Francine noticed Hutch's face looked drawn and tired as he and Starsky approached her desk and asked to see Mr. Bradley. Although it was closing time, her boss was still in his office and agreed to meet with them.

"Twice in one day. You must be making progress," he greeted them.

"Yeah, I think we are. We'd like you to take a look at something and tell us if you've ever seen in before," Hutch dug into his pocket and produced the diamond earring. Frank Bradley's face turned deathly white, his knees nearly buckling from under him.

Starsky grabbed Bradley's elbow and helped him to the nearest sofa.

"W…where did you get this?" Bradley took several deep breaths to regain his composure. Starsky looked over his head at Hutch and saw his partner was as baffled as he by the man's reaction.

"The cleanin' crew found it in Carol Parker's apartment," Starsky answered. "We thought maybe you gave 'em to her."

"No," was his only response. They waited for him to say more, but he didn't.

"Mr. Bradley, what do you know about this earring?" Hutch asked as he came around and sat in a chair across from him.

"I…I've never seen it before."

"If you know anything about this and refuse to tell us, you could be charged with obstruction of justice," Hutch warned gently. "It would be much better if you'd talk with us so we don't have to officially take you in for questioning."

"Isn't the fact that I didn't give it to Carol answer enough?"

"No sir," Starsky replied. "You recognize this earring and it's evidence to a homicide—"

"You don't know that," Bradley interrupted. "You don't know that this earring has anything to do with Carol's death.

"But you do," Starsky said matter-of-factly.

Bradley stood up, a look of determination setting his face. "Gentlemen, I have nothing further to say to you at this time. If you have any more questions regarding this earring or Carol Parker's death, I suggest you go through my attorney, Marcus Levitt. Francine can give you his telephone number and the address of his practice." He walked toward the door as he spoke.

Starsky and Hutch were stunned by the unexpected change in attitude and how quickly Bradley seemed to have recovered from the shock he'd obviously experienced only minutes earlier. When they didn't immediately get up and follow him to the door, he turned and spoke again.

"You really must excuse me now. I have a dinner engagement at seven and will barely have time to pick up my wife and get there. Thank you for coming by." With such an undeniable dismissal, they had no choice but to leave. He promptly closed the door behind them as they stood there bewildered at the turn of events.

Before either one could speak, Francine asked, "Already through?"

"I guess you could say that," Hutch answered.

Starsky cranked up the Torino and turned to Hutch, "What the hell just happened in there?"

"I don't know, partner. Your guess is as good as mine. But Bradley knows where that earring came from and it's gonna be the clue to solving this case."

Hutch squeezed his eyes shut tightly, riding out the ensuing wave of pain. Starsky reached over and laid a hand on his arm. "Hey...you okay?"

"Yeah. I guess maybe you're right though. I need to go home."

"When you gonna learn to listen to me? Huh?" Starsky chided. "I'm gonna take you home first, then I'll go pick up Big Dog. That is, if Huggy hasn't already tossed him out on his ear."

Hutch closed his eyes and tried to relax; but he was beyond doing that without the aid of the painkillers. Once they arrived, Starsky followed him to the door. "Go lie down and I'll bring your medicine," he said, unlocking the door so Hutch wouldn't have to struggle with the key one-handedly.

Two minutes later, Starsky came to the bedroom with a pill and a glass of cool water. "I'll be back in a little while. I'm gonna go ahead and exercise Sam before I bring him back here to feed him. Okay?"

"Sure, Starsk. That sounds fine." Hutch eased himself down on the bed and tried to find a comfortable position.

"Here, try this," Starsky said, as he propped a soft pillow under Hutch's injured shoulder to relieve the pressure.

"That's better," Hutch told him. "I'm fine. Go ahead and see to Sam. I'll probably be asleep when you get back. Are you going on home tonight?"

"Thought I'd just crash here, if that's okay." Starsky didn't like the pale color of his partner's face and decided he should to stick around while Hutch was taking the strong medication.

Starsky waited only a couple of minutes then slipped out quietly, locking the door behind him.

When Starsky arrived at The Pits, he parked in the alley and came in through the kitchen. Huggy was working at his desk in the little office to the left of the cooking area Sam was lounging at his feet and neither of them heard Starsky come in.

"Hey, Hug. I'm here to pick up Big Dog." The minute Sam heard Starsky's voice he jumped to attention and ran to meet him with his tail wagging so hard it caused his whole backside to wave. "Hi there, fella!" The dog reared up, his paws landing on Starsky's chest. "Do you always have to jump all over me like that?" Starsky scolded him half-heartedly.

"Starsky, my man. I was beginning to think this was dude a permanent resident at Huggy Bear's fine establishment. Where have you guys been? More important, where's the other half of the home team?" Huggy asked when he realized Starsky was alone.

"Had to take him home and put him to bed. The Blonde Blintz finally admitted a bullet in the shoulder tends to slow ya down a little."

"This has got to be a first," Huggy joked. "I hope you got it on tape."

"And he calls me hard-headed." Starsky snapped the leash to Sam's collar then dug a five dollar bill out of his jeans pocket and laid it on the desk

"Huggy, thanks for lookin' after Sam."

"What's the bread for, man?"

"Forgot to bring his lunch," Starsky told him. "We promised we would."

"Put your money away, brother. Huggy can spring for a couple of burgers."

"Nah, keep it. He can eat you outta house and home if you let him. Hope he didn't give you hard time."

"Not me. He's cool. But you may want to work on refining his approach with the ladies. I tried to convince him a cold nose in the crotch may not be the fastest way to their hearts," Huggy said, completely straight-faced.

"You're kiddin'." Starsky tried to look shocked, but inside, he was about to lose it.

"One hundred percent serious, my brother. If you don't believe it, you can check out the waitresses and a cute little brunette—that is if she ever comes in here again. I mean you gotta admire the cat's no holds barred approach to 'winning friends and influencing people.' Did he get that from the Starsky School of Charm?"

"Sorry, Hug, can't take credit for it. I'll ask Hutch when I get home if he's responsible though. Thanks again for lettin' Sam hang out withya." Sam licked Huggy's hand and was rewarded with one more ear scratch before he and Starsky left through the back entrance. Anxious for another car ride, the dog rushed ahead of Starsky, pulling and straining on the leash all the way.

Rather than return to Hutch's right away, Starsky and the dog headed for the park. A new, bright red rubber ball from the pet store had been tucked under the seat of the car as a special treat to be introduced at some future date. The dog was so energetic and restless from having been cooped up most of the day that Starsky thought this would be the ideal time to bring out the new toy.

Being the twilight of the day, the park was almost deserted. The sky was beautiful, tinged with the pink and orange of the sunset, the wispy, gray-blue clouds drifting across the horizon. Starsky had that 'all is well with the world' feeling as he parked the car hooked up the dog's leash.

The children had gone home to have dinner with their families; maybe a good opportunity to try Sam off-leash for the first time. He hoped the dog wouldn't take off for the great wide open. But Sam was becoming more responsive to both him and Hutch when they called him. In fact, Starsky was amazed at the animal's intelligence; he seemed to learn so quickly. There had been no further discussion about finding Sam a new home, but Starsky knew when the time came, an obedient dog would be more adoptable and more likely to stay with his new family.

"Come on, boy. Let's play ball." Starsky took Sam to an open area where he'd have room to run. Deciding it would be safer to try him on leash first, Starsky showed the ball to the dog and teased him a little, holding it behind his back, then flashing it repeatedly to build up the dog's interest. Sam watched intently, making quick little grabs in an effort to steal the prize away from Starsky. Within a few minutes, Sam was so excited Starsky could barely keep the dog from knocking him down and snatching the ball from his hand.

Sam jumped up and down, wrought with anticipation. "Okay! Okay! You want the ball, Sam?" Sam gave a loud woof in response. Starsky tossed the ball only a short distance. Sam lunged forward and scooped it up in his huge jaws, tossed it into the air, then repeated the motion.

"Bring it here, Sam! Bring the ball!" Sam just stood there looking victorious. His expression made it clear he had no intention of surrendering the prize that easily. Starsky reeled him in on the leash and tussled with him to get the ball back. Then, with trepidation and concern about the wisdom of his actions, Starsky unsnapped the leash and tossed the ball into the air once more. To his astonishment, the Rottweiler jumped and caught it mid-air.

"Good boy! Bring me the ball, Sam!" This time the dog loped to him immediately and presented the ball to be thrown again. Starsky threw it about twenty feet this time and silently prayed the dog wouldn't take off. Sam dashed after it and swooped down on the ball almost before it hit the ground.

Starsky called him, and without hesitation, Sam barreled toward him like a locomotive, moving so fast that by the time he reached his destination, he slammed into Starsky and knocked him flat on his back. Standing on Starsky's chest with the red rubber ball clenched in his teeth and his big pink tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, he was a humorous sight.

Starsky threw both arms around the dog and wrestled him onto his back, further exciting the puppy. When released, Sam ran at lightning speed in tight little circles around him. Starsky sat on the ground just watching, letting the dog run out of steam. Finally Sam collapsed in front of him and flopped his head onto Starsky's knees, looking up with mischievous eyes.

"I don't know about you, Big Dog, but I'm ready to call it a day." The trusting face looked up with affection, hanging on every word Starsky uttered. "Besides, we need to go check on Hutch. He's pretty helpless without us, you know. But don't tell 'em I said so or he'll be really pissed." Starsky started to attach the leash to Sam's collar, but instead got up and nonchalantly walked toward the car.

"Sam, come," he said confidently, looking over his shoulder at the dog. The Rottweiler immediately fell into step beside Starsky, then hopped into the car and they headed for home.

When Starsky and Sam reached Hutch's, they found him sound asleep. Starsky quietly closed the door, to make sure Sam didn’t sneak in and wake him later.

He'd just finished feeding the dog and was making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when the phone rang. "Hello," he answered shortly, grabbing it after only one ring.

"Uh…are you Detective Hutchinson?" a man's voice asked.

"No, I'm his partner, Detective Starsky. Hutch can't come to the phone right now. Can I help you?"

Five seconds of silence followed, then the nervous voice said, "Yes…actually, I think you're the one who gave me this card." Silence again. "This is Timothy Parker, I ...I'd like to talk with you about my sister's death. But not like this, not on the phone."

Starsky looked at his wrist watch. "I can be there in fifteen minutes."

"No! I mean...don't come to my house. I don't want Mother to know. She won't understand."

"Okay, then…where do you want me to meet you? A restaurant? A bar? How about The Pits? It's not far from where you live."

"No…not so public. I'm…I'm afraid if we're seen, I'll be killed—just like Carol. I know a place only about five minutes from my house. It's a warehouse that my model car club meets in. I have a key and no one will be there tonight. It's totally private."

Starsky hesitated. What if this was a trap? But Parker sounded scared out of his wits; so most likely, he was telling the truth. Starsky suspected Parker had the goods on Frank Bradley. Anyone with a grain of sense would be afraid of a man as powerful as Bradley, he reasoned.

"Okay. Give me the address and time. We'll come."

"Thank you…thank you so much. I've wanted to level with you since the day you first came to my home, but I knew Mother couldn't handle the truth. She has a bad heart. Anyway, the address is 2260 Clayburn Street. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes. I'll unlock the door and wait inside so you can just walk right in. I'd rather not hang around outside, since it's not the greatest part of town. But the rent's really low and that’s our club can afford to lease."

Starsky jotted down the address. "Got it. We'll leave here in a couple of minutes. I'm not familiar with this address, so if it takes us more than fifteen minutes, just stay put. Okay? It's gonna be fine," Starsky reassured him. "We'll get whoever is responsible for your sister's death, and if we need to, we'll put you in protective custody till they're picked up."

"Thank you, Detective Starsky. You don't know what this means to me. Goodbye."

Starsky placed the receiver back on the hook. He went to the bedroom, peeked in the door and saw Hutch had not stirred. Starsky hesitated to disturb him, but knew Hutch wouldn't like him going alone to meet Parker.

"Hutch?" he called softly. "You asleep?" When there was no response, he entered the bedroom, closing the door behind him to keep Sam from following. Leaning down close to Hutch's face, he asked again, "Hutch, you asleep?" He could hear the even, relaxed breathing, confirming Hutch was out like a light. Looking at his friend's peaceful face, Starsky couldn't bring himself to wake him, knowing Hutch needed to rest and let himself heal. His decision made, Starsky tiptoed back out and quietly closed the door.

Returning to the kitchen, he grabbed a notepad off the fridge and scribbled a message in case Hutch woke before he got back. "Hutch—gone to meet Timothy Parker in Model Car Club building at 2260 Clayburn. Has info about Carol's murder. Didn't want to wake you. Be back soon—Starsk."

Starsky put his gun and holster back on before he shrugged into his jacket. He heard a faint whining sound, and scanned the room to see where Sam had gotten off to. He found the dog lying at Hutch's bedroom door, his nose wedged in the crack. Starsky took hold of Sam's collar and led him away from the door.

"Come away from there, Sam. You're gonna wake Hutch." Sam whined louder. In a hurry to get to the rendezvous, Starsky didn't have time to hassle with the dog.

He made a snap decision to ensure Hutch wouldn't be disturbed. "Come on, Big Dog. I guess I'm stuck with you." He retrieved the note to Hutch and added a P.S., "Sam's with me," before heading out the door with dog right behind him.

The red Torino pulled up in front of the warehouse Timothy Parker had designated for their meeting. The area around it was completely deserted, with the exception of a lone rusty, white 1966 station wagon parked in the lot. The one and only street lamp flickered erratically, defeating its effort to light the entrance. Starsky felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He pulled out his gun and checked to make certain he had plenty of ammunition.

"I gotta bad feelin' about this, Sam," he said, as much to himself as to the dog. "You wait here, boy. If I don't come out soon, take the Torino and go back to Hutch's. But careful with the paint job." Starsky made the tongue-in-cheek cracks in a dead serious voice and Sam listened intently, looking as though he actually understood. Starsky laughed at his own joke and gave Sam a final pat on the head then got out of the car and entered the building.

The door was unlocked, just as Parker had said it would be. As Starsky stepped through the door, the area was dimly lit by only a singular bulb overhead. He looked around but didn't see Parker anywhere in sight. "Parker! Tim Parker, you here?" he called out.

There was no response, so Starsky ventured in a little further. Looking down the corridor, he could see the lighting throughout the structure was minimal. The building had been partitioned into rooms, all different sizes and configurations. He glanced briefly into each of them as he went and saw most had racing tracks for radio-control cars, assembled on platforms decked out impressively with elaborate scenery, little model buildings, and miniature trees. One room was dedicated to glassed-in display cases filled with vintage radio-controlled automobiles, from Porsches to Volkswagen Beetles.

Starsky heard a shuffling sound coming from a room further into the interior of the building. "Parker? That you?" When no one answered, he pulled the 38 from its holster and proceeded cautiously, prepared for trouble.

The silence and dim lighting gave the warehouse an eerie atmosphere. The only sound disturbing the absolute quiet was that of his own footsteps. Starsky moved stealthily down the gloomy hallway, continuing to check each room quickly. Progressing deeper into the interior of the building, the lighting became increasingly sparse. Then without warning, a resounding bang pierced the silence, plunging the entire structure into darkness so all encompassing that Starsky literally couldn't see his hand before his face.

He fought the overwhelming urge to run blindly from the building. As the darkness became a heavy, suffocating blanket, Starsky tried to remain calm and picture in his mind's eye the path he had taken to the interior. His sense of direction seemed all out of whack. Had there been windows? He couldn't remember. All he knew was, he had to get out of here fast. He had to breathe fresh air again. To hell with Parker! He was either dead—murdered by whomever he'd planned to expose, or Starsky had used incredibly poor judgment and allowed himself to lured in to one hell of a trap. Either way, the detective knew he was in deep trouble.

Starsky stumbled forward, finally locating the wall. From there he began carefully groping his way back toward what he hoped the front of the building, guided by only touch and instinct. It was slow going, but he had just begun to regain his sense of direction when a deafening explosion rocked the building, throwing him backwards. There was no time to consider what had happened before he slowly slipped into the velvet-soft darkness of unconsciousness.

The telephone rang persistently, rousing Hutch from his deep slumber. He fumbled to reach the phone located on the bedside stand. "Hutchinson," he mumbled.

"Hutch? How're you doin' man?"

"Okay, I guess, Hug. But to tell you the truth, I just woke up and I feel like I've got cotton in my head," Hutch answered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and coming to an upright position.

"I expected Starsky to answer. Where is he? Said he'd be at your place."

"Good question. When he didn't answer the phone, I grabbed the one here by the bed."

"Man, he left here a long time ago. Said you weren't doing so hot, so I was just checking in," Huggy said. He paused for a second, then changed the subject. "Listen, Hutch, I been thinking. You guys planning to keep Big Dog around?"

"Gee, I don't know, Hug. When we bailed him out of Animal Control, the plan was to keep him just long enough to find a good home. But he's adjusted so well here, I'm a little reluctant to uproot him. I haven't discussed it with Starsky though. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just…you know…I think he's alright. He even gives Huggy's place a little class. Not to mention, when he's full-grown any turkey who thinks The Pits would be an easy mark might think twice, you dig? Just think about it, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. I'll talk it over with Starsky and let you know."

After they hung up, Hutch decided to go to the kitchen and scare up something to eat. He really was surprised that Sam and Starsky weren't home yet. It was already dark out, so their exercise run should have ended an hour or so ago. Upon entering the kitchen, he spotted the note from Starsky propped up against the telephone. Hutch read it hurriedly and was more than a little concerned that Starsky had gone off by himself to meet in such a secluded place.

The odd feeling that something was wrong, that he was missing the obvious came back again, this time more intense. He'd had this same feeling earlier, but couldn't lay his finger on the source. Hutch read the note again.

"Hutch—gone to meet Timothy Parker in model car club building at 2260 Clayburn. Has info about Carol's murder. Didn't want to wake you. Be back soon—Starsk."

The root of the nagging anxiety began to surface from his subconscious. Something Gina had said on the telephone. What were her exact words when he asked her to speculate on the type of the person responsible for setting the explosives? "Maybe someone with a background in electronics, perhaps a computer technician," There was more. Something about the incendiary devices the arsonist was using. "…on the level with those remote control airplanes and boats that adult men seem to enjoy playing with so much…he would have to know how to build one; not just operate it."

Of course! The radio control car on the floor at the Parker home. His subconscious had been trying to alert him…help him recognize that Tim had the means and the motive to start those fires! And now his partner was involved in a clandestine meeting with this man—with no backup.

No doubt, Starsky had tried to wake him, but the pain pills had done their job so well, he'd slept right through it. Hutch felt a hot wave of fear course through his body, knowing that Starsky and Sam were meeting that madman without him being there to back them up. He had to get there fast.

Hutch threw on his jeans and a jacket, grabbed his keys and Starsky's note then rushed out the door. He yanked his left arm out of the sling in order to steer the car, and grabbed the mic with his right hand as he was backing out of the drive. Slapping the red bubble on the roof of the beat-up Ford, Hutch sped away from the house as fast as the Ford would allow. It was at least a fifteen minute drive to the address Starsky had given him.

"Control, this is Hutchinson. Patch me through to Zebra Three right now! And send a couple of black and whites to 2260 Clayburn. Starsky may be in trouble. I think he's walking into a trap."

"Patching you through Hutch. And it's a 10-4 on the black and whites. Standby please." Interminable minutes passed before the dispatcher came back on-line. "Sorry, Hutch, Starsky's not answering my call. But I have the backup in route."

"Thanks, Maggie. I'll meet them there."

Ten minutes later, the dispatcher came on line again.

"Zebra Three, Zebra Three. Detective Hutchinson please respond."

"This is Zebra Three. Go ahead, Control."

"Hutch a call was just picked up on the Fire Department side band. A report came in that the structure located at 2260 Clayburn is engulfed in flames—a three alarm fire. Witness reported hearing multiple explosions. Three fire engines were dispatched, but you've got a head start on them."

Hutch felt his heart lurch in his chest. Damn! Why didn't you wake me Starsky? Why did you take off on your own like this?" Hutch pressed the gas pedal to the floor, with little affect on the old junker. For once in his life, Hutch felt a keen appreciation for the Striped Tomato.

The explosion Starsky had heard rattled the very foundation of the warehouse, igniting a ferocious blaze near the front entrance. Another smaller one followed, strategically placed to assure the flames would spread from different directions. Parker had escaped through the back entrance, padlocking the door behind himself to guarantee the two homicide detectives, Starsky and Hutchinson couldn't follow.

He didn't like killing cops, too risky; but he decided it wasn't much different than killing that night watchman at the jewelry store. Why couldn't those nosey bastards have left well enough alone! Why had they reopened Carol's case? Somehow they'd connected Carol's murder to the fires and the death of the watchman. But how? Things were becoming too complicated. All he wanted was to make Bradley pay for killing Carol. Was that asking too much?

Parker was certain that Bradley would never be convicted, even if he was arrested. Money talked—everyone knew that. Poor Carol...poor sweet, gullible Carol. Mother must never find out she was pregnant when she died. Else she'd remind him that all those bad things she said about Carol were true. But they weren't. Carol wasn't like that at all; it wasn't her fault she was seduced by a millionaire.

Up until the end, Tim hadn't given up trying to convince his sister to go away for awhile. She could have blackmailed Bradley into paying for everything, then adopted out the kid and gotten on with her life. With an almost debilitating sense of guilt, he remembered that their last words had been spoken in anger. Carol had told him to butt out! It was her life, she'd said. She knew Frank would marry her, she'd said. But instead, he'd had her murdered. The day of the funeral, Tim had made a solemn oath to his dead sister that he'd make Frank Bradley pay. And he would pay—dearly!

What a shame, he thought, irrationally. His deranged mind flitted back and forth between rage and remorse. All those beautiful, classic model cars and trucks—all those many hours of hard work with my friends. Up in flames...just like my sister's life. Nothing left but ashes. I had no choice. I had to get rid of those cops before they spoiled everything! If they'd kept digging, they would have found out it was me before I could kill Bradley. That was the plan...had always been the plan. He would have the satisfaction of watching the man die.

Another small device exploded, igniting a cloud of cinders and sparks that lit up the sky. The roof in the northeast corner of the building began to collapse, the metal girders screeching and groaning as the heat rendered them shapeless. Far off in the darkness, Parker thought he heard sirens. He had stayed as long as he dared to be certain the two detectives did not escape. It was time to leave.

Parker saw the bright red car still parked in front of the building and heard the frantic dog barking inside. The dog sensed it...he sensed the two men were not coming out; and he was panic stricken by the knowledge.

Starsky’s eyes fluttered open, instantly irritated by the dark, caustic smoke accumulating in the ceiling above him. It took a few seconds for his mind to clear enough to realize where he was and what had happened.

Trapped beneath a huge oak and beveled glass trophy case, Starsky could hear the popping and crackling noises of the fire at the back of the building. As the heavy cloud of smoke grew, it became more difficult to breathe the murky air. It didn't take long for Starsky to figure out he was in serious trouble. In the distance, he heard Sam's frenzied barking, and hoped the dog's natural instincts would keep him from coming any closer to the burning building.

Starsky raised his head and tried to assess the situation. From his perspective, it didn't look good. His lower body was trapped beneath the heavy trophy case. Large shards of broken glass and dozens of radio-control cars lay scattered around him like colorful Christmas ornaments. Since the case covered him from the mid-point of his chest down, he had no way of telling if he was injured. Oddly enough, there was no pain other than the stinging from minor cuts inflicted by the flying glass. He could feel his legs fine, but was pinned down so tightly, he could do little more than move them slightly, back and forth, from left to right. Don't panic, he kept telling himself. Giving over to the fear will just make matters worse.

Despite his resolve to stay calm, he could feel the anxiety building.

Starsky realized that he'd been foolish not calling for back up when he arrived. By the time Hutch figured out where he was, the building would be burned to the ground, leaving him dead and Hutch on a major guilt trip for not being there when his partner needed him. Yep, he'd screwed up big time.

Another small explosion rattled the building, the northeast, back corner this time. It was enough to convince Starsky he couldn't wait for Hutch or anyone else to show up. He'd just have to help himself. Taking a deep breath, he braced both palms against the underside of the trophy case and pushed up, straining and grunting with every ounce of strength he possessed; but it was no good. It weighed too much for one man to lift.

Smoke billowed forth, filling the rooms and corridors, as the advancing fire roared through the building. So far he'd counted one major explosion, and two smaller ones, each coming from a different direction. Starsky silently prayed there wasn't an explosive device set somewhere in the room with him.

Concentrating hard on the task at hand, he tried again to lift the cabinet, exerting the muscles in his upper body to the limit. It refused to budge an inch. He lay there quietly for a moment, wracking his brain for a solution. Nothing....

His desperation mounting, Starsky finally resorted to yelling for help. It only stood to reason that people in the nearby buildings had heard the explosions and called the fire department. If someone didn't find him soon, he'd be beyond reach...maybe he already was. But with typical Starsky optimism, he refused to accept that possibility without a fight.

Each effort to call for help ended in spasms of coughing and gagging when the smoke filled his lungs. His throat burned and ached with the effort, and the overpowering smell of the smoke mingled with gasoline fumes was nauseating. After several minutes, he grew tired; and with the ever increasing smoke, found he was too short-winded to continue. The heat from the rapidly growing flames was a constant reminder that the fire would soon engulf this room too. With every passing minute, his hope ebbed, until there was none left.

Growing dizzy from the smoke and fumes, Starsky realized he was going to die. He'd always been realistic about the risks in police work, but somehow as partners, he and Hutch had invariably been able to beat the odds. They'd been through a lot together, and as long as they could count on one another, it wasn't so scary. Starsky hated to admit it, but he was scared now; he knew this time he was on his own.

When a fourth minor explosion ignited in the front part of the building, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on other things…people he loved, things he had accomplished with his life, things he would never have the opportunity to do…

Then he felt it. Not the heat of the flames, but the wet coldness of Sam's nose as the dog nuzzled against his cheek, then licked him across the lips.

"Sam! Oh God, Sam, whattaya doin' here boy? You shouldn't be here." In spite of his protest, Starsky's arm encircled the trembling animal and drew him closer. He could see how terrified the dog was. Sam moved even nearer, pressing his body against Starsky, each comforting the other.

The dog whined pitifully, obviously frightened but unwilling to abandon him. Instead, Sam licked Starsky's face, as if trying to reassure him. He held the dog tightly, drawing solace from his presence, but knowing that he wouldn't keep Sam there to die with him. He'd have to convince the dog to leave before it was too late. He just hoped Sam could find his way back out.

"Sam." Holding the dog’s head gently, Starsky drew his face close to make sure he was paying attention. "Sam, go get the ball. You remember your ball? Huh? You wanna play ball?"

Sam squirmed and tried to pull his head back. He couldn't understand what Starsky wanted. All he wanted was to take Starsky and get the heck out of this terrible place.

Starsky smiled encouragingly at the puppy, hoping to distract him from the noise and smoke around them. "Sam, pay attention. Go get the ball! Go find the ball! Where's the ball, huh? Sam, go find the ball!" The wide-set, dark eyes reflected the animal's fear and confusion. Maybe he didn't recognize the word ball. Starsky decided to try a different approach.

"Sam, where's Hutch? Huh? Go find Hutch." Sam's ears perked up momentarily. "That's right Sam, go find Hutch." Sam didn't know Hutch was miles away; hopefully he would run out of the building to find Hutch, and be too frightened to return.

Sam still wasn't clear on what was expected, but he did recognize two words—'Hutch' and 'ball'. He tipped his head to one side and listened, trying desperately to understand. Maybe he was supposed to find Hutch. Maybe this was a game. He liked the game with the ball earlier tonight. And he always loved the games he played with his two people. But he didn't think he should leave Starsky here all alone.

As he neared the warehouse, Hutch could see the bright glow of the flames leaping into the air. He pulled into the parking lot and was disappointed to see the fire engines still hadn't arrived. The only vehicles were the red Torino and the two black and white units. Hutch barely brought the car to a halt before he jumped out and ran toward the four police officers standing next to their cars.

"Where's my partner? Where's Starsky?"

"We don't know, Hutch," Murphy answered. "We just got here and there's no sign of him anywhere."

"Then he must be inside." Hutch started toward the building but Murphy grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"Wait, Hutch. You can't go in there. The firefighters will be here soon; they'll handle this."

Hutch tried to pull his good arm out of Murphy's grasp, but was unable to break free. He whirled around and glared at the man, "Let go of my arm right now, or so help me, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born." The deadly calm in his voice left no doubt in the police officer’s mind that Hutch meant exactly what he said. Still, he didn't release his hold. It was obvious to all four policemen that Hutch was in no condition to attempt a suicide run through the burning building.

"Just calm down, Hutch. Starsky can take care of himself. He wouldn't want you to try and come after him in this condition." His last words were drowned out as another section of the roof collapsed, sending up a cloud of fiery cinders into the sky. Hutch felt the blood drain from his face as he watched the structure collapsing around Starsky.

"I'm going in. If the tables were turned, he come after me," Hutch answered resolutely. He pulled Starsky's note from his pocket and pressed it into Murphy's hand. "Just in case we don't make it out, this tells you who is responsible."

"Listen, I can't let you go into that building—"

Hutch stared past the man, no longer listening. He couldn't believe his eyes. Standing in the doorway of the burning warehouse was Sam. He looked at Hutch and barked excitedly.

"Sam!" Hutch gave a powerful jerk and broke away from Murphy's tenuous hold then ran toward the Rottweiler. Once he was certain he had Hutch's attention, the dog turned and ran back into the building, disappearing in the smoke filled corridor. Without hesitation, Hutch followed.

Hutch reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his handkerchief to cover his mouth and nose. The smoke was so dense it was difficult to breathe in the murky atmosphere. "Sam!" Hutch blinked his stinging eyes rapidly, searching for a sign of the dog. Finally he heard Sam bark again and followed him like a homing beacon.

Hutch stumbled onward, listening for the dog, all the while avoiding fallen, charred debris that littered the hallway. He looked into each room as he went and found some already engulfed in flames. There was no sign of Starsky.

"Starsky!" No response.

Sam barked again. Starsky felt his heart sink. He'd thought the dog made it out safely; but instead, he was coming back. Starsky could hear the ceiling and some of the walls near the back of the building beginning to collapse, and knew it wouldn't be long now before the fire reached him. He hoped if Sam wasn't going to escape, the dog would at least make it back to him so they'd face the inevitable together. He knew the puppy must be terrified.

Sam sounded as if he was getting closer with every bark. Then he heard the most welcome sound in the world…Hutch's voice. "Starsky!"

"Hutch? Huuuutch! I'm in here!"

"Starsky! Keep yelling!"

"Right here! Come on Sam, bring 'em here!" Starsky stretched and craned his neck watching for the two of them.

Sam dashed into the room first, ran to Starsky, and began licking him all over the face. Then Hutch stumbled in, pausing at the door to get his bearings.

. "Back here! We need some help back here!" Hutch shouted over his shoulder, just in case the fire fighters had entered the building behind him. No response.

"Starsk! Hutch staggered through the murky smoke to where Starsky lay trapped beneath the cabinet. "Are you okay, buddy?" He dropped to his knees and bent closer to see Starsky's face. "Where are you hurt?"

Overcome with relief at seeing Hutch and Sam, Starsky muttered humorously, "Mostly my pride. I know it's weird, but I don't think anything's broken. I'm not hurtin' all that much. I'm just stuck under this damn thing and can't move."

"We're gonna get you out of here. The fire department's not far behind me," Hutch said more confidently than he felt. Using the handkerchief, Hutch wiped the sweat and soot from around Starsky's eyes. Sam inched forward and inserted himself between them, then laid his head on Starsky's shoulder. Neither man rebuffed the dog, each thinking to himself how grateful they were that his loyalty to Starsky had overridden his fear of the fire.

"We're back here!" Hutch shouted again, still hopeful the firefighters had launched a search for them. In all honesty, he didn't know if they'd even arrived yet; but he saw no point in alarming Starsky further. Reluctantly, he was forced to consider the possibility that the fire chief may have decided the fire had advanced too far to risk sending in his men. Hutch sobered at the thought. He glanced around the room quickly and spied two galvanized metal ceiling beams that had fallen a little to the left of where Starsky was lying.

"Listen, Starsk, I'm going to use those beams as a cantilever and raise this cabinet off you. Do you think you can slide yourself out from under it when I give you the signal?"

"I'll sure as hell try," Starsky assured him. "Anything beats ending up as bar-b-que. But I thought you said there were firemen right behind you. Hutch, you didn't come in after me by yourself, did ya?"

"What? You think I'm nuts?" He smiled at Starsky, not convincing him for a second. "They'll be here. I just don't think we should wait around, do you?"

Starsky had the uneasy feeling there wasn't any help on the way, but didn't say so. "I'm ready when you are, partner. Sam, move over just a little, boy." He reached down and gently pried the frightened dog off his chest.

Using only one arm, Hutch struggled to position the beams to get the best leverage possible under the trophy case. "Okay, buddy. On the count of three..."

"Wait," Starsky said barely above a whisper. "Hutch…thanks for comin' after me."

"Hey, you'd do the same for me, partner" Hutch answered, then grasped the beam firmly and got into position.

"Okay. One...two...threee—" Hutch laid his whole body weight into it, but only succeeded in raising the cabinet about three inches; not enough for Starsky to escape. He carefully lowered the case back down, noticing as he did, that Starsky bit down hard on his bottom lip. After a second foiled attempt, Hutch knew there was no point in trying again. He'd given it his all.

"I'm sorry, Starsk. I'm afraid this is at least a two-man job," Hutch said, his voice edged with defeat.

"Yeah, well, I look at it this way, Blondie...if I don't make it outta this, you're stuck with Big Dog over there. So you better think of somethin' else to try," Starsky said facetiously. But Hutch recognized his false bravado for what it was.

Then, dropping all pretenses, Starsky said quietly, "Listen, Hutch. Take Sam and get outta here. You said yourself the firemen are on their way. No point in you hangin' around."

"You listen to me," Hutch said, just as soberly. "Do you think for one minute I'm going walk out of here and leave you? I thought you knew me better than that."

"I didn't mean—"

"The way I see it, we can always count on one thing—each other, Starsk. It always comes down to that. Now is no different. They'll come alright. And we'll be here waiting together...all three of us."

Small chunks of the dropped-tile ceiling began raining down around them and Hutch leaned over Starsky's face to shield him from the fallout. He reached out his good arm and pulled Sam close to them. They huddled together, knowing that now their fate rested with the firefighters.

The smoke gradually forced oxygen from their lungs. Their throats and eyes stung from the noxious vapors and they grew increasingly groggy and lethargic from the lack of air. Soon, the trembling in Sam's body ceased, and he slowly succumbed to the smoke. Starsky clung to Hutch's good arm like a lifeline, the smoke eventually dragging them down into unconsciousness.

Without Sam's bark to guide them as he had Hutch, it had taken the firefighters much longer to find them. The two paramedics with them quickly placed oxygen masks over both victims' faces. The fire was advancing way too fast to administer any treatment on the spot. With little effort, the firefighters were able to quickly free Starsky from beneath the trophy cabinet. Once that was done, three of them fought back the flames, providing the time needed for the paramedics and other two firemen to escape the burning building carrying Starsky and Hutch to safety.

Hutch woke to the feel of the cool, fresh night air on his face. Gasping, he inhaled big gulps of it into his oxygen-starved lungs. The activity around him was organized chaos. Firefighters worked side by side, doing their jobs with the precision of a well-oiled machine. Hutch looked up into the eyes of a light-haired, round faced young man dressed in a fireman's uniform. "Welcome back. Just relax, I'm a paramedic. My name's Roy DeSoto. I just need to get your vitals; you're going to be fine."

Hutch bolted upright, his eyes anxiously searching the crowd for Starsky. He was too disoriented to realize that his partner lay on a gurney less than three feet away.

"My partner. Where's Starsky?"

"It's alright. Your partner's right there, and he's being looked after by my partner Johnny. I just need you to calm down and let us both do our jobs." Roy's voice was mild and reassuring.

Hutch tried to cooperate, but was alarmed when he realized Starsky was still unconscious. "Are you sure he's okay? Shouldn't he be awake by now?"

"Don't you worry about that right now. He's receiving the best treatment available and we'll be transporting you both to the hospital in just a couple of minutes. Looks like you've already had a bad week," Roy said, gesturing to Hutch's left shoulder and sling his arm had been bound in earlier. Hutch had forgotten about the gunshot wound and now noted grimly that blood was seeping through his shirt where the stitches had probably torn loose.

Hutch saw Starsky's chest lurch upward as he suddenly gasped in air and began breathing more normally. Before DeSoto realized what was happening, Hutch was off the gurney and at Starsky's side.

"Starsk, can you hear me? Starsky."

Starsky opened his eyes and tried to focus. "Hutch? Are we bar-b-que yet?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

"You had me thinking we were, partner. What took you so long to come around?" Hutch's hand laid protectively on Starsky's shoulder.

"Well, me and Sam got to the party before you did. We gotta head start on the smoke." As soon as the words left his lips, both men thought of the dog who'd led Hutch to Starsky through the dense smoke and flames.

"Hutch?" Starsky's eyes reflected his fear of asking the question, but he couldn't leave it unsaid. "He did make it, didn't he?"

"I...I...don't know, Starsk. I was unconscious when they brought us out."

"Oh man, we gotta find 'em, Hutch—" Starsky tried to rise, but was stopped short by the paramedic's restraining hand.

"Hey, hold it right there. Do you want to do some irreversible damage to yourself? We need to make sure you don't have any spinal injuries before you try to sit up." Hutch's hand gripped Starsky's shoulder, knowing what the paramedic said made sense.

"Take it easy, buddy. They'll find him. He was right there with us—"

Johnny stepped around Hutch to gain access to the IV in Starsky's arm to inject medications as instructed by the doctor on the other end of the phone line. "The doc has given orders for something to help you breath easier. Might make you a little woozy, so don't be alarmed."

Johnny Gage turned to Hutch who'd continued to hover over Starsky, making it hard for the paramedic to do his job. "Please go back to your gurney so Roy can finish checking you out. I'm taking good care of your partner here and I know you don't want to get in my way."

"Hutch, Hutch… Sam, find...out..." Starsky's words, already muffled by the oxygen mask, slurred as the medication began coursing through his bloodstream. Hutch found himself being led away by DeSoto.

"Listen, do you know anything about our dog?" Hutch asked him anxiously.

"I'm sorry, I don't. I remember seeing a big black dog lying there next to you guys, but I don't know what became of him. We were pretty anxious to get your partner out from under that cabinet. The fire was moving in fast and we had to get you both out of there quick." Roy guided Hutch back to the gurney and sat him down.

"I don't think you sustained any injuries in there, but I still want you to go along to the hospital and let the doc check you out. Besides, they need to take a look at that shoulder wound. What caused this?"

"Bullet. Happened a couple of days ago at a robbery we were called in on. It's nothing," Hutch answered distractedly.

"Looks to me like some of your stitches may have broken loose."

"Is Starsky going to be okay?" Hutch shifted the conversation away from himself.

"I mean, what about his legs?"

"We'll have to see what the doctor says about that. Just to be safe, we're not going to let him risk complicating things by allowing him to move around." Roy popped a sterile thermometer into Hutch's mouth as he talked.

"They'll take x-rays and probably a few other tests. Johnny didn't detect any broken bones, but sometimes the injuries are internal and aren't easy to diagnose in the field like this. The good thing to focus on right now is that he's breathing on his own; plus, I didn't see any burns more serious than first degree." Roy removed the thermometer and recorded the reading.

Hutch considered all the paramedic said and was grateful Starsky had survived the ordeal at all. Then he remembered Sam again.

"I, uh, I know you're not going to understand how important this is, but I have to find our dog. He's the one that led me back in there to find Starsky. I can't just abandon him."

Roy nodded solemnly. "I know how you feel, but I can tell you right now, nobody can get back into that building. We barely got you two out of there in one piece." Roy saw the bleak expression on Hutch's face and tried to console him. "Look, I'll ask around and see what I can find out for you. Okay?"

"We'd really appreciate that," Hutch said quietly. He dreaded telling Starsky that Sam may have been left behind.

"If it's any comfort to you, the dog was unconscious, or maybe even already dead, when we found you. He didn't suffer."

It wasn't a comfort to Hutch. And he knew damn well it wouldn't be comforting to Starsky either. Hutch gazed at the building and watched as a small band of firemen manned with gigantic hoses worked in unison to bring the flames under control. He felt an empty hole in his heart as he thought of the affectionate, trusting animal who had probably given his life for him and Starsky. It was hard to believe he'd been a part of their world for such a short period of time.

Hutch laid down on the gurney and waited to be transported to the hospital in the ambulance with his partner.

Allen Sewell was the last firefighter to leave the burning warehouse. Compassion spurred him to go back when he spotted the big black and tan dog lying in the room where the two cops were rescued. Being an animal lover, Allen couldn't leave the dog behind, dead or alive. He scooped the seventy pound animal up and fled seconds before the remainder of the ceiling collapsed on the burning room. Once out of doors, Allen hurried to the fire engine where emergency portable oxygen tanks were stored.

Allen laid the Rottweiler on the ground and stretched him out on his side. "I could use a little help over here," he called out.

Firefighter Howard Myers quickly hooked up one of the portable oxygen tanks and joined Allen on the ground next to the dog. Allen pulled the dog's head back, bringing it into alignment with his neck; then reached into Sam's mouth and pulled his tongue out to one side, clearing the air passage. Next, he formed a cone with his hands and encircled the animal's snout. Holding the dog's mouth shut, he exhaled short puffs of air directly into Sam's nostrils. He repeated this three times, but the dog didn't respond. So Allen placed the heel of one hand on the animal's chest, with the other hand palm-down on top. He pressed firmly, released, paused, and repeated for twenty beats. When he saw Sam gasp for air, Allen motioned for Howard to step in with the oxygen mask.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" the fireman asked.

"Volunteering with the Humane Society. They gave a course in animal first aid."

Howard shook his head in amazement. "Maybe DeSoto and Gage should take that course too. Seems like we're always rescuing pets along with family members."

"I don't think that's a bad idea," Allen said. "In fact, I think I'll mention it to them." Allen lifted the oxygen mask away from Sam's face temporarily and saw he was breathing even, deep breaths now. "I think he's going to be fine. Wonder if he belongs to one of those cops?"

"Sure does," Howard answered. "DeSoto was asking around about him before they left for the hospital. Let's take him back to the station with us until we can get in touch with them. They'll probably want to take him to a vet to be checked out."

"You again! What's with you guys anyway? You go out and get yourselves all banged up just so you'll have an excuse to see me again? Is that it?" Dr. Anderson teased. "Don't you have any friends that can play 'nice'?"

Starsky mumbled something indiscernible; his speech still slurred by the intravenous medication administered at the fire. Using a small penlight, Dr. Anderson checked his pupils. "Looks like you got the worst of it this time, hotshot. And I see your partner busted out my beautiful handiwork in spite my warnings to you both."

"Look doctor, don't worry about my stitches, just find out if my partner's legs are okay," Hutch snapped. He knew she was trying to lighten the mood with humor, but right now, Hutch found it downright irritating.

Dr. Anderson became all business as she gathered herself up, squared her shoulders, and stared Hutch straight in the eyes. "Listen, buster, I don't need you telling me what my priorities should be. I'll have you know I've already reviewed the paramedics' reports and contacted our best orthopedic doctor. He's on his way here even as we speak. So you can sit your cute little butt back down on that examining table and get out of your shirt right now so I can examine that gunshot wound and see just how much damage you've done."

Stunned by the little doctor's lecture, he did as he was told. "Sorry, I didn't—"

"I know you're concerned about your partner, Detective Hutchinson, but he's not in any immediate danger," she said in a much softer tone. Hutch began removing his shirt with the nurse's help.

"Hutch," Starsky mumbled under the oxygen mask, gave way to a coughing spell, then tried to sit up. In spite of Dr. Anderson's warning, Hutch left the table and went to Starsky.

"Yeah, buddy, right here."

"Hutch, did ya get Sam out?"

Hutch had expected the question, but had dreaded breaking the news to his partner that the dog was missing. "Well, I...uh...the firemen were looking for him when we left. You know the paramedic who was taking care of me? He volunteered to find out about him."

"But...you mean, they don't even know whether or not they brought him out?" Starsky asked, his voice wrought with worry.

"They kind of had their hands full, Starsk. I'm sure they're doing all they can." Hutch reached over and laid his hand on Starsky's arm.

"They probably don't care," Starsky said. "To them, he's just a dog. Hutch, he trusted us to take care of 'em. Without him, you may never have found me." Starsky was taken with another fit of coughing and couldn't say more. Hutch looked around in time to see Dr. Anderson handing Starsky's chart to two new doctors who had just entered the examining room.

"Starsk, we'll talk later, okay? Try not to worry. Let these guys do their jobs, and don't give them a hard time, okay?" Before he could say more, Dr. Anderson commandeered him into another cubicle to repair her stitch-work. .

Hutch lay quietly in his hospital bed waiting for his roommate to wake up. Dr. Anderson had assured him that Starsky would recover within a few days. Incredible. That's how the orthopedic surgeon had described Starsky's case. Incredible that a man could have a three hundred pound cabinet fall on him, pin him down in a burning building and come away with no broken or crushed bones. The doctor had said Starsky may be a little sore for a couple of days, but otherwise, he was miraculously okay.

We must live a charmed life, buddy, Hutch thought. They'd cheated death again. According to the pulmonary specialist, Starsky had been in far greater danger of dying from smoke inhalation than from the fire or the fallen cabinet.

Breathing in deeply, testing his own lungs, Hutch could feel the irritation the smoke had caused. He could only imagine how badly Starsky's chest must hurt right now. Starsky and Sam had been exposed to the noxious smoke far longer than he had. Starsky was sleeping off the side effects of a medicine they'd given him to fight the rib-rattling cough.

Almost as if he could hear Hutch's thoughts, Starsky opened his eyes and looked around the room. He turned his head and found Hutch staring at him.

"Hey, good to see you awake. Don't try to talk," Hutch warned him. "They've given you something for the cough. If you talk, you may irritate your throat and start up again. How are you feeling? Just nod. You hurt anywhere?"

Starsky nodded affirmative and pointed to his chest and throat.

"I thought so. But the good news is, no broken bones. I know you're sore, but it won't last too long. Right now, they're watching you to make sure pneumonia doesn't develop in your lungs."

Starsky's eyes showed alarm. Hutch hurried to reassure him "It wasn't serious enough for you to on a ventilator. They said the lining of your bronchi is pretty irritated, but there are no signs of lung scorch. It's good news, Starsk."

Seeing he had allayed Starsky's fears somewhat he went on. "The inhalation therapist will be in every two hours to give you a breathing treatment, and the doctor said you should be out of here in two or three days if you behave yourself." Hutch smiled when Starsky rolled his eyes at the 'two or three days'.

"Dobey came by. I told him that we're sure Timothy Parker set the fire, but asked him not to do anything about picking him up yet. We know he's been setting the fires, but we still don't know who killed Carol. It just doesn't make sense that he did it."

Starsky nodded his head in agreement with Hutch's conclusion. "I asked Dobey to keep it quiet that we're alive too," Hutch told him. "Do you think Parker believed we were both in the building when he torched it?"

Starsky nodded yes.

"Good," Hutch went on. "He'll slip up if he thinks we aren't on his trail anymore."

Starsky gave a thumbs up to signal he agreed.

"What I don't know is where he will go from here. Do you think he plans to kill Bradley?"

Starsky nodded yes again. He waved with his hand to make sure Hutch was looking directly at him. Then he mouthed the word, Sam?

Hutch felt a lump in his throat. "Nothing so far, buddy. I asked Cap'n Dobey to get in touch with Roy DeSoto. Maybe we'll hear from him soon."

Starsky nodded then turned his head away, not wanting Hutch to see how affected he was by Sam's disappearance. He felt a little embarrassed that he could get all soapy over a dog, but Sam had trusted them to look after him. A few short days ago, he wouldn't have believed a dog could be so intelligent, so unselfish, and so giving. Mary had said dogs gave their affection unconditionally, loyal to the end. Her words rang in his head. Starsky closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

"Okay, the doc said she's going to release you, Hutchinson. But your partner here is another story." Captain Dobey bustled around the room like a drill sergeant sent in to whip the troops into shape. "Starsky, have you gotten your voice back yet?"

Starsky sat up in bed, feeling infinitely better than he had the night before. He croaked in a raspy, rough voice, "Gettin' there, Cap. Said I can talk a little if I kinda whisper."

Hutch got out of bed and went into the bathroom to change into his jeans and shirt.

"Can't you get 'em to send me home too, Cap?"

"Who do I look like to you, Starsky—Ben Casey? What makes you think they'd send you home on my say-so?" Dobey groused.

Hutch stuck his head around the bathroom door. "Oh, I don't know, Cap. Maybe your persuasive way with words?"

"That's enough out of you, Hutchinson. Now, I notified the press that two unidentified, white male victims were found at the site of the fire, so Parker will assume you are both dead. I've stalled on arresting him like you two asked me to do; but we're going to have to take action soon. If he decides to leave town or set another fire, my ass is in the sling for listening to you two in the first place."

Hutch awkwardly struggled to button his shirt with one hand until Starsky motioned him over to the side of the bed and finished buttoning it for him. "There's still a missing piece to this puzzle," Hutch said. "We don't have any motive or evidence that Timothy Parker was involved in his sister's murder."

"He's right, Cap," Starsky whispered. "Somebody killed that girl and sent her brother on a vindictive rampage. Now we think he may go after Bradley. We wanna put Frank Bradley under surveillance and watch this thing play out." He finished the last button on Hutch's shirt then leaned back against the mound of pillows stacked at the head of his bed.

"We can't use civilians as bait!" Dobey shouted. "Especially when they don't even know that's what we're doing! Have you two lost your minds?"

"If we're right," Starsky told him, "Bradley either murdered Carol Parker himself, or he knows who did."

"In either case, when he finds out Parker's coming after him," Hutch added, "he may be willing to talk in exchange for our protection."

"We don't threaten to withhold our protection from tax-paying citizens! Even if he's guilty of Ms. Parker's death, it's our job to 'serve and protect' the public—irregardless of innocence or guilt." Dobey paused and cleared his throat for a second. "Of course, if Mr. Bradley should decide he wants to cooperate, well, we'll be glad to accept his assistance. Hutchinson, you get over there and see Bradley today. I'll team you up with Mills until Starsky's back on his feet."

Starsky looked like he was about to object, but Hutch beat him to the punch. "No thanks, Captain. I already have a partner." He didn't have to look at Starsky to know that he had that smug, self-satisfied look on his face—the one Hutch had come to expect every time he stuck up for Starsky.

"I don't give a damn about who your partner is! I'm telling you not to go over there without backup! If Starsky had had back up instead of going off half-cocked in the middle of the night to meet an arson suspect, neither of you would be in here right now!" As usual, they couldn't deny the logic in Dobey's words.

"Okay. I'll go see Bradley. I think we should give him a chance to come clean." Hutch headed toward the door. "Where’s Mills?" he asked Dobey.

"Waiting at the station. Have Carlson drive you there since you don't have your car."

Hutch paused at the door. "Cap, any word about the dog?"

Dobey shook his head no. "To be honest with you, I've been too busy to track DeSoto down."

Frank Bradley looked up from his desk, obviously astonished as Hutch entered his office without being announced. Almost subconsciously, he noted the fact that the detective apparently had a new partner.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked haughtily.

"Save the indignation, Bradley" Hutch told him. "You look like you didn't expect to see me again. Could it be that you assumed my partner and I were killed in a fire last night?"

"I did see there was another fire—but it didn't occur to me that you and Detective Starsky were involved somehow. Is he…is he dead?"

"Cut the crap, Bradley! We know that Carol Parker's brother has been setting the fires. What we don't know is why you killed his sister. Did she threaten to go to your wife? Or did she try to blackmail you into supporting her and the baby?"

"I did not kill Carol!" Bradley railed. "I was in love with her. I will always love her. Don't you dare accuse me of taking her life or my baby's life!"

"Well, if you didn't do it, who did? I believe you know." Hutch pointed his finger emphatically at the man as he talked. "And if you value your own life, you'd better level with me now! Parker's still at large and he'll be coming after you next."

Mills hung back near the door. He'd never seen Hutchinson interrogate anyone so aggressively, and it was a sight to behold. He decided to stay out of the way and only get involved if Hutch needed his help.

"Coming after me? He thinks I'm responsible for Carol's death? Why?"

"Because she apparently confided in him that she was pregnant, and that you were the father." Hutch regained his composure and backed away from the desk slightly.

"Mr. Bradley, if you know anything about who killed Ms. Parker, you really should tell us," Mills interjected. "Timothy Parker is hell-bent and determined to have revenge if we don't intercede. If you know who murdered Carol Parker, you'd be doing them a favor to tell us, so we can offer them protective custody."

Frank Bradley sighed deeply and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. "Alright," he said with resignation. "But it was an accident. I swear it was. She never meant to hurt Carol." A silence fell over the room. She?

"I tried to get her to come forward when you found her earring in Carol's apartment." When Bradley raised his eyes to meet Hutch's, they were glassy with unshed tears. "It was Margaret. My wife."

Once the words were spoken, Hutch realized that at some level, he had already suspected Margaret Bradley.

"She went there to talk with Carol…try to convince her to leave and take the baby with her. I didn't even know that Margaret had found out about us. She told me that Carol was adamant that she and I were going to marry. My wife became enraged and slapped Carol across the face. They struggled, Carol fell backward, and tumbled out the window. Margaret said she tried to grab Carol, but she just wasn't quick enough."

Bradley rubbed the balls of his hands against his eyes, trying to eradicate the image his own words had evoked. "I believe Margaret," he said, his voice flat and dull, devoid of emotion. "She has always been a gentle person, never would hurt even a flea. But she is also been intensely jealous. I can easily imagine her going there and things getting out of hand."

Hutch was quiet for a moment, considering all that Bradley had revealed. "Is she willing to make a statement?" he asked quietly.

"I believe so. I've been talking with her, trying to explain how much better things will go for her if she turns herself in and cooperates. What will they do to her, Detective Hutchinson? I do love her—that is—in a companionable sort of way. I certainly wish her no harm."

"I honestly don't know. That will be up to a judge and jury. At least she'll be in protective custody until we can get Parker off the streets." Hutch turned to Mills and said, "Call for a black and white to be dispatched to Mr. Bradley's residence?"

"No! Wait. I...I want to be there when they arrive. Please...grant me this one request. Please let me have a few moments alone with her." The expression in Frank Bradley's eyes convinced Hutch the man was filled with compassion for his wife and had her best interest at heart.

Hutch ran his fingers through his hair. "Okay," he finally agreed. "We'll take you there. Then Mills and I will take Mrs. Bradley downtown."

Starsky sat up in the hospital bed fidgeting with the TV controller. Feeling much better after enduring several of the breathing treatments, he was restless and ready to escape the confines of the hospital walls. He'd expected Hutch to be back by now; or at the very least, a phone call from him. What the hell was going on? Not a word about Bradley, nor about Parker. And no word from Dobey about Sam. Much more of this and he'd go bananas!

Hutch poked his head around the door, checking to see if Starsky was asleep.

"It's about time! Where the hell you been?" Starsky snapped, his bad humor more obvious than he'd intended.

"Glad to see you're back to your old grumpy, loud self, partner" Hutch answered, smiling and happy to realize Starsky's voice was back. He entered the room, closing the door firmly behind him, then produced a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken he'd been hiding behind his back.

"Now, don't you think you could be a little nicer to the guy who risked life and limb to sneak this past Broom Hilda and her troops for you?" he teased.

"Oh, man, Hutch..." Starsky scrambled to the side of his bed, forgetting to bother with the back of the ill-fitting hospital gown he'd wrestled to keep closed all afternoon. "This is terrific! They've been feedin' me nothin' but oatmeal and Jell-O all day. How'd ya know?"

"Well, let's just say I know you're one man who doesn't "live by bread alone."

Hutch rolled the tray-table over and positioned it so Starsky could sit on the side of the bed and enjoy the contraband chicken.

"Biscuits! You got biscuits—and grape jelly! Hutch, you're the best." Starsky looked up at Hutch, his face wreathed in smiles. "I'm feelin' better already."

Ashamed at his earlier outburst, Starsky paused long enough to apologize, "Look, partner, I'm sorry I jumped down your throat. It's just I been cooped up in here, nobody tellin' me nothin'. I was startin' worry somethin' may have gone wrong."

Without further preamble, he lit into the meal like he'd been starved for days on end. Hutch enjoyed watching Starsky eat with utter abandon while he briefed him on what had happened with Bradley. Between bites, Starsky asked questions and offered his own opinions. "I don't guess there's any reason to postpone picking up Parker now," Hutch told him.

Starsky looked up from his meal "I wanna be there, Hutch. I wanna look that sucker in the eyes and show him that in spite of him, I'm alive."

Hutch's eyes met his. "I know, buddy. But I just spoke with the doctor and he said you've got to stay at least one more day. They're still concerned about pneumonia. I don't think Dobey's going to let us put it off that long."

Starsky knew Hutch was right, but he didn't want to see Hutch go after Parker alone. They had underestimated the man once. Hutch needed him there to cover his back. Starsky dismissed the fact that Mills would be there as backup.

He was about to say as much when the door opened and Captain Dobey and Huggy came in laden with gifts.

"Hey, what's cooking, brother?" Huggy said, taking in the picnic spread on the bedside tray. "No pun intended." He chuckled lightly at his own joke then proceeded to tie a large, brightly colored balloon bouquet to the bottom rail of the bed. "You're looking much better than these turkeys told me, Starsky." He nodded, indicating both Dobey and Hutch.

"Good to see you up, Starsky," Dobey said, setting a large basket of fruit on a table near the door, then helping himself to an apple.

"Thanks, Cap. Good to be up," Starsky said between bites.

Captain Dobey turned his attention to Hutch. "Mrs. Bradley just posted bail. Their high-priced attorney practically beat them to the station. Time to move on Parker. I tried to convince them she was better off in our custody until he's apprehended, but they wouldn't listen."

"Cap, I wanna be in on the bust. This was our case," Starsky said.

"You're in no condition to be on the streets, Starsky! And don't even think about arguing with me! Hutchinson, you're not in much better shape than he is. But as Starsky said, this is your case. So I want you to take Mills and the two officers waiting outside in the lobby on over to his place and make the arrest now." Dobey paused and reached inside his coat pocket.

"Here's the warrant. Everything's in order. We'll need more to make the charges stick, but I want that bastard off the streets now. We've got enough to hold him for the time being."

"Right, Cap." Hutch took the document from Dobey then turned to Starsky. "Sorry, partner. But you know he's right. Parker could go after the Bradleys." Starsky was disappointed, but nodded his understanding.

"Oh, one more thing before you go," Dobey said. "There's something outside here I want you both to see." Dobey signaled Huggy to raise the blind at the window behind him.

Standing in the bushes, just outside the window were the two paramedics from the night before, fireman Allen Sewell, and Sam. The dog's ears pricked up instantly when he spotted his two people.

"Sam! It's Sam, Hutch!" Starsky clamored out of bed and rushed to the window. By the time he and Hutch got there, Huggy had the window open so they could reach through and pet the excited, wiggling, seventy pounds of dog. Sewell struggled to keep Sam from scrambling through the window into Starsky's arms.

Sam was so happy to see Starsky and Hutch, he forced his head through the small opening and took turns licking their faces. In spite of his ordeal the night before, the dog seemed no worse for the wear. Gage and DeSoto watched in amusement. To them, it seemed to be a draw as to which of the two detectives was happiest to see the dog.

"He's a real trooper," Roy told Hutch. "This is Allen Sewell, the firefighter who brought him out and administered CPR after you left. We've been on duty, or I'd have tried to get in touch with you sooner."

"We can't thank you enough." Starsky's voice was filled with emotion as he reached through the window to shake Allen's hand. "We thought he was a goner." Allen smiled, glad that he'd found the courage to go back for the dog. Sam jerked free and plunged his head between them, demanding Starsky's attention.

"Your Captain tracked us down," Gage added. "We tried calling your homes; of course, no one was there. We were just getting ready to call the hospital to see if you guys had been admitted when Captain Dobey contacted our chief and asked him to locate us."

"We appreciate your taking care of him," Hutch said sincerely. Sam was still trying to wriggle his way through the window, barely avoiding knocking Gage on his butt in the process.

"I, uh, well, I hate to ask this, but can you hang on to him a little while longer until I go make this arrest?" Hutch asked hesitantly. "Starsky won't be released from here until tomorrow, and I don't know how long this is going to take."

Before the firefighters could answer, Huggy piped up from the corner. "It's cool, Hutch. These guys probably need a break from Big Dog by now. He can go home with me. Huggy Bear and the little dude will get along just fine."

"Ah, thanks, Hug," Starsky said, clutching both sides of Sam's comical face to avoid another wash-down from the giant tongue. "I'll be outta here tomorrow and first thing I'm gonna do is come by and pick 'em up." Starsky gave Huggy a big grin then turned back to Gage, DeSoto, and Sewell. "And then I wanna buy you guys drinks at the Pits and maybe shoot a few rounds of pool."

"Sounds good," DeSoto answered, instantly liking this friendly, warm-hearted man. He was truly glad that Sewell had gone back for the dog. He obviously meant a great deal to both men. Like firemen, cops laid their lives on the line every single day. If they could do anything to help each other and make life a little easier, then he welcomed that opportunity.

The two black and white police cruisers pulled up in front of the Parker home without the flashing lights or the sirens. No need to tip Timothy Parker off to their arrival. Hutch sat in the front seat of one with Mills, spearheading the arrest. Starsky should be here, he thought.

"Okay, let's make this as quiet and uneventful as possible," Hutch said, checking to make sure the Magnum was loaded. He placed the gun back into the holster and stepped out of the Ford, signaling the others to join him.

"Clark, go around back in case he decides to take off. Johnson, his room is on the south side of the house. Cover that area in case there's a window he could use. Mills, you and I will take the front." Hutch paused and looked around at the group.

"This guy may or may not be armed. My guess is—not. He uses explosives and arson as his weapons of choice. Just the same, don't take any chances. I think we have the element of surprise on our side, since he thinks he's killed the only two people who were getting close to catching him. He nearly killed my partner and has already murdered one retired police officer trying to make an extra buck as a night watchman. So be careful." Everyone nodded their understanding then moved into position.

Hutch and Mills gave them a couple of minutes to get situated, then knocked on the front door. Mrs. Parker opened the door dressed much as she had been the last time Hutch saw her.

"Yes? What do you want now?" she asked when she recognized Hutch.

"Mrs. Parker, is your son home?"

"Just a minute," she said shortly. "Wait here." Chloris Parker tried to close the door in their faces, but Hutch used his foot to prevent her from doing so.

"Mrs. Parker, we have a warrant for you son's arrest. Now I suggest you cooperate, or we'll have to charge you with obstruction of justice. So please step aside." Though polite, Hutch's voice brooked no argument. The startled woman opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it and moved away from the door, allowing Mills and Hutch to enter.

The distraught woman broke into tears and buried her face in her hands when she saw her son emerge from the hallway into the living room. "Mother...." Timothy Parker's voice died in his throat as his eyes came to rest on Hutch and Mills.

"No...it can't be...you're dead..." He began backing into the hall. "I killed you...you can't be here..."

This brought a fresh onslaught of tears from his mother. "Oh no—Timmy. No! Don't say anything else." She ran to her son and threw her arms around him. "It's a mistake...he didn't mean it!"

Timothy wrapped his arms around his mother, comforting her. "It's okay Mother. I did it for Carol. Bradley murdered her—he had to pay. He got her pregnant then murdered her."

"Frank Bradley didn't murder Carol. Margaret Bradley went to see her and there was a struggle. She says it was an accident," Hutch told him. "A formal investigation is already underway and Mrs. Bradley has turned herself in."

"But...I know he did it! I just know he did," Parker protested.

Mills stepped forward. "Timothy Parker, you are under arrest for the murder of Marvin Jones. You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law....."

Hutch peeked into the hospital room, checking to see if Starsky was asleep yet. The hour was late, but Hutch had finally finished with the paperwork on the Parker arrest, and thought Starsky may have waited up to hear how things went. Hutch could have just called, but he felt the need to talk to Starsky in person. He knew his partner had wanted to be in on the final phase of solving this case, and Hutch felt bad that he couldn't be. Besides, he needed to apologize for overlooking an important clue that may have kept Starsky from being in that booby-trapped building in the first place.

Starsky was lying propped up in bed reading of all things, "The Joy of Sex". It was all Hutch could do to keep a straight face while he quietly eased into the room to catch Starsky red-handed.

"What are you reading there, Starsk?"

Starsky literally jumped, the book flying from his hand and landing in the middle of the bed. He scrambled to retrieve and slide it under the covers, none-too-smoothly.

"Geez, Hutch! Ya tryin' to give me a heart attack? Didn't anybody ever teach you how to knock!"

A smile played at the corners of Hutch's lips. "I thought you'd be glad to see me."

"Well, I gave up on you. Don't you know visitin' hours ended an hour ago?"

"Yeah. I had to bribe Broom Hilda to let me in after hours, but I wanted to fill you in on the case. I didn't realize you'd be involved in scientific research or I would have waited till morning."

"What? Oh this?" Realizing Hutch had already seen the book, Starsky slipped it out from under the covers and tried to play it cool. "I was just curious what kinda quack woulda come up with this 'over-the-hill-at-19-theory'."

"Oh, I see." Hutch nodded his head knowingly. "And have you learned anything?"

Determined not to let Hutch get the best of him, Starsky shot back, "Yeah. I didn't know the human body could be twisted into a pretzel and not break anything." With that remark, they both burst into laughter. They laughed until they couldn't catch their breath—until tears were rolling down their cheeks. The stress that had been building over the past several days had reached its peak, and at last, they could let it go.

"I'm serious, Hutch," Starsky said, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I mean, have you looked at these pictures? Notice they're all drawings instead of photographs? You know why? Because nobody could do this stuff without breakin' somethin'."

Hutch finally regained control and stopped laughing long enough to reply, "Yeah, I've seen it. I've even tried some of it. It's not as easy as they make it look."

Starsky laid the book on the table. "How did you get a hold of a copy of that book here in the hospital?" Hutch asked.

"Well, to tell you truth, I bought it the other day after you were raggin' me about not readin' anything but comic books. It kinda bothered me that you thought I was ignorant or something." Looking at Starsky's face, Hutch could see he was dead serious.

"Oh, come on Starsk, you know I didn't mean to put you down. I kid with you like that all the time." Starsky said nothing. "I'm sorry," Hutch apologized. "I didn't mean anything by it. Okay?" He felt like a heel for not having realized his off-hand remarks were hurtful.

"Yeah, well, I guess it just kinda hit home. I mean, it's true I don't read as much as you do." Starsky looked down as he spoke. "Anyway, Huggy went by my place and picked up some clothes for tomorrow. I asked him to bring me somethin' to read. He said this was the first thing he saw."

Hutch swiped his hand across his face, imagining that Starsky must have been embarrassed when Huggy showed up with the book.

"He kinda surprised me, Hutch. He didn't make one single joke about it. In fact, he said he'd like to borrow it when I'm done." Starsky smiled from ear to ear, letting Hutch know that he was okay with how things had worked out.

Hutch pulled a chair up closer to the bed and sat down. "We took Timothy Parker into custody without a hitch. He was at the house when we arrived and he didn't resist. At first I thought I was going to have to take his mother in too."

Starsky shook his head in sympathy. "I feel sorry for her, don't you? I mean, her daughter's dead and her son's goin' to prison. She's gonna be all alone."

"Yeah, it's a sad case any way you look at it." Hutch was quiet for a few seconds, then cleared his throat before continuing.

"Look, Starsk. I had another reason for coming by here tonight, besides telling you about Parker. I owe you an apology, partner. I had the answer right before my eyes and was too dumb to see it. I could have prevented you from being in that building when Parker torched it."

"Whattaya talkin' about?" Starsky looked puzzled, not making sense of where Hutch was headed with this.

"Do you remember when Gina called and I told you about her profile of our suspect? Computer technician, electronics buff?"

"Yeah."

"She said something else, and I forgot to tell you. She said it could be someone who built and played with remote control boats and planes." Hutch paused and waited for Starsky to see the connection.

"And this is important because?" Starsky prompted.

"Starsk, when we went back to see Parker, I practically tripped over an electronic, remote-control model car sitting on the floor in the living room. Something clicked in my subconscious, but it just wouldn't surface. Don't you see? If I'd made the connection and told you about it, you would have known better than to go to the model car club building without back-up. I let you down, buddy."

Starsky mulled over what Hutch was telling him for only a second. "Aw, come on Hutch, that wasn't exactly an obvious clue. I mean, I remember picking up that cherry little mustang and looking at it. I didn't make the connection either. Besides, you were taking pain medication and were feelin' pretty lousy at the time. It wasn't your fault I did a dumb ass thing like goin' off without backup."

"But you weren't the one who talked with Gina. I should have known; I should have put two and two together. You couldn't have, because I didn't tell you. You could have been killed because I forgot to tell you something really important."

Starsky listened, but couldn't find it in his heart to blame Hutch or be angry with him.

"Hey...listen to me. It wasn't your fault. You're only human. Why you wanna put yourself on a guilt trip, Hutch? Huh? I ain't mad, now am I?" Starsky smiled when saying this to him.

Hutch was quiet for a moment. "No, I don't suppose you are."

"Alright, then," Starsky said. "Subject closed. Okay?"

"Oh, one more thing, Starsk."

"Yeah? What?"

"Gina asked me to discreetly let you know she isn't seeing anyone right now. I think she wants you to call her."

"And you forgot to tell me that? Hutch! How could you? Man, I've been wantin' to go out with Gina for two years. I always thought she was, you know, involved with someone. How could'ya forget to tell me somethin' that important? Now I really am pissed! You shoulda told me sooner."

"Calm down. Good grief, Starsky, you can call her when you get home tomorrow. It's not like she's been waiting at the altar and I forgot to tell you!"

Sam sat at attention just inside the front door of Hutch's house, listening as the Torino screech to a stop out front. Huggy was in the kitchen setting out the fixings for celebratory cookout and didn't hear the sounds the dog's keen ears picked up. As Starsky and Hutch neared the door and Sam could hear their familiar voices, he pawed at the bottom of the door and let out a deafening bark. The sound of the key turning in the lock warned him to back away just in time to keep from getting smacked by the opening door. By the time their beloved faces came into sight, Sam's whole back end was wagging back and forth like a souped-up metronome.

"Sam! Hey boy!" Starsky greeted as the dog stood up on his hind legs and placed both front paws on Starsky's chest. After one big, wet kiss he quickly switched over to

Hutch and gave him the same treatment. Elated to see them both, he didn't seem to know who to go to first.

A happy smile brightened Hutch's tired face as he reached out and scratched the dog's ears affectionately and spoke softly, "Hey there, fella." Back and forth Sam went between them, overwhelmed with joy to have both of his people back again. He wasn't about to let either one out of his sight again anytime soon!

"The prodigal son returns," Huggy teased Starsky as he walked into the room. "Good to see you guys in something besides hospital gowns. Man, I think you two have put half of Metro General's interns through med school," he jibed with his usual candor.

"Thanks for takin' care of Big Dog, Hug. We went by to pick 'em up and they said you were already here," Starsky said, never interrupting his gentle petting of the dog.

Huggy handed them each a bottle of brew. "The beer is cold and the steaks are ready to hit the grill. Huggy's bar-b-que is guaran--teed to thrill."

"Oh man, that sounds great. I'm starvin'. How 'bout you, Hutch?"

"Yeah, hungry and tired. I feel like I could sleep for a week." Emphasizing his words, Hutch dropped into the nearest recliner and stretched out.

Starsky plopped down in the middle of the floor and was immediately joined by Sam. He absently scratched the dog's ears. "I'm tired of bein' in bed," he grumbled. "And I'm ready for some real food."

The door bell rang. Starsky looked over at Hutch still sacked out in the overstuffed easy chair and reluctantly got to his feet. "I'll get it," he said. "You expectin' someone?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am. A guest for our little cookout," he replied.

Starsky went to the front door, Sam shadowing his every step. When he opened it, he was greeted with a bright smile from Gina. "Hi, Starsky."

"Gina! I didn't know you were comin'. This is a terrific surprise." He stood there holding the door open, flanked on the left by Sam, who had appointed himself official greeter.

"May I come in? I brought desert."

"Oh, geez, I'm sorry. Of course you can. Come on in." He stepped aside. "This is turnin' into a regular party."

"Hutch said you wouldn't mind," she said tentatively.

"Mind? I'm just sorry I didn't think to invite you over for dinner myself," he said, flashing her a hundred-watt Starsky grin.

"This must be Sam," Gina said. She handed the cheesecake to Starsky then bent down to pet the Rottweiler. "I never knew you liked dogs," she told him. "You know, I used to teach dog obedience. I even considered a career in the canine corps. If you need any pointers on training solving behavioral problems, I'm your gal." Sam was enjoying the extra attention, but stuck close to Starsky's leg, unwilling to put any distance between them.

"No kiddin'? Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." Starsky stopped short of saying they would soon be finding a permanent home for the dog. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to voice the thought.

"He's a neat dog. Rottweiler mix. And it's obvious he's crazy about you. Does he get along this well with everyone?"

"Yeah. Never meets a stranger," Starsky said affectionately. "He's really more attached to Hutch than me."

"I doubt that. I can sense that he doesn't want you out of his sight right now. Was he with you at the warehouse fire?"

"You mean you haven't heard? He went out and got Hutch and lead him back to me."

"Wow," Gina said, impressed by the animal's natural protective instinct. "And he isn't trained in rescue work or search and find? He must be a natural. Sounds to me like he appointed himself as a Guardian."

"A what?" Starsky asked with a quizzical look on his face.

"You know; he's decided it's his responsibility to guard and watch over you. Who knows, maybe in a former life, you were life-long friends."

Starsky thought about it for a second then smiled. "Yeah, kinda like Hutch and me. Maybe he's supposed to be with us."

With one final pat on the head for Sam, Gina stood up and walked on into the kitchen where Hutch and Huggy were finishing up the meal preparations. Before Starsky could follow her, the bell rang again.

"It's gettin' to be a regular Grand Central Station around here," he mumbled, going to the door with the cheesecake still in hand.

"Cap'n Dobey," he said, surprised to see his boss standing there when he opened the door.

"Starsky, how are you doing?" Dobey immediately zeroed in on the scrumptious looking cheesecake Starsky was holding.

"Pretty good, Cap, pretty good. You wanna come in? Is anything wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. I just wanted to drop by and check on you two and give you an update on the case," Dobey said, stretching his neck to look past Starsky into the kitchen. "Having a party?"

"Well, yeah, kinda. Just Hutch and me and Huggy and Gina. Come on in and have a beer."

"Thanks. I think I will." Dobey's face perked up at the invitation. He gave the cheesecake one more wistful glance. "Where's Hutch?"

"Hutch! Come on out here, will ya?"

Captain Dobey hadn't noticed Sam lurking discretely behind Starsky's legs. Once Dobey stepped into the room, Sam overcame his shyness and boldly went to the visitor and eagerly stuck is his big nose in Dobey's crotch as a 'welcome to my home'.

At first Dobey was too startled to react, but once he realized what was happening he stumbled backwards in his impatience to get away from the overly-friendly dog. "Starsky! What the hell is this dog trying to do! Get him away from me!"

Hutch entered the room just in time to witness the whole incident and was dying to laugh, but thought better of it when he saw the stormy expression on Dobey's face. "It's okay, Cap. He's just trying to make you feel welcome." Hutch grabbed Sam's collar and pulled the dog away, barely able to suppress a grin in the process. Starsky turned his head so Dobey wouldn't see how much he was enjoying the whole scene.

"Whose dog is this anyway—and I don't won't any of your smart-ass answers either, Starsky!"

Starsky and Hutch made eye contact, each waiting for the other to regain enough composure to answer Dobey.

"Well, he's kind of ours, Cap'n," Hutch finally said. "We rescued him from Slick Willie's. We don't quite know yet what to do with him."

"For starters, you could teach him some manners!" Dobey blustered. Gina and Huggy watched with amusement.

"You're right. Sorry about that Cap. Here, have a beer," Starsky said, rushing to redirect Dobey's attention away from Sam.

"Thank you, Starsky. Is that steak I smell?"

"Uh, you were going to bring us up to date on the case?" Hutch prompted.

"Yes, I was, wasn't I? Well, Timothy Parker has signed a confession. He admits to setting the fires but maintains the watchman's death was an accident. He claims a falling timber struck Jones on the head and killed him. Of course, we know that's not consistent with the coroner's report, but it's up to the DA to decide what charges to prosecute on."

"What about Mrs. Bradley?" Hutch asked.

"That one's a little more complicated. It'll be hard to determine if Carol Parker had help falling out that window. The case has officially been re-opened. Considering who Margaret Bradley is married to, we'll probably never make it to court."

"If they find any proof, I hope the DA will prosecute, regardless of Mrs. Bradley's money and connections." Starsky groused, disgusted with the inequities in the justice system.

"Don't hold