective Hutchinson has only just begun to understand.”

“Wait a minute…wait a minute…let me get this straight. You’re punishing my partner by beatin’ the hell out’a me? What? Are you nuts?” Starsky slowly shook his head. “Don’t even bother answering. I KNOW you’re nuts. You’re one whacked-out lady.”

“I don’t owe you any explanations, David. You’re merely a means to an end. When I’ve accomplished what I’ve set out to do, I’ll kill you. It’s as simple as that. Unfortunately for you, that won’t happen immediately.” The same sadistic little smile he’d seen the night he was abducted curved the corners of her mouth. “Now, eat your dinner. You must keep up your strength.”

“Just tell me one thing.” Starsky used his free hand to swipe away the trickle of dried blood crusting his lower lip. “What did Hutch do to make you hate him so much? He never even met you before the other night at Huggy’s.”

“He’s responsible for the murder of my fiancé. That’s all you need to know.”

“And I guess you plan go try and lure Hutch here so you can kill him too.”

“To the contrary, I have absolutely no desire to kill him. He’ll suffer a great deal more knowing he’s responsible for the death of his best friend. You see, I’ve done my homework, David. Your loyalty to one another is legendary among the members of the LAPD. This will destroy him. It’s the perfect retribution.”

With the nod of her head, Angela signaled Demetrius to follow, as she left Starsky to eat the first meal he’d had since lunch on Friday.

“You can go straight to hell!” he shouted as the door closed behind them.

Despite having been without food for so long, he had no appetite. The insane woman’s words had left him numb. He knew she was right about one thing—Hutch would never recover from his death. Not like this. Even though he wasn’t responsible, Hutch would blame himself, and be consumed by guilt. Starsky knew, because if the tables were turned, he’d feel the same way.

He realized his chances were slim to none, but he had to try to escape. Hutch would be looking, but it was doubtful he’d figure it all out in time. If Starsky wanted to survive, he’d have to do it on his own. Reluctantly, he picked up the sandwich and forced it down.

* * *

Hutch hurriedly flipped through the sixth case folder, searching for some clue to Angela’s identity. He’d already eliminated the recent cases he and Starsky had worked on, where the perpetrator had been wounded, or died during the arrest. Their involvement had been limited to being on-site when other officers had been forced to stop a fleeing felon.

Minnie plopped another, smaller stack on the desk in front of him. “Here are a few more,” she said. “These go back more than two years, so I don’t know if they’re fresh enough to be possibilities.”

“Thanks, Minnie,” Hutch answered, stopping to rub his tired eyes. His restless night was beginning to catch up with him and his lids felt like they had sandpaper behind them.

“Here—” She reached around him and picked up his empty mug. “I made some fresh coffee. Let me get you a cup.”

Hutch looked up and smiled in appreciation before reaching for the next folder. “This is hopeless,” he mumbled. “By the time we find anything, it may be too late.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” Minnie laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You can bet your bippy Starsky’s hanging on. He knows we aren’t going to abandon him. Something will turn up.” She squeezed the tight muscle beneath her hand. “I’ll be back in a minute with that coffee.”

“Hutch?”

Hutch turned at the recognition of a familiar voice. “Huggy, what’re you doing here?”

“Hey, Hutch. Uh…this big dude…he stopped Diane on her way in this morning and told her to deliver this envelope to you. I thought it may be important, so I brought it over myself.”

Hutch reluctantly took the envelope from Huggy. “Thanks.” Despite knowing of what he’d find inside, Hutch’s fingers paused on the sealed flap. His heart raced. With unsteady hands, he pulled the offending pictures from the envelope. A lump rose in his throat as he looked at his partner’s damaged face. He was barely recognizable now, his eyes swollen shut, his nose—obviously broken; bruises and lacerations so numerous they ran together, transforming the much loved, familiar features into a mass of ravaged flesh. Hutch felt a sob catch in his throat. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Oh man,” Huggy whispered as he looked over Hutch’s shoulder. “That can’t be…?”

“Yeah,” Hutch answered, blinking back unshed tears as he stuffed the photographs back into the envelope. This time there was no note. No clues. Nothing. Nothing but the hideous pictures. He hoped these ghastly images wouldn’t be his final memory of Starsky.

“Who? And why? I don’t get it, Hutch.”

“It’s Angela—or whoever the hell she is,” Hutch spat angrily. “Why? In the first package there was a note saying she wants revenge. She claims that we’re responsible for her fiancé’s death. I don’t even know who he was!” Disgusted, he slammed the envelope down on the desk.

Huggy shook his head, at a loss for words.

“I’ve searched through every case we’ve worked on over the past two years where the assailant died during the arrest. Nothing!” Some of his anger melting into desperation, he looked up at the black man’s sympathetic face. “I don’t know what to do, Huggy.”

The two men were quiet for a moment, each racking his brain for another approach to the puzzle.

“Can I see the note?”

“Sure. But it doesn’t give us anything to go on.” Hutch retrieved the note, now encased in a clear plastic envelope. “We ran a check on the prints. They weren’t on file with any law enforcement agency—even ran them through Interpol.”

The two were silent again. Huggy’s eyes narrowed, then opened wide. “Hutch, this note says you are responsible. Not you and Starsky.”

“What’s your point?”

“Maybe it’s a case you worked on without Starsky…”

It took only a moment for Huggy’s words to register. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?”

Hutch yanked open the desk drawer and retrieved a small black notebook where he kept his case notes. He flipped open the book and searched back to ten months earlier, when Starsky had made an emergency trip to New York to be with his mother while she’d undergone open-heart surgery. He’d been gone for three weeks, and in his absence, Hutch had rotated in the department, helping out with cases needing a little extra manpower.

“You may be on to something, Hug. I worked two cases while he was gone.” Hutch felt his first glimmer of hope since the nightmare had begun this morning.

“Jackson…Jackson…Matthew Jackson…armed robbery. Arresting officer, Officer Carl Jones. No incident. Came along peacefully. Yeah, that was a liquor store hold-up. I remember, the guy threw down his weapon and surrendered.”

“Keep looking,” Huggy encouraged. “Maybe it wasn’t one of your major cases.”

“Collins. Drug bust. That was the other one. Right—I remember this one. Nothing outstanding about it either. I got a tip this guy was doing drugs. He was selling on a small scale though.” Hutch looked up and saw Minnie heading out the door.

“I’m on it, Hutch. I’ll get the files right away.”

“Anybody else?” Huggy asked.

“Just penny-ante stuff. You know…shoplifting, vandalism, and one attempted B & E.” Hutch flipped through the pages of the notebook, hoping something would jump out—something memorable.

“It was a pretty quiet time,” he said. “I remember Starsk joking about how the criminals all went on vacation while he was gone so he’d have something to do when he got back.” A sad smile played across Hutch’s lips as he recalled Starsky’s lop-sided grin when he’d made the jest.

Minnie scurried back into the room carrying the two files, almost colliding with Captain Dobey as he entered the squad room. “What’s going on?” he asked, as Hutch snatched the folders from Minnie. “Huggy, what are you doing here?”

“Playin’ delivery man, Captain. I brought Hutch the latest set of centerfolds.”

Harold Dobey’s mouth turned down grimly, silently expressing his displeasure as Hutch passed him the photos. He flipped through them quickly, then dropped them onto the desk. For a couple of moments, he watched as Hutch haphazardly searched the two file folders, speed-reading through the papers then tossing them aside. Anxious to help uncover the key to Starsky’s disappearance, he and Huggy joined in.

Huggy picked up a newspaper clipping showing a handsome young man coming down the steps of the LA courthouse. On his arm was a beautiful, petite, raven-haired woman, dressed in a stylish, suede suit. She wore designer sunglasses and her long, dark hair partially shielded her face from the camera, as it cascaded over her shoulders.

“Hutch…who is this?”

Distractedly Hutch replied, “Huh? Who’s who?”

“Who is this?” He held the clipping out where Hutch could get a better look.

“Uh…oh, that’s the guy I busted for dealing drugs—William Collins. He was a rich kid. Convicted and sentenced to ten years. His father’s probably bought his way out by now.”

“No, I mean the chick. Who’s the chick?”

“His fiancee, I believe. She was at the trial. She mostly kept a low profile until the sentencing. I remember she was pretty outraged and told the press he’d been framed.”

“Doesn’t she remind you of anyone? She does me. I just can’t lay my finger on it.”

Both men stared at the photo. The silence lay heavy between them until Hutch looked up, his eyes wide with recognition. In a moment of enlightenment, he whispered one word.

“Angela.”

 

Chapter 7

“David! David! Open your eyes and listen to me!”

Starsky’s head lolled back as he tried to focus on the faraway voice. Where was he? Why did his head hurt so? Slowly reality crept back, with it consciousness, and the pain washed over him like a wave of hot water.

Once again bound to the wooden, ladder-back chair, he couldn’t escape as Angelique snarled her hand in the tangled, dark mat of hair and jerked his face toward hers.

“Now, I have one more thing you must do before we bring this to an end. If you cooperate, I promise I won’t let Demetrius hurt you anymore. It can all be over quickly with a painless injection. If you don’t cooperate—well, let’s just say I’ll encourage him to use his imagination.”

Through swollen, bruised eyelids, he squinted up at the voice defiantly. “Go…to…hell!” he gritted out between clinched teeth.

“I probably will, darling. But not until I’m damn well ready.”

Unimpressed by his show of false bravado, Angelique leaned down close to his face. “It’s not such a big thing, David. I simply want you to record a message for Hutchinson. Sort of a farewell speech, if you will.”

Starsky’s lip curled back in disgust. “Lady, if you believe for one second I’m gonna do anything to make it worse for Hutch, you’re crazier than I thought.”

“Nothing elaborate, mind you,” she went on. “I’ve already written it out for you. You’ll just tell him you died because of what he did to William, and that you suffered a great deal, and you can never forgive him for not saving you.”

The midnight blue eyes never wavered from hers. “I don’t even know who you are or what it is you believe Hutch and I did to your boyfriend. So what makes you think I’ll go along with your sick little game?”

Without warning, Angelique drew back and gave his face a resounding slap. Her breathing rapid, she stood dead still, glaring at him with pure hatred, before turning and striding across the room. Her back to Starsky, she stared out the window.

“Very well—I’ll tell you. You’re going to die anyway, so it won’t make a difference.” She spoke softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “My whole life was changed by your partner’s actions, all my dreams, and my hopes—gone. Do you know what it’s like to have everything you ever wanted within your grasp, only to be snatched away in the blink of an eye?”

Starsky listened quietly, hoping to learn something that would help him out of this mess. Find her weakness, appeal to whatever shred of humanity that may reside in this, cruel, unfeeling, excuse for a woman. How could I have thought I was in love with her? God, Hutch, why didn’t I listen to ya, buddy?

“I’m from a very old, titled family in Europe, David,” she continued. “There is royalty in my bloodline. In years past, our family has been revered, commanding the best, and always having it. My grandfather was a perpetual adventurer—both in his personal life, and in business. Unfortunately for us, the greater the risk, the more appealing to him. Fortunes are made by men like Grandfather, daring and willing to gamble. Of course, there is always the risk of losing everything.”

She turned and faced him. Starsky saw anger suddenly flame to life in her ice-blue eyes.

“Without telling my grandmother, or his son and daughter, Grandfather made a series of bad investments and squandered the already dwindling family assets. Before we knew it, we were all paupers.”

She glared at Starsky, as though he was personally responsible for their ruin. “You can’t possibly imagine the humiliation of having our ancestral home—which had been in our family for over two hundred and years—taken from us and sold at auction, leaving us virtually, out on the street. We had nothing left but the clothes on our backs.”

“There’re worse things than bein’ poor. Being a cop-killer for instance,” Starsky reminded her.

Ignoring him, Angelique began pacing and talking, as if reciting a well-rehearsed script. It soon became evident to Starsky that she’d thought of little else in recent times.

“Grandfather was destroyed by this, and lost his will to live. Within the year, he had a fatal heart attack. Never having worked before, my mother and her brother didn’t know what to do. Father died when I was very small, so we had depended on my grandparents for everything. If it hadn’t been for Grandmother’s friends, we would most likely have starved to death.”

Resolutely, her chin rose. “I soon realized it was up to me to restore our good name and the family wealth. I decided to come to America and find a rich husband. After all, I am a beautiful woman of fine breeding. What man would not want me?”

“Yeah, and so humble,” Starsky added with undisguised sarcasm.

“Humble gets you nothing, David, except a boot in the face!” she snapped back. Just as quickly, her calm demeanor dropped back into place and she continued. “So I borrowed enough money for airfare for me, and for my servant, Demetrius. I used the family name to wheedle invitations to stay with some ‘old money’ families here in the States.” She smiled smugly. “This gave me an opportunity to meet rich men, and look for the ideal husband. And at the same time, I was living in the manner to which I was accustomed. Everything was working out marvelously.”

Angelique stopped before the dressing table, reached down and picked up a photograph of the same young man featured in the snapshots in the family room. “Then I met William. He was so…so…perfect. He was charming and good looking, and he had the wealth I needed to reclaim my birthright.” She held the picture frame close to her breast.

“I loved him too. That was a bonus I hadn’t expected. I was prepared to marry for money, but I never dreamed I’d be fortunate enough to be in love with him as well. I believe he loved me too. We had just announced our engagement.”

For a fleeting moment, Starsky felt a twinge of sympathy for Angelique’s loss. Then her eyes narrowed and flashed as she scowled at him. “But Detective Hutchinson ruined it all! And now, you’re going to die for his mistake.”

Struggling to concentrate on her words, Starsky began drifting in and out of a dreamlike state. Too many blows to the head, too little rest, and very little nourishment were all taking a toll on his body. Still, he wanted to understand, so he focused all his energy on comprehending on what she was telling him.

“Angela…or Angelique…whatever your name is…What did Hutch do? We always work our cases together, and I don’t remember the man in that picture. You must be confusing Hutch with some other cop.”

“No!” Instantly her face grew red and contorted with rage. “He is the one! He’s responsible for William being sent to prison. William couldn’t help himself. He should never have gone to prison. He didn’t belong there!”

Growing more confused by the moment, Starsky tried again to sort out her convoluted words. “How could Hutch kill him, if he was in prison? I mean it doesn’t make sense…”

“He arrested William on drug charges. William didn’t want to use drugs. He couldn’t help himself. Don’t you see? If your partner hadn’t arrested him, he would never have gone to prison.” The unadulterated madness in her eyes was enough to tell Starsky the lady wasn’t playing with a full deck. He tried to clear his thoughts and come up with some way of convincing her of the absurdity in her reasoning.

“They killed him. One of the bastards made a knife and killed him!”

“You mean one of the inmates? One of the other prisoners killed him in prison?”

Tears welled in the ice blue eyes, threatening to overflow. “Yes. We don’t even know why…stabbed him like it was an everyday event. Now I have nothing.”

“How can that be Hutch’s fault? I mean, he was just doin’ his job. Your boyfriend broke the law, so he had to pay the price.”

“No!” she screamed. “Not with his life!”

Starsky stared at Angelique, her chin trembling, eyes bright with unshed tears. She looked so vulnerable, so fragile. For a moment, it seemed impossible she had masterminded this elaborate scheme for revenge against his partner. He acknowledged, in that instant, she wasn’t altogether sane. And most likely, barring a miracle, he’d be dead before Hutch, or Dobey, or anyone else could figure out where he was.

“Surely by now you know that I’ve left nothing to chance.” She walked back over to Starsky, and with one finger, tilted his face up toward hers. “I have airline tickets, passports, and arrangements to stay in Switzerland with a family friend until they give up looking for me here.” She smiled sweetly. “What a fool you are, David. You disgusted me with your romantic overtures, fawning over me as if I could actually care for you. You made it so easy.”

The smile faded as her features became almost brittle. “I’ll never have my idyllic life with William…but at least I’ll be alive. That’s more than I can say for you, darling. And your beloved Hutch…well, I’m convinced he’ll be a broken shell of a man. The guilt will be so overwhelming he’ll most likely end up as a drunk in some alley; or if he’s got the nerve, maybe he’ll kill himself.”

Starsky jerked his chin away from her touch, overcome by revulsion at the likelihood that all she said was true.

“So, are you ready to record the message, David? It’s getting late, and I must move things along. As you Americans would say, ‘The ball is in your court.’”

Starsky willed his eye lids open so he could meet her gaze head-on. His stubborn jaw set, he spoke plainly. “When hell freezes over.”

“Mmmm…” she sighed. “I thought as much. Pity. You were so very handsome. I’d hoped to remember you that way.”

She turned and walked to the door, Starsky’s eyes following her all the way. She paused before opening it, giving him one last chance to relent. When he was silent, she quietly turned the knob and swung the door open. “Demetrius, I’m afraid David doesn’t want to cooperate. Perhaps you can be more convincing….”

Before leaving the room, she turned back to Starsky. “Let me know if you change your mind. Don’t forget, this doesn’t have to be so difficult for you.”

As Demetrius’s hulking shape filled the doorway, Starsky steeled himself for what was to come. He swallowed back his fear. He knew, without a doubt, there was no way he’d make that tape. It would destroy Hutch.

Sorry, buddy. I wish we could have said goodbye.

 

Chapter 8

Standing at the front door of the elaborate mansion, Hutch impatiently rang the bell again. He was about to start pounding on it with his fist when a maid, dressed in a traditional domestic uniform answered. He flipped out his shield and introduced himself, asking to speak with Mr. or Mrs. Collins. The maid showed him to the sitting room and instructed him to wait while she checked with her employer.

Hutch seated himself in the enormous room, and studied his surroundings while anxiously waiting for her to return. The room was somber, with heavy drapes in muted burgundy tones, blocking the sunlight which may have otherwise made it seem less oppressive.

Knowing every moment that passed minimized his chances of finding Starsky alive, Hutch’s patience was wearing thin. To calm his nerves, he got up and walked around the massive room. Though he wasn’t an expert on furniture and antiques, he knew enough about them to doubt the heavy mahogany, hand-carved candle stands and matching secretary were reproductions. In one corner stood a floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcase, its shelves laden with “first editions,” obviously worth a mint. He distractedly perused the titles, then turned his attention to the fireplace. Above the mantel hung a family portrait, picturing the Collinses with their young son, William, probably at the age of five or six. Despite the artist’s obvious skill, he’d not captured any sign of warmth in the faces of his patrons. Hutch wondered if it was an accurate depiction.

Although he had waited only a few minutes, it seemed like hours to Hutch. What if Collins’ parents refused to see him? It wasn’t like they were suspects. Any information they could give him would have to be voluntary. The situation would definitely have to be handled with kid gloves. Hutch nervously paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. Undoubtedly, they’d recognize his name. Starsky could be dying, and he was here, hat in hand, praying these people could at least point him in the right direction. Just as he thought they weren’t going to come, he heard someone enter through the door behind him. Hutch turned and faced William Collins’ mother.

“It really is you. I must say, I’m surprised at your audacity, Detective Hutchinson.” The matronly, silver-haired woman approached him without extending a hand of welcome.

“Mrs. Collins, I…I…appreciate your seeing me,” Hutch stuttered. “I assure you I wouldn’t impose on you like this if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

“I can’t imagine what business you may have with me now that my son is dead; but I am a civilized woman, and am willing to listen to what you have to say.”

“Thank you. I…uh…need to know about Angelique…your son’s fiancee. Do you know where she is?”

“Why ever would you need to see her? Hasn’t the poor girl been through enough?”

“It’s a matter of life and death, Mrs. Collins. If you know… know anything, please tell me. My partner’s life is at stake here.”

Martha Collins gestured for him to sit down, implying to Hutch that he’d gotten her attention. “I have no idea what you mean by that, but I would like to hear more before I give you any information regarding Angelique’s whereabouts.”

“I don’t have a lot of time. In fact, I’m worried it may already be too late. But I realize you’re entitled to an explanation.” Hutch briefly outlined what he knew about the situation, pulling out all the stops. If this woman knew anything, and he was certain she did, then he didn’t have time to pussy-foot around, playing twenty questions.

At the conclusion of his hastily delivered story, Mrs. Collins let out a deep sigh, whispering, “Oh, dear. It’s worse than I thought.”

“Detective, I’m afraid I believe every word you’ve said. When my son first brought Angelique home to meet us, we were both convinced she was a conniving gold digger. But nothing would please William but to marry her.” She stood up and walked toward the fireplace, gazing up at the family portrait.

“Of course, we never could control our son. It was as though he did things just to spite us. I told my husband the more we talked against such a union, the more determined William would be to see it through.”

Hutch fidgeted in his seat, interested in what Mrs. Collins was telling him, yet anxious to get to the information he so desperately needed, and be on his way. But he realized he would get it only on her terms.

She turned and looked at him, her eyes challenging him to dispute her next words. “You may not believe it, but we did try to help William end his drug addiction. I’m sure, being a law enforcement officer you could never understand what it’s like to be addicted to heroine.”

Hutch looked down at the floor, afraid she might see that he did understand—all too well.

“I knew he’d eventually end up in prison, but nothing I said or did deterred him from the self-destructive path he’d chosen. So when he was arrested, we were supportive, but resigned to the fact he would serve time in prison.”

Her voice held a slight tremor, though she tried to conceal it from Hutch. “What I wasn’t prepared for was the news that he’d been stabbed to death by an inmate.”

“You have my sympathies,” Hutch murmured earnestly.

“But, you asked me about Angelique, and I’m afraid I’ve strayed from the topic.” Hutch watched as she discreetly dabbed impending tears from the corners of her eyes.

“My husband and I were shocked by Angelique’s reaction to all this. When William was arrested we fully expected that would be the last we saw of her. You know, the ‘goose with the golden egg’ was going to prison. But she stood by my son resolutely. Promised to wait for him. She was convinced he would get out on parole for good behavior, and they could marry.

When we were notified of William’s death, Angelique was staying here as our house guest. A police officer came to give us the news. Angelique became hysterical. Why, I had to call my doctor and have him come out and give her a sedative just to calm her down.”

Hutch listened quietly, while inwardly willing her to hurry the story along.

“She went into a deep depression. I tried to convince her to go in for counseling, but she refused. The days passed, and she became more and more withdrawn. Frankly, I was quite worried that she may attempt suicide.

Then one morning about two months ago, she told me at breakfast that she was leaving. Was going to get a job and an apartment. I tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted she would be fine. She reminded me that her servant—body guard—whatever that Demetrius fellow was—would look after her. I insisted she take some money for living expenses until she was settled. Believe it or not, I had to become rather adamant before she’d agree.”

Mrs. Collins walked back over to the sofa and sat down, facing Hutch. “Then four days ago she called me. Asked if she could use the cabin up on the lake. It was a place she and William spent a good bit of time together. She also asked for money to buy two airline tickets. She seemed nervous and almost reluctant to ask for the money—said she just wanted to go home and be with her family. Of course, I immediately agreed to both requests. I had no reason to question why she wanted to use our cabin.”

Hutch came to his feet instantly. Finally, the break he’d hoped for. “Please, Mrs. Collins—you’ve got to tell me how to get to that cabin. I believe that’s where they took Starsky, and from the looks of the last photos they sent me, every minute I delay, the more likely it is he’ll die.”

She hesitated for only a split second. “Yes, of course.”

* * *

Hutch didn’t bother waiting to be shown the way out. He broke into a run as he slammed the Collins’ door behind him. Jumping into the Torino, he slapped the mars light on the roof and threw the car into reverse in one fluid movement. Once he was back on the highway, he reached for the radio mic.

“Control, this is Zebra 3. Patch me through to Dobey RIGHT NOW!”

“Ten four, Hutch. Patching you through.”

“What do you have, Hutch?”

“I think I know where they’re holding Starsky, Cap’n. I’m on my way there now. Can you dispatch some black and whites and an ambulance? I’m sure he’ll need medical attention…if I get there in time.”

“You will,” Dobey assured him. “I’m coming too. Now tell me where.”

* * *

A cloud of dust followed the Torino as Hutch jammed the gas pedal to the floor and fish-tailed around a curve and off the main highway. Gravel flew in all directions, and Hutch absent-mindedly wondered if Starsky would chew him out about getting his “baby” dirty. That thought made him feel as though a knife was being twisted in his heart. What if I’m too late? Please God…”

 

Chapter 9

Once he reached the back road that would lead to the cabin, Hutch turned off the siren and flashing mars light, knowing he couldn’t risk losing the element of surprise. He figured if Starsky wasn’t already dead, in all likelihood, Angelique would panic and kill him in a last desperate attempt to carry out her plan. Approaching a narrowing in the road, Hutch pulled over and parked the Torino, planning to go the rest of the way on foot. He knew the Striped Tomato would stick out like a sore thumb through the trees.

Hutch checked his Magnum, then began his trek through the woods toward the clearing. Within a few short moments, he came upon a graveled drive with a rental car parked at the entrance. At the other end was the cabin, backed up against a picturesque lake.

Hutch decided the best plan would be to skirt around the clearing, remaining hidden by the trees until he found a less conspicuous access to the house. As he reached the backside of the property, he saw Angelique come out the rear door, followed by Demetrius. Hutch dropped back, careful to stay out of sight until he could figure out what they were up to.

He watched as they headed straight toward the small boat dock , cropping out into the water. When they reached the end of the dock, Hutch could, for the first time, get a clear view of them. That’s when he realized the giant had a large bundle, wrapped in dark green canvas, slung over his shoulder. The sunlight glinted off a link of heavy chain encircling the bundle. Hutch felt his heart pounding like a sledge hammer when it became plain to him that the bundle was about the size of a man.

Starsky?

Reason gave way to rage as Hutch stormed from the cover of the trees, gun drawn and held rigidly extended before him. At first, neither of them saw him.

“Hold it right there!”

Startled, Demetrius stumbled backward, closer to the edge of the dock. Realizing they’d been discovered, Angelique stepped in front of him, blocking Hutch’s view.

“You’re too late, Detective Hutchinson!” she screamed. “He died knowing it was for you.” The mad, ice-blue eyes glittered. “He begged me to forgive you, but I told him it had to be like this. I want you to feel the same sorrow and desperation I did when William died!”

Stunned and sickened by her words, Hutch could barely speak. The inanimate lump of canvas draped over the giant’s shoulder had once been his friend. He was too late. The grief welled up inside, gagging him. Hutch struggled to stay in control, his voice, choked with raw emotion when he finally spoke.

“Step aside, Angelique. Demetrius, put him down…nice and easy.”

“He was a coward,” Angelique hissed. “He plead with me not to kill him. Did you know he whimpered like a frightened child? He wasn’t so brave near the end. I told him he had to pay for your part in William’s death.”

The words tore through Hutch like a rusty knife. Not only had Starsky been murdered, he’d been tortured and humiliated. Instinctively, his finger tightened on the Magnum’s trigger.

“I said, put him down!” The muscles in Hutch’s jaw flexed as he restrained the urge to blow them both away.

Angelique turned to Demetrius, an evil smile contorting her face. “Yes—by all means—put him down, Demetrius. You know what to do.” The hulking man removed the burden from his shoulder, and before Hutch realized his intention, Demetrius threw Starsky’s body into the deep water.

“Nooooooooo!”

Hutch lunged forward, knocking Angelique to the ground as he dashed toward the end of the dock.. When Demetrius turned back toward him, Hutch saw a revolver clutched in his beefy hand. As he raised it and took aim, Hutch pulled off two shots, quickly, one striking the other man in the arm, and one square in the chest. Hutch knew Demetrius was dead before he reached him. He barely noticed Angelique lying unconscious, her head having struck one of the pilings as she fell.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the sirens heralding his back-up was on the way, but he couldn’t afford to wait for them. Water—Starsky hates water… Without pause, he dove into the frigid water, determined to find Starsky before he was lost in the murky, depths of the lake. Until he saw it with his own eyes, Hutch would never accept his partner was dead.

Taking a deep breath, he filled his lungs before the icy water rushed over his head. Even near the surface, the darkness was closing in. Hutch almost panicked at the thought he could already be too late. Or, if his partner really was dead, the possibility that his body would disappear into the depths of the lake, ending any hope of seeing him one last time to say goodbye.

Spurred on by that almost debilitating fear, he kicked his legs and plunged deeper. Groping his way through the inky water, he eventually collided with the canvas bundle he was searching for. Wrapping both arms around it, he lunged upward toward the light; but the canvas was weighted down by the heavy length of chain, and Hutch felt himself sinking downward into the abyss. Fighting back the panic, he kicked harder, with only adrenaline to propel his cold, cramping legs. He knew that if he didn’t make it to the surface quickly, it would be the end of them both. Summoning his last ounce of energy, he focused on the light above, and forced his legs to propel them upward, praying for strength with each desperate lunge.

The first thing Hutch saw when he broke the surface was a hubbub of activity on the dock and along the lake shore. Uniformed cops were combing the edge of the woods as well, but no one seemed to notice him fighting to keep his head above water and not lose his hold on the slippery canvas. It dawned on Hutch that the canvas seemed lighter now. He hadn’t realized that sometime during his last ditch effort to make it the surface, the chain and slipped off the bundle, enabling them to escape.

When he spotted Captain Dobey and two uniforms standing over Demetrius’s corpse, and another small group surrounding Angelique, Hutch tried to call for help; but between the icy water’s affect on his body and the sheer exertion of keeping them both afloat, he didn’t have the strength to yell.

“There! Look, Captain!”

Dobey peered in Hutch’s direction as one of the officers pointed out into the water. “You two—help him!” Dobey barked. “And be quick about it!” The two cops hastily shed their shoes and weapons, then dove into the cold water and swam the short distance to where Hutch was bobbing up and down.

They clumsily removed the heavy burden from Hutch’s tired arms. “Can you make it back to shore?” one asked.

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. Just hurry! Get Starsky back to shore!” The two officers exchanged a grim look before heading toward the dock as fast as they could swim. Hutch angrily realized they thought it was a lost cause.

When they reached the dock, Dobey was standing by with two paramedics, who wasted no time cutting away the ropes and unrolling the canvas from around Starsky’s body. Before checking for a pulse, they quickly removed the wide strip of duct tape from across his mouth, and cut the tight rope that bound his hands behind his back.

Dobey waited at the end of the dock and reached down a helping hand as Hutch climbed out of the water. “Are you okay?”

Hutch barely paused long enough to answer before brushing past his boss, making a beeline to where Starsky lay prone at the other end of the dock. “Yeah, fine, Cap’n.”

Satisfied at least one member of the duo was safe, Dobey followed Hutch to where the paramedics were trying to revive the other. To Dobey’s surprise, Hutch stopped short of where Starsky lay—hesitant to face the reality that waited only a few feet away.

“I may’ve been too late,” Hutch whispered.

“What?” Dobey stopped in his tracks.

“She told me he was dead before Demetrius threw him in.” Hutch felt a cold lump of fear in his stomach. He wanted to see Starsky—needed to see him. Minutes earlier, he’d been driven by desperation to save his partner. But what if Angelique had told the truth? What if he was already dead?

Dobey looked at Hutch solemnly, then cleared his throat before quietly asking, “Did you actually see him die?”

Hutch closed his eyes, willing this nightmare to end, and felt Dobey’s familiar, reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“No…but…”

“Well then, we don’t know for sure, do we?” he said firmly. Together they approached the trio.

The two paramedics had already begun assessing Starsky’s condition. Johnson, the older of the two men, placed one hand under Starsky’s neck, tilting back his head. He quickly checked to make certain there were no obstructions in the victim’s mouth and throat. He leaned down close to Starsky’s mouth and nose, and listened, resting his hand gently on Starsky’s chest, hoping to detect the rise and fall of normal breathing. As he did so, his partner, Farley, placed his fingers over the artery along Starsky’s neck, checking for a pulse.

“He’s not breathing,” Johnson said.

“There’s a weak pulse,” the other paramedic responded.

Johnson kept his hand under Starsky’s neck to assure his airway remained open. He quickly placed his other hand on Starsky’s forehead, pinching his nostrils closed. The paramedic took a deep breath and lowered his mouth over Starsky’s, forming a seal. Then he expelled two full breaths, forcing oxygen into the dying man. They all watched as Starsky’s chest lurched up, slightly.

“He’s clear. No blockage,” Farley remarked.

Johnson lowered his mouth again, this time gave only one short breath, waited five seconds, then repeated the process.

Breathe…exhale…three, four, five…breath…exhale…three, four, five…

Hutch watched helplessly, vacillating between hope and dread. Every time the paramedic breathed into Starsky, his chest rose, giving the false appearance that he was actually breathing on his own.

Farley looked up for a second, making eye contact with Hutch, while Johnson continued breathing into Starsky’s mouth. “Do you know the victim?”

With that simple question, Hutch seemed to snap out of his reverie, anxious to help if he could. He knelt down beside Starsky, frightened by the blue pallor of his skin. Johnson repeated the breathing routine.

Breathe…exhale…three, four, five…breathe…exhale…three, four, five…

“He’s my partner. His name is Starsky.”

“How long was he under?” Johnson looked at Hutch expectantly.

“Oh…uh…no more…no more than three…maybe five minutes.”

The paramedic nodded. “Cutting it close. But the cold water lowered his body temperature, slowed down his heartbeat. If we’re lucky, there won’t be any brain damage.”

Still no response.

Breathe…exhale…three, four, five…breathe…exhale…three, four, five…

There was no sign of color or life in the cold, rigid features of Starsky’s face. If only I’d been there a few minutes earlier… Overcome by unreasonable guilt, Angelique’s words rang in Hutch’s ears. He died for you…

Johnson looked at his partner, waiting for a signal.

“Keep at it,” Farley told him.

Hutch felt a sob rise in his throat as he watched Johnson begin the mouth to mouth resuscitation again.

Breathe…exhale…three, four, five…breathe…exhale…three, four, five…

The whole scene seemed surreal to him. He and Dobey silently watched the paramedics work with precision and determination. For Hutch, all that existed was the drama playing out before him. He was even oblivious to Angelique’s insane shrieking when she was lead away in handcuffs.

Breathe…exhale…three, four, five…breathe…exhale…three, four, five…

Hutch’s anxiety escalated as the seconds ticked by. Finally unable to restrain himself any longer, he reached down and took Starsky’s hand. “Come on Starsk, wake up…please… Don’t do this, buddy. I need you here.”

Breathe…exhale…three, four, five…breathe…exhale…three, four, five…

Still hanging onto Starsky’s hand like an anchor, Hutch tenderly reached down and touched his bruised and swollen face. The lips that could smile and light up a room were now cold and blue—lifeless. Ice cold. Too much time…he’s been out too long… he’s going to die… Anxiety transformed into anger and a feeling of total impotence. Why couldn’t they do something? Why couldn’t he do something?

Breathe…exhale…three, four, five…breathe…exhale…three, four, five…

“Wake up, Starsky! Wake up, dammit! Don’t you die on me!” Hutch’s desperation surged. Warm tears mingled with frigid droplets of lake water and glided down his own cold cheeks.

Breathe…exhale…three, four, five…breathe…exhale…three, four, five…

With a sudden heave, water spewed from Starsky’s mouth, making a strangled, gurgling sound as he gasped for that first breath of oxygen. Startled, Hutch could hardly believe his own eyes. Instantly, the paramedics turned Starsky onto his side to let the water finish draining from his lungs and throat.

“All right! That’s it!” Farley snatched up the stethoscope and listened to Starsky’s chest. “Heartbeat’s stronger too.” The paramedic smiled at Hutch encouragingly.

After Johnson was certain the water had drained from Starsky’s mouth and throat, he placed an oxygen mask over his patient’s face.

Starsky’s skin was still cold and clammy, but Hutch could see the color slowly returning to his partner’s face. “Is he…is he breathing on his own?” Hutch’s eyes sought out the paramedic’s. “Is he going to be okay?”

“It’s too early for guarantees, but his heartbeat’s stronger…still a little irregular….” Johnson answered, “but I’d say things are looking up.” Behind him, Dobey took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his worried brow.

Still working quickly, one paramedic started an IV, while the other took Starsky’s blood pressure and pulse, then fed information back to the hospital. With their patient stabilized for the moment, Johnson asked the doctor for permission to transport.

Hutch ran a tired hand over his face. It didn’t seem possible a man could endure so much abuse, nearly drown, and still cling to life so tenaciously. Hutch smiled to himself. But then, this was Starsky he was talking about.

“Come on, partner,” he whispered. Hutch held Starsky’s left hand between his two, trying to rub some warmth back into him. “I can’t do it by myself.”

“I don’t like the irregularity of his heartbeat,” Farley quietly told his partner.

“Hospital just gave us the go ahead to transport. I don’t think we should delay getting him there.” Johnson kept his voice low as well.

“I agree.” Farley turned to Hutch. “We’re taking him on in, and you can ride with us if you want. Maybe you can give the hospital some of the information they’ll need. Just understand he’s not out of the woods yet, so if anything goes wrong, I’ll need you stay out of the way. Understood?”

“Well…yeah…sure…whatever you say. You have my word.”

Hutch looked over at Dobey, who nodded his agreement. “Go with them. I’ll follow in Starsky’s car.”

“Thanks, Cap’n.” Hutch tossed him the Torino keys.

The paramedics loaded Starsky into the ambulance and Hutch climbed in after them. He stationed himself on one side of the stretcher, within Starsky’s line of vision. Farley drove, while Johnson rode in back with the two detectives. The ambulance siren wailed, as they sped toward the hospital.

Hutch gazed down at the battered face of his partner. The angry scrapes and bruises were even more disturbing up close. He gently smoothed the damp, dark curls back from his partner’s forehead, and tried not to think about how the wounds got there, or the pain they must have caused. “Come on, Starsk. Can ya hear me, buddy?” Still, there was no response. Dark lashes lay like smudges against Starsky’s ashen face. Hutch found himself taking deep breaths, as if doing so would force oxygen into Starsky’s lungs. When the midnight blue eyes fluttered open a slit, Hutch was afraid to believe what he was seeing.

“Hutch?” The voice was weak, muffled by the oxygen mask; but there was no doubt, he’d said his partner’s name.

Tears welled up in Hutch’s eyes, blurring his vision. He squeezed Starsky’s hand, trying to convey the reality of his presence. “Yeah, right here… How ya doing, buddy?’

Slowly, Starsky’s lids closed again, leaving Hutch feeling like the rug had been yanked out from under him.

“Starsk? Can you hear me? Starsky?”

“He’s unconscious again,” Johnson told him. “He may drift in and out like that for awhile.” He adjusted the oxygen mask on his patient’s face again, and checked his pulse. “Still pretty erratic. I’ll feel better when we can get it stabilized.”

The interminable ride to the hospital finally ended, as the ambulance screeched to a halt outside the emergency room. The next several minutes were a blur to Hutch, watching the medical team whisk his partner through the swinging stainless steel doors. When he tried to follow, an orderly blocked his way, and instructed him to wait in the waiting room around the corner.

Hutch started to argue, but Captain Dobey arrived, and commandeered him down the hall, warning him to stay out of the way and let the medical team do their jobs. Too tired and defeated to argue, Hutch sat down next to the captain, closed his eyes, and tried to will away the tension in his neck and shoulders.

Still dressed in his dripping, wet clothes, Hutch was too distracted to realize he was shivering. So, when one of the hospital’s housekeepers passed by with a cart of clean linens, Dobey discreetly lifted a dry blanket, and draped it around the wet man’s shoulders. Looking up, Hutch gave him a ghost of a smile, appreciative for the warmth.

The two men sat silently waiting, as time seemed to stand still. It was an all too familiar scene. Finally, Dobey stood up, stretching his legs and back. “I’m going for coffee. Bring you a cup?”

Hutch nodded. “Yeah, thanks, Cap’n.” He didn’t bother looking up as Dobey hurried down the hall in search of a coffee machine. Before the captain was fully out of sight, a nurse appeared at the door of the waiting room.

“Mr. Hutchinson, you can come back now.” She turned and led the way back down the hall toward the emergency room, Hutch following closely on her heels. “He’s awake now,” she told him before opening the door. Hutch felt a wave of relief course through his body.

Starsky lay snugly wrapped in two heavy thermal blankets, a pillow propping up his head. When he saw Hutch enter the room, tried to smile, but was just too weak.

“Hey, buddy, how ya doin’?” Hutch reached down and squeezed Starsky’s hand.

“Terrific. Don’t I look terrific?” His voice was a little quivery, but he was completely lucid. Hutch was amazed at the improvement in his color, the blue pallor of his skin already beginning to recede.

“How’d I get here, anyway?” Starsky croaked. “My throat hurts like hell.”

“The ambulance brought us. You were out of it. I don’t suppose you remember much about what happened, but you’re going to be okay now. It’s over.” Hutch smiled and lowered his face down closer to Starsky’s. He could tell his partner’s breathing was still a little shallow, but seemed to be evening out. “The crazy lady’s gone and the good guys got there in time.”

A crooked shadow of a smile transformed Starsky’s face into the familiar countenance Hutch had been waiting for. “Took ya long enough, Blondie.” He spoke barely above a whisper, his voice graveled and raw.

“Now that’s gratitude for you,” Hutch joked back. “Here I was going nuts looking for you, and all the while you’re vacationing at the lake.” A tired, but happy smile lit his eyes.

This time, Starsky made a poor attempt at laughter, then grimaced from the pain caused by the ribs that Demetrius had cracked. Hutch protectively steadied him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, waiting for the discomfort to pass. Starsky’s hand closed over his, drawing strength from his presence.

Dobey bustled into the room, led by the same nurse who’d fetched Hutch minutes before. He leaned around Hutch, his round face wreathed in smiles. “Welcome back, Starsky.” He handed Hutch a cup of strong, black coffee, and moved up next to the bed, closer to Starsky.

“You had your partner here pretty worried,” he blustered, making a poor attempt at hiding his own concern. “And don’t worry about your car,” he added. “I drove it over here for Hutch. I knew you wouldn’t want it left up at the lake.” He beamed like a child reporting he’d done all his chores.

Starsky’s brows shot up slightly, causing him considerable discomfort in the process. “My car? How’d my car get there?” He looked accusingly at Hutch. “You been drivin’ my car? What? Did ya think I was dead and wouldn’t know the difference?”

Hutch pulled an indignant face. “Come on, Starsk. I just saved your life here. Now you’re going to make an issue out of me driving your car? Can I help it if you’ve got lousy taste in women?” Deciding a strong offense was the best defense, he hurried on, “I mean, is it my fault you got mixed up with another criminally insane woman?”

Starsky, a little more alert now, shot back, “Don’t try to change the subject here. We’re talkin’ about my car.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to go now,” the nurse interrupted. “You can visit more once we move him upstairs to his room.”

Not easily deterred when the Stripped Tomato was at risk, Starsky persisted. “You really got a lot’a nerve, ya know? Can’t a guy even get kidnapped and drowned without someone stealin’ his car?”

 

Epilogue

Hutch sat on the bar stool, nursing a beer, waiting for his partner to show up. It had been a little over a month since the episode with Angelique had occurred and earlier in the day, he and Starsky had given their depositions to the judge.

Based on the psychiatric evaluation, the court had determined she was mentally incompetent to stand trial. The fact that she wasn’t a U.S. citizen had complicated things even further. Now it looked as though she’d be deported to her home country to stand trial there. All Hutch knew was, he hoped neither he nor Starsky would ever see her again.

“Hey, I thought you said Starsky was supposed to meet you here. Think he’s okay?” Huggy casually wiped the counter area around Hutch’s beer mug. “You sure he isn’t freaked out over giving his statement to the judge today?”

“Well, I know it wasn’t easy. He’s had a hard time dealing with what Angelique did, not to mention the physical abuse Demetrius put him through.”

“That dude did a number on him all right. Man, I get the heebie-jeebies just thinking what would’ve happened if you hadn’t gotten there when you did.”

Hutch didn’t answer, just peered into his beer mug, unable to consider the unthinkable. But he knew with certainty the next time he had a bad feeling about someone, he’d follow his gut instinct, and convince Starsky he was right—even if he had to knock some sense into him!

Huggy looked up to see the subject of their conversation entering the bar. “Speak of the devil. How’s it goin’ man? We were beginning to think you weren’t going to make the scene tonight.”

Hutch looked up as his partner gracefully slid onto the stool next to him. “I had to go by the doctor’s office.”

Concern flashed across Hutch’s face. “What’s wrong? You okay? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Nothing, yes, and that’s exactly why,” Starsky answered back cryptically.

Hutch looked nothing less than confused. “What? What kind of answer is that?”

“Give me a beer, Hug.” Starsky rested his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the bar. He turned sideways and gave Hutch a condescending look.

“Nothin’s wrong…Yes I’m okay…and I didn’t tell ya I was goin’ by the doctor’s cause I knew you’d go into your mother hen routine—like you just did.” He picked up the cold beer mug that Huggy set on the bar before him.

“Fine.” Hutch bit back. His jaw tensed, and he wore his best face of indignation. “Sorry I cared.”

“Come on, Hutch,” Starsky cajoled. “I’m fine. Doc wanted to see me one more time before signing my release papers. As of tomorrow, I’m officially off desk duty.” Starsky grinned like a Cheshire cat, pleased he’d been able to spring the news without Hutch suspecting what he was up to.

Despite his best efforts to look mad, Hutch couldn’t hold back a smile. “That’s terrific news, buddy!” He clapped Starsky on the back. The past month had been rough, doing all the legwork by himself while Starsky was chained to a desk pushing papers. Even though it had been difficult for him, he knew it had been close to unbearable for Starsky.

“I just wanted to surprise you. Besides, if he’d said no, then you’d have been disappointed. This way nobody was expectin’ anything from me.”

“Well, you surprised me all right. I honestly figured it would be a couple more weeks.”

“I told him I was goin’ bonkers, and without me to watch your back, you’d probably get yourself killed out there.” Starsky watched Hutch from the corner of his eye to see if he’d gotten a rise out of his partner; but Hutch didn’t take the bait.

Huggy had observed the exchange with amusement. These two weren’t happy unless they were giving each other a hard time. To him, this was all the confirmation he needed that “Starsky was back in town.”

“Well, Starsky, if you’re a hundred percent, I guess it’s time to get back into action with the ladies too,” he said casually.

“I don’t know, Hug. I’m not too anxious to get mixed up with another woman yet. Shouldn’t be hard for you can figure out why.”

“Hmmm, that’s a shame,” Huggy countered. “I have a new waitress that I figure to be just your type.”

Hutch quietly sipped his beer. He listened nonchalantly, taking in Starsky’s reaction as Huggy continued.

“Her name’s Christine and she is one fine looking specimen of pulchritude. Blond, blue eyes, and she’s got a thing for men with big guns.”

“Oh yeah?” Starsky tipped his head to one side, considering what Huggy had said.

“Yeah. Loves to dance too. I told her about your undercover alter-ego Ramón, and she’s dying to see you in action.”

Starsky’s chest puffed out a bit, and a cocky smile animating his face. “Really? Well, maybe I should—ya know—at least meet the lady.”

Hutch’s eyes rolled heavenward.

Huggy smiled, happy Starsky was seeing things his way. “I’ll be glad to introduce you to her. She’ll be on duty in thirty minutes.”

Starsky turned around gave Hutch a self-satisfied nod of the head. Maybe it was just what he needed. Meet a new girl, get back into the dating scene.

“So what do you say, Starsky? This chick is ‘too good to be true.’”

Starsky’s face went deathly white. Hutch’s head snapped up and the two exchanged a look of sheer terror.

“Uh….Uh…I’ll take a rain check, Hug,” Starsky stuttered.

Without so much as a word between them, both cops scrambled off their bar stools as if they were on fire. Hutch quickly threw a five on the counter for the beers and they beat a hasty retreat out of the club.

Perplexed by their behavior, Huggy watched them disappear out the door.

“Hey! Where you goin’, Starsky?” But neither of them even looked back. “Was it something I said?” Huggy mumbled under his breath.

Shaking his head, he chuckled to himself, picked up the bill, and slipped it into the cash register.

 

The End

11/7/00