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Borders - Part Four
By
Ellis Murdock
Hutch sat in his usual position in the passenger seat of the car bestowed upon Ross for the duration of their stay; Ross behind the steering wheel, McMahon directly behind her in the back seat. They had arrived early at a waterfront hotel called The Mirador and found a perfect spot from which to observe all of the guest’s arrivals and departures. The ideal place to do surveillance.
McMahon spotted Pringle and Lord before either of his colleagues, excitedly pointing them out with the help of binoculars.
"Jackie was right, something really is going down tonight." McMahon sounded as if it were the last thing he had actually expected.
"If this pays off, remind me to do something nice for Jackie", Ross replied with a smile.
"We already did." Hutch adjusted the binoculars to his liking as he spoke. "Got her bail reduced by half and convinced the DA to knock off two of the three charges pending. Her information turned out to be as much of a gold mine for her as it might be for us." He was about to pass the binoculars over to Ross when he noticed another familiar face.
"Well, look who’s approaching from the marina." He pointed out the solitary figure nervously making his way toward The Mirador.
"Venable?" Ross asked hopefully. "He’s a little twitchy, isn’t he?"
"Experienced", Hutch replied evenly. Relinquishing the binoculars, he grabbed the radio and announced to the black and white units parked out of sight that they now had confirmation on all three suspects and to prepare to move in on his signal.
"So how long are we gonna give ‘em a before we crash the party?" McMahon reminded Hutch of a bull at a rodeo, bucking against the barrier in it’s enthusiasm to get into the ring.
"Oh, fifteen, twenty minutes. Long enough for them to settle in and get comfortable."
Ross picked up on his line of thought and continued the lesson. "It’s better to let the edge wear off before you go in. The more the suspects have relaxed into their own business, the more effective the element of surprise."
Hutch turned to her with a grin. "You’re knees would probably appreciate a nice quiet surrender."
"More than just my knees", she shot back. "I always pray for by-the-book arrests. The excitement of battle is highly over-rated."
Ross got her wish. Twenty three minutes later, three detective plus four uniformed officers entered Room 39 and took James Lord, Mickey Pringle, Edward Venable, two guns, and a suitcase packed with three hundred twenty thousand dollars into custody without incident.
God bless accountants, Hutch thought with a satisfied smile. ‘They’ll never take me alive’ was apparently not a phrase to which they were strongly bonded. Lord and Venable had failed to even try to draw their weapons; Pringle didn’t have one to begin with.
McMahon declined to accompany Hutch and Ross on the ride back to Metro, preferring instead to have a patrol car drop him off at the stakeout still in progress over at the Hillcrest. The lure of making an additional two arrests in one night apparently held a much stronger appeal than the admittedly more tedious routine of booking and interviewing did. For tonight at least, no one had the heart to argue with him.
As soon as the three suspects were making their way through booking, Hutch grabbed the phone and rang Starsky at home. A thought had occurred to him somewhere along the way and, while perhaps not entirely in keeping with procedure, it wasn’t precisely forbidden, either.
~~~~~~~~~~
Starsky had abandoned the puzzle in less than half an hour. Feeling the need to accomplish something, yet just now possessing little of the enthusiasm required to actually make a start, he did manage to jot down a series of updates to his file of notes. As he read through them, vainly hoping to see a previously invisible pattern magically appear out of the chaos, he concluded that the entire exercise had been nothing but a colossal waste of time and chucked the lot into a corner.
Idly picking up a book next, Starsky found he couldn’t really get into it, either. The television was the next logical choice and he eventually settled for an old science fiction movie he had seen three times already. It wasn’t a favorite, but he had come to the rather dismal conclusion that this was probably about as good as it was going to get this evening.
He was seriously considering a brief-but-heartfelt wallow in self-pity when the phone rang. You’ve got impeccable timing - you know that, partner? he thought fondly. Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.
"Hello?"
"Starsk?"
"Nope. He got bored and sailed for Tahiti three hours ago."
"We got ‘em", Hutch announced, completely ignoring the quip. "Pringle, Lord, and Venable…just as Jackie laid it out for us."
"Without a hitch?"
"Without a hitch. And you haven’t heard the best part yet. Our bonus was three hundred and twenty thousand dollars worth of dirty money, just waiting to be cleaned - all from one of Debaran’s earlier gun deals."
"Yes!" Starsky was fairly certain that the sound of his fist impacting the table carried through the phone lines, probably conveying his feelings more eloquently than any words he could have latched onto. "Y’ think one of ‘em will roll?"
"Well, I don’t know, but I thought you might wanna come down and see for yourself. I could use some help with the interviews…if I’m not tearing you away from anything important, that is."
Starsky was silent for a moment as the offer sunk in. "You think Dobey would go for that? Me being in on the interrogations?"
"I didn’t ask. What do you think he’s gonna do, come in and drag you out?"
An unexpected rush of adrenaline momentarily impeded his ability to speak, but tongue and brain managed to re-connect after only a brief pause. "I’m on my way." He placed the phone back on the receiver with care, grabbed his keys, and flew out the door.
~~~~~~~~~~
"We’ve got Pringle and Lord", Hutch explained to his eager partner as they sat at his desk at Metro. "I gave Venable to Ross." He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled slowly. "Man, let me tell you, that woman knows how to conduct an interview. I was ready to confess myself and I was only in there about ten minutes."
"I’m not surprised - she’s not exactly your average chick." Starsky paused for a moment, reacquainting himself slowly with the squad room. "Mac still hanging out at the Hillcrest?"
Hutch consulted his watch. "Yeah, probably for another hour or two, but if nothing breaks by then…" He shrugged. "Well, you know what they say about hope springing eternal and Mac’s got a lotta hope. I don’t think he’s going to give in until the last possible moment."
Swatting Starsky’s knee with a rolled-up notepad, he took his last swig of coffee, rose from the desk, and the two made their way down the hall to Interview Room Three. It was time to have a chat with Mickey Pringle.
Starsky glowered menacingly against a wall while Hutch made all of the official noises required of an officer about to launch into an interrogation, at the same time smoothly obtaining permission from Pringle to have his partner present in the room throughout the proceedings.
"Detective Starsky is here as a consultant only", he concluded, turning to Pringle. "That means that he cannot ask you any questions directly, but may address questions and request clarifications through me. You have no objection to that, do you?"
"Uh, no. I guess not."
Pringle was already sweating profusely, Hutch noticed with pleasure, and the interview hadn’t even begun.
"So, Mickey - you don’t mind if I call you Mickey? So, what were you doing with all that money tonight?"
"Uh…I already answered that already. Earlier." He licked his lips nervously.
Hutch glanced up at Starsky, who had moved a couple of steps closer, arms still folded. "Yes, I know you did. My partner hadn’t arrived yet, though, and I think he’d appreciate hearing, too."
"We wanted it laundered."
Hutch made a face, though his tone remained patient. "Who’s ‘we’?"
"What?"
"Your employer. We’d like a name. Try and focus, Mickey. Who are you working for?"
Pringle glanced at Hutch but was riveted by Starsky, who had just gotten closer by another three steps.
"I, I… I don’t know. I don’t know. We weren’t told."
Starsky opened his mouth for the first time, being careful to address his question to Hutch instead of Pringle, speaking very slowly. "Is he stupid or is he lying?"
Hutch exchanged a long glance with his partner, then leaned back in the chair. To Pringle, he calmly asked, "Are you stupid or are you lying?"
"Stu -- No! Neither. I just don’t know."
Hutch clicked his tongue against the side of his cheek. "Now you see, that right there is where we have a problem. You never once thought to ask?"
"No one would ever say and…" He looked down at the table glumly. "No, I didn’t ask. It’s just, well, it’s better sometimes if you don’t know."
"Okay, lets assume that I buy that. How did it work? Your orders didn’t fall from the sky and the money didn’t get up and walk itself over to you. Unless you want us to believe this was all conducted on an invisible plane of existence, you must’ve seen somebody at one point or another."
He was so preoccupied with Starsky’s slow, purposeful advance that Hutch had to tap the table with his pen a few time in order regain Pringle’s attention.
"Well, we, we used five different drop sites. All in rotation. We’d get our orders from one, pick up the money at another, and so on." He leaned back in his chair, trying to put distance between himself and Starsky, who was hovering directly in front of him. Pringle looked plaintively over at Hutch.
"Look, guys." He spread his arms submissively. "I’m just a glorified banker. I don’t know anymore, honest." He placed his hand against Starsky’s chest as the detective leaned into his face.
Without moving his body, Starsky turned his head in Hutch’s direction.
"Is he touchin’ me? I think he’s touching me."
"I wouldn’t do that, if I were you", Hutch suggested. "He doesn’t like it."
Pringle withdrew his hand as if he had been shocked and stared, owl-eyed, into Starsky’s too-near face.
Hutch pulled himself up from the chair with a sigh and tucked it neatly back against the table. "Come on", he said cheerfully to his partner. "Let’s take a break, give Mickey here a chance to reflect awhile. What do you say?"
He laid a hand lightly on Starsky’s shoulder, feigned surprise when the other man jerked away, and watched as Starsky shot from the room, slamming the door in his wake. The blond shrugged his shoulders at a now thoroughly spooked Pringle, and left the room without a word.
Starsky was busily assaulting the vending machine as Hutch joined him in the hallway.
"I hope Pringle has a change of underwear. You’re scaring the hell out of him, Starsk."
Starsky grinned as he waited for the candy bar to drop out the slot. He patted the machine fondly now, another ghost from the past he was visiting tonight.
"That’s the whole idea, but I’m not sure it’ll do much good. Mickey doesn’t strike me as the type to be honorably holding out, which means…"
"…that he’s probably telling the truth. Yeah, I’m inclined to agree. Still, I’ll go take another swing at him in a minute. You want to go see how Ross is fairing?"
"With pleasure." Starsky gave his partner a halfhearted salute and started heading toward Interview Room One.
"Hey", Hutch called after him softly.
"Yeah?"
"Stop having so much fun. It confuses people."
Starsky grinned. "If we have to, we’ll unconfuse ‘em later. I couldn’t stop now if I tried."
~~~~~~~~~
When the interviews were over, the three detectives gathered over coffee in an empty interview room to compare notes on a less-than-encouraging evening.
"As it turned out, the only major difference between Pringle and Lord is that Lord wasn’t nearly as easy to intimidate." Tired, Hutch had slumped down in the chair, fingers busily straightening a paperclip as he spoke.
"Their stories matched perfectly." Starsky continued the thought, turning a chair around backwards before he sat, as was his custom. "Much as we wanted to believe they were lyin’, we don’t think they were. Whoever’s doing this, they’re enough of a pro to stay completely invisible. Out of sight, out of reach."
"It really is beginning to sound like Debaran, isn’t it?", Ross mused. "Well, I hate to add even more bad news to the growing list, but I got even less from Venable. I honestly don’t know how he manages to stay in business - he’s got to be one of the most clueless people I’ve ever met."
"It’s not for lack of technique. I saw how you worked him in there - you could teach a class in the art of interrogation." Hutch smiled, then turned to her quizzically. "How did you ever …"
His question was cut off as McMahon walked in and joined them with a sigh, despondency emanating from him in waves.
"No joy, hmm?" Ross inquired gently.
"I sat there in that creepy, cramped little room they had set up until after midnight, all for no good reason", he grumbled. "Neither one of ‘em bothered to show. Hell…no one even tried to rent the room."
"The exciting life of a street cop", Starsky commented dryly. "Better get used to it, kid. It’s about seventy-five percent of what we do."
"Yeah, and the other twenty-five percent’s paperwork", Hutch chuckled. "Well, we didn’t fare much better than you. Why break up a perfect score?"
"Oh, I don’t know." Starsky’s tone was decidedly upbeat. "We still ended up with a sizable chunk of Debaran’s money. The night hasn’t exactly been a total wash."
The unspoken reality, of course, was that seizing the money had almost certainly tipped Debaran off that they were onto both he and Lorna. Calculated risk that it was, when all of the available options had been weighed, they had deemed it was a chance worth taking. The fallout - if any - could be contained later.
Just now, at least, Starsky couldn’t have cared less. He had been a cop again - not officially - but had re-claimed his rightful place alongside his partner in all of the major interrogations and savored every moment of it. Whatever else, it had been a good night.
FEBRUARY 20, 1980
Changing the burned-out porch light was becoming a far greater challenge than either man had been prepared for. As it was Hutch who was dangling by his teeth from the latter, he was understandably the more piqued of the two and didn’t seem inclined to contribute much to the conversation Starsky was determined to engage in.
"It doesn’t make sense", Starsky complained again, just in case Hutch had missed it the first time.
"No - damn! - it doesn’t. Would you hand me that, that…", he pointed to the hammer.
"You hit it too hard, you’ll break the glass", Starsky warned. He was trying to be helpful; Hutch didn’t seem to be taking it that way.
"I mean, if Debaran really is dead, who was it who pulled out the money? And if he’s not…well, the number of people who would have to be involved…it just doesn’t fit."
"Well, we’re obviously missing something then. What did you do to this thing, anyway? Glue it in place?" He tapped more aggressively at the uncooperative light fixture.
"You hafta turn it counterclockwise or…"
"I know that. I’m just trying to loosen it a little first."
Starsky didn’t point out the unlikelihood of it loosening while being turned ever tighter. "Maybe he worked with someone. Y’ know? Someone who had access to the account information, too."
"Someone that no one has ever seen? Even heard a rumor about? Hand me the towel, huh?"
Starsky sighed and did as requested without further comment. Hutch was right, he knew - it was a highly improbable theory. There was something though, a not quite retrievable thought nagging at him from just below the surface of his consciousness, something he missed. Oh well. It would come to him in it’s own time, when it was ready. He glanced up at the sound of soft swearing to see that his partner had finally wrested the glass globe off only to find the bulb firmly stuck, too.
"Hey, Hutch?"
"Yeah?"
"How many cops does it take…"
"STARSKY!"
~~~~~~~~~~
With Hutch reluctantly on his way to work, Starsky sat hovering over the now nearly finished puzzle, left to sort through the dilemma on his own. If only the case were going as well, he thought darkly, gazing at the bizarre work of Mr. Escher so neatly laid out before him on the coffee table.
What have we got? He wasn’t willing to concede that Debaran was actually dead, not yet. If he was, that left a mystery person pulling all the strings and that scenario was entirely too open-ended. The alternative wasn’t much better: Debaran alive meant that a huge number of people were involved in a complex conspiracy that literally spanned from one coast to the other. Lorna was working for the top man - of that he was reasonably certain - but his own dealings with her were mixed at best. Half the time he couldn’t tell who was playing whom. The people who had been arrested either genuinely didn’t know anything or were too afraid to talk.
Starsky sat back in the chair, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration: the whole thing was making him dizzy. He toyed with a few pieces of puzzle, hoping to get his mind off the entire mess for awhile, but neither his heart nor mind was really in it. Well, he thought dryly, there was a time when I didn’t think we stood a snowball’s chance in finishing this, either, so maybe there’s hope after all. How had they accomplished this great task, anyway? It had looked impossible enough in the beginning. Borders, a voice inside his head answered and a memory slowly began to make it’s way to the surface of his mind. What was it that Hutch had said? "…work the borders first. That way you’re starting with what you know and the rest fits into place."
Okay, fine. Start with what you know. Starsky pulled out his file of personal notes, read over everything again, and gave it some thought. Debaran headed a sophisticated, efficient, and powerful organization - first in LA, then in New York. It was compromised, shut down, and Debaran either dead or made to look so. He frowned. Well, that wasn’t precisely correct, for a start. What do we actually know? An organization existed. It was compromised and should have shut down, but didn’t - at least not completely. Someone who looked like Debaran was killed. Better, but what’s the common denominator? Someone had to have both the opportunity and ability…
He froze as an idea, so elegantly simple in it’s design that he was tempted to discard it outright, began to insinuate itself upon his consciousness. What if they had been going about this all wrong? They had been so wrapped up in following dead leads, interviewing people who knew nothing, chasing a conspiracy that would rival anything that came out of Watergate…could the answer really be that simple in the end? He tested the newly-born theory out, looked at it from every conceivable angle, searched for something - anything - that might refute it. Then, without benefit of celestial fanfare or fireworks, he knew.
First things first. He picked up the phone to call Hutch, hands shaking to the point that tapping the correct buttons was something of a challenge. To the friendly voice on the other end he said, "I need to speak to Detective Hutchinson." Silence.
"I’m sorry, he’s out in the field. Can I take a message?"
"No time. Can you tatch me p--" he took a deep breath. "Can you patch me through to him?
"I’m sorry, but we don’t…"
"Listen to me. I’m his partner - was… no, is - this is Detective David Starsky and it’s an emergency." He hoped that even if she didn’t understand what he was trying to say, she would at least grasp the underlying urgency.
"One moment please."
One moment turned into several and Starsky felt as though several lifetimes were going by while he was on hold. Finally a click. Success?
A voice, breathless, as though the man it belonged to had been running a marathon, came over a static-y connection. "Starsky?"
"Hutch! I need to see you, now."
"Starsky, what --? Are you all right?"
It wasn’t until he heard the tightly controlled panic in Hutch’s voice that he realized what this must be sounding like to his partner. What could be so wrong that it would warrant an interruption of this sort? He was sorry, silently vowed to make it up to him later, but right now there just wasn’t time.
"I’m fine, I’m better than fine. Meet me at Metro as soon as you can, okay? I just fit all of the pieces together."
~~~~~~~~~~
The next step after leaving Hutch was to head to The Pits and get the ball rolling there. If this plan of his was to have any chance of success at all, the timing would have to be almost perfect and everyone had a role to play. The bar, thankfully, was fairly quiet at this time of the day and Starsky didn’t have to wait long before Huggy made his way over.
"Hey Starsky, your other half abandon you again?"
"Yep, he’s at work. Listen, something big is going down and I need to contact Mercury. We’ve found Debaran."
After a pause, Huggy said. "Didn’t know he was lost. Don’t dead guys usually stay wherever you put ‘em?"
"Debaran’s not dead; it’s been smoke and mirrors the whole time. Can’t explain now, just make contact. She’s been a good snitch and I’d hate to see her get dragged down in this. Get word to her to get outta the way, okay? Everything will be over by this evening."
"Done."
~~~~~~~~~~
The walk Starsky took after leaving Huggy had done nothing to quell the agitation he was feeling. As he walked up the steps into the eerily quiet apartment, he was keenly aware of the doubt gouging ever larger holes in his rapidly diminishing confidence.
What if he had read it wrong? All the hours, all the efforts of four dedicated detectives - not to mention the legion of assisting manpower from two coasts utilized during the course of their investigation - wasted because of his arrogance. There hadn’t even been time to tell Hutch his theory, just to explain what to do and when to do it. Hutch had been curious, obviously, but hadn’t even for a moment questioned the ‘why’ of it all - the trust between them was that implicit. Starsky wanted desperately to prove it justified.
Problem was, none of this was based on anything tangible. It was all instinct and instincts, he knew, could be spectacularly way-off base. Especially when you’ve been out of circulation for as long as I have. That wasn’t even taking into account the very real possibility that even if he was on the mark, it might just be too little, too late.
Stop it, he scolded himself as he put the car keys back in their usual place. You’re right and you know it, know it with every fiber of your being. Stop second-guessing yourself and be patient.
Patience, as it turned out, wasn’t required after all. He heard the front door open just then, very softly behind him. Didn’t have to turn around to know who it was; waited for the intruder to speak first.
"Nice place", Lorna said simply.
"Glad you like it." As Starsky turned around to face her, he idly wondered if she had climbed up on top of something to reach the house key or had opted to pick the lock.
"Word has it you found Debaran. Tell me more."
He didn’t have the chance before Hutch emerged from the bedroom, Magnum in hand.
"Hutch!" Wearing an amused grin, she sounded genuinely pleased to see him. "What is it with you and hiding, anyway? Oh, and I see you weren’t alone."
As Ross and McMahon also ventured forth from the bedroom, Lorna jokingly peered around behind them. "Any more back there?"
"Just us", Ross replied coolly. "Hello, Lorna."
She sighed heavily. "I thought as much. Oh, well. Being Mercury was a blast for as long as it lasted." Turning to Hutch, "Put that canon away, dear. You’ll poke someone’s eye out."
"I think I’ll wait until you’ve been frisked, if it’s all the same to you."
Ross did the honors as Lorna first shrugged, then compliantly spread arms and legs. If appearances were even a marginally accurate barometer, she was by far the most relaxed person in the room. No weapon found, she turned her attention back to Starsky.
"It’s not true then, any of it? Debaran being alive, I mean."
"No." He stared at her unblinkingly, his expression jarringly serious. "I lied."
"And here I thought we had this great working relationship going for us." Her grin began to fade when she realized that he wasn’t playing along with her at all this time. A strange, silent conversation between the two adversaries ensued, as comprehension, momentary panic, and finally defeat all played across her face in rapid succession. She gazed down briefly at the floor, composed herself, then raised her eyes once again to Starsky. The smile was resigned now, but back nevertheless.
"Who are you working for?" McMahon asked. "If you cooperate, I’m sure we can reach some kind of an agreement we can all live with.
Words right out of the manual, Starsky thought. You still have a long ways to go, kid.
Lorna flashed an indulgent smile at the young detective, but said nothing. It was to Starsky that she addressed herself when she spoke.
"How long have you known? And you must tell me where I made my mistake. If you’re honest with yourself, you know we’ve both enjoyed the game. I think you owe me that much at least."
Starsky felt himself redden slightly, wanting very much to argue with the assertion but finding that he couldn’t. "I didn’t know until just now. Not for sure. Didn’t even suspect until this morning. And it wasn’t a mistake that tipped me off: I just kept on going over everything we had and no matter how many different ways I turned it, nothing else made any sense. Of course," he added, "the hints you kept dropping on me didn’t hurt, either. Your cracks about how much money you made, going to ‘see a man about a horse’…a little slow on the uptake on that one", he admitted with a grin.
Hutch’s attention had been riveted on Starsky for several minutes now and out of the corner of his eye, Starsky had had the pleasure of watching as the light dawned. He still wasn’t sure if Ross was on the same page yet; knew from his expression that McMahon was still hanging several chapters back.
"What about a horse?" McMahon looked completely bewildered.
"Heroin, Detective McMahon", Lorna replied smartly. "AKA ‘smack’ or ‘horse’. Surely they taught you that at Cop 101." Turning back to Starsky. "None of the clues were that obvious and I had to take my fun where I could find it, after all." Scanning the faces in the room, she added, "But really David, you shouldn’t have left your friends in the dark. I wouldn’t have pegged you as the dramatic type."
"Wasn’t time to fill everyone in."
"Mmm. I was planning on catching a flight this evening. Especially after what you did to me on Monday. Not nice." She wagged a finger at him admonishingly. "I had plans for that money."
"There is no one else", Hutch whispered, finally recovering his voice. He rubbed at his mouth a few times, wide-eyed. "There never was."
"Give Detective Hutchinson a gold star!" Lorna applauded, then moved toward the couch. "Let’s all go get comfortable, shall we? These heels are hell on the feet."
A shocked-looking Ross tugged at her partner’s arm, urging him close enough to whisper something in his ear. He nodded, hastily beating a retreat back into the bedroom while his colleagues silently followed after Lorna.
She plopped herself down eagerly in front of the puzzle and proceeded to make herself at home.
"‘Escher’s Metamorphose’…ambitious." She made a face. "You mind?" Lifting a puzzle piece, she glanced up at the three serious faces watching her. "Well go on", she urged Starsky. "You worked it all out. That means you have dibs on explaining it to everyone else. Don’t worry, I’ll jump in if I need to." With that, she turned her attention to fitting little cardboard pieces into place.
Starsky found himself unsure of where to begin. Haven’t had time to work it all out in my own head yet, let alone put it into words for anyone else. As much as he was savoring the moment, he almost wished that Hutch could take over. Of the two of them, he was by far the better orator.
"Nothing was making much sense to me this morning,", he began slowly, "and I began to wonder if we hadn’t been missing something important from the very beginning. We knew that the organization was still active, but not who was behind it. It’s a natural enough thing to do, I guess, but we kinda went ahead and filled in that vacuum with all sorts of neat theories, not a one of ‘em based on anything solid." He paused momentarily as McMahon re-joined them, giving a quick nod to his partner before he sat down.
"Anyway," Starsky continued, "before that business with the bank account, no one had even considered the possibility that Debaran might not be dead. There never was anything to suggest that he was alive - no one actually saw him or talked to ‘im or even said they did."
"But the codes…", McMahon protested.
"Exactly", Starsky replied. "And if you set aside for a moment the idea of some huge conspiracy, you accept that Debaran truly is among the dearly departed and that Krueger is out of the picture, you’re left with a mystery someone who had to be very close to the top of the heap to have that kind of information. I couldn’t really warm up to the idea of some phantom third person out there that no one had even heard of, so who was left? Between the two investigations, we had pretty much worked out how everybody fit into the picture. With one notable exception."
"Lorna", Ross said softly.
Without bothering to look up from her position on the couch, Lorna smiled brilliantly. She was, Starsky noticed ruefully, making short shrift of their jigsaw.
More at ease now and beginning to find a rhythm, he went on. "Lorna was the only person we could never quite figure out. At first I thought that maybe she was just really close to ol’ Toby, that she decided to take over after his timely passing, but that didn’t fit too well, either. We knew Debaran was a loner, spent more time with his antiques than he did with people, didn’t seem to want to be bothered all that much with the day to day even of his own business. It made me wonder --"
"…if maybe the business was never really his", Hutch finished. For the first time since they had gathered, the blond smiled softly.
McMahon blinked. "You mean…she’s…she’s always been the one at the top?"
"Thanks for the vote of confidence", Lorna said wryly, hands on hips. She seemed to conclude that this was as good a time as any to jump in. "Debaran was the perfect puppet - I offered him a lifestyle he otherwise would never have been able to afford and would do anything to keep. Toby really loved all of those pretty toys of his", she mused. "The paintings, furniture, sculptures, what have you. It’s how he was able to rationalize away what we were doing. I think he fancied himself Flavius Aetius to the rest of the country’s Attila…last bastion of civilization in a world teeming with barbarians."
"And how do you rationalize it?" Hutch’s voice was cold.
"I don’t. I made choices. They haven’t come without cost, but I’ve always found the benefits to outweigh the price exacted."
Hutch bristled visibly. "For you, maybe. But there have been countless people hurt by your ‘choices’."
"True enough." She paused, more serious now than Starsky had ever seen her. "Then again, I’ve always believed that the scales eventually balance. I’ll face my own reckoning someday, in one fashion or another." She examined a puzzle piece with a sigh, turning it over several times in her fingers. "But not, I think, anytime soon." The smile had returned.
"Prison may not be the walk in the park you think it is," McMahon said fiercely, recovering somewhat from the initial shock. "Especially when a few of the people you’ve burned learn where you are."
"If I really thought I’d be seeing the inside of a prison, I might be a trifle worried", she allowed. "As it is, I expect that those higher up on the food chain than you fine detectives might be more interested in what I have to say than in punishing me for my various and sundry sins. Your bosses, I think, are rather more circumspect than you give them credit for. Quid pro quo and all that", she said with a wink. "Anyway, Toby and I made the perfect team. I gave him everything his little heart desired, including the awed respect of an astonishing number of people who were so terrified of the man they literally shook in his presence. Heady stuff for a guy who had been well on his way to obscure hermitdom before meeting me." She glanced up at everyone. "It was a reverse Pygmalion, you see: I transformed him into a king. And all he had to do for me was to follow my orders. We briefed each other on everything that was going on and he did what I told him to do."
"Didn’t it bother you to have someone else take credit for everything you accomplished?" Ross sounded dubious.
"My ego’s not that big", Lorna replied with a shrug. "I might not have been able to indulge in quite the same extravagant lifestyle he enjoyed, but the almost total anonymity to do as I pleased was ample enough compensation. There were endless amounts of money at my disposal and, through him, I still had complete control over my own not-so-insignificant empire. An empire that would have been a lot more difficult to build if it’s subjects had known they were working for a woman. Besides, delegating comes naturally to me." A thought seemed to occur and she held up her hand for emphasis. "You know, the only thing I could never quite bring myself to entrust to anyone else was the choice of location for the transactions themselves. I tried for awhile, but nobody else had quite the eye for it I do. Too many screw-ups."
"Did anyone else know?" Starsky asked.
"No", she said, shaking her head emphatically. "We never told anyone. Cardinal rule. No one could be enticed into give me up that way. It also made the whole thing that much more fun."
"If everything was going so swimmingly," Ross asked with a frown, "why did you have Debaran killed?"
"I didn’t. Well, not exactly. After your undercover operation here in LA went ‘poof’ and you came away with virtually nothing, Toby began to think that we were somehow invulnerable." She turned so that she was speaking directly to Ross. "I didn’t catch onto what you were doing in New York until it had already gone too far. We were severely compromised and I just wanted to salvage what I could and be off. Toby - who wasn’t the calmest person in the world on the best of days - went into a full-blown panic and there was no talking to him. Now I may have mentioned to a friend that he was becoming troublesome. I might’ve even hinted that, if I didn’t have Toby to worry about anymore, I could possibly point this friend in the direction of a sizable amount of cash, but I assure you, I never actually ordered Toby’s death. Perish the thought."
Hutch rolled his eyes heavenward while Ross fixed Lorna with an impatient glare and asked, "Can we at least assume that the person you hinted this to wasn’t Owen Hill?"
"Owen? Good heavens, no. I doubt that he would recognize the business end of a gun if it jumped out and bit him. I hated to drop it in his lap, but it did serve to keep everyone looking in another direction until I had everything tidied up." Pausing briefly, she added. "In exchange for some consideration, I could probably point you in the direction of the actual trigger man."
"Your loyalty knows no bounds, does it?" Hutch inquired dryly.
"Someone in my position learns to be pragmatic."
"I have to ask," Ross began, "what did you do with the real Mercury?"
"Mercury? Oh, she’s fine. Enjoying an all-expenses-paid vacation in the Bahamas and having the time of her life, from what I gather. Not missing Marty in the least."
The sound of sirens approaching served to halt the conversation where it stood, McMahon explaining to anyone who hadn’t yet figured it out, "I called for assistance."
"Of course you did", Lorna replied evenly. "Quite right, too."
Hutch assumed command over the scene as soon as the uniformed officers reached the apartment, conferring with them in hushed tones by the door. They approached Lorna soon after, but she waved them aside.
"Tell them to be patient, will you?" she asked Starsky. "I’m not quite ready yet."
Starsky motioned the decidedly startled officers to wait by the door as Lorna fit the last piece of the puzzle into place with a flourish. It was unusual, to say the least. Then again, what about this case had been normal?
"There!" she exclaimed triumphantly. Rising finally, she turned to face the people she had kept waiting. "I’m all yours, gentlemen."
"You can put the handcuffs away", Starsky said firmly. "Lorna will be on her best behavior. Won’t you, Lorna?"
For a just a moment, Lorna became Mercury again. Sidling up close to Starsky, she purred, "I’m always on my best behavior." Bestowing a quick kiss on his cheek, she graced him with a sincere smile before setting off out the door.
FEBRUARY 26, 1980
The six days following Lorna’s arrest had been filled with interviews, paperwork, and an appalling amount of bloodletting between the various agencies vying for control, each wholeheartedly convinced that proper jurisdiction in the case rested exclusively with them. The Feds eventually won, as they usually did, and had swiftly arranged for Lorna’s extradition, whisking her away to New York and leaving several angry police departments in their wake.
This was the first opportunity Starsky, Hutch, Ross, and McMahon had had to come together as a group since the day of the arrest and, as the two New York detectives were scheduled to fly back home in the morning, it was likely to be their last - for awhile, at least. The Pits was crowded, but Huggy had thoughtfully set aside a table for them.
"Tell me something", McMahon implored, staring plaintively at Starsky. "How did you know that she’d come to find you? We were about going stir crazy hiding back there in the bedroom. I don’t know how many more hands of poker I could’ve taken."
"I didn’t", Starsky replied modestly. "It was just an educated guess. If she would’ve thought for one minute I was onto her, I don’t think she woulda risked it. Otherwise, what’d she have to lose? Worst case scenario, we had baited a trap to get ‘Lorna, small-time criminal’. She gives up Banks, posts bail, and skips the country anyway. I figured that hearing Debaran was alive would at least make her curious. After all, unless she actually pulled the trigger or was there when somebody else did, she didn’t know for certain that Debaran was dead, anymore than we did. By telling Huggy that everyone else was away at work, I figured she’d be comfortable coming up to the apartment. As long as she didn’t see any sign o’ the rest of you, that is."
The younger detective still looked perplexed. "I know we got some of her loot, but not enough to bother with, really. She could’ve just walked away, if she’d gone then. Why didn’t she? The money from the Krueger account was already transferred…"
"If was never about the money for her", Hutch interjected. "Not really."
"No", Starsky agreed. "She’s addicted to the power, I think, and even more than that, to the game. Couldn’t resist giving me clues, even if it did increase her chances of gettin’ caught. Maybe that was even part of the thrill. All those years of fooling everyone…" He pointed his finger at McMahon. "That was what brought her up to the apartment that day, y’know - she had to find out just how much I knew and what I was up to."
"You almost wish she hadn’t, don’t you?" Hutch asked gently.
As pleased as he was with how things had gone, Starsky found it hard to rejoice too much in bringing Lorna down. Going toe to toe with her had been more fun than he cared to admit.
"Maybe we have more in common than I would’ve thought", he mused aloud. "I think I might’ve enjoyed the game almost as much as she did, and y’know something? Despite everything that she’s done, everything that she is, when it comes right down to it I can’t really make myself not like her." He smiled a little sadly. "I’m not sayin’ that she doesn’t deserve to be put away, but it didn’t necessarily make me jump up and down with joy bein’ the one to send her there."
"Then you should be ecstatic to hear this", said a voice from behind him. Ross was back, rejoining the others after finally getting off the phone with New York. "She called it right - she’ll never see the inside of a prison. Instead, our Lorna’s in the process of giving up everybody - some that we hadn’t even heard of yet. She doesn’t need them anymore, so why not? Everything to gain and nothing to lose." She sounded more amused than resentful. "The Feds are more than happy to give her immunity for all she has to offer. Lorna will do her civic duty and be put straight into Witness Protection."
"Where she will retrieve all of the money from her many numbered accounts and immediately set to work rebuilding her organization. Clever lady", Hutch said with grudging admiration.
"She’d better watch it," Starsky laughed, "you can make a lotta enemies that way."
"Not if you have them all arrested", Hutch replied dryly.
McMahon looked absolutely crestfallen. "I can’t believe it…after everything she did, everything we went through, she gets off scot free? It’s ain’t right."
Ross smiled sympathetically at her partner and pushed his beer a little closer to him "Oh, I don’t know. Owen Hill probably doesn’t think it was a wasted effort. Besides, we won. We - well you ", she corrected, nodding toward Starsky "- figured it all out, despite the odds. That’s worth something in itself."
"How much trouble are you in back home?" Hutch asked. It was common knowledge that Ross’s superiors were still plenty peeved with the way she had conducted herself during the course of the investigation.
"I’ve been given an official reprimand and told to forget about making Lieutenant any time soon, but that’s about as far as they’ll go. My instincts were right - they can’t punish me too much for following them. If it would’ve gone the other way, though…" she let the sentence trail off. "Let’s just say I am in your debt. All of you." She raised her glass to the three men sharing her table.
"You don’t wanna be a Lieutenant yet, anyway", McMahon scoffed.
"Oh no?"
"Nah. We couldn’t be partners anymore, and I’m not finished with you yet." He grinned broadly at her.
"I knew there was a reason", she teased back. "You know," she said thoughtfully, turning to Starsky and Hutch, "you’ll probably never get the full official recognition you deserve for it, but it was nothing short of phenomenal what you two accomplished in this case. The fact that you were somehow able to peel away all of the layers of deceptions and distractions - those that Lorna neatly constructed for us as well as the ones we created for ourselves - and actually recognize the crux of what was going on when you saw it…amazing. Do you realize you worked out in twenty three days what no one else caught onto in more than five years? I don’t know, but it strikes me that your talents might be somewhat underutilized as street cops. You really could do so much more than work the streets, if you wanted to."
It had been said in the gentlest of ways, but surely there could be no mistaking the implication. Hutch looked gratified enough, but Starsky received it as an almost physical blow. "You don’t think I’ll be re-qualified", he whispered over the tightness that had suddenly formed in his throat, and looked away. He was vaguely aware of Hutch’s hand as it came to rest on his back and linger there.
"On the contrary", she replied. "I’m quite certain that you will."
His head whipped back around to face her. "But I thought…"
"I realize that you have reasons for wanting to re-qualify, but after you have and it’s your choice to make… I don’t know, it just strikes me that the two of you have something unique to offer. Cold case files, perhaps, even teaching. Just keep in mind that you have a lot of other options available to you. If and when the time comes. Just a thought."
Leave the streets? It was unthinkable, something he would accept only if it was forced upon him. And yet… as Starsky locked eyes with his partner, he was startled to see a hopefulness reflected there, a longing, perhaps. Too much to consider now, he set it aside with the promise to explore the issue in depth at some later point. The fact that he could even entertain the notion was a revelation in itself, significant because prior to this point he wouldn’t have bothered. He was abruptly brought back to the moment when McMahon spoke up.
"Well guys, it’s your turn to visit next time. I’ve had enough LA to last me for life - it’s too California, y’know?" He made a face. "Y’ ever get over to New York?"
"Yeah, actually. We were thinkin’ of paying my mother a visit in a few months." Starsky had replied automatically, but his mind was still more engaged in what Ross had just said than in the present topic of conversation.
"Great! You wouldn’t come without looking us up?"
Hutch smiled. "No, Mac. We wouldn’t do that."
"A few months, hmm?" Ross asked. "That might be good timing for a wedding." She nudged her partner lightly.
"Hey!" he protested. "I have to ask her first."
"Well, get with it", Starsky teased. "Better hurry before she finds someone who keeps better hours."
When all the laughter and ribbing had subsided somewhat, Ross drew everyone’s attention by tapping lightly at her glass with a spoon.
"Gentleman, I’d like to propose a toast. To friendships forged by unusual circumstances and to Lorna, unusual circumstances personified. Truly one of a kind, or so we may hope."
Starsky grinned. That was something they could all drink to.
MARCH 7, 1980
Typical of an early March morning, they had the beach nearly to themselves. The two huddled closely together on the sand, ostensibly to keep warm, as the incessant breeze whipped around them and ruffled their hair, teased the blanket they were sitting on.
"This idea o’ yours wasn’t half bad", Starsky sighed contentedly.
"I thought you said it was goofy."
"Well, it is. Don’t mean I don’t like it. Just that when I told ya to go fly a kite, I didn’t think you’d take me seriously." The brightly colored object twisted and turned lazily against the mottled sky, it’s poetic movements lending an air of timelessness to the setting. Magic.
For awhile they sat in companionable silence, thoroughly enjoying just being there, neither man wanting to break the spell.
It was Hutch who finally spoke. "You’re awfully introspective lately. What’s going on?"
Starsky had been intending to broach the subject at some point anyway and now was as good a time as any. "I’ve been thinking…"
"You’ve been warned about doing that", Hutch chided.
"…about some of the things Ross said", he finished, jabbing his partner lightly in the ribs. And the way you looked when she said them. "You know. About looking at other options." He felt Hutch stiffen alongside of him.
"If it’s the re-qualifying you’re worried about…"
"Nah, it’s not that", Starsky said dismissively, and meant it. "What we did, the way we worked this time? It was different."
"How do you mean?"
How to explain it? He was quiet for a moment as he tried to gather his thoughts into something cohesive enough to be verbalized. "Ever since I’ve been a cop," he started slowly, "it’s always been about acting and reacting to things that were going on ‘out there’. Surveillance, chasing suspects, always taking some kinda action to get results. Never thought much about it, it was just the way things were supposed to be. Well, this time my body wouldn’t let me do that. I had to step back and actually think things through."
"And you solved it. You were the only one of us who saw the situation for what it was." It was said with unmistakable admiration. "Guess that means I can’t claim to be the brains of this duo anymore, huh?"
"No. Just means that of the four of us, I was the only one who had the time to think it all out. No distractions. That’s kind of what I’m getting at. We didn’t chase anybody, get beaten up, drugged, shot, or tortured and we still managed to solve it. There wasn’t as much action, but y’know something? I didn’t really miss it all that much. There was another kind of satisfaction this time and maybe that’s the point. I mean, if you think about it, we’d of arrived here sooner or later anyway. Can’t keep on playing cops and robbers indefinitely. Maybe now’s the time for a change." He turned so he was face to face with Hutch, could better gauge his reactions. "How would you feel about that? The truth now", he warned, "I’m serious."
Hutch opened and closed his mouth a few times before any words came out. "Relieved", he answered honestly.
"Thought so", Starsky said smugly, smiling as he leaned back.
"But," Hutch continued, a decided edge to his voice now, "you walk away from everything you’ve been working so hard for because you think it’s what I want and you become an instant martyr. I’m not about to let that happen. Sure, the idea of you being back out on the streets again sometimes scares the hell out of me, but I can learn to deal with that. I will. And if you walk away from it because you’re afraid you won’t get passed, you become a victim. I’m not gonna let that happen, either."
"What about we walk away from it because it’s what we both want? Then it’s not really walking away from anything at all, it’s walking toward something else. ‘Sides, I’m not necessarily talking about quitting the Department altogether and I am planning on going through the re-qualification, no matter what we decide here." His voice had a ‘so, there’ quality to it, his folded arms only intensifying the effect.
"Then what do you say we shelve this conversation until then? Everything might look a whole lot different when you know you can come back on active duty."
"Uh uh", Starsky replied firmly. "I realized something a few days ago, Hutch. Getting back, having everything just like it was before - it’s almost been an obsession. Okay, let’s assume for a minute I can go back. It will never be like it was before. Too much has changed. Hell, I’ve changed. And the biggest surprise is how little that bothers me. A lotta things that seemed important before aren’t now." He smiled. "And there are other things that have become a lot more important. Dying has a way of rearranging your priorities."
"Think about what you’re saying here", Hutch demanded. "You’re talking about quitting the only job you’ve ever wanted."
"Yep. Got it in one."
Hutch shook his head, exasperated. "This is crazy. Do you honestly think…could you really be happy doing anything else besides being a cop?"
"I’m happy now."
"I don’t think flying kites on the beach qualifies as a viable career choice", Hutch said dryly.
"Okay," Starsky replied patiently, "then lets talk about what might."
Nothing of such considerable importance could be decided in just one day. There was more than one option now, though, a host of possibilities to be explored. In the end, Starsky knew, sticking together was the only thing that truly mattered. That was their border. As long as it remained intact, all of the other pieces would somehow manage to fit themselves into place.
THE END