Disclaimer: This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made from it. No infringement on anyone’s copyright is intended.
Comments about this story can be sent to cruellaboris@yahoo.com

This story is part three in a series and is the sequel to Loose Ends.

Threads: Research - Part 1

Sue David and Valerie Wells
© January 2002

September 15, 1979

   Matt Dixon was a graduate student at California State’s Bay City campus in the anthropology department. He was working on his master’s thesis and had decided to study the subject of police culture and psychology. Over the past two years, he had done most of his library research, and had participated in a few field tests with various Southern California police departments.

   He was delighted to find out that his wife’s uncle was a close friend of a captain of detectives in the Metro division of the Bay City police department. Captain Harold Dobey and Debbie Dixon’s Uncle Frank were uniformed officers at the same time. Frank was forced out of the department on a medical retirement just before Dobey made captain, but they had maintained their friendship. When Frank asked if the captain would help Matt with his work, Dobey was happy to agree.

   Frank had also told Matt that if he wanted to study a fascinating case of police behavior, he should be sure to interview a pair of detectives named Starsky and Hutchinson. Frank wouldn't go into any details – he said it was because he didn't want Matt to have any preconceptions before he met the two men – but he did tell him Dobey was their immediate superior and arranging an interview with them should be easy.

   The annual all Bay City precinct summer picnic seemed like the perfect place for Matt to wander around and interview cops in a relaxed setting. Dobey had informed the other captains, but he didn’t tell the Metro staff. Matt wanted him to be sure not to so he had his best shot at candid answers from the detectives. Naturally, word had gotten around quickly anyway. His men were detectives.

   Edith Dobey passed a picnic basket to her daughter, Rosie, and an armload of lawn chairs to her son, Cal. The captain already had his assignment. While Edith and the children carried the Dobey family’s picnic items to a table, Harold Dobey was busy helping Dave Starsky get out of the car. Despite the fact that it was a Saturday and he was not on duty, Ken Hutchinson had to go down to the District Attorney’s office for another brief deposition in the Gunther case. Just four months earlier, James Marshall Gunther had hired hit men to kill both Starsky and Hutch in the Metro police garage. Although Hutch wasn’t physically injured, his partner was still on the long road to recovery from his near fatal shooting. Struck three times by bullets from an automatic weapon, Starsky had narrowly cheated death. Hutch didn’t like it that he would be going ahead to the picnic without him, but he couldn’t refuse to trust his partner’s safety and well being to their captain and his family. Hutch had left for the D.A.’s office at ten. He would give his deposition and be at the ball field by noon.

   The Gunther trial was scheduled to begin in just a few weeks. In addition to the fact that Starsky had been too ill to spend much time out of the house, Hutch was nervous about Gunther still having a long enough reach to harm his partner. He wouldn’t rest easy until the old man was tried, convicted, and delivered to a penitentiary. Although Starsky’s memory of the shooting was blessedly sketchy, he was expected to testify in court. That had Hutch’s hackles up, but there was nothing he could do.

   Captain Dobey had one strong arm around Starsky’s waist and the other supporting his elbow. Today wasn’t one of the injured officer’s better days, but he’d done his best to hide that from his partner.

   "You doing okay, Dave?" Dobey asked when they were half way to the picnic table. Some of the homicide detectives had staked out the table for them earlier in the day. They thought its proximity to the parking lot, the baseball field, and the restrooms made it the best place to install Detective Starsky for the duration. The less he had to walk, the better.

   "Yeah, but... do you mind stopping for just a sec? I’m... a little... out of breath," Starsky replied in a quiet voice.

   Dobey stopped instantly. He felt a swell of anger at the condition Gunther’s goons had left Starsky in as he looked across the grass twenty feet to the picnic table. Twenty feet that looked like two thousand feet to the younger man.

   "Uh, maybe I should just take you home...." Dobey started.

   Starsky shook his head and waited for his breathing to improve. One of the bullets had damaged a lung and he still was having trouble with it on some days. "No way. Hutch hasn’t had a minute of fun since this happened, dammit."

   "I know, but...."

   "No. I’m okay. Let’s just get over there so I can sit down."

   Starsky started moving forward again and in a few minutes, Dobey helped him to sit at the table. He didn’t like the thin sheen of perspiration on Starsky’s face, but his worried glance to Edith was met with her shaking head. She wanted him not to say anything.

   Edith reached into the cooler chest for a Dr. Pepper, opened it, and handed it to Starsky. She produced a couple of pills Hutch had instructed her to dispense and dropped them onto Starsky’s palm. He smiled at her and said, "If I take both of these, I might just sleep through the festivities." He tried to hand one back to her, but she shook her head at him.

   "Dave, are you going to explain to Ken why you didn’t take all of your pills?"

   "He’s not gonna know if we don’t tell him."

   "You think? I think he counts them," Harold Dobey chimed into the conversation.

   Starsky said, "Look over there," as he pointed toward the baseball field. When Edith and the captain did as he said, he quietly dropped one of the pills into his shirt pocket. The Dobeys knew they’d been had.

   Edith looked at her watch and said, "Okay, it’s only 11:30. If you decide maybe you should have taken them both, just don’t forget to notice what time it is, okay?"

   Some of the other detectives had seen Starsky’s arrival. They waited until it looked like he was settled and then jogged over to speak with him.

   Jack Hill had a baseball cap and a jersey in his hands. He handed them to Starsky and said, "Here’s your stuff for this year’s team."

   "But I’m not playin’, Jack."

   "Aw, we ordered this stuff months ago. The guys want you to have them, okay?"

   Starsky put the cap on and smiled. "Yeah, thanks."

   Hill’s partner, Sean Cavanaugh, pushed the baseball cap down farther onto Starsky’s head. "There, that’ll keep the sun out of your face."

   Starsky spread the team jersey out to look at it. Every year the plain-clothes detectives played a team of uniformed officers. This year the detectives had chosen the name "Bod Squad" for their team. Starsky chuckled at the choice and thanked his friends.

   "Where’s your partner, Starsk?" Sean asked. "The game starts in an hour."

   "D.A.’s office. He’ll be along by then."

   "Hey, Cap," Jack said, "Some grad student is here. He already talked to Sean and me. You sure that’s on the up and up?"

   "Yeah, the kid’s related to an old friend of mine. He really is doing his thesis on police culture and psychology."

   Starsky snorted with laughter at that. "Whoa... what’s this about?"

   Sean and the captain explained the process to Starsky. He was intrigued at what the student planned to gain from the experience, but he told Dobey he’d go along with it.

********

   Matt sat with Simmons underneath one of the park’s many pine trees. The blanket of needles on the ground was soft and sticky. He’d been in the park since the first baseball teams had started to play at eight. His many interviews had piqued his curiosity about a special facet of police culture – how partners interacted with and depended upon each other. By the time he got to Simmons, his thinking had changed course. Matt had decided to focus on partner psychology and culture instead.

   "How long have you and your partner been a team?" he asked as he scribbled notes in his steno pad.

   "Oh, about three years," Simmons answered.

   "What do you think your best assets are working with," he paused as he looked up through his notes, and then he said, "Babcock."

   Simmons was busy tying his baseball cleats while they chatted. He was getting ready to meet his partner out on the baseball field for a little pre-game warm-up. "Oh, I guess it’s that I trust him. We trust each other, you know?"

   "Did that take a long time to develop?"

   "Kind of. At first, we didn’t like each other too much," he said with a smile. "He can be a little arrogant and I’m not the easiest guy to like. I’m a little bit of a know it all."

   "What helped you to get over this dislike?" Matt asked with interest.

   "About a month after we were put together, we got in a jam. He saved my butt in a firefight. The rest is history, man."

   "Firefight? You mean a gun battle?"

   "That’s right. We responded to a liquor store holdup and it went bad. He got me out of the line of fire after I took a minor wound in my arm," he said as he rubbed his hand over his upper arm without thinking. "We hunkered down and waited for backup. Starsky and Hutch showed up a little while later and helped take down the perps."

   Matt looked back through his notes and used his pen to count off the number of times he’d heard those names in previous interviews. He was getting the distinct impression that this particular pair was a legend at Metro.

   "Are they going to be here today? I’ve been trying to track them down for a week. You see, I’ve decided to focus on partner behavior, communication, and what you guys tell me is called the ‘rules of engagement’ for partners."

   "You’ll definitely want to talk to them, then. They’ve been a team for a long time. Yeah, they’ll be here, but Starsky was hurt real bad a few months ago. They’ve been laying low while he recovers. Hutch ain’t at work much. That’s probably why you’ve been having a hard time."

   "What happened?" Matt asked. He’d heard there was a shooting, but the other detectives were pretty quiet about the incident. Matt was in San Diego finishing some field work when Starsky was shot and he wasn’t following the news, so he didn’t know many details. He was curious about the reasons why the cops he’d spoken with might not want to discuss it.

   "Well..." Simmons hedged. "I think maybe you’d better ask Hutch. I, uh...."

   Matt said, "I’ve noticed that most of the Metro staff I’ve asked don’t seem to want to talk about it. Why do you suppose that is?"

   "I don’t know, man. Maybe cops are a little superstitious. Starsky was shot and it was real close. Too close. I don’t like to talk about it. He’s still recovering, see, and... well,

   I guess I’d be afraid I could jinx it. You know, tempting fate?"

   Matt smiled at him and took some more notes. He wanted to investigate the concept of superstition on the force. "Thanks, that’s okay."

   "I’ve gotta go warm up. Is that enough for now?"

   "Yeah, thanks. I’ll catch your partner later. I take it he’s playing, too."

   "Sure is. Look, Hutch will be playing in the game. You can catch him after. Tall guy, blond. He’s pitching."

   "Thanks. I’ll look for him."

   Hutch was just pulling up to the park as Matt was finishing with Simmons. His trip to the D.A.’s office had left him in a bad mood. Answering Gunther’s attorney’s questions drained him. That the man would try to get Gunther acquitted was obvious, but Hutch wasn’t expecting it to make him as angry as it was.

   As soon as he got out of the car, he scanned the park for where the Dobeys had set up for the day. When he spotted the table, he could see his partner was looking like he wasn’t feeling well. Starsky was talking to Cal when he felt Hutch’s gaze hit him.

   "He’s here, isn’t he?" he asked Cal.

   Cal was facing the parking lot and he looked up to see the tall man striding toward them. "You know, that’s kind of creepy how you do that. Yeah, he’s here."

   "How does he look?" Starsky didn’t want to turn around. He was busy trying to look less uncomfortable.

   Before Cal could answer, Hutch walked up and around to where he could see Starsky’s face. "Hi, buddy, you all right? Hi, Cal."

   Starsky smiled. "Battin’ a thousand, buddy. How’d it go?"

   "Don’t ask." Hutch shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as he reached over and patted Starsky’s hand with the other.

   "Tell me later?"

   "Yeah, okay. Did you eat?"

   Cal said, "Hi, Hutch. We just got here a little while ago. You want something?"

   "No, I have to play. You sure you’re okay, Starsk? You look a little tired today."

   "Worrywart. Go play, I’m fine. Cal’s keeping me company and Rosie is going to fix me a hot dog. Go on."

   Hutch knew his friend wasn’t being completely honest, but he also knew it was important to Starsky that he play in this game. Starsky had made it clear that he wanted him to and he was going to do it.

   "Can you see from here?" Hutch looked toward the field and realized that Starsky would be able to watch the game from there. Starsky just smiled and shooed him toward the field.

   When Hutch was out of earshot, he said to Cal, "You think I fooled him?"

   "Nope. He’s ignoring it, though."

   An hour later, the game was going well for the plain-clothes team. Hutch had only given up a few hits and one run. Starsky sat watching for a long time, until the unrelenting sunlight started to make him feel overheated and uncomfortable. Cal, Rosie, and the captain had all gone to sit at the field where they could cheer on their team. Edith stayed with Starsky and she noticed that he was not doing well. She touched him on one clammy hand to get his attention.

   "Dave, you look uncomfortable. Are you okay?"

   He looked toward her and said, "Guess it’s kind of hot and sitting on this hard bench isn’t doing much for me, but I’m okay."

   Starsky had been paying attention to the game, but Hutch had also been paying attention to him. Between pitches, and when he was on base, he glanced back toward the picnic table to check on his partner. He was getting up to warm up on deck when he saw Edith helping Starsky over to a lawn chair in the shade under a nearby tree.

   Hutch took a few steps toward the gate in the low fence when he heard the crack of the bat and Babcock saying, "Hey, Hutch! You’re up."

   Hutch hesitated a moment. Edith saw him looking at them, so she waved and smiled – doing her best to send him the message that she had everything under control.

   "Hutch!" Babcock said. "Hey, you gonna play?"

   The umpire was calling, "Batter up!"

   Hutch looked both ways, first toward home plate, then back toward his partner. He decided to go ahead with his turn at bat. Fighting the urge to rush over and make sure everything was all right took nearly all of his resolve.

   "Yeah, yeah, I’m coming." Hutch strode toward home plate; sure he could feel Starsky’s pleasure that he’d resisted the urge to hover.

   "He’s doin’ great today, Edith," Starsky said with a grin.

   "You know how hard this is for him. He won’t like it if I let you get heat stroke over here. I’m going to get you another cold drink. Dr. Pepper, root beer, lemonade, or water, Dave?"

   "How about a beer?" Starsky asked, knowing what the answer would be.

   "On pain pills? Are you trying to get your partner mad at me? I don’t think so. Be right back and I’ll surprise you." She took one more look at him, making sure he was settled comfortably. The chair was the type that sits only a few inches off the ground. He wasn’t going to be able to get out of it without assistance.

   Throughout the game, Matt Dixon had been wandering among the crowd, talking to the officers and making notes. When Hutch had taken the field, he’d begun watching him. Following Hutch’s frequent glances back toward the parking lot, Matt saw a dark-haired man who was obviously not completely well. Even from a distance, he could tell the man was sitting in a guarded position, possibly in pain, or feeling ill. That must be Detective Starsky. He watched Hutch’s turn at bat. Despite his obvious distraction, Hutch hit a double, sending Simmons home and making it to second base. He stood on base, keeping one eye on the game and another on his friend.

   The sound of screeching tires in the parking lot caused Hutch to snap his attention around to find its source. He did not like it that Starsky was so close to the parking lot and he was so far away. The car speeding through the parking lot was just a bunch of teenagers, not a threat to his partner’s safety. Hutch sighed wearily, longing for the day when he would be able to relax again, secure that Starsky was safe from Gunther.

   After giving him a root beer, Edith excused herself to go speak with her husband next to the ball field. Starsky hoped it wasn’t a report on his condition. The last thing he wanted was for Hutch to get wind of how much pain he was in and insist on taking Starsky home. He checked the time and reached into his pocket for the second pain pill, knowing he’d have to take it if he stood a chance of hiding his discomfort from Hutch.

   Matt decided he’d go and talk to Starsky since the game had only run through three innings and Hutch would be busy for a while. Looking toward where Starsky sat, he noticed the man was alone. Now would be a good time.

   Starsky’s eyes were drifting shut when he heard a quiet voice next to him. He opened his eyes and looked up at a young man he didn’t recognize. A flash of worry sliced through him, but he immediately dismissed it. The young man was carrying a notepad and he looked more like a college student than a hit man. Starsky guessed this must be the student Sean and Dobey had mentioned. Hutch wasn’t the only one who worried about Gunther trying something before the trial. That was something Starsky was keeping to himself, although he was sure Hutch was worried about it, too.

   "Sorry, were you talking to me?" he asked.

   "Yes. Sorry to disturb you. Are you Detective Starsky?"

   "Who wants to know?"

   Matt introduced himself and explained what he wanted. Starsky listened patiently and agreed to speak with him.

   "Thanks, Detective...."

   "Just Starsky, or Dave will do."

   "Okay. Thanks. I’ve been talking to some of the other partners and your name has come up a lot. Yours and Detective Hutchinson’s. I was hoping I could talk to him, but so far I just haven’t been in the right place at the right time, I guess."

   Starsky looked past Matt to see that the inning had ended with Hutch stranded on second. The plain-clothes team was taking the field again, and Hutch was slowly moving toward the dugout to ditch his batting helmet. Starsky smiled.

   "You want to meet my partner? Okay, I’ll bet you I can arrange that in the next thirty seconds."

   "Really, how?" Matt asked, smiling back at him.

   "I’ve gotta go to the can and I can’t get out of this torture trap chair by myself. Give me a hand up and over there. You’ll get to meet him, I guarantee it." He put a hand up for Matt to help him.

   Taking the injured man’s hand, Matt said, "I don’t want to hurt you." When he saw that Starsky wasn’t going to be able to pull himself up, he put another hand under Starsky’s elbow and hoisted him to his feet.

   Starsky winced, but said, "No sweat. Just let me lean on you a little while we move that way, okay? You won’t have to go far."

   Hutch saw the stranger talking to Starsky. He hadn’t been introduced to Matt yet, and he had no idea that the graduate student would be there. When he saw the other man pull Starsky up from his chair and start to walk away from the picnic area with him, he forgot the game and headed straight for his partner, vaulting the fence rather than taking the time to go through the gate. He heard some of the guys calling after him, but Hutch ignored them. His teammates could either put in another pitcher or call a time out, that didn’t concern him. Dobey noticed what was going on and he started to move in that direction.

   True to Starsky’s prediction, Hutch came up behind the two men in less than a minute. They weren’t even half way to the restrooms when Hutch put a hand on Matt’s shoulder and said, "Hey, what’s going on?"

   Matt and Starsky stopped in their tracks, Starsky with a quiet chuckle and Matt with a gulp of nervousness. Matt was only five feet seven inches tall and the blond detective towered over him. The determined look on Hutch’s face was intense. He looked at Starsky and relaxed a little when he saw his friend’s smile.

   Starsky said, "Matt Dixon, daredevil graduate student, meet Ken Hutchinson, partner, best friend, and bodyguard."

   "Ha, ha, wise ass. Graduate student?" Hutch said as he put a hand out to shake Matt’s.

   Starsky asked, "Was it thirty seconds?"

   Matt shook Hutch’s hand and replied in a slightly shaky voice, "Certainly less than a minute."

   Hutch started to say something, but he laughed instead, the tension draining from him just as Sean Cavanaugh skidded to a stop next to them. Both Starsky and Hutch were laughing at Matt’s expense by then.

   "You guys are just too much," Sean said disgustedly, but his eyes were twinkling. "Blondie, get your ass back to the pitcher's mound. You want Jack to pitch this inning? We'd get creamed."

   Hutch shifted his weight and glanced at Starsky.

   "Go on," Starsky said. "We can't let the other guys cream us."

   "Guess not," Hutch said, turning to go. He'd only taken a couple of steps when he turned back. "You sure --"

   "I'm sure. Scram."

   "Okay." Hutch loped back toward the field and Sean gave Starsky a grin before he turned to follow him.

   "So that's your partner."

   "Yeah," Starsky said. "Can we go on, please?"

   "Huh?" Matt was clearly puzzled.

   "The can," Starsky reminded him.

   "Oh. Yeah. Sure." Matt took his arm again and Starsky did his best to look as if he were walking unassisted, knowing that Hutch was still watching him. After Starsky was finished, Matt helped him back to the chair under the tree. Edith was there waiting, with a tall glass of ice-cold lemonade in her hand.

   Starsky accepted it gratefully. "This is gonna hit the spot," he said, and took a long swallow. He introduced Matt, and Edith asked if he wanted some lemonade, too.

   "I've got gallons of it," she said encouragingly, and he accepted. She headed back to the picnic table.

   "Okay, kid," Starsky said, settling back in the chair and vainly trying to get comfortable. "What do you want to know?"

   "I'm writing my master's thesis on the relationship between partners on the police force," Matt said. "I'm focusing on communication between partners and that," he waved his hand toward Hutch vaguely, "just now, with your partner. That was amazing. Will you tell me about it?"

   Starsky frowned thoughtfully. "Well, I don't know if I can explain it, exactly. It's, uh.... " He laughed. "You know what? I don't know what it is."

   "When did it start?"

   Starsky's frown deepened. "Seems like it's always been this way, but I guess it hasn't. We met in the police Academy and got to be good friends, and by the time we were out, we knew we wanted to be partners someday."

   Matt scribbled some notes as Starsky talked and when he stopped talking, Matt looked up. Starsky was looking toward the ball field, where Hutch had just apparently pitched a home run to the other team.

   "Wish he'd pay attention to the game, 'stead o' worryin' about me," Starsky said.

   "Can you tell me about the shooting?"

   "Which one?" Starsky asked, a quirk in his lips that wasn't quite a smile.

   "There's been more than one?"

   Starsky nodded. "But I guess you wanna hear about the latest one. That was a close call."

   Matt waited, pen poised.

   "I can't tell ya too much, actually," Starsky said after a few moments. "I remember me and Hutch playin' ping pong in the office – they were painting and there wasn't much else we could do. Then we went down to the garage. We were gonna go out to dinner and we were planning when and joking about where. And I was unlockin' the car, and Hutch yelled for me to get down and ... " He stopped again and gave a shrug. "I don't know much after that. I don't remember much else until I woke up in the hospital. Hutch told me that was four days later."

   Matt whistled.

   Starsky glanced toward the field again. Hutch was just wiping his hands on his pants, preparing to pitch to a new batter. "It was pretty tough on him."

   "On him?" Matt said, astonished. "I'd say it was tough on you. Didn't you almost die?"

   Starsky nodded. "It's a lot harder to watch your partner almost die than it is to almost die yourself," he said, and something in his voice told Matt he'd been on that side of the hospital wall, too. "You feel like you shoulda done something, even if there hadn't been anything you could do. It's your job to keep him safe, and you failed." His eyes were on Hutch again, and when Matt followed the direction of his gaze, he could see that Hutch was watching Starsky, too. Starsky smiled and lifted one hand, and Hutch turned back to the game.

   "He felt guilty," Matt said.

   "He felt helpless," Starsky said, not exactly correcting Matt. More as if he were finishing a thought of his own. His eyes went a little out of focus and Matt recalled that the man was recovering from that shooting.

   "Listen, do you need a break?" Matt asked. "I can come back to you later."

   "Wouldja mind?" Starsky asked. "I'm sorry, it's the medication. It's pretty strong."

   "I appreciate you taking the time at all," Matt said, rising. "Can I get you anything?"

   Starsky shook his head. "Nope. I'm fine. Edith's nearby if I need anything."

   Matt shook Starsky's hand and wandered over to the ball field to watch the rest of the game. The two teams held the score at a tie until the final inning. As they headed into the bottom of the inning, the uniforms were ahead. The game was nearing its end, and Hutch was sweaty and looked worn out as he left the mound to go into the dugout for the detectives' last turn at bat. He nodded at Matt as he passed him.

   Hutch was a good player, Matt thought, but he'd be even better if he'd keep his mind on the game. He almost missed a good pitch because he was looking at Starsky, and it would've been a strike. But at the last possible moment, he swung and struck the ball solidly, sending it far over the head of the left fielder, far enough that he was able to make it to second base. The detectives' team went wild, screaming and yelling Hutch's name. They were two runs behind and he'd been the first batter.

   The second batter walked and the third hit a pop-up fly to center field. Hutch hadn't moved. There hadn't been any opportunity, yet, to try to steal home. The dugout had fallen silent as the next batter came up. Sean.

   He was almost as tall and lean as Hutch, and held the bat in an easy grip, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the pitcher. He let the first two pitches go by; one strike and one ball. His easy stance never changed. And when the third pitch came, he stepped forward into it and hit the ball cleanly in a long, smooth arc that gave Hutch the opening he needed.

   Hutch ran as hard as he could and managed to slide into home a split second before the ball thudded into the catcher's mitt.

   "Safe!" the umpire yelled. Sean was on second and the man who had walked to first was on third base. Matt found himself cheering with the detectives' team, but then he realized Hutch hadn't gotten up. Starsky, under the tree, had obviously noticed, too, and was struggling to get out of the low chair.

   Matt rose, but others were quicker.

   "Hutch, hey, what's up, man?" A dark-haired detective from his own team had scrambled out of the dugout and made it to his side, followed by two or three others.

   "Nothing," Hutch answered, coughing a little. "Twisted my knee, that's all."

   The other cop helped him up and led him back toward the dugout to the cheers of the other cops. Hutch lifted a hand with an embarrassed grin.

   Two batters later, the game was over and the detectives had won. After the back-thumping and the good-natured insults and threats of "wait until next year!" were over, Hutch came over to Matt.

   "Sean said he'd hang out with my partner while I talk to you," Hutch said. He didn't sound enthusiastic.

   "I really do appreciate it," Matt said. "I know it's a pain in the ass."

   Hutch laughed and sat down. "No, it's okay. Fire when ready."

   Matt explained his thesis while Hutch listened.

   "Good topic," he said.

   Matt was surprised. None of the other cops had made any comment at all about his topic. But he hid his surprise and asked Hutch about his partnership with Starsky.

   Hutch glanced toward his partner, who was drinking another glass of lemonade. "I suppose a lot of people have mentioned it to you," he said instead of answering directly.

   "Yeah. I get the impression you guys are sort of ... legendary."

   Instead of laughing or looking embarrassed, Hutch nodded. "I suppose that's the impression they gave you. We've been involved with a lot of high-profile cases. We've sailed pretty near the wind a few times. And unlike a lot of partners, it hasn't made us hate each other. We've stuck it out. That's kind of unusual, I guess."

   "Why?"

   Hutch frowned and looked into the distance. "I guess, when you work with a guy and spend that much time with him and he sees all your bad sides and sees you hurt and angry and disillusioned, you start to feel uncomfortable with him. But Starsky and I ... well, it just seems to make us closer, I guess."

   "Why?"

   Hutch grinned a little. "You studying to be a reporter? That's their favorite question."

   Matt returned the grin. "No. I'm just writing a thesis."

   "Fair enough. Why? We fit. We complement each other. He's more optimistic than I am. He enjoys life and he can let the kid inside of him out. He loves Christmas and Halloween and playing games and carnival rides. I'm more ..." He shrugged. "Cynical, maybe. I don't know. But I think I steady him and he steadies me and somehow it all works."

   "I hear that you two have some sort of psychic connection, almost," Matt ventured.

   Hutch, instead of laughing or rolling his eyes, nodded. "I suppose we do. At times, we can almost read each other's minds. The way we work, we just seem to know what the other one's doing. We don't need words as much as other people do."

   "Will you tell me about the shooting?"

   Hutch's eyes grew serious and he shut them briefly, as if to avoid looking at something painful. "I don't honestly know how I knew those guys were after us. They pulled out of a parking slot and hit another squad but didn't pause. Maybe that was it. I don't know, but suddenly I got very, very scared and I yelled at Starsky to get down and – " He stopped for a moment and swallowed. "He didn't. They shot him and he fell and I shot back, but my hands were shaking so badly I didn't come anywhere near hitting them. And I called his name, and he didn't answer." He stopped again; obviously this was a difficult story for him to tell. Matt waited patiently. Finally, Hutch said, "I ran around the car and he was down. There was blood all over the front of his shirt. He was soaked in blood..." He wet his lips. "I couldn't move for what felt like hours. I just stood there and stared at him and ... finally, I went to him and I knelt by him and I was afraid to touch him. I don't know why. And he was out cold. His lips were white. He was hardly breathing, and when he did breathe, it was harsh. Rattling. Like people breathe when they're dyin'."

   Matt forgot to take notes, he was so caught up in the naked emotion on Hutch's face. But he knew he wouldn't forget this.

   Hutch drew a deep breath as if to steady himself. "There was a lot of commotion, but it seemed far away. Other cops, somebody yelling for help, our captain. But all I could see was Starsky, and all I could hear was that rattle in his chest. One of the bullets pierced a lung," he added, looking at Matt for the first time in several minutes. "I reached out and put my hand on his cheek," unconsciously, Hutch's hand lifted and touched his own cheek to demonstrate, "and he opened his eyes. He couldn't talk. He wanted to. He was trying to. But all he could do was form the word – " Hutch blinked rapidly for a moment and finally finished, "goodbye."

   "He thought he was dying," Matt said.

   "He was dying," Hutch answered. "He knew it. I knew it. How he survived, I don't know. It's a miracle. Nothing less." He looked at Matt again, but his eyes went past him to the tree where Starsky was sitting, and without another word, he was on his feet and running.

   Matt turned to look, and he could see, even from this distance, that something was wrong with Starsky.

   While Matt and Hutch were talking, Sean kept Starsky company. They talked about the game the detectives’ team had just won and the cases Sean and his partner were working. Sean assured Starsky that Hutch was fine. He’d just twisted his knee, nothing serious. Starsky, on the other hand, had pulled a muscle trying to rise from the lawn chair and he was doing his best to hide his additional discomfort from Sean. He didn’t want to give his nervous friend any reason to holler for Hutch. Being treated like he was fragile, despite the accuracy of that assumption, depressed the healing detective. He wanted things to go back to normal. His friends were attentive and concerned, but at times, he couldn’t help wishing they’d treat him like they did before he was shot.

   Rosie Dobey ran up to Sean and pulled on one of his big hands. "Come on, play Frisbee with me."

   Sean looked back at Starsky and said, "No, I’m sorry, Rosie. I promised to keep Starsky company."

   "Come on," she wheedled. "Uncle Dave usually plays with me, but he can’t right now. Uncle Hutch would get mad."

   Starsky laughed. "Yes, he would, Rosie. He’d probably put me on restriction." Sean noticed the slight wince on Starsky’s face as he laughed.

   "No...."

   "Pleeeeeeeeeeasssssse? Everybody else is busy."

   "She’s awfully good at that, Sean. Go ahead. You’ll be right over there, for God’s sake. I’m fine."

   Sean thought it would be fun to play with Rosie. She was a sweet girl and the detectives all liked her. He chewed his bottom lip a little as he decided, taking longer than either the little girl with big, brown, pleading eyes, or the grown detective could bear.

   "Look," Starsky said, "Edith brought the morning paper with her so I’d have something to read. It’s up there on the table in the box with the paper plates. Bring it over here and I’ll just read while you guys do your thing. Okay?"

   "If you’re sure, Starsk. Okay. I’m sorry for being so uptight. I just... worry," Sean said with a sheepish smile.

   Rosie ran over to the table and fetched the paper. "Thanks, Uncle Dave," she said and she gave him a kiss on his cheek. She and Sean moved off away from the trees to toss the Frisbee while Starsky started on the paper.

   He wasn’t feeling well, and he was wishing it was already time for his next dose of pain medication. Hoping reading would take his mind off of his discomfort, he started on page one.

   "Vegas Bound Tour Bus Crashes – 3 Dead, 10 Injured" was the headline. A local tour bus company was under investigation for safety violations. Now that there had been a fatality accident, the investigation would likely involve police work. He read through that story and then turned to finish his article on page two. When he turned the page, his eyes were immediately drawn to the story at the top of page three – "Gunther Trial Jury Selection Starts Monday." He hadn’t read many of the articles about the shooting, the investigation, or the upcoming trial. At first, he wasn’t able to read them. Later, as his recovery progressed, Hutch had shielded him from them. Starsky knew and appreciated that, even though he and Hutch never discussed it.

   Starsky’s eyes were glued to the pictures accompanying the article. His hands started to shake, his face had gone pale, and he was breathing hard. The pictures showed the Torino with its shot out windows. Even in black and white, the large pool of blood on the ground looked grisly. The second picture was of James Marshall Gunther walking into court for one of the pretrial hearings. The third picture was worse.

   Sometime after the media got wind of the story, a reporter had taken pictures of Hutch at the hospital. What was happening in that picture was clear to Starsky. One of his doctors was in the frame with Hutch and Captain Dobey. Hutch was leaning up against the wall and bending forward a little, with the captain holding his arm to steady him. Although it was a side shot, the stricken look on Hutch’s face seared into Starsky’s heart. Hutch’s hands looked like they were coming up toward his face... and they were covered in blood. Starsky’s blood. That sight brought a terrifying flashback to Starsky’s mind. He was lying on the ground and Hutch was there. He felt something touch his cheek and he opened his eyes. As hard as he tried to talk, he couldn’t. His vision was dimming and he knew he was dying so he’d tried to say goodbye. All of this came back to him and he remembered the look in Hutch’s eyes as everything went dark and he believed his last sight in life would be his frightened partner’s face and the last thing he heard would be Hutch’s voice saying, "No, don’t go! Please, God, hang on."

   Seeing the graphic evidence of what Hutch endured that day was too much for Starsky. He put a hand up to his chest as if it might help get his racing heartbeat under control, and his limp fingers dropped the paper onto the ground as the park started to spin.

   Sean looked over at Starsky as he started to slump forward and to the side. Hutch had spotted that he was in trouble a few seconds after Sean. Seeing him falling with his hand up to his chest was terrifying. Fearing it might be Starsky’s heart, Hutch made his best speed, but his twisted knee slowed him and by the time he reached Starsky, Sean was easing him down to the ground.

   "Starsky!" Hutch called as he came to a stop and knelt next to his friend, quickly feeling for a pulse. Starsky was pale, but his color didn’t look like he was having a heart attack and his pulse was strong and fast. Hutch looked over at Sean and said, "What the hell happened?"

   Starsky was unconscious; his face was covered with perspiration. Hutch patted him on the hand and the cheek, trying to revive him.

   "I don’t know, Hutch," Sean replied with a shaky voice. "He was just reading the paper, and next thing I knew he was going down. I guess he fainted. I’m pretty sure he didn’t feel too good earlier."

   Starsky was starting to moan and turn his head from side to side. Sean was kneeling on the discarded newspaper. As Hutch talked softly to Starsky and tried to bring him around, Sean got the paper out from under him and looked at the first couple of pages, quickly finding what had set off the other man.

   "Shit, Hutch, this must be it," he said as he held up page three for Hutch to see the pictures.

   "Dammit! It’s been four months, when will they stop running that picture?" The local paper had run those shots over and over during the first two months. Almost every time something new broke on the case.

   Starsky’s eyes fluttered open and he said, "Hutch?"

   Hutch turned his attention to the man on the ground. "Hey, buddy, you okay?"

   Starsky looked confused and he was still breathing rapidly. Hutch wasn’t happy with his racing heartbeat, either, but it seemed to be slowing. "Hutch? Oh, God...."

   "Sh, it’s okay, Starsk. Just relax. Slow it down."

   Starsky nodded and put one hand up to cover his eyes, knowing he’d never get it together if he kept trying to watch Hutch and Sean spinning around him.

   Matt had come up behind them by this time and he was asking if he should run and call for an ambulance.

   "No!" Starsky said. "I’m all right."

   Sean and Matt both looked at Hutch for his call. "You sure you’re all right, Gordo?"

   "Yeah, yeah, just gimme a minute," Starsky replied. "Just a little dizzy. The pictures...."

   Hutch took his pulse again and said, "No ambulance. I think Sean’s right, he just fainted."

   "Hey," Starsky said. "He’s right here in front of you."

   Hutch laughed at the weak joke. "Sorry, buddy. Come on, uncover your eyes so I can see how you’re doing."

   Starsky obediently dropped his hand and opened his eyes, relieved that there was only one of everything he could see, and the world had stopped spinning. Hutch looked in his eyes, satisfied that the crisis was passing.

   "You ready to sit up?"

   "Yeah, gimme a hand, huh?"

   Hutch took one hand and Sean took the other. They gently sat Starsky up and Hutch got behind him so that Starsky could lean back against his chest. Matt watched in fascination as the men interacted. Hutch’s arm wrapped around Starsky to steady him. None of them had noticed poor Rosie Dobey, standing on the periphery, scared to death that something terrible had happened to Starsky. Matt just stood back and watched.

   "Uncle Dave?" she said in a tiny, frightened voice.

   "I’m okay, sweetheart."

   "Rosie, honey, would you please run over to one of the ice chests and get us something cold for him to drink?" Hutch asked.

   "Sure," she said, happy to have something to do.

   "Wait," Hutch said as she turned to run the errand. He pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to the child. "Get this wet with the cold water from inside the ice chest, okay?"

   She took it and dashed off to where her folks had left the ice chests.

   Hutch glanced at the paper still in Sean’s hands and quietly said, "Get rid of that."

   "Don’t," Starsky said. "I want to read it."

   "Starsk...." Hutch started.

   "No. I mean it. I heard you talkin’ to Dobey. I have to testify. Might as well read this stuff now. I’m gonna hear it and see it in court."

   Sean looked helpless, but he said, "How ‘bout I just put it back with your stuff. You can decide what to do with it later."

   Before Starsky could protest again, Hutch nodded his thanks. He reached for Starsky’s wrist, but got his hand batted away before he could take Starsky’s pulse again.

   "I’m all right, Blintz. Was I out long?" This wasn’t the first time Starsky had fainted or lost consciousness since he left the hospital. The disconcerting feeling was all too familiar; even though it had been almost two weeks since the last time it had happened. That time, he’d tried to stand up too fast and Hutch barely caught him before he hit his head on the coffee table. His healing system was stretched taut and any significant upset or physical problem that interfered with his equilibrium seemed to affect him badly.

   "Nope, just a couple of minutes." Hutch rubbed Starsky’s arm, trying to help him get warm again. His skin still felt cold and he was shivering a little, despite the warmth of the day. Rosie came back with a root beer and the cool cloth. Starsky took the soda gratefully and Hutch used the cloth to wipe Starsky’s face.

   "Feels good, Hutch. Thanks." Starsky put his head back on Hutch’s shoulder and grabbed onto his arm. "Hutch, that picture of you. I...."

   "Starsk, I’m sorry. I’ve really tried hard to keep you from seeing that stuff. Maybe I did the wrong thing, but I don’t want you to get too worked up about it. Gunther’s going down in this trial and we can put it behind us."

   "I remembered something. When I saw that picture, with the blood on your hands, I remembered when I looked up at you and tried to say goodbye. I thought you were gonna be the last thing I saw."

   That thought gave Hutch a chill. "I know. I thought I was, too." The two men hadn’t talked much about the details of that day. Matt was intrigued as he listened to them open up to and comfort each other.

   "I need to know something," Starsky continued. "What was happening in that picture of you?"

   "Ah, I don’t want to...."

   Starsky interrupted him. "Was that when the doc told you I was gonna die?"

   Hutch swallowed a lump in his throat as his eyes suddenly filled. He could only squeak out a single word in response. "Yeah."

   "It’s okay, babe. I made it. You did, too."

   Hutch hugged him closer and rested his head on Starsky’s curls, closing his eyes and offering his millionth silent prayer of thanks. Starsky chuckled in his arms.

   "What’s so funny, dirt ball?"

   "You. I can feel your heart racing against my back. Are YOU okay?"

   Hutch laughed. "You mean other than having you scare another year off of me?"

   "Hey, you’re gonna live to be 140, remember? A few more scares and you’ll be back down to a normal life span with me."

   "That’s not even a little funny," Hutch said, giving Starsky a squeeze to convey that he was half kidding and half serious. "No more scares for you. You’ve met your lifetime, scare the holy bejeezus out of Hutch quota. You got that?"

   "Yeah, I hear ya."

   Both had clearly forgotten Matt was there, and as fascinating as it was to watch this display of their partnership in action, he also felt uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.

   Starsky turned his head. "Aw, kid, I'm sorry. We ain't much help with your paper, are we? C'mon, Hutch, we gotta let the kid finish his questions."

   Hutch looked up and smiled at Matt. Giving Starsky's shoulder a final pat, he moved around and settled himself next to his partner. "Sure, if you're up to it, Starsk."

   "Hey, never better." Starsky grinned, including Matt, and added, "Go ahead, kid. Fire away."

   Matt was at a loss. He didn't know how to ask for an explanation of what he'd just seen without sounding stupid. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

   "Look at that, Hutch," Starsky teased. "We took the words right out of his mouth."

   Hutch laughed, and finally Matt did, too, releasing the tension he felt. "I'm sorry," Matt said. "But that --" he gestured vaguely. "That's unusual behavior for a couple of tough street cops."

   "Actually," Hutch said, "it's not. Not the feeling. Maybe we're more open about showing it. Let me prove it to you." He waved at Sean, who had resumed the game with Rosie. Sean loped over and knelt.

   "Yeah, Hutch?"

   "I'm gonna ask you something," Hutch said. "I want your honest answer. Not the macho cop and not a joke. Okay?"

   Sean shrugged. "Sure. I guess."

   "How do you feel about Jack?"

   Sean stared at him for a moment, a little pucker between his brows. "Whatdya mean?"

   "I mean, what do you think of him? You like him? You trust him? You hate him? What?"

   Sean glanced over his shoulder and Matt followed the line of his look to the dark-haired detective who had helped Hutch up when he'd hurt his knee sliding into home. After a moment, Sean turned back. "He's like a brother to me," Sean said, and there was no doubting the ring of sincerity in his tone.

   "Do you love him?"

   Matt watched Sean's face. It reddened a little; clearly this line of questioning made him somewhat uncomfortable, but he nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. Guess I do."

   "Why?" Hutch grinned a little, glancing at Matt, who remembered Hutch telling him that was a reporter's favorite question.

   "Huh?" Sean stared at Hutch, then glanced at Matt, too. "Well, hell, Hutch. We spend damned near all our time together. I gotta trust that pooka with my life, pal. If he didn't give a shit about me or I didn't give a shit about him, that'd be a helluva mess, now, wouldn't it?"

   "Sure would," Starsky put in with a heartfelt nod.

   Hutch patted Sean on the shoulder. "Thanks, man. Go on and play with Rosie and don't let her get the best of you."

   Sean grinned. "Easier said than done." He rose and trotted back to the little girl.

   Hutch turned to Matt. "See? I'd lay you good odds that almost every pair of partners out on that street – every effective pair – is the same way. Not all of 'em say so. Not all of them even realize it, maybe. But there's no greater trust than to put your life in the hands of another, Matt, and once you've done that, you just about have to love the guy."

   "Isn't it true that some partnerships don't work out, and the partners even hate each other?" Matt asked.

   Hutch nodded. "Sure. But they don't last."

   "Then you two aren't unique?"

   "I don't know if I'd say that," Starsky said, and though the words were said in a light tone, the look in his eyes was dead serious. "Me and Hutch are different. We're closer than most. Spend more of our off time together. We're.... " He paused and glanced at Hutch as if for assistance.

   "The feeling isn't unique, maybe," Hutch picked up the ball, "but the expression of it, and the depth of it, are. Other partners are close. Other partners put their lives on the line for each other. But other partners go home at night and can take off the badge and the gun and leave the job behind. Starsky and I are partners all the time."

   "What I just saw, a minute ago," Matt said. "Can I use that? Can I describe that in my paper?"

   Starsky and Hutch glanced at each other and though not a word passed between them, Matt could see that they were somehow discussing his request. Finally, Starsky turned back to him. "Yeah. Why not? We ain't ashamed of it or we wouldn't do it out here in front of God and everybody," he said, grinning.

   Starsky winced a little and shifted his weight more toward Hutch just as Edith Dobey was walking toward them to find out what had happened. She could see that whatever it was, the crisis had passed, but she could also see that Starsky wasn’t entirely comfortable where he was. She shook her head and said, "Ken, what’s the matter with you? David shouldn’t be sitting so long on the hard ground." Edith extended a hand toward Starsky, looking him over to make sure he was all right.

   "Oh, geez, I’m sorry, Starsk, let’s get you up," Hutch said.

   Hutch and Edith helped Starsky to his feet and slowly walked him toward the picnic table. When they reached it, Edith reached into the box under the table and pulled out a beach towel she’d brought with her, folding it into a makeshift cushion. Hutch felt her tugging on his sleeve and took the hint that she wanted a moment alone.

   Matt sat down next to Starsky and the two of them watched Edith and Hutch walking toward Dobey and Cal as they were returning from a horseshoe-pitching contest. Starsky chuckled.

   "They’re going to have a little confab over there and I’ll just bet it’s about me," he said.

   "Does that bother you?"

   "Nah. They’re just trying to take care of me and as much as I hate to admit this, these past few months, that’s been a big job. I wish Hutch would take a break, but you can see how he is. Between looking out for me and working on the Gunther investigation, he hasn’t had much time for himself. That’s why I wanted him to play in the game today. He needs the diversion and my partner isn’t easily diverted."

   "Pretty persistent, huh?" Matt asked.

   "Like a heat seeking missile. He made up his mind Gunther was going down for what he did. Not just to me, but to a lot of other people. Hutch hangs onto things. He’d die trying and it’s my job to make sure he doesn’t."

   That was food for thought for the graduate student. His curiosity about the events that had brought these people to the place they were in was almost overwhelming. Since Matt missed much of the local coverage when Starsky was shot, he decided it would be a good idea to go back and read about what had happened. He could get newspapers on microfiche in the main campus library. The little group of people in a huddle about what to do with the man sitting next to him was breaking up and walking back their way.

   "Looks like they’ve reached a consensus, Dave," Matt said with a smile.

   One look at Hutch’s face and Starsky knew what the decision had been. "Yeah, this is where I find out it’s time for me to go home and grab a nap. They’re right, too," he said with a yawn.

   When Hutch reached the bench across from him, Starsky said, "I’m not going anywhere until I have a piece of Edith’s peach pie."

   Hutch had started to speak and now he was standing and looking at his partner, mouth open in an uncharacteristic moment where he wasn’t sure how to respond.

   "You’re gonna catch a fly in there," Starsky quipped.

   Hutch laughed. "All right, you’ve got my number. Pie first, then a nap."

   Matt stood and said, "Thanks a lot, you guys. I have a lot of research I need to do at the campus library, so I’d better get moving."

   "Did we answer your questions?" Hutch asked.

   Matt smiled at him. "You have no idea how helpful you’ve all been. I might have some more things to ask later. Would you mind if I give you a call?"

   Starsky fielded that one. "Nope, anytime." He gave Matt both his and Hutch’s phone numbers and then watched as the younger man walked away. Starsky’s detective instincts were telling him that Matt was about to branch in a new direction and he couldn’t help wondering what ideas their time together had given him. He sat with his partner and the Dobeys, enjoying the pie until his tenth unstifled yawn brought an end to his reprieve from a nap. After goodbyes all around, Hutch helped him to the car for the drive home.

********

   Within the hour, Matt Dixon was sitting at a microfiche station in the Media Room at the university library. He had requested fiche for the May Bay City newspapers, in addition to the papers from several other major United States cities. He wanted to see what the local coverage was like and to compare that with what was printed in other cities.

   Starting with the Bay City Times, Matt began searching through the page one headlines until he found the day of the shooting, May 15, 1979. He sat reading the coverage, riveted by what he’d found. The additional pictures added a lot to his understanding of how bad the shooting had been. That first edition running the story didn’t give out the name of the officers involved, but it did speculate that it was unlikely the wounded policeman would survive. Now that he had met both men, Matt felt a lump in his throat thinking about what Hutch must have gone through that day.

   After he read the local coverage, he started with the other city papers. Most of them didn’t have anything for the day of the shooting – nothing until the next day. However, as he looked at the last of them, he noticed something interesting. Not quite sure that he had seen what he thought he saw, he reread each of them.

   The story was covered in the May 16 morning editions of the other papers, but, naturally, other stories were also being reported. Matt made some notes and printed out the first few pages of each paper from May 15. Then, he returned the material and left to place a call.

   Starsky’s phone rang at five in the evening and Hutch grabbed it. "Hello?"

   Matt knew from the blond’s voice it wasn’t Starsky. "Detective Hutchinson, this is Matt Dixon."

   "Good guess, Matt, this is Hutch. What’s up?"

   "Sorry, right, Hutch. I’m not sure anything is, but maybe."

   He had Hutch’s attention. "Is something wrong?"

   "I went to the library today and did some background research on the shooting. I... may have discovered something. You’re the detective, I was wondering if I could bring what I have by and let’s see what you think."

   "Sounds interesting. Sure, I was just cooking. Come for dinner and we’ll look at it."

   "Oh, you don’t have to feed me. You sure I won’t be disturbing Starsky?"

   "You kidding? He’s grateful for any chance to see someone else’s mug besides mine. Stay for dinner. He won’t eat much and you’ll make me feel like I still know how to operate a skillet. I’m making stir-fry."

   Matt laughed. "Okay, you twisted my arm. My wife is out of town visiting her sister. I was just going to drive through someplace. Give me the address and I’ll leave now."

   When he reached Starsky’s apartment twenty minutes later, Matt found the door cracked open a little. He tapped quietly, hoping not to disturb Starsky if he was still asleep. Hutch saw him stick his head into the apartment and motioned for Matt to join him in the kitchen.

   "Hi, Matt, glad you could come. I was just getting ready to wake Starsky."

   "Does he sleep a lot?"

   "Yeah, he needs a lot of sleep. I don’t have much trouble getting him to sleep. Sometimes, eating is another story. He loves stir-fry, so I’m hoping to tempt him. Boy’s too skinny still."

   Hutch gave Matt a beer and disappeared into the bedroom. Matt sat down at the table set for three. He noted the collection of pills sitting next to what must be Starsky’s plate. Geez, this stinks. Poor guy. I wonder how long it will be before he’s back to normal.

   His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Hutch accompanying his obviously uncomfortable partner to the dinner table.

   "Matt," Starsky said, "thanks for coming. He gets sick of just having me to talk to at dinner."

   Matt smiled at him. "Funny, he said pretty much the same thing about you. How you feeling?"

   "To quote my Uncle Al, fair to middlin’," Starsky replied as he sat stiffly in his seat. Matt noticed the worry lines on Hutch’s face. The incident in the park must have taken a bigger toll on the healing detective than he wanted to acknowledge.

   The men agreed to eat first, then look at the papers over coffee. Hutch did manage to coax Starsky into eating half of what was in front of him – an accomplishment that seemed to please him. Matt helped clear the table and clean up while Starsky settled on the couch to wait for the coffee and revelations part of the evening.

   Matt pulled the papers out of his briefcase and spread them around the coffee table. "I don’t know if this is anything or not, but I thought it was kind of strange. You take a look and see what you think." He hadn’t printed any pages with pictures of the shooting, these were all of the previous day’s events. His slight smile relieved Hutch’s momentary worry as Starsky picked up the first of the papers and started to read. Ten minutes later, after both detectives had read them, they went into a huddle. The two men passed the copies back and forth, shaking their heads and muttering to each other.

   "Look...." Starsky said as he pointed and handed a page to Hutch.

   "You think?" Hutch asked.

   "Maybe," Starsky answered.

   Hutch handed a page to Starsky and said, "Detroit."

   "Yup, Atlanta, too," came the answer. Matt was fascinated again.

   Finally, the detectives broke their huddle and looked up at Matt. "What did you make of this?" Hutch asked.

   "Like I said, I’m no detective, but... how many gangland or execution style murders do you suppose there are in different cities around the country all on the same day?" Matt replied.

   "Really," Starsky said.

   Hutch cleared his throat and rose to pace. He was obviously thinking and neither man interrupted him. Finally, he said, "What happened to Starsky was more than a gangland style hit. What happened to him was an attempted execution."

   "They were trying for you, too, Blondie. Don’t forget that."

   "I haven’t forgotten. I’ll never forget it," Hutch replied. "Six high-profile deaths on the same day around the country. SIX! I just have to think it’s related. I can’t believe this is the first we’ve heard about this."

   Starsky put a hand up and captured Hutch’s hand as he passed in front of him between the couch and the coffee table. Hutch stopped immediately and looked at his friend. "Hutch, you don’t make a habit of reading the newspapers from other major cities, do you? Not to mention the fact that you’ve been a little preoccupied with me. Huh? Knock it off and sit down. We need to talk about this."

   "Yeah, I know," Hutch said. He sat, but he kept fidgeting.

   "So?" Matt said. "Is it important?"

   "Could be," Starsky said. "It's just too much of a coincidence for me."

   "Me, too," Hutch put in. "There's got to be a connection of some kind. And if there is, I'll find it."

   "You?" Starsky raised one eyebrow. "We."

   "Starsky, you're in no shape --"

   "Reading files isn't going to hurt me, and my brain still works, even if the rest of me's outta commission at the moment," Starsky retorted, half angrily. "I can also make phone calls."

   Hutch studied him in silence for a moment. "Okay," he said at last. "It would be nice to have some help. I think this could be a tough one."

   "Anything I can do?" Matt asked hopefully.

   Hutch turned in his chair to look at him. "There might be. You already have helped, by bringing this to our attention. Think you could try to find obits on these six guys, see if there seems to be any connection among them? Usually people's occupations and work history are in their obituaries."

   "Yeah, I can do that," Matt said. "Anything else?"

   Hutch glanced at Starsky.

   "Start with that," Starsky said. "We'll let you know if we think of anything else. We don't want to put you in any danger."

   "Hey, I'm just a college student researching a thesis," Matt said. "Nobody'll be suspicious of me spending time in the library nosing around. I want to help. Don't hesitate to ask."

   First thing in the morning, Hutch got on the phone to start calling the police departments in the cities where the killings had taken place. The first call he made was to Atlanta. It only took about half an hour to find the first link in the chain. The victim was a known racketeer, murdered in his own driveway as he was leaving for the day. A single gunshot wound to the back of the head. He'd been found in his car. There were no suspects.

   "This one's been driving us crazy," said the detective in charge of the case. "No fingerprints. No witnesses. No nothing. Not that we're gonna miss this guy, you understand, Sergeant, but it looks bad that we can't pin it on somebody."

   "What've you got on his connections?" Hutch asked.

   "It's pretty tangled," the detective said. "I mean, we know he was into organized crime in a big way, but there are so many holding companies and false trails that we haven't been able to figure out who it all goes back to yet. You got a similar case out there or something?"

   "Yeah," Hutch said grimly. "Gunther Industries."

   The other detective whistled. "Hey, wait a minute. Hutchinson...you're Dave Starsky's partner, aren't ya? The cop Gunther put the hit on."

   "How did you know --"

   "Man, every cop here knows about that. It was on the wire services, in the newspapers. You ain't sayin' – " He stopped and whistled again. "Gunther Industries. That's the connection!"

   "Could be," Hutch said cautiously. "Worth looking into. I don't have any evidence, just a gut feeling."

   "We'll look into that angle. Gimme your phone number. I'll let you know what we find out."

   Starsky had stayed at home and called Detroit and Dallas, getting the exact same sort of reaction from the cops on those cases. The victims were both known organized crime figures. The deaths had been execution style, quick and deadly, and there were no witnesses. One of the victims had been shot coming out of the courthouse after a pretrial hearing, in front of twenty or thirty people, but no one had seen the shooter.

   Starsky had just hung up from the Dallas call when he heard a hissing sound coming from the kitchen. The faucet had been dripping lately. He sighed and got up to go try to shut it off.

   Nothin' drives me crazier than dripping water, he was thinking as he moved toward the sink. He saw the smoke a moment too late.

   Hutch had spent all morning on the telephone and shuffling through the files on the Gunther case, trying to find a concrete connection among the deaths. He knew it was there; it was only a matter of finding it. Starsky had called after he'd spoken to the Detroit PD and had promised to call back after he spoke to the Dallas PD but he hadn't yet. Hutch at first assumed Starsky was waiting for a call back from the officers in charge – he knew he and Starsky didn't always return calls from other departments immediately if they were busy with something – so he didn't worry until the rumbling of his stomach made him look at the clock. It was after one. Starsky should have called by now.

   He picked up the phone and tried Starsky's. There was no answer. A chill of fear crept up his spine.

   You're being paranoid, he tried to tell himself. He's taking a nap or so absorbed in his latest model ship that he doesn't hear the phone. Maybe he took a walk to the bagel shop.

   It was no use. He grabbed his jacket and ran. Starsky was going to kill him. He was really tired of being mollycoddled and had insisted on being left alone to do some things for himself ... but Hutch's heart wouldn't listen to him, and it pounded with fear all the way to Starsky's place and all the way up the steps to the door. He tried knocking, first.

   "Starsk? Starsky!"

   No response. Hutch gave in to his fear and opened the door. The living room was deserted. It was only a moment before he noticed the odd smell in the apartment and the dizzy sensation. Instinct kicked in, and he yanked his shirt up over his face, pulled his gun and hurried to the kitchen, where he found Starsky, out cold on the floor.

   "It's some kind of gas," the doctor told Hutch and Dobey a few hours later in the hospital. "Military issue, we think. We're running an analysis. David's going to be all right, but he's going to be very sick for a couple of days. His lung wasn't healed enough to handle an assault like this and it's set him back. But if you hadn't arrived when you did," he glanced at Hutch, "we wouldn't be having this conversation."

   Hutch was still light-headed and a little nauseated from the effects of the gas on his own body in the few moments he'd breathed it before he found Starsky. He'd immediately opened the windows and turned on a fan, even before calling an ambulance, and Starsky had regained consciousness and had immediately been violently ill. There was no way to know exactly how long he'd breathed the stuff before Hutch got there.

   "Will there be any lasting effects?" Hutch asked. "Are you sure he's going to be all right?"

   "He should be fine," the doctor said reassuringly. "You need to sit down until you feel better and then you need to go home and rest the remainder of the day. You'll be good as new tomorrow, and he can go home tomorrow evening." He patted Hutch's shoulder and walked away.

   "Those bastards!" Hutch spat, sinking down in a chair. He looked up at Dobey. "They tried again!"

   "Calm down, Hutch," Dobey said. "We can’t prove it was Gunther."

   Hutch looked at his captain like he had just sprouted a third eye. "Who the hell else would it be? The old man can’t stand it that Starsky survived. He wants to finish what he started."

   Dobey sighed. "I agree that’s probably the answer and that’s the angle we’ll start looking at. I think we should send him underground."

   "Cap, Starsky is still healing. He doesn’t need to be switched from pillar to post until this trial is finished. I’ll keep an eye on him."

   "You can’t be there all the time, Hutch. The investigation, the depositions, be practical."

   "No. Think about it, Cap. That just won’t work. He needs too many people right now. We’d never be able to keep the leaks plugged between doctors, physical therapists, lab personnel, the pharmacy, and God knows who all else."

   "All right, then I’ll assign a black-and-white to him. From now on, he’s never alone."

   "Oh, that’ll go over big," Hutch said with a snort. "I’ll tell him. Dammit!"

   Hutch dropped his head down into his hands and rubbed his temples. The person responsible for this latest attempt on his best friend’s life was out there and Hutch was desperate to be sure nothing else happened. Starsky couldn’t take it. His system had already endured more than he should have been able to survive. Hutch’s thoughts were interrupted when the nurses pushed his partner out into the hall on a gurney, headed for the elevator. Hutch stood and fell into step beside the gurney, maneuvering so the pale man could see him better. Captain Dobey tagged along behind them, intending to go up to find out Starsky’s room number so he could order the guard.

   "How you feeling, Gordo?" he asked his decidedly green friend.

   "Remember when we went sailing last year?"

   Hutch remembered. They had gone out on a sailboat to do some whale watching on a day when the water was choppy. Starsky was horribly seasick. He swore he’d never get on another sailboat. The poor man had spent the first hour of the excursion clutching the railing and vomiting. The rest of the trip he’d been too weak and rubber-kneed to care.

   He had repeatedly muttered about ships with motors and how it was more fun to build scale models of sailing ships than to ride on one as a passenger.

   "Yeah, that bad?" Hutch answered.

   "Nope. Worse." Starsky said.

   Hutch winced at the thought. "Could be worse," he said, attempting to lighten the mood.

   Starsky did his best Marty Feldman impersonation, which really wasn’t all that good, and said, "Could be raining."

********

   A dark, smoky bar on Belmont was once again to be the meeting place for a hired gun and the man charged with seeing that Starsky never made it to the Gunther trial. He waited in a back booth, his face all but obscured in the poor lighting, wearing dark glasses and a knit cap that completely hid his short-cropped red hair. His boss would not accept failure. Mr. Bates had learned that lesson the hard way. Dale Hertig was not about to suffer the same fate, no matter how many hit men he had to hire.

   After a half-hour wait, a slim man dressed in army fatigues from the local surplus store slipped into the other side of the booth. He did not wear the look of a soldier who had been successful in his mission. They exchanged no greeting.

   "He survived it," the nervous hit man said.

   "Dammit!" Hertig growled. "I told you not to fail."

   "I did everything I was supposed to. The blond one was supposed to be at work. I swear to God it’s true what they say about those two having some sort of Twilight Zone connection between them. I stayed behind to make sure no one came in time. Another fifteen minutes or so and he’d have been finished."

   Hertig stuck a hand out of the booth, motioning for the bartender to send over another shot of whiskey for him and one for his companion.

   "I don’t have to report to the old man for another couple of days. He doesn’t want too much contact. Let’s just think up something else."

   "Don’t the old man want Hutchinson dead, too?"

   "Yeah, but he’s more interested in the partner. I think it galls him that Starsky survived the first hit. Then, his partner kept our other operative from finishing him in the ICU. He wants Starsky dead. Before you point it out, the old man knows it’s Hutchinson who has the most to testify about. He just doesn’t care."

   "Long as Starsky’s watchdog is there, that may be a problem. Besides, now they know we’re still after him, they’re sure to go to ground."

   The two men sat thinking about their dilemma. Neither of them wanted to meet their predecessors’ fates. Everyone who had failed James Marshall Gunther wound up dead. Both the man who tried to finish Starsky that night, and the one sent to kill Hutch in the hospital garage never made it to their arraignments. The man with the knife died at Hutch’s feet, shot by his associate. Jenny Brown died of a drug overdose a week after the shooting. Counting her, Mr. Bates, the two fake cops who riddled Starsky with bullets, the three mechanics from the hospital, and the six others Gunther had killed that same day, the score was Metro Detectives 13, bad guys 0. The only one to survive was Jenny Brown’s attorney. He was too hot to bump off at the time. The men now shakily sharing a shot of whiskey apiece feared they were about to become numbers 14 and 15 on the cops’ side of the scorecard. The small amount of checking the two detectives had done on the string of murders from that day had already been reported to Gunther. Time was not on their side.

   Hertig spoke first. "Okay. We’ve got to get rid of Hutchinson, and we’d better think something up fast… before he gets a chance to put his partner under wraps."

   "Car accident?" the hit man asked.

   "No. Too unpredictable."

   "Want me to shoot him? He’s probably at the hospital. I’d just have to wait for him near his car."

   "No. He’s onto that. He won’t make the mistake of going down to that garage without his guard up again. You know where he lives?"

   "Yeah, but he ain’t stayin’ there. He’s been at Starsky’s place."

   "Even better."

   The two men put their heads together to plan how to finish off both men in Starsky’s apartment. They would have to wait for Starsky to get out of the hospital to put that plan into motion.

PART TWO