By the time they reached the house, the pain shot had kicked in, leaving the Hutch drowsy and relaxed—so much so, he couldn't stand on his own two feet and walk from the car to the house. After three failed efforts, Starsky decided he'd just have to carry him. Sam sat patiently in the back seat of the car, watching the two men, sensing that he should be still and wait.

"Hey, Blondie, can you hear me?" Hutch slowly nodded that he could, but didn't do a very convincing job of it. "I'm gonna go open the door, then I'll be back for you. Don't try to get out by yourself, understand?" Again, a slow-motion nod was the only response.

In a few seconds, Starsky returned. First, he draped Hutch's good arm around his neck. "Hang on to me now, buddy. Don't wanna drop you." Once Hutch responded to that order, Starsky slid his arm under his friend's legs and lifted him out of the car, careful not to cause further pain to the wounded shoulder. Even though Hutch was the larger of the two, Starsky managed to make it from the car to the sofa without too much difficulty.

Sam jumped out of the car without his leash and followed closely behind, timing his steps to stay at Starsky's heels, but not get underfoot even once. He stationed himself beside the sofa like a sentinel and watched with solemn eyes as Starsky laid Hutch down gently, then went to turn back the bed before moving Hutch to where he would be more comfortable for the night.

When Starsky returned, Hutch was sound asleep. "Okay, ya big lug, let's get you to bed." He lifted Hutch again and carried him to the bed, then proceeded to remove sleeping man's shoes. Sam had followed them into the bedroom, watching every move Starsky made. He seemed to sense Hutch was incapacitated and wasn't quite sure what was going on. Finally, he went to the foot of the bed and jumped on, then sneakily crawled up until he could lay his head on the pillow right next to Hutch's.

"That's a good, boy," Starsky praised him. "You gonna watch over Hutch while I go get his prescriptions filled?" Sam raised his head and cocked it to one side, listening to Starsky's voice; then gently laid it back down on the pillow. "Okay, that's fine. I'll be back in a jif, and I'll stir up some chow for us." Satisfied that Hutch was sound asleep and that he was in 'good paws', Starsky slipped out of the house and went to the corner pharmacy.

Hutch awoke to the aroma of bacon frying in the kitchen. He knew he was at home, in his own bed, but was still foggy from the pain medication. Then he vaguely remembered waking up during the night with a deep ache in his shoulder. But the minute he stirred, Sam, who had remained on guard throughout the night, had jumped off the bed then returned seconds later followed by Starsky. The dog had sat on the floor next to the bed and watched while Starsky gave Hutch another pain pill and glass of cool water. He quickly fell back asleep and remembered nothing after that.

Hutch sat up on the side of the bed for a moment and discovered his legs were much stronger this morning. He went into the bathroom and washed his face and his one hand that wasn't confined by the sling. When Sam heard him splashing around in the sink, the dog immediately came to investigate. "Hi, boy," Hutch said when Sam reared up and placed his paws on the bathroom countertop.

"You up, Hutch?" Starsky called from the kitchen. "Bacon's done. Ready for your omelet?"

"I'll be right there," he called back.

Hutch came into the kitchen with Sam on his heels. "I feel like I have a hangover, Starsk. Must be the pain medication." He pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down.

"Probably. You slept like a baby for six hours straight. Then Sam came and got me about three a.m. and I popped another pill in ya. You been asleep ever since."

"Thanks for staying here last night, buddy," Hutch said earnestly. "I was really out of it."

"Yeah, well, it's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it," Starsky teased. "Besides, I had plenty of help." He nodded toward Sam who had taken his place next to Hutch's chair. Starsky set a cup of steaming, hot coffee and a plate of food on the table in front of Hutch. Nicely arranged on the plate were four strips of crispy bacon, two slices of toast, and a delicious looking omelet; beside it, a jar of Hutch's favorite jam—boysenberry.

"I found some of that stinky cheese you like so much in the refrigerator and crumbled it up in your eggs."

"It's feta, Starsky, feta; and it isn't stinky. It's a very healthy, gourmet cheese made from goat's milk. Do you have any idea what all goes into the making of this cheese?"

"All I know is, I offered some to Sam and he wanted to roll on it...you know...like it was somethin' dead he found out in the yard." Starsky set a plate full of scrambled eggs on the floor in front of Sam (sans the cheese), then brought his own plate to the table and joined Hutch.

Hutch started to say something about feeding eggs to the dog, but was too hungry to needle Starsky right then. Not having eaten for nearly twenty-four hours, he tore into the breakfast with zeal. Starsky watched with amusement, waiting for Hutch to make some cutting remark about his cooking. Hutch looked up and saw the expression on his partner's face. "This is delicious, Starsky."

"Even with the stinky cheese?"

Hutch laughed, "Yeah, Starsk, even with the stinky cheese."

After breakfast, Starsky took Sam out for his morning run while Hutch relaxed on the sofa and reviewed the notes they had compiled so far on the arson case. The phone rang and Captain Dobey's gruff voice came over the line.

"Hutch, I didn't expect you to answer the phone. I guess this means you're feeling better."

"Still pretty sore, Cap'n, but I could be a whole lot worse. According to Starsky, I slept like the dead last night."

"Where is that sorry partner of yours? I've already left two messages at his place. I've got IA nipping at my ass because he never came in here yesterday and submitted his report on the shooting."

"Uh, well Cap, he's on his way in. I think he wanted to stop by his place and change clothes," Hutch lied. He knew Starsky was in trouble, and he felt responsible. "Don't come down on him too hard. I was really zonked out on pain medication last night and he hung around here to keep me from wandering out into traffic."

"Don't tell me how to do my job, Hutchinson!" Dobey blustered. Just then, Starsky and Sam came barreling through the back door while Hutch franticly waived his good arm, signaling them to be quiet.

"No, sir, Cap'n. I'd never do that—"

"If Starsky's still there—and I have a sneaking suspicion he is—tell him to get in here NOW, or he'll have the imprint of my size 15s on his ass for a month!" Before Hutch could respond to that, Captain Dobey slammed the phone down to make sure he got the point across.

"He's such a teddy-bear," Hutch said as Starsky stood there breathing heavily and sweating from head to toe. "I think you had better get to the station now, before Dobey blows a gasket."

"Oh shit! I forgot to go by there last night and file my report!" Starsky ran to the bathroom, stripping off his jogging clothes as he went. Hutch heard the water in the shower come on as the bathroom door slammed shut. In five minutes flat, Starsky was on his way to the precinct.

"I'll call you," he shouted on the way out. "Take it easy and don't do nothin' physical till I get back!"

"I beg your pardon?" Hutch asked as the front door closed behind his harried friend. Sam ran to the door and barked, upset that Starsky had left without them.

Starsky had just finished typing up his report and talking with the boys from IA when Minnie appeared at his desk with the Parker file in hand.

"Mornin, sweetheart. I was just comin' down to see you."

"Yeah, yeah, that's what you tell all the girls, isn't it?" she jibed good-naturedly.

"Now, Minnie, you know you're special," he came back smoothly.

"Ah, if that was only true. You're a real sweet-talker, Starsky. Even though I know you're handing me a line, I love to hear it just the same." She laid the file in front of him on the desk. "Here's the file on your suicide victim. Looks pretty straight forward. Of course, I don't know what it is you're looking for."

"I gotta tip that this may not have been a suicide. Just wanna check it out. Call it a hunch, but I believe this one may have fallen through the cracks."

"Well, there doesn't seem to have been much of an investigation done. Apparently the officers thought it was open and shut."

"So I heard. I just wanna see it for myself; maybe there was no reason for an investigation." Starsky opened the file, then turned to Minnie, "You're terrific, you know it?"

"Yeah, I'm the Mother Teresa of the LAPD?" she replied cryptically, then patted him on the shoulder before exiting the room.

Starsky looked through the file, which contained a picture of Carol Parker, or rather, what had once been Carol Parker. After falling sixteen stories to the street below, it was difficult to tell from her remains if she'd been a pretty girl. Fanned out around her head was a mass of beautiful, long, silky, dark auburn hair. She appeared to be very petite, and on the slender side. What a waste, Starsky thought as he gazed a the photo. He read the police report. Cold. Matter-of-fact. Useless.

Name: Carol Lynn Parker

That was it. Nothing about her pregnancy. Nothing about the level of drugs in the bloodstream.

The next page gave a statement taken from Chloris Parker at the time the police notified her of Carol's death. Mrs. Parker appeared to accept without question that her daughter had taken her own life. No mention was made of interviewing Timothy Parker, or whether he was an adult or a minor.

He thought it was pretty sloppy that no one had contacted Timothy to get a statement. Although Starsky wasn't close to his brother, Nick, he knew that many siblings were close enough to share with one another things they wouldn't dream of telling a parent. He made a mental note to contact Timothy Parker.

It wasn't much to go on. And Hutch could be right; maybe he should be taking a closer look at the list of disgruntled employees rather than following up on a hunch. He copied down the Parkers' address and telephone number and stuck it in his coat pocket. After one more look at the photo, longing to know what Carol had looked like 'before'; Starsky closed the file and went in to meet with Dobey.

Hutch was asleep on the sofa when Starsky let himself back into the house three hours later. Sam had been snoozing on the floor next to him since Starsky left. Before Starsky could get the door open, Sam ran to the door to meet him, rousing Hutch in the process.

"Hey," he said as he sat up and stretched. "How'd it go with IA?" .

Starsky set two pizzas, one veggie, the other with ''the works" on the coffee table in front of Hutch. "No sweat. I don't know why Dobey had his drawers in a wad; all the witnesses' statements agreed, so there wasn't anything to dispute. He shot you, I shot him. Simple. Those goons from IA just need to hassle somebody on a regular basis; this week it was my turn." He went into the kitchen and brought back paper plates, napkins, and two ice cold cokes.

"I've been through this file again, and there are only two more employees who look like possible suspects to me. Both of them still work for Bradley, but may have a bone to pick. One was recently passed over for a promotion, for the third time. The other filed a sexual harassment suit against her supervisor and lost the case. It's possible they may be pressuring her to resign."

"Well, Minnie had the information on Carol Parker for us. There's nothin' that'll jump off the page at you, but I have this gut feelin' that we need to dig deeper on this one."

Hutch was used to his partner's hunches and had learned to take him seriously. "In that case, let's follow that lead first."

"I'm gonna see if I can locate her brother, Timothy. I don't know, he may be just a kid. The weird thing is, no one took a statement from him. Nothin' in the file other than he's her brother."

Hutch moved the paperwork aside and one-handedly served up two slices of pizza on a paper plate and passed them over to Starsky. Sam moved in on the pizza until Hutch slammed the lids of both boxes shut to keep him out. The disappointed dog turned to Starsky and was rewarded with a pepperoni morsel, bringing criticism from Hutch who worried that Sam was learning bad habits.

As soon as they were finished eating, Hutch reached for his shoes and started putting them on. "I'm ready when you are."

"Whoa. Whattaya think you're doin'? You aren't goin' anywhere."

"I'm fine, Starsk. I haven't needed a pain pill since early this morning. Besides, you need someone to watch your back. We don't know what we may be getting into here."

"No way. You're stayin' here and rest." Starsky stood up and headed for the door. "Sam will stay and keep you company. All I'm gonna do is locate Timothy Parker and talk to him. We don't even have any reason to think he's a suspect yet." Sam's ears had perked up at the mention of his name. He followed Starsky to the door, expecting to go along.

"You stay here with Hutch, Big Dog," Starsky said, unconsciously tagging the dog with a nickname that he'd come to respond to as readily as his real name. Sam looked up and wagged his tail. "I said, stay with Hutch. Stay." Starsky pointed in the direction of the sofa as he gave the command. Sam looked at Hutch, then at Starsky, before sauntering back to the sofa. There he resumed his post next to Hutch and lay down..

"Good boy," Starsky praised him, smiling at the dog, exceedingly pleased that Sam had obeyed.

"This is getting spooky," Hutch said, wide-eyed. "I think he actually understands you."

"Just the Starsky charm, Blintz. Works every time," Starsky shot back, before closing the door behind him.

Starsky rang the bell at the modest Spanish-style, one-story house where Mrs. Parker and her son lived. He was greeted by a plump, silver-haired woman in her sixties.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Parker?"

"That's right. May I help you?"

Starsky flipped open his wallet and showed her his shield. "I'm Detective Sergeant Starsky with LAPD. I'd like to speak with you and your son about the death of your daughter, Carol."

"I don't understand. I gave a statement to the policeman when he came and told me my daughter had killed herself."

"Yes ma'am, I know you did, but I just have a couple more questions. More importantly, I was hoping to speak with Timothy."

"Well, okay. But I don't know what this is all about. Come on in, detective. I'll go get Timmy." Timmy. Starsky was disappointed. He had hoped Timothy was an adult who could shed some light on his sister's death. Starsky sat down and waited, taking in his surroundings.

The house was decorated with an eclectic combination of furnishings, ranging from cheap, worn upholstery on the sofa, to a beautiful, old, upright piano, which had most likely been in the Parker family for several generations. On top of the piano was a collection of family photographs. One featured an attractive young woman in her early twenties, her gorgeous auburn hair cascading down her shoulders. The sparkle in her bright green eyes and beautiful smile implied this was a happy time in her life. Starsky felt sad as he gazed at the picture. He was pretty certain this was Carol before.

Mrs. Parker returned in just a few minutes. "Detective Starsky, this is my son Timmy."

Starsky looked around and was surprised to see that Timmy was actually a man who looked to be in his early to mid-thirties. The detective extended his hand to shake. Timothy had the same dark auburn hair that his sister did, but not her good looks. He was rather tall and gangly, to the point of looking awkward when he walked across the room. He wore heavy, dark rimmed glasses which he nervously pushed up on the bridge of his darkly-freckled nose before accepting Starsky's hand. Dressed in black, double knit slacks, and a white short sleeved shirt, a skinny black tie clipped on at the collar, Parker looked as though he may have just come in from work.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Parker. Thank you for speaking with me."

Timothy looked down toward the floor but nodded, "Sure. Mother said you had some questions about my sister."

Mrs. Parker gestured for Starsky to sit down, then she and Timothy did the same.

"That's right," Starsky answered. "I was reviewing the file on your sister's case and noted that no one took a statement from you at the time Carol died."

"There really wasn't anything I could tell them," he said nervously. "I wasn’t there when it happened."

"I was just wondering if Carol ever talked to you about suicide."

"No."

"Do you know of any reason she would do something like that?"

"No."

"Would Carol have confided in you if something was wrong?"

Still not looking Starsky directly in the eye, Parker fidgeted a bit before glancing toward his mother. "Uh…No," he finally said.

Starsky didn't push; he could see there was no point. Clearly, Timothy Parker was afraid to talk in front of his mother. But the detective in Starsky told him there was more he could tell, if he would only open up.

"What is this all about?" Mrs. Parker asked. "My daughter suffered from depression. I told her she needed help, but she didn't listen to me. She never listened to me. Just because I was her mother, I didn't know anything." The woman's voice sounded more angry than remorseful. "I knew she'd never come to any good. She was just like her father. He didn't take responsibility for anything either."

"Mother, please," Timothy whispered, his face betraying his embarrassment.

"Don't make excuses for her, Timmy. She could have been more like you. You're such a good boy," she patted her son's knee. "My son is a genius with the computer, Detective. He's going to be very successful someday. Carol could have taken a lesson from his example"

Parker stood up, obviously uncomfortable with his mother's profuse praise. "Mother, I've asked you not to talk like that."

"And why not?" she asked, undaunted by his pleas to stop. "I know you're going to find a job real soon, then everyone is going to see what a smart boy my son is."

Starsky watched the interaction between mother and son, thinking this was a weird pair. He decided to get the interview back on track. "So do you work in the computer industry, Mr. Parker?"

"I, uh, I'm kind of unemployed at the moment…"

"But not for long," Mrs. Parker interrupted.

"Mother!" Timothy irritably shoved the heavy glasses up on his nose again. "I've not worked for the past six months," he told Starsky. "It's just a temporary set back. Carol was helping us out in the meantime."

"Did you know any of Carol's friends?"

"She never introduced us to her friends," Mrs. Parker said bitterly. "She was ashamed of her family. My daughter was always trying to be something she wasn't."

"Mother, Carol was good to us. Please don't criticize her. You know that it upsets me."

Starsky knew he was getting nowhere; Timothy wasn't going to tell him anything with his mother present. "Well, I won't take up anymore of your time." He opened his wallet, took out a business card and scribbled his and Hutch's home phone numbers on the back before handing it to Parker. "If you think of anything, give me a call. The dispatcher can always get in touch with me when I'm on duty. But I also wrote my home phone number and my partner's number on the back for you. I'm Starsky, he's Hutchinson"

"I still don't understand why you're asking these questions," Mrs. Parker interrupted.

"Oh, one other thing. There wasn't a note was there? You know, giving a reason why she'd want to take her own life?" Starsky watch Timothy Parker as his eyes shifted downward before answering.

"No. No, not that we're aware of," he answered quietly.

"Okay." Starsky walked to the door where Mrs. Parker was already waiting to let him out. "Thank you both for your time."

As he walked back to the car, Starsky had a strong suspicion he'd hear from Timothy Parker...soon.…

Chapter 8

Hutch was much better by the time Starsky returned. He had felt pretty useless, wishing he could be actively pursuing the case; so he decided to call the two possible suspects and set up appointments to meet with them later in the day. He figured by doing that, Starsky would have to cut out the mother-hen routine and let him go along on the interviews.

Sam had been good company all day, sleeping when Hutch slept, supervising when he went to the kitchen and made a sandwich, and barking to let him know when the mailman dropped mail through the drop slot. The dog, Hutch's self-appointed guardian, seemed content just to be near his person.

When he heard the Torino pull up in front of the house, Sam hurried to the front door and waited there for Starsky to come in. He was rewarded with a good petting from Starsky, and the secure feeling that he had "his people" together and with him again.

"So, did you make contact with the Parkers?" Hutch asked.

"Yeah, pretty weird. Turns out that little Timmy is in his thirties. Also, Mom didn't care much for Carol. Probably why she didn't question if her daughter's death really was a suicide."

"Dead-end then?"

"Hope not. I think the brother knows somethin’ but until I can get 'Norman Bates' away from Mother, he's not gonna tell me anything. I gave him my card; so I hope he'll want to get to the bottom of this bad enough to call."

"I made appointments for us to meet with Jim Harris and Joyce Mangrum around 4:00 p.m. over at Bradley's," Hutch told him. "And before you start lecturing me about staying here and resting—save it. I need to get out of here. My shoulder isn't bothering me too bad and I'm going stir crazy."

"You know, you're the most hard-headed person I've ever known. You heard what the doctor said. I don't want her chewin' me out if you tear out the stitches and end up back in ER."

"My mind is made up, Starsk. We've only got twenty-five minutes to get over there, so there isn't time to sit here and argue with you."

When Hutch went into the bedroom for his jacket, Sam began dancing around anticipating an outing. He'd been waiting all day for his car ride. As far as he knew, this was just another part of his daily routine that he'd begun to look forward to. So what if he had to sit in the car alone for a little while? There was always something interesting to watch through the car windows. And sometimes, when his people weren't close by to scold him, he enjoyed barking at, and unnerving an unsuspecting passerby. Sam decided he'd better go sit in the doorway so they couldn't accidentally forget him.

"Uh oh; look who thinks he's comin' along," Starsky said when he saw where the dog was sitting.

"So let him. He's been doing fine in the car. It's pretty cool out there; he should be okay." Starsky didn't protest. He was beginning to get used to having Sam around.

By the time the detectives had met with the two Bradley Enterprises employees, it was time to call it a day. Although he wouldn't admit it, Hutch's shoulder was beginning to ache again. Starsky could see it in his face, and Hutch had been much quieter the past half hour. Sam was in his glory, hanging his front paws and huge head over the back of the car seat. Starsky was getting used to the dog slobber much quicker than he would ever have believed possible. Sam was such an affectionate critter, and he seemed to be as attached to Starsky as he was Hutch. That made Starsky feel pretty good.

"I think we can mark those two off our list," Starsky said, picking up from where they had left off while walking from the building to the parking lot.

"I agree. Mangrum is too much of an airhead to commit such well-thought-out arson jobs. And I don't think Harris is all that upset about the promotion issue."

"Yeah, he told me he left his last job cause he couldn't take the pressure. Don't think he wants to be a supervisor."

"You know, Starsk, not everyone wants a job where they have to make decisions and be held accountable for what others do. I think we should follow your instincts and see what we can uncover on Carol Parker."

Starsky hit the gas pedal to speed through the traffic signal a few feet ahead as it turned yellow. The sudden jolt caused Sam to shift, lose his footing, and slide across the seat, colliding with Hutch's left shoulder. Starsky saw it happening, but didn't have time to prevent it. Hutch winced and drew in his breath sharply, causing Starsky to regret his recklessness.

"Sorry, buddy. You okay?"

"Yeah, great," Hutch snapped. "Why do you have to drive this…this…striped tomato like a bat out of hell anyway, Starsky?" Sam inched his front paws back across the seat until he was practically breathing in Starsky's ear. He sensed somehow, that he was responsible for Hutch's anger.

Feeling pretty guilty, Starsky for once didn't come back with a sharp retort. "Sorry," he repeated. They drove the rest of the way home in silence.

Starsky pulled up to the house, parking as close to the entrance as he could. He knew Hutch was worn out and the pain in his shoulder was most likely worse since the collision with Sam. Jumping out of the Torino, he flipped his seat forward and snapped Sam's leash on the collar before Hutch even had his seat belt off. "I'm gonna walk the dog, Hutch. You go on in. I'll be there in a minute."

Hutch didn't respond, but went into the house as Starsky had suggested. He knew he'd been a grouch, and always regretted it when he jumped down Starsky's throat, but he was tired and his shoulder hurt like hell. All he could think about was taking one of those pain pills and lying down on his soft, comfortable bed. Before he could help himself to either, the phone rang.

Hutch thought about ignoring it, but after the fifth ring answered shortly, "Yeah, Hutchinson."

"Hutch?" came the tentative response, "This is Gina. Gina Addison."

Hutch ran a hand over his face. "Oh, hi, Gina. What's up?"

"Is this a bad time? I've been trying to reach Starsky and you all afternoon. I heard you were shot yesterday. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll live. Right now it hurts like hell, but I was just ready to pop a pain pill when the phone rang."

"Oh, sorry about the bad timing," she apologized.

"It's okay, Gina. Sorry I snapped at you. Seems like that's all I've been doing today. Do you need Starsk? He's walking the dog right now—"

"Dog?" she interrupted. "Starsky has a dog?"

"Actually I…we…yeah…kind of. It's a long story, Gina. I'll fill you in another time."

"That's fine, Hutch. Well, I guess it doesn't matter which of you I talk to. I just have something about the arson cases that I think may interest you."

"Great. We could sure use a lead. So far, we're batting zero."

"Do you remember yesterday I told you the points of origin at these fires were so badly incinerated that I thought there was the possibility of explosive devices being used to trigger them?"

"Sure. You said you were just speculating though. Do you have something more concrete now?"

"You bet I do. We found traces of the wiring and some fragments of the casing that contained the bomb. I think it was triggered remotely."

"That means this is no amateur."

"Well, he wouldn't have to be a demolitions expert, but he would need at least a basic knowledge of explosives and be bright enough to put the thing together."

"So what sort of individual should we be looking for?" Hutch pulled the phone off the end table and lay back on the sofa, trying to find a more comfortable position while he talked.

"Maybe someone with a background in electronics, perhaps a computer technician, or better yet, an ex-military type who worked around, if not directly with explosives."

"How sophisticated is the device he's using?"

"Hard to say, since we were able to recover so little of it. But I would put it on the level with those remote control airplanes and boats that you adult men seem to enjoy playing with so much. I mean, he would have to know how to *build* one, not just how to operate it."

"This just gets more and more strange," Hutch said.

"So, have you guys made any progress? Do you have suspects?"

"Well, we thought we did, but so far all we've managed to do is eliminate all of our possibilities. Starsky's working on something though. You know...a hunch."

Gina laughed softly. "Oh yeah, I know all about Starsky's hunches. Last time I bought into one of his hunches, I lost a ten spot at Huggy's, betting on a little brown and white pinto mouse that Starsky assured me was the Sea Biscuit of the rodent racing scene."

Hutch smiled, easily visualizing Starsky on his knees above the 'race track', cheering his contender on, and practically working himself into a frenzy. "Sorry to hear that, Gina. He has a weakness for fast mice." This elicited a giggle on the other end of the line. "Fortunately, though, Starsky's hunches about our cases are usually a hell of a lot more reliable than his gambling savvy."

"I'm glad to hear that!" she teased. "Well, I'll let you go, Hutch. I need to clear up a few things here, then head for home. And frankly, you sound pretty done in too."

"You could say that," he answered, wincing as he tried to shift a little weight off his shoulder.

"Tell Baby Blue Eyes not to bother calling back, since I'll be leaving here in a few minutes. I've given you all I have for now anyway. But first thing tomorrow morning, I'm going back to the each of the crime scenes and search again for fragments of the triggering devices. Finding that kind of evidence would definitely tie all the fires together. As soon as I'm finished, I'll give you guys a call, okay?"

"That'll be fine, Gina."

"Well, get some rest, Hutch," she said.

"I will. Thanks for calling, and for your concern."

"Oh—Hutch, one more thing—" Gina said hesitantly. "Would you mind, you know, letting Starsky know I called? I mean, I know you'll tell him about the evidence and all, but...just kind of let him know I'm not seeing anyone right now and if, you know..." her voice trailed off, perhaps embarrassed she had started this line of conversation."

"Be glad to," Hutch cut in mercifully. He'd never known her to be tongue-tied or at a loss for words. But then, he'd never realized that she was interested in Starsky. "Thanks again for calling."

"Okay, see ya, Hutch."

"Goodnight, Gina." The phone clicked softly as she broke the connection.

Hutch slowly rose from the sofa and went to the bathroom and took the pain pill before lying down across the bed to rest. Starsky had been right; he really shouldn't have insisted on going today; now he was paying for his pig-headedness. He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, a cold wet nose nuzzled behind his left ear. He rolled over and was eye to eye with Sam. The dog licked out his long, pink tongue, almost scoring a hit on Hutch's nose. But for once, Hutch was faster than Sam and managed to bolt upright and dodge him. "Not this time, you don't," he said good-naturedly to the pup, then rolled off the bed and went to the kitchen.

Starsky was at the stove, tending two large pots, while a heavenly aroma wafted from one of them. "Good boy, Sam. Woke him right up, didn't ya?" he said over his shoulder when he saw Hutch and Sam come in. "Finally up, huh? Thought I was gonna have to eat this fantastic spaghetti sauce all by myself. This is my Grandmother's recipe. She got it from the Italian family that ran the restaurant below her apartment. This is the real thing, not spaghetti-o's. "

"Gotta admit it smells pretty good." Hutch breathed in the delicious mixture of herbs, spices, and cheeses. "I didn't know you were still here."

"Figured you'd be hungry when you woke up." Starsky turned up the heat under the tall pot containing water to bring it to a boil. "Just gotta cook the pasta and we can dig in."

Hutch sat down at the table, feeling drained of energy. The pain in his shoulder was gone, though, and he was grateful for that.

Starsky looked up and saw Hutch's pale face. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just a little light-headed."

"You want somethin' cold to drink? Or maybe a wet cloth for your face?"

"I'm fine. Really. Just get that spaghetti ready. It's making my mouth water."

A grin lit Starsky's face when he heard that.

"Oh, Starsk—I almost forgot—Gina called."

"Oh yeah? What'd she want?"

"Said they've found evidence that indicates our torch is using incendiary devices to start the fires."

"Terrific," Starsky said without much enthusiasm. "We got all these pieces to the puzzle, but none of 'em seem to fit together." He continued with the meal preparations while they talked.

"Let's see, what've we got so far? Four fires, two of them at businesses owned by Bradley Enterprises."

Hutch joined in, "One dead security guard—definitely murdered by a blow to the head during the commission of the crime."

Starsky continued, "Yeah, the creep doesn't only get his kicks setting fires, he doesn't seem care if he has to commit a murder or two along the way. Which leads us to one dead woman—possibly suicide, possibly murder. Hell, possibly not even related to the arson cases at all!

"And let's not forget an assortment of disgruntled employees, none of whom seem to be all that determined to ruin Bradley. We also know for certain that he's using electronic devices—which means he's probably not an amateur," Hutch added. "I don't know about you, but I think it's about time to pay our buddy Bradley another visit."

"Just what I was thinkin'," Starsky said as he poured the cooked pasta into the strainer.

"Hope you're hungry," he added, abruptly changing the subject.

"I think I can force down a little," Hutch answered back, tongue-in-cheek.

Sam woofed loudly, signaling he was ready.

"Did you feed Sam?"

"Of course I did. You think that big lug would let me forget somethin' like that? He's just puttin' an act to con you out of your dinner."

Hutch reached down and patted Sam on the head, "I think he's onto you, boy." The dog laid his chin on Hutch's knee, trying his most pitiful look.

Starsky brought the piping hot bowls to the table just in time to witness the exchange. "And you're always tellin' me what a sucker I am," he chuckled.

Francine Stewart looked up from her typewriter and saw Detective Starsky and Detective Hutchinson standing before her. She tried to hide her pleasure at seeing Dave Starsky again, but the smile on her face prevented her from doing so. She'd hoped he'd call after their meeting at Mick's, but when he didn't, she convinced herself it was because he thought it wouldn't safe for her to be seen with him socially.

"Mornin', Fran," he said, smiling at her. "How are you?"

"Good morning, Dave. I'm fine," she said, coyly. "I hope you are too." She lowered her voice and looked around to make certain no one was listening.

"Have you found out anything?"

Hutch stood by, silently watching the interaction between the receptionist and his partner. It was pretty clear to him that the girl was scared to talk, but she trusted Starsky enough to give him any information she could.

"I talked with her mother and brother. Not much to go on there."

"Her brother's kind of creepy, don't you think?" Francine whispered.

"Yeah, and her mother's a real piece of work too. I'm workin' on it though—so is Hutch."

Francine looked over at Hutch and smiled. "Oh goodness," she said, just now noticing Hutch's arm in the sling. "Were you in an accident?"

"I guess you could say that. I was on the wrong end of a 38 Special at Kwon Cho Market a couple of days ago." Hutch smiled back innocently. He loved it when girls made a big deal about him being injured in the line of duty. It made him seem so darned vulnerable. He and Starsky had learned a long time ago, if you have to get shot up, use it to your advantage!

"Oh, wow, I hope it doesn't hurt too much," she said sympathetically.

"Well," Hutch said pitifully, "it hurts pretty bad—but I still have a job to do."

Starsky's eyes rolled back in his head, effecting his best "disgusted" look. He figured he'd better move ahead with the investigation, or Hutch was going to milk it for all it was worth. He knew this, because he'd played the same routine himself many times.

"Fran, we need to talk to your boss again. I wanna give him another chance to level with us about Carol."

"Oh, Dave, please don't tell him I said anything," she whispered anxiously.

"Don't worry. I have no intention of involving you. We've been on the case long enough now that he'll assume we uncovered it on our own. Don't get upset, or he'll figure you know."

Francine took a deep breath and calmed herself. "You're right, of course. Look, he's in a meeting right now, but it's due to break up in about," she looked at the leaded crystal clock on her desk, "ten more minutes. Why don't you both have a seat and I'll get you a cup of coffee."

"That sounds good," Hutch told her. She flashed him a bright smile. The men went to the waiting area and sank down in two of the fancy leather chairs.

Soon, Francine brought their coffee. She smiled sweetly at Hutch when she handed him his cup. Starsky thought it was pretty amusing that Fran was flirting with Hutch now. She'd been so friendly to him at the bar the other evening, he thought she was really interested in seeing him again. He'd even planned to ask her out once the case was solved. It wasn't the first time, though, that he and Hutch had met a woman who was attracted to both of them.

"Can I do anything to make you more comfortable?" she asked to Hutch.

"I don't think so; but thanks" he answered. "I have these pain pills, but I try not to take them unless the pain gets too bad."

"I admire a man who puts his duty ahead of his own well-being. But you really should take better care of yourself." Fran said solicitously. "I can't imagine working with a gunshot wound. I guess I never realized police officers did stuff like that."

Hutch smiled at her, basking in the attention.

"You call me if I can get you anything else, okay?" She then turned to Starsky, "I'll come get you when he's free, Dave." Francine returned to her desk and began typing again.

Starsky leaned over toward Hutch and said in a high voice, mimicking his partner, "I have these pain pills, but I'm a big, strong, macho cop and don't want to take them. I'd rather you fall all over yourself waiting on me hand and foot."

Hutch looked back with a "Who ME?" expression and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Starsk."

********************

Twenty minutes later, Francine showed the two detectives into Mr. Bradley's office.

"Gentlemen, I hope you've come with some good news. Have you found the person responsible for these fires yet?"

"No sir," Hutch began, "but we've uncovered some details we need you to help clarify for us."

"Of course, whatever I can do. Please, sit down. I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

Starsky and Hutch both sat down across from him. "Mr. Bradley, I'm gonna come right to the point," Starsky said in his usual blunt, no-frills manner. "So far, the employees who may have had grievances with you have all checked out okay. There's only one we haven't been able to question."

"Well, who is this individual? Perhaps my security people can help you locate him."

"I don't think so," Hutch said. "We're talking about your former administrative assistant, Carol Parker."

Starsky watched closely to see Bradley's reaction. There was only a slight flinch in the muscle of his left jaw. (All those years keepin' a poker face in the board room really paid off)Starsky thought to himself.

"I don't see how Ms. Parker could be involved. As I'm sure you've discovered, she took her own life weeks before any of this business started."

"It's not Carol we are curious about," Hutch pressed on. "We thought perhaps there's someone connected with her, a relative, ex-boyfriend, even an admirer who could be seeking revenge against you for the part you played in her death."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied smoothly. "I have no idea why Ms. Parker did such a thing. She was a very emotional person—more so than I or anyone else suspected. But I am not responsible for her actions."

Starsky looked Bradley directly in the eyes. "Are you sayin' you didn't have an affair with her and get her pregnant?" This time, the color drained from Bradley's face. Apparently, he believed only he and Carol had been aware of her condition.

"Where did you get this information, detective?" His voice wavered almost imperceptibly.

"We have sources. We are the police, you know." Starsky didn't blink an eye. He decided to bluff and see just how good Bradley was at the game. "Autopsies give us all kinds of information. Once we have a lead, we can put the pieces together. It was you, all right. Do you wanna tell us your version?" He could see small beads of moisture forming on Bradley's upper lip. The quiet in the room was almost palpable.

"Mr. Bradley," Hutch finally said, "it would be much better if you came clean with us. We're going to find the truth one way or another."

Bradley looked from one to the other. "Alright, I'll tell you all I know. But I was not responsible for Carol's death. I could hardly believe it when I heard what she'd done." He paused and took a deep breath.

"I was in love with her. I'm fifty seven years old, and I was in love for the first time in my life. I was old enough to be Carol's father, but she loved me just the same." Bradley leaned back in the chair, and looked across the desk, but didn't seem to see the two detectives. His gaze was focused on another time and place.

"I knew I was risking everything, loving her. You see, my wife could have ruined me, had she found out. She is a powerful woman, and has control of a lion's share of the stock here at Bradley Enterprises. Her family's money was used to start up this corporation. She wouldn't have cared that I built it from the ground up."

"So when Carol told you she was pregnant, you had her killed," Starsky suggested.

"Absolutely not!" Bradley practically shouted. "If anything, that endeared her to me even more. I admit, I was taken aback at the news because she had assured me she was on the pill. And I guess I assumed at my age, and never having been able to conceive children with my wife, that I was incapable of fathering a child. When she came to me with the news, I didn't berate her; to the contrary, I was ecstatic that I would have a son or a daughter to carry on the family line. I simply told her not to tell anyone until I could figure out what to do. She swore to me that it was our secret. I assured Carol that I loved her and that somehow, she and I and the child would have a life together."

Bradley paused and was silent for a few moments. "I confess, I didn't know exactly what I was going to do, but I knew I wanted to make her a part of my life. I had considered confronting my wife and telling her the truth; try and negotiate a divorce settlement which would result in me retaining my fair share of this conglomerate. My wife's family's money may have started this company, but by God, I made it the success it is today," he said emphatically.

"So, did you do it? Did you talk with your wife?" Starsky asked.

"No. I...I was trying to get up the courage. The last time I saw Carol alive, she stormed out of here angry because I hadn't done so. I plead with her to be patient, to give me time to work out the business details. But she was so young, so headstrong, she couldn't see past her nose. I wanted to provide her and my child with the kind of life they deserved. I didn't want to throw thirty-five years of hard work out the window. I had already begun consulting with my personal attorney about liquidating some of my assets and formulating a plan to get my fair share of Bradley Enterprises if Margaret refused to be reasonable."

"Mr. Bradley, do you think Carol killed herself because she didn't believe you'd leave your wife and marry her?" Hutch asked.

He looked back at Hutch and was silent for a few seconds before answering. "I've asked myself that same question hundreds of times over the past few weeks, Detective Hutchinson. That possibility has tortured me day and night. Part of me believes that I am responsible; that my inability to confront Margaret drove that beautiful, vibrant, young woman to do something so desperate. Yet, I can't accept that Carol would murder our child. She knew I wanted that baby. She knew I had never had a son or daughter—that the absence of children in my marriage has been a source of unhappiness for me." Unshed tears glistened in Frank Bradley's eyes.

"I...I suppose someone who loved Carol may want to hurt me if they knew this and believed I caused her suicide. But until moments ago, I didn't think anyone else was aware of our relationship. I swear to you, gentlemen, I would have taken care of Carol and I would have married her. It was only a matter of time before I would have been a free man."

Frank Bradley looked drained. The thought flitted through Starsky's mind that the man looked as though he'd aged right before their eyes with his recounting of the events leading up to Carol Parker's death. Hutch caught Starsky's eye, silently signaling that he was ready to conclude the meeting.

"Well, I think that's all we need to ask you right now, sir," Hutch said, standing up. Starsky followed his lead. "You've been very helpful and we appreciate your honesty."

"Detectives, unless it's absolutely necessary...could you...I mean, does it have to be pubic knowledge about my relationship with Carol? The arson and Carol's death are most likely not even related. I'd prefer to avoid a scandal if it serves no purpose."

"We can't promise you anything," Starsky answered, "but we'll try to keep it away from the press. But if it turns out to be pertinent to the investigation, it will become a matter of public record."

"Fair enough," Mr. Bradley said as he came around the desk and shook hands with them both. They walked to the door together. "Please let me know when you have anything."

"We will," Starsky assured him.

"So, what do you think?" Hutch asked as they were walking back to the car.

"I believe him. Don't you?"

"Yes. Did you hear the emotion in his voice when he was talking about having a kid? If Carol was murdered, Starsk, it wasn't by Frank Bradley."

Sam was in the front seat of the Torino with his front paws planted on the dashboard as they approached. His tail began its customary frenzied wag when he spied them. "Hutch, do you think Sam's okay in the car? I mean, I read somewhere about dogs havin' heat strokes."

Hutch smiled to himself. This is the guy who doesn't like dogs, he thought. "Well, it's probably not the best situation, but if we're careful to park in a cool place, this time of the year he should be okay."

Starsky unlocked the car and they both got in. As usual, Sam was all over them, licking their faces and walking on them with his over-sized paws. It didn't matter if they were gone ten minutes or two hours, he was just as glad to see them. "Knock it off, Sam!" Starsky was struggling to get the excited dog off him. When he finally succeeded, Sam moved on to give Hutch the same treatment.

"So, where do we go from here?" Hutch asked, stretching to look around the Rottweiler to Starsky.

"I don't know," Starsky answered as he cranked up the engine, "but I think we're onto somethin' here."

Hutch ordered Sam into the backseat, and was dumbstruck when he obeyed. "I think we're going to have install a seatbelt in the back seat to keep him out of your hair while you're driving," Hutch said with a deadpan expression. As though he understood what Hutch was saying, Sam flopped his front paws over the seat and rested his head on Starsky's shoulder.

Starsky looked down at the dog's face, then over at Hutch. "Are you kiddin'? Half the time you don't even buckle your own. How're you gonna make him wear one?" Starsky gave him a lopsided grin and pulled out of the parking lot.

"We haven't checked out Carol's apartment," he said, changing the subject. "Maybe we'd find somethin' there to tell us whether or not she had help jumpin' outta the window."

"It's been too long now," Hutch replied. "Any clues left behind have probably been wiped out by the cleaning crew."

"Good point. But I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask. I got the address from Fran the other night." Since Hutch didn't object, Starsky took that as agreement and headed in the direction for Carol Parker's last residence. They went directly to the manager's office and presented their id's, asking for permission to search the apartment.

"Oh, I'm sorry, detective. That apartment was rented last week. I'd have to get permission from the current resident before letting you go in. I mean, no one told me it wasn't okay to rent it," the nervous manager explained. "Did I do something wrong by doing so?"

"No, not at all," Hutch reassured her. "Ms. Parker's death was officially classified as suicide. We just wanted to double check and make certain nothing was overlooked."

"Well, I had our regular cleaning service come in after Ms. Parker's family removed her belongings. The housekeeper did find a few small items that were left behind. I've been meaning to call Mrs. Parker to pick them up, but quite frankly, it slipped my mind. I doubt she'd mind if you looked through them."

"That would be terrific," Starsky told her. "And when we're done, if you want, we can take 'em over to Mrs. Parker for you."

"Oh would you? That would be nice. I'll get them right now." The woman went to the adjoining room and returned shortly with a paste board box containing various items. "You can use that desk in the corner if you'd like to take them out and look at them," she said, handing the box to Starsky.

Hutch followed him to the desk and watched as Starsky began pulling the items out one by one. They found a bud vase with the initials 'CP' etched into the glass; one taupe colored Isotoner glove; a tiny porcelain unicorn statue, one rhinestone earring; and a casual snapshot of Carol Parker standing on a boat dock with Frank Bradley. Nothing unusual. They exchanged disappointed looks.

"None of this is gonna help us," Starsky said, placing the items back into the box.

"We can take this stuff over to Mrs. Parker and see if she can identify it."

"Even if she can't, that won't mean anything. Carol was livin' on her own. Her mother may not recognize things she bought after leaving home."

Hutch had a perplexed look on his face, then slowly, his eyes opened widely.

"Unless..." he reached in and picked up the rhinestone earring, "this is the real thing. If this is a diamond, it could be worth a mint. And either it's a gift from Bradley, or it belongs to someone else. Either way, if we can locate the mate to it, we might know who killed Carol."

Starsky was following Hutch's train of thought. "You mean, if it's hers, maybe someone stole them, but dropped this one when they killed her. If not, then it belonged to the murderer."

"Right," Hutch said, smiling. "Of course, I know it's a stretch; but we don't have anything better. And I'm still not sure how this is all connected to the fires."

"I believe they are connected though," Starsky said. "Let's take this earring to a jeweler and find out if it the real McCoy."

"Good idea. We’d better drop Sam off at Huggy's since this could take awhile."

Mrs. Parker opened the door wearing an apron, having just finished placing a roast in the oven. "Now what?" she asked, her voice tinged with irritation.

"We're sorry to bother you again Mrs. Parker," Hutch apologized, "but we have a few of your daughter's belongings that were left behind in her apartment."

"Well, come on in." She stepped aside so they could enter. They followed her into the living room. Mrs. Parker bent over and picked up a model car which was lying in the floor and placed it on the coffee table. "Watch your step. Timmy's been playing around with those cars of his again."

Starsky squatted down and took a closer look at the radio control car. "This is pretty neat. A 1965 Mustang, Hutch. Take a look."

Hutch picked up the car, something tugging at his memory. But he couldn't quite lay his finger on it. He set the miniature car back on the table. The woman sat down in a chair across from the sofa where the two detectives sat. "Mrs. Parker, would you mind identifying these items and telling us if you know whether or not they were Carol's?"

Mrs. Parker shuffled through the box, picking up each item. "Don't recognize anything except the unicorn. Carol used to collect them; this was her favorite. I didn't see it that day I cleaned out the apartment. I assumed it had been broken years ago." For the first time since meeting her, Hutch noticed there seemed to be a hint of sadness in the woman's voice.

"What about the earring?" Starsky asked. "Do you remember seeing your daughter wear a pair like this? Were they a family heirloom you gave her?"

"No, never seen it before. Probably just a cheap imitation, though. Carol never made enough money to afford diamonds."

"No mam, it's real alright. We just came from a jeweler who said it's a half carat diamond. He also said it's a very old piece. That's why we thought it may have been in your family for a long time."

"Heaven's no. Never owned a piece of real jewelry in my life except my wedding band."

"Do you mind if we keep this for now then?"

"I guess it's okay, although I don't know what good one earring's gonna do anybody."

They all three turned and looked when they heard the front door open and close. Timothy Parker walked into the living room and looked around nervously. "What's going on here? Why are you cops back? Has something happened?"

"We just brought some of your sister's things that were left at her apartment," Hutch answered. "But if you have a moment, we'd like to talk with you."

"I, uh, I'm kind of...busy at the moment."

"This won't take five minutes," Starsky added.

"Well, okay. What do you want to know?"

Hutch started first. "Tim, do you know if your sister was involved with a man at the time of her death?"

"I wouldn't have any way of knowing a thing like that. My sister and I weren't very close."

"Well, if she had been in some sort of trouble, would she have come to you for help?"

"What kind of trouble?" Mrs. Parker interrupted. "Carol was a good girl."

"Tim?" Hutch prompted.

"No. No…I don't know what you're talking about. You'll have to excuse me now. I have a migraine. I have to go lie down." He quickly went to his room and closed the door. Starsky and Hutch exchanged glances, then stood up to leave.

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Parker. And for letting us keep this earring. Once we've completed our investigation, we'll return it to you." Hutch put the earring into his pocket and they left.

"Timmy boy's lyin' through his teeth," Starsky said as they pulled away from the Parker residence.

"Zebra Three, Zebra Three. Do you copy?"

"Control, this is Zebra Three. Go ahead," Hutch spoke into the mic.

"Zebra three, there is a woman calling with information regarding your case. Do you copy?"

"Control, this is Detective Hutchinson. Go ahead and patch her through please."

"Hutch? Is that you? This is Fran."

"Hi, Fran. Yeah, this is Hutch. You have something for us, Fran?"

"I don't know how helpful it is, but I went through Carol's desk and found an appointment card for an OB/GYN doctor. The date would be about right to coincide with when she told me she was pregnant. Maybe you can get some information from them."

"Good work, Fran," Hutch replied. "Go ahead and give me the name and address and we'll stop by there."

"Doctor Phillip Colby, 8840 Dunfries Street NE. Hope that helps."

"We really appreciate this," Hutch said sincerely. "And Fran—uh, I'll call you later, okay?"

"Oh, sure...that would be nice. Bye, Hutch. Oh—tell Dave I said hello, okay?"

"Come on Romeo," Starsky teased. "You're on company time."

"Okay, I’ll tell him," Hutch said. "Bye."

Hutch placed the mic back on the console. "Maybe we're finally going to get somewhere with this case."

"Yeah, could be. I wanna go see Bradley to find out if he can identify the earring. If he doesn't know anything about it, then it's a pretty safe guess that it belonged to the murderer."

"Maybe between Bradley and Dr. Colby, we'll turn over a few stones and find some answers," Hutch agreed.

The doctor's office was on the way to Bradley Enterprises, so the two detectives decided to stop there first and hope someone was available who could answer their questions. The waiting room was crowded with women, most of whom were in various stages of pregnancy, some looking like they would deliver within the next ten minutes, others barely showing at all.

The doctor wasn't available to see them right away, but sent word out with the nurse that he would be happy to work them in if they could wait another fifteen minutes. In the meantime, Starsky struck up a conversation with the receptionist, a nice lady in her mid-forties who expressed genuine remorse when he told her that Carol Parker was dead.

"Such a lovely girl," she said shaking her head sadly. "Beautiful red hair, and what you’d call a 'peaches and cream' complexion; nothing like that fellow with her. I swear he was covered with so many freckles, you couldn't have stuck him with a pin without popping one." The lady has a colorful way with words, Starsky thought with amusement. Then the significance of what she had just said dawned on him.

"Say that again? There was a guy with her when she came in?"

"That's right. Last time I saw Ms. Parker, he brought her here. They had a terrible argument right here in the waiting room. They kept their voices down, so I couldn't hear what it was about, but there was no doubt they were fighting. I still don't know who he was or why he came with her that day. There was something about him that made me think they were related, but they didn't really look alike." Two lines on the phone began ringing at the same time and she reached for the receiver. "Please excuse me, detective. I really must answer these phones.."

Starsky walked back to where Hutch sat flipping through a copy of "Working Mother" magazine. It took sheer willpower on Starsky's part not to make a wisecrack about his partner's choice of reading material. Before he could tell Hutch what the receptionist had said, the nurse opened the door and motioned them back. The doctor was sitting at his desk dictating notes about his last patient into a small recorder. He clicked it off and stood up to greet them as they entered.

"Come in detectives. I'm Dr. Colby. Won't you sit down?"

Hutch introduced them both and proceeded to tell the doctor about Carol's death. He told them he hadn't heard nor seen it in the newspaper and he seemed quite upset. "This is a tragedy," he commented. "A very nice young woman. And she was extremely excited about her pregnancy." Although they had not told the doctor they suspected Carol Parker was pregnant, he seemed to assume they knew, and neither one of them let on that there had been no autopsy.

"Doctor, do you know who the man was that brought Ms. Parker here last time?" Starsky asked. Hutch looked a little surprised by the question, since he didn't know yet about Starsky's conversation with the receptionist.

"No. I didn't ask. I knew Carol wasn't married, so I assumed he may be the baby's father. But I don't ask questions that aren't pertinent to my patient's health. You know, it's hard to believe Carol would commit suicide when only days earlier she was ecstatic at the prospect of motherhood. I guess we never know what goes on inside someone else's mind." There was a short silence while they were all digested that philosophical thought.

"Well, thanks, doc. We appreciate you takin' time out of your busy schedule to see us," Starsky said.

"Is that all? I don't feel I've been of help."

"You have been.," Hutch assured him. "You told us about Ms. Parker's state of mind concerning the pregnancy. We needed to know if an unwanted pregnancy could have prompted her to take her own life."

"My personal opinion is no. But then, I'm not a psychiatrist. All I can tell you is that she was one happy young lady when she left here that day."

As they headed toward Bradley Enterprises, Starsky filled his partner in on his conversation with the receptionist in Dr. Colby's office. "So it sounds like Timmy brought his sister to the doctor, even though he told us he didn't know anything about her

personal life. I knew that turkey was lyin' to us."

"So they argued? Do you think he wanted her to get an abortion?" Hutch began theorizing. "Or maybe he pushed her out of the window? But why? Jealousy? Maybe he's a sick-o who had a thing for his own sister. Maybe he killed her and now wants to kill Bradley to keep him quiet. I'll tell you what, Starsk—this whole thing just keeps getting more and more weird." Hutch winced slightly and shifted to take pressure off his shoulder. Although the change in expression was subtle, Starsky could tell he was in pain.

"Hey, you alright? You hurtin' again?"

"Nah, I'm fine," Hutch said lightly.

"How long since you had a pain pill?" He could always tell how Hutch felt by looking at his eyes. It was something Starsky had learned to do long ago, and he was seldom wrong. "Why don't you let me take you home to lie down for awhile. Huh?"

"I'm fine. I wish you'd stop treating me like an invalid, Starsky," Hutch snapped, a little harsher than he intended. Immediately sorry, he added, "We're on a roll here, partner; I don't want to miss anything. I promise I'll take a pill when I get home and can go to bed. The damn things make me feel like I'm sleep walking."

Starsky decided to drop it; he knew arguing was futile. "Let's see Bradley, then pick up Sam and I'll take you guys home. He's had enough time to eat Huggy right into bankruptcy. Don't want him to wear out his welcome or nothin'." Hutch chuckled at the image Starsky had brought to mind.