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What Did I Miss? - Part One

By

Valerie Wells and Sue David
© March 2002

   The months since Starsky was gunned down in an assassination attempt had been painful both for him and for Hutch. As horrible as it was for Starsky, Hutch suffered, too. Seeing your best friend slipping away, and then climbing slowly and painfully back from the abyss was difficult. Hutch's scars were not physical, but they were just as deep. Starsky's complete recovery was both miraculous and a testament to the bond between the two detectives. His return to active duty brought a sense of pride, joy, and accomplishment to both Starsky and Hutch. However, a month after his return, both men knew there were some lingering problems. One problem in particular. Hutch was afraid to let his partner out of his sight.

   Hutch's constant worry over Starsky's safety and health was getting to them both. He knew he needed to let it go… to let things return to normal. Starsky had begun to chafe under his friend's ever-watchful expression and anxiety. He had an idea about something that might help. After a long shift followed by dinner and beers at Huggy's, he decided the time was right to mention it.

   "I've got an idea, Blintz," he said as he pulled the Torino over to let Hutch out at Venice Place.

   "Should I be worried?" Hutch replied with a smirk.

   "Ha, ha. No, really. I was thinking about driving up to Santa Marta this weekend for the '57 Thunderbird car show. What do you think?"

   Hutch hesitated for a moment before he answered, "Well, I would think it was a great idea, except you know I can't go this weekend. Branson Joyce is flying through here on his way to Singapore and I promised to pick him up at the airport for lunch on Saturday at around noon. He's got a four hour layover."

   Starsky knew that. Branson was one of Hutch's college friends. Starsky had already begged off on attending the lunch, knowing Hutch would have more fun if he didn't feel like Starsky was sitting there bored to tears. He thought this was the perfect opportunity for Hutch to let go a little. He wanted to see the car show and it would only take him out of town overnight. Just the break he needed to get his friend to finally realize that he was fine and he didn't need to be watched over constantly.

   Starsky shut off the engine and turned to look at Hutch. "Buddy, I really want to go to the car show. I know you'd enjoy it, but it's only on Saturday. Besides, I haven't been out of Bay City since May."

   Hutch's face paled a little at that as he nodded his understanding of why his partner hadn't been out of town in months. "I know, Gordo, but.…"

   "No buts, buddy. Not this time." Hutch started to protest but Starsky put a hand on his arm and fixed him with his most purposeful stare. "Listen to me. You have to let go. I'm fine. Really. I swear to you that I don't need to be carried around on a satin pillow."

   "I know you don't…."

   "No, you don't know that. I know you mean well, but I need to feel like things are back to normal. This will give us a chance to be apart for a couple of days and nothing is going to happen. That has to help."

   "Two days? I thought it was just a one day show."

   "Well, you wouldn't want me driving back all exhausted, would you? I know I still have a few limitations, like I can't burn the candle at both ends like I used to. I'll go to the show, then spend the night up there. That way, I can get plenty of rest and drive back in time to go out to lunch with you on Sunday. I'll tell you all about it."

   Hutch knew he wasn't going to win an argument against this trip. He also knew that Starsky was right. This was a good opportunity for them both to get a break from the constant tension between them since Starsky came back to active duty.

   "You'll call me Saturday night?" he asked tentatively.

   "I promise. I won't take any wooden nickels, I won't take candy from strangers, I'll eat my vegetables, and if you're good the rest of the week, I'll even take my vitamins," Starsky quipped with a grin.

   Resisting that sincere, hopeful grin was something Hutch never seemed to be able to do. "I know you're going to go no matter what I say, buddy. You don't need my permission. I want you to know how much I appreciate you making it seem like I had a say. I really do."

   "You always have a say, Hutch. I know I don't need permission, but you have a say." Starsky squeezed Hutch's arm affectionately and added, "Promise me you won't spend the whole time worried."

   Hutch laughed at the suggestion. "Funny, Gordo. I'll see you in the morning." He climbed out of the car and waved from the door as Starsky pulled away into the night.

   The detectives worked a lot of overtime that week. By the time Thursday rolled around, they had logged so many hours, Captain Dobey gave them an extra day off, allowing them the first three day weekend they'd had since Starsky's return. Starsky decided to leave on Friday afternoon instead of Saturday morning. After sleeping late, he went to Hutch's for lunch and to break it to his friend that he was making a weekend of it. Hutch stood at his front window, watching Starsky drive off in the middle of the afternoon. His stomach was in knots, but he had smiled and wished Starsky a good trip.

   "This is ridiculous, Hutchinson," he said to himself as he paced into the greenhouse and started to check his jungle, "he's a grown man and he's fine. Stop worrying."

   He watered a little, misted a few ferns and then started talking to himself again. "Stop worrying. Right. Stop breathing?" In frustration, he set the watering can down hard enough to slosh water onto the floor. Maybe he needed a distraction. He decided to go down to The Pits for a beer and some of Huggy's cheerful conversation.

********

   Starsky headed up the coast road and was enjoying every minute of the drive. The Torino had been more easily restored to her pre-shooting state than her owner had. Merle the Earl fixed everything from the broken out glass to the bullet scars on her front grille. The damage to her nose caused the engine to need an overhaul and Merle did such a good job, she purred. Getting Hutch to agree to ride in the car after it was fixed was a challenge. He had put the repairs in motion and even paid for them, with a hefty discount from Merle. That didn't keep him from breaking out in a cold sweat the first few times they'd ridden in it.

   The sunset over the Pacific was salve to Starsky's soul. He had to admit to himself that the few hours it would take to get up the coast would have been more fun with his partner, but he knew this was the right thing to do.

   As was typical on a Friday afternoon, the coast road was crowded. His progress was slower than he would have liked. He never noticed the car that had been behind him since Venice. Several cars back, a primer gray Mercury Comet was his shadow. Randy was following him. He had the day off, and after eating breakfast with his mother, he hoped to quietly tail the two detectives. When Starsky didn't come out of his apartment until mid-morning, Randy knew he didn't plan to go to work that day. He had followed him to Hutch's and waited. When Starsky headed for the northbound side of the coast road, he knew the man was leaving town early.

   Randy Langley was not well. He had suffered from severe psychosis for years. His parents got him a job he managed to hang onto as a janitor at Memorial Hospital. That's where he first noticed Detective David Starsky. When they brought Starsky to the hospital, bleeding to death and teetering on the brink, Randy was there doing his job. He watched with fascination as they rushed the critically wounded officer into the trauma unit and desperately tried to save his life. Randy was intelligent, even if he was psychotic. When he was on his medications, he didn't hear the voices and he was able to function. However, one of his problems was a tendency toward obsessive behavior. The drama of the doctors' life saving efforts and the subsequent days where they were still sure their patient would die held his attention like nothing ever had. When Starsky survived, he hovered as much as he could, being unobtrusive and listening to conversations. He was continually amazed by how little people noticed janitors. Randy was able to blend into almost any setting he wanted. He couldn't go into the operating rooms, but almost nowhere else was barred to him.

   In time, Randy's fascination took a dangerous turn. He began to imagine that he WAS Detective David Starsky. His already striking resemblance to the healing cop aided his fantasies. Over the following months, he started to dress like Starsky and pick up his mannerisms. He had plenty of chances for observation through the long hospital stay. When Starsky left the hospital and began his physical therapy at the adjacent ambulatory care center, Randy asked for a transfer to that building. Having no reason to refuse, his boss had allowed it. Randy was a good worker. He was quiet and kept to himself. The crew supervisor had no idea that his employee was stalking a patient.

   When Starsky returned to duty, Randy continued to follow him whenever he could. He was clever and careful. No one knew what he was doing, not even his mother. She did wonder where he went when he wasn't working at the hospital, and why he had taken to a new style of dress, but as long as he was cooperative and seemed well enough, she didn't meddle.

   Not long after he decided that he was the real David Starsky, he also decided that he needed to do something to reclaim his life. He'd have to get the other man out of the way somehow, but the problem was that his target was never alone. His blond partner was always there. Morning, noon, and night. Where the imposter went, the partner was sure to follow.

   Randy didn't want to kill the other man. He just wanted his identity. He wanted to know why Hutchinson didn't recognize that this other man wasn't his partner. He wanted his place. When he overheard their conversation about the car show at a diner one day, he knew that would be his perfect chance. He had followed the imposter there, complete with a ball cap pulled down over his ears and dark glasses. He knew it would be bad if the imposter recognized him. He might do something to prevent what was going to happen. If he didn't, his confused partner might. Yes, Randy was careful.

   A few times, Hutch did have the sense that they were being watched. He'd look around as if he expected to see something, but he could never put his finger on it. This lingering discomfort had contributed to his recent overprotectiveness and that worked in Randy's favor. Instead of believing it, the imposter chalked it up to simple worrying.

   Starsky checked in at his hotel and got ready to go out for a late dinner. Before he left, he decided to give Hutch a call. Although he didn't want to encourage Hutch's guard dog instincts, he also didn't want to drive his partner over the edge with worry. When he didn't find him at home, he tried The Pits.

   "Hey, Blondie," he said cheerfully when Hutch came to the phone. "You okay?"

   "Who me?" Hutch asked. "I'm just fine, how 'bout you?"

   Hutch sounded a little toasted. Starsky chuckled, knowing that Hutch must have gone over to Huggy's for some brews and pool to take his mind off of his absent partner. "Well, you sound extra fine, buddy. You let Huggy drive you home, okay?"

   Hutch laughed. "I will. He already took my keys. I'm just playing a little pool and kicking back. Drive okay?"

   "Perfect. Uneventful. Look, Hutch, you go have a good time and don't worry. I'm not gonna call again, so don't freak. I'll be at your place on Sunday by noon. Now lemme talk to Huggy, okay?"

   "Okay. Have fun," Hutch said as he handed the phone back to Huggy.

   "What it is?" Huggy asked.

   "Keep an eye on him for me, will ya? He said you took his keys."

   "I snagged 'em after the first three brews. The Bear's on it."

   "Thanks, Hug. He's got a friend to see at the airport tomorrow around noon. Will you make sure he's among the living in time?"

   "Can't be late, to make that date," Huggy said. "You got it."

   Starsky hung up the phone with a smile. Huggy was a good friend. He'd make sure that Hutch made it home safely and that he got up to make his trip to the airport to see Branson.

   He left the hotel and walked down to a local pub for dinner, some brews, and to play a little pool. Hutch had the right idea, just the thing to relax. After enjoying his dinner, he managed to get into a couple of productive pool games, winning fifty dollars during the evening. He didn't usually bet that much with anyone other than his close friends, but no one knew him here, so he decided to have some fun. Starsky was an excellent pool player. After his last win, he amiably bought a round for the men he'd played against. Raising a beer in a toast to his pool buddies, he absent-mindedly pushed forty dollars into the watch pocket of his jeans. He had no idea how handy that would be by the next day.

   Done for the evening and getting sleepy, Starsky slipped out the back door to the pub into the alley. He was planning to take a shortcut back to the hotel. He wasn't planning on Randy Langley.

   After following Starsky into the dark alley, Randy crept up behind him. Starsky's mind was on other things and he didn't expect to hear the voice behind him that ordered him to freeze.

   Raising his hands, he did as he was told. "Take it easy," he said to his unseen assailant. He had no way of knowing if the man behind him had a gun.

   "Don't turn around," Randy said. "You've been impersonating a police officer and I'm here to take back my identity."

   Oh, great. A mental case. "Don't know what you mean. Let me turn around and talk to you."

   "I said don't turn around," Randy repeated menacingly. He had come prepared. Randy didn't have a gun, but he did have a police style nightstick with him. He swung and hit Starsky on the head with it before any additional words were spoken between them. Langley stood looking down at the bleeding, unconscious man at his feet. He grabbed Starsky by the arms and dragged him into an adjacent alley, behind a dumpster. He quickly bent to retrieve Starsky's wallet, jewelry, keys, badge, holster, and gun. Starsky always carried it since his recovery, no matter where he was... both on and off duty.

   After strapping on the holster and settling the other items, Langley bent to feel for a pulse. Starsky was so still, for a brief moment he feared the blow had killed him. Satisfied that the man who used to call himself David Starsky wasn't dead, he smiled before he turned to leave him and said, "You... have the right to remain silent."

********

   Hutch's phone rang the next morning. After seven rings, he scooped up the receiver and muttered, "H'lo." Just that one word set his head pounding.

   "Rise and shine, Blondie," Huggy's too cheerful voice called.

   "Huggy?" Hutch tried to focus on the clock. "What the hell time is it?"

   "Ten-thirty. You have a friend to meet at the airport, right?"

   Hutch rubbed his hand across his eyes and said, "Right. Shit. How'd I get back here?"

   "I drove you home last night. Your car's there."

   "Thanks."

   Hutch hung up and dragged himself out of bed for a glass of water, some aspirin, and a shower. Maybe by the time he reached the airport, he'd be feeling human again. Catching a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, he mumbled, "Better wear sunglasses."

********

   Sitting outside at a sidewalk café, the dark haired man was watching a pretty young girl who was eating a solitary breakfast while reading the paper. The car show was just a few blocks away but he was in no hurry. He stepped inside the café and picked up the coffee carafe.

   "Morning," he said to her with his most winning smile, pouring her another cup of coffee.

   "Good morning," she answered looking up at him. "Hey, you're not my waiter, you were just sitting over there," she said as she pointed to his recently vacated table.

   "Nope, not a waiter," he said, smiling again. He stepped inside to return the carafe and then returned to her table. "Mind if I join you?"

   "Please," she invited.

   "I'm Laura Douglas," she said extending her hand to him.

   "David Starsky, pleased to meet you."

   They sat in pleasant conversation, drinking coffee and getting to know each other. Laura was an interior decorator on vacation from Vermont. Her aunt lived in the area. She found out that her breakfast companion was a Bay City police detective. Homicide. The man seemed nice enough, and her relative was busy for the day. She agreed to accompany him to the car show he'd driven up the coast to see, grateful to have someone to talk to on her next to last day of vacation.

   Over the course of the day, the couple enjoyed the car show. Starsky knew a lot about '57 Thunderbirds. Laura enjoyed his company so much, she agreed to let him give her a ride back to her aunt's house, to let her know she was going out with her new friend for the evening. Her aunt was less than thrilled, but the stranger seemed all right. Something was odd about him, but he didn't appear to be dangerous.

   Laura thought that the conversation over their early dinner was a little strained. Her companion seemed to have endless information to share about his recent life. He'd described his brush with death and his recovery. Yet, he seemed strangely quiet on the subject of his more distant past. She told him about her parents, her sisters, her life in Vermont, where she went to high school, and all of the other things couples tell each other in the getting-to-know-you stage. Beyond telling her about his boss, and his partner, David Starsky was not forthcoming with any additional facts about his life. When he hedged her questions about police work and cases he'd been involved in, she started to get wary. His recitation became increasingly repetitive and sketchy, bouncing from topic to topic without warning.

   "Dave," she said, "I think maybe it's getting a little cold out here. Maybe you'd better give me a ride home, now." They had gone for a walk on a secluded beach, leaving the Torino parked nearby. Laura was beginning to worry that there was something wrong with her new friend and it made her uncomfortable.

   "Why?" he asked her. "Don't you like me?"

   The look on his face spelled trouble. Laura had seen that look before in a friend from school who was more than a little unstable. Her wariness was becoming fear.

   "Sure, I do, Dave," she soothed. "I'm just tired, you know. I'm leaving early tomorrow morning and I need to get home and pack. You understand." She laid a hand on his arm.

   The man next to her looked completely deflated. He felt off and his mental condition was swinging wildly. Randy had been off his medications for too long and he was no longer able to control his thoughts or behavior. He had enjoyed his day as David Starsky, but he'd started to lose the threads of who he was. He could hear the voices in his head, telling him he was worthless... telling him that he knew what he had to do.

   He sat down heavily in the sand and put his hands over his ears. "Tell them to stop," he said, looking up at Laura with dark blue eyes filled with pain and confusion.

   "Tell who to stop?" she asked gently, kneeling beside him.

   "I can't... Everything that's happened, Laura. Everything that I've done."

   Laura's worry was increasing. She looked around the beach to see if anyone else might be around to help her if she needed it, but they were alone.

   "Whatever's wrong can't be that bad," she said, trying to make him feel better.

   Before she knew what was happening, Starsky had pulled out the gun he'd shown her earlier in the day. Fearful of what would happen next, she watched him with wide eyes as he turned it over and over in his hands.

   "I thought people would like me. I thought it would all be okay." This turn of the conversation was bordering on incoherent as Randy's reality randomly shifted.

   "Please put it away," she begged him quietly. "Let's go. Maybe we can call your friend, was it Hutch?"

   He looked up at her in what appeared to be terror. "NO!" he shouted. "I can't. He won't understand, he won't like what I've done."

   Laura was desperate to find the right words, but didn't know how to help a man she barely knew. "But you said he was your best friend. You said he helped you get better after you were hurt. I know he'd want to help you now. Please, Dave."

   The look on his face crossed rapidly from fear, to hurt, to self-loathing, to sudden acceptance.

   "No," he said calmly, his eyes bright. "Tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I never meant to hurt him."

   That was the last thing he said to her, before he turned the gun on himself and fired a single shot. He was dead before he fell back on the sand.

********

   At seven in the evening, the phone rang at the Dobey house. Edith answered it in the kitchen. Her husband was in the living room helping Cal build a science project, but the call was for him.

   "Hal," Edith called from the kitchen doorway, "the phone is for you."

   "I'm kind of tied up here, can you ask who it is?" The Dobey men were putting the finishing touches on the tri-fold mounting board Cal would use at the science fair the following week. When Edith returned to the living room and told him it was the Santa Marta medical examiner, he sighed and told her he'd take it in his den.

   Captain Dobey closed the door behind him and went to sit behind his desk. He hated it when work interfered with the small amount of time he had with his family, but it couldn't be helped.

   "I have it, Edith," he said as he picked up the phone. He waited to hear her hang up the extension and said, "This is Captain Harold Dobey."

   "Captain Dobey," the taut voice on the other end of the line started. "This is Doctor Michael Goldwyn, Santa Marta medical examiner. I'm sorry to disturb you at your home and on a Saturday."

   "Don't worry about it, what can I do for you?"

   The man hesitated. Then he started to speak slowly, "Does a Detective David Starsky work for you?"

   The hairs on the back of Dobey's neck stood on end when he heard that name. He knew Starsky had gone up the coast for the weekend. The man had talked about the trip all week. Even the other night over a dinner at a diner near Metro, he had talked about how happy he was to be going to that car show. Dobey knew what it was all about, but he played along and said nothing to let on that he knew Starsky's motivations. He didn't often go out for dinner with his detectives, but they were all working late and he had a hard time refusing Starsky's invitation that night.

   "Captain Dobey?" Goldwyn said when the other man had been silent for too long.

   "Yes, I'm sorry. Yes, he's one of my men. Is there some problem?" He dreaded the answer to that question.

   "He had an emergency contact number in his wallet. I tried to contact his partner, Detective Ken Hutchinson, but I couldn't locate him." Goldwyn was not anxious to deliver this kind of news.

   "What's happened?" Dobey asked.

   "Well, there's no easy way to say this, Captain Dobey. I have your detective here at my facility. I'm terribly sorry, but he's dead."

   Dobey was silent again for a few moments. He was glad he was sitting down already. Finally, he said, "Did you say that David Starsky is dead?"

   "Yes, I'm very sorry."

   "Dear God," Dobey said, feeling his heart sink to his knees. "How did it happen?"

   Goldwyn cleared his throat. "I'm really sorry to tell you, but I'm afraid he committed suicide."

   "He WHAT?" Dobey shouted into the phone.

   On the other side of the door, Cal heard his father's raised voice. Concerned, he went into the kitchen to get his mother.

   "He committed suicide, Captain, at around five-thirty this evening."

   "No," Dobey said, shaking his head in disbelief as if the man on the other end of the phone could see it. "No. No way. Not Dave Starsky, he would never...." Dobey stopped and switched into investigative mode. "Are you sure it's David Starsky you have?"

   "Yes, I'm sure. A young woman who witnessed and reported the suicide identified the body. He had all of his identification with him, even his badge. There's no doubt."

   Dobey didn't want to hear the answer to the next question, but he had to ask. "How?"

   "Well, I haven't done an autopsy, yet. But, based on the weapon found in his hand, and the condition of the body, I'd say he died of a single, self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head fired from a 9mm semi-automatic pistol."

   The captain was stunned beyond belief. "What's next?" he quietly asked.

   "Since this happened in my jurisdiction, I'll have to do a post mortem. I'm willing to wait a couple of days on that if you or his partner want to come up here before we proceed. When do you think someone could get here?"

   "Thanks. Yes, I think his partner will want to do that. We'll be there sometime in the morning."

   The other man paused and then said, "I'll just come on in at around ten and wait until you arrive. Please accept my sincere condolences. I know how hard this must be for you."

   After they hung up, the captain dropped his head into his hands. He heard a light knock on the closed door and Edith's voice calling to him.

   "Harold? Is everything all right?"

   "Come on in," he answered.

   Stepping into the room and closing the door behind her, Edith was dismayed by the look on her husband's face. A single tear running down his cheek caught her eye and frightened her. She hadn't seen her husband cry since his partner died, many years in the past.

   "This is going to kill him," the big man muttered.

   "Hal, what's happened?"

   "How can I tell him?" he asked, ignoring her question.

   In answer, Dobey stood up and walked toward her. He put his arms around her and told her what he'd just heard. How could this happen? Everything was going right for Starsky. He'd bounced back from his injuries and come back to the police force, defying all the odds.

   After she'd calmed down a bit, with tears running down her face, Edith said, "Sweet Jesus, Harold. Ken. How are you going to tell him? You're right. This will kill him. Oh, dear Lord, what could have happened?"

   The two adults composed themselves before they left the den. They agreed that Edith would tell the children that something had happened to Starsky, but not that he'd killed himself.

   "Go find Ken," she said. "I'll tell them after you're gone."

********

   "This is Missing Persons," Officer Kovack said.

   "Hello, this is Mrs. Roberta Langley. I'd like to report my son missing."

   "Yes ma'am." Kovack sat up straighter in his chair and got a pad and pencil to take the report.

   "Name and age of the child?" he asked, assuming the missing son was just a little boy.

   "Randall Peter Langley," she answered, "and he's not a child. He's thirty-two."

   The officer's face hardened a little. "Oh. How long has he been gone?"

   "I haven't seen him since yesterday at breakfast."

   "Ma'am, your son is not a minor. What makes you think he's missing?"

   Roberta Langley sobbed softly on the other end of the line. "You don't understand, Officer Kovack. Randy isn't right. I've been in his room and found out he hasn't been taking his medications. Randy is a paranoid schizophrenic with several other mental problems. He's tried to commit suicide in the past. I'm concerned that he may be a danger to himself or to someone else." The mother of a schizophrenic knew the right words to get the action she wanted.

   That got Kovack's attention. "All right, Mrs. Langley. Give me your address and I'll send some officers over to speak with you."

********

   Branson's plane was delayed. He and Hutch sat in the airport lounge enjoying a little more conversation before he finally boarded. The two men had passed a pleasant afternoon reminiscing. When they were done rehashing old times, Branson talked about his job and Hutch about his. The conversation inevitably turned to his absent partner and what he'd been through.

   "I really would like to meet Starsky. I'll be back through here in two weeks. Maybe I can arrange a longer layover."

   "He'd like that. Let me know when you'll be here and we'll come get you. Try to stay a couple of days. There's a lot to do around here. We might have to work some of it, but I'll see what I can do."

   They shook hands and Branson headed off through the gate, leaving Hutch standing in the waiting area at loose ends on a Saturday evening. He looked at his watch, seeing that it was a little before six p.m. He thought briefly about going to the movies, but decided against it. For lack of a better idea, he headed back over to The Pits.

   When he walked in and sat at the bar, Huggy smiled at him and said, "Round two, Blondie?"

   "No, thanks, Huggy. No hair of the dog. Just get me a cup of coffee and a chef's salad, will ya?"

   "Comin' right up. I'll even join you for dinner."

   A little before eight o'clock, Hutch was surprised to see Captain Dobey walk into Huggy's bar. He didn't like the look on the captain's face at all. In fact, that look scared him. A lot.

   The captain had driven over to Hutch's, but didn't see his car there and the lights were off in the apartment. After that, he tried to contact his detective on the police radio, but there was no answer. Hutch was off duty. He could be anywhere. Hoping that Hutch would seek out Huggy's company for the evening, since Starsky was away, he'd headed for The Pits on the chance that Hutch would be there. Seeing Hutch's latest beat-up, nondescript Ford parked there left him both relieved and dismayed. This might be the hardest thing he'd ever had to tell one of his officers. He'd given news like this to other partners, but other partners were not the dynamic duo.

   "Hutch," Dobey said as he approached the back booth. "Huggy," he greeted the other man.

   "Cap?" Hutch questioned. "Something wrong?"

   Dobey's eyes couldn't hide that something terrible was wrong. All he said was, "Is there somewhere we can go to talk?"

   "You can go in my office," Huggy answered.

   "Thanks, Huggy."

   "Cap," Hutch interrupted, staying his boss' progress with one of his hands. "What is it?"

   Dobey shook his head. "Not out here. It's important, but not out here."

   Huggy was chilled. "Right back there," he said pointing the way for Dobey, even though he knew Hutch would know where his office was.

   "Huggy, I think you'd better come, too."

   Now, Hutch wasn't just scared. He was terrified. He followed the other two men back to Huggy's office and took a seat while Huggy closed the door. Dobey remained standing, eyes on the floor, and there were several moments of tense silence before he spoke.

   "Hutch, I don't know how to tell you this," he said, his voice choked with the effort it took to speak at all.

   Hutch's heart nearly stopped beating and wordlessly, Huggy moved closer and put a hand on his shoulder. "Just tell us, Cap'n," Huggy said quietly, deliberately choosing the word "us" to let Hutch know he would stand by him and help in any way he could.

   Dobey nodded. "I got a call from Santa Marta today," he said. "The - the medical examiner's office."

   Huggy's hand tightened on Hutch's shoulder.

   Dobey met Hutch's eyes. "Hutch - Starsky's dead."

   "No," Hutch whispered.

   "How?" Huggy demanded. "What happened?"

   Dobey shook his head and waited a moment to collect himself. "Suicide," he finally said, very softly. "A single shot to the head."

   "No!" Hutch said. His temples throbbed and his heart pounded now, where a moment before he'd felt as if it had stopped for good. "That isn't possible!"

   "He had his ID on him, son," Dobey said gently. "His badge, his wallet - "

   "Why would Starsky kill himself?" Hutch was now trembling all over, and Huggy slid his arm all the way around his shoulders. It didn't seem to do any good. "He had everything to live for! He hasn't been depressed! He ... " Hutch's voice failed and he had to stop for fear of falling apart in front of the other two.

   "Maybe he didn't let you see it," Dobey offered sympathetically. "Sometimes once the decision is made - "

   "No!" Hutch shot to his feet. "I know him inside and out. He can't hide anything from me. He couldn't pretend everything was fine if he was that despondent!"

   Huggy tugged him gently back and gave him a little push to make him sit back down. "Easy, Hutch."

   "My God," Hutch said. "My God."

   "I'm going there tomorrow to - to claim the body," Dobey said. "I haven't called his mother yet. I wanted to tell you first."

   Hutch had gone so pale that both the other men looked at each other worriedly. "I'm going, too," Hutch said, lifting anguished eyes to his captain. "I'm going, too."

   "Sure, sure," Dobey said. "I'll come by and get you before I go."

   "Don't you call Rachel until we've seen him," Hutch said.

   "I won't."

   "Are you positive there ain't been some mistake?" Huggy asked.

   "He had his badge and wallet," Dobey said.

   "God," Huggy said bleakly, sinking down beside Hutch. "God, what could have happened?" Once he was seated, he realized how badly Hutch was trembling and tightened his arm around him. Hutch's eyes were like glowing blue coals in the pallor of his face, so filled with shock and pain that it hurt Huggy to look into them. "Hutch, m'man, you know we're here for ya, right?"

   Hutch shook his head blankly and looked down at the floor. He was breathing in short, raspy bursts, struggling to maintain control and losing the battle. "Starsk, oh, my God, Starsk," he whispered. "Why didn't you -" Suddenly, he pulled away from Huggy and staggered to his feet, wrenching the door open and leaving so quickly that neither Huggy nor Dobey could stop him.

   "Go after him!" Dobey bellowed at Huggy, knowing he couldn't keep up himself.

   Huggy shot out the door without a word, and Dobey finally sat down, in the chair Hutch had vacated, and dropped his head in his hands.

   Huggy reached the back door of The Pits just in time to see Hutch spin the tires of his car as he sped off down the alley, ignoring Huggy's frantic calling of his name.

   Huggy sagged against the doorway and watched him go, shaking his head and swallowing a lump in his throat. Now was no time for Hutch to be alone and worse still, behind the wheel. Dobey came up behind him. The captain had given in to his own grief for a few minutes but was back in control now.

   "Missed him?"

   Huggy nodded. "He tore outta here like a blond tornado."

   Dobey sighed. "I'll put out a call -"

   "No, don't," Huggy said. "Leave him be. Maybe he needs to be alone right now. I don't like it. Starsky wouldn't like it. But chasin' him might just spook him."

   Dobey considered that and finally made a "harrumph" noise in his throat. "All right. I don't like it, either, though. And if he doesn't come back or we don't hear from him pretty soon, I'm making that call anyway."

   "I'll make it if you don't," Huggy said.

********

   He awoke with a blinding pain in his head and no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there. He sat up gingerly, feeling the goose egg on the back of his head. A little blood was dried there, but apparently it hadn't bled much. Damn, but it hurt, though.

   His vision was a little off, and the pounding headache was making him sick to his stomach. Concussion? If so, he needed a hospital. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, his vision was better. Still distorted, but a little less so. He scooted carefully until he could rest his back against the dumpster. He wasn't up to trying to stand, just yet. But where was he?

   Gently, he turned his head and looked up and down the alley. It wasn't familiar. Nothing rang a bell. He looked down at his hands and noticed a lighter band of skin around his left wrist. A watch? Then it was gone. That made him think to feel his pockets for a wallet. That, too, was gone, though he could tell by the sag of his hip pocket that he habitually carried one there. In fact, there was nothing in any of his pockets except a couple of twenty-dollar bills folded tightly and wedged into his watch pocket. He'd been robbed, apparently, and the robber had missed that money because of where it was.

   Dimly in his memory, he heard a voice saying, "No pants? No badge? No gun? No dignity?"

   It made no sense. Maybe it was something he'd heard on a TV show? What would he be doing with a badge or a gun?

   And that made him realize he not only didn't know where he was, he didn't know who he was. He couldn't remember his own name.

   That was ridiculous, he tried to tell himself. Of course he knew his own name. He was just hurting so bad it wouldn't immediately come to him. He had a head injury, after all, and if it was bad enough he didn't know his name, then he definitely needed a doctor. Using the dumpster to steady himself, he cautiously rose to his feet. That made his stomach roil and his vision went black briefly, but he stubbornly hung onto the dumpster and after a few minutes, his legs steadied and his stomach settled down. There was a door nearby, and as he stood there trying to muster the will to walk, that door opened and a girl in her early twenties came out carrying a plastic bag toward the dumpster.

   She stopped when she saw him, her eyes wide with dismay, and not a little fear.

   "Don't be scared," he said. "I've been robbed. Is there a phone someplace I could use?"

   She shifted her weight uncertainly, and he could see her looking him over. Whatever she saw must have convinced her he was telling the truth. She came a little closer. "Did he hurt you?"

   "Knocked me on the head," he said. "I'm feelin' kinda woozy. Think I need a doctor."

   She dropped the garbage and took his arm. "Come on in here. We got a phone you can use."

   It was a bar, the place she took him to, moving slowly once she realized he really was hurt. It looked vaguely familiar, but when he tried to concentrate on that feeling, his headache worsened noticeably. So he stopped that and sank wearily down on a stool at the bar. It had only been a short walk, but he was as winded and weak as if he'd run a marathon.

   "Let me call you an ambulance," she said. "You look awful. No offense."

   He gave a weak grin. "None taken. I imagine I do look pretty bad."

   She turned toward the phone, but before she could make the call, an older man came from the back room. "We're not open yet," he barked. "Don't you think you took enough money from my customers last night?"

   "He's hurt, Mel," the girl said. "Somebody jumped him and hit him on the head."

   "What do you mean, I took money from your customers?"

   "Hustlin' pool, David," Mel said, softening it with a grin that showed he hadn't really been angry, but just fooling around. "I never saw the like in all my born days. You even whomped Howie, and nobody whomps Howie!"

   David. His name was David. Okay, that sounded right. It felt comfortable and familiar. And now that his head was beginning to clear a bit, he remembered playing pool the night before. That's where the $40 had come from. He'd won it.

   "So how bad ya hurt?" Mel came closer and peered at him.

   "Lump on the noggin," David said.

   "Need an aspirin?"

   "He needs a doctor, dummy," the girl said tartly. "Get out of my way so I can call an ambulance."

   "Naw, I don't need an ambulance," David said. "I think an aspirin and some coffee will fix me up."

   It had suddenly occurred to him that if he made money hustling pool, he probably lived a little outside the law, if not a lot outside the law. An ambulance might mean a police report on the robbery and that might mean a sticky situation for HIM. No, he'd take the aspirin and skip the cops.   

********

   Hutch drove too fast and half-blinded by the tears he refused to let fall, not even sure where he was going, just knowing he had to go somewhere.

   It just couldn't be true. It just couldn't be. Starsky had been cheerful, happy, excited about the car show, intent to prove he was really okay -

   Or had he?

   Dobey had a point. Often, suicide victims' families insisted their loved ones had not only been fine, but had been especially cheerful in the last days leading up to the suicide. Hutch couldn't remember the technical jargon, but for some reason really depressed people, once they'd made up their minds to end their lives, often felt a giddy sort of relief that the decision was made and acted accordingly.

   "No!" he said aloud and angrily.

   That wasn't the man he knew better than he knew himself. He knew every shade of Starsky's moods. He knew when Starsky was lying to him. He knew when Starsky was hiding a surprise from him. He knew when Starsky was sick and trying not to let on.

   He'd have known if Starsky had been depressed, despondent or, dear God, suicidal!

   Wouldn't he?

   But what if he didn't know Starsky as well as he thought? He remembered all the suicides he'd had to deal with over the years of his police career. How stunned many of the families were. Some had known, somewhere deep inside, and had refused to deal with it. Others had known and feared that this would happen. But some had had no idea, no clue, that their son or daughter or brother or wife would actually take that fatal step.

   Sometimes, he'd thought - and had said to Starsky aloud - that the families who didn't seem to know anything was wrong must not have been as close to the victim as they'd believed they were.

   No. He and Starsky were like brothers. Closer than brothers.

   Weren't they?

   If something had been wrong - if Starsky had been that depressed (but over WHAT? He was so much better, healthier, soon to be completely back to normal!) - wouldn't Hutch have known? Guessed? Seen something different in Starsky's manner, mood, expression?

   He searched his memory. He couldn't think of anything.

   Except ... Starsky had grown tired of Hutch's babying him. He'd mentioned it more than once. He'd complained, mostly jokingly, but still complaining, that Hutch was making him feel like an invalid.

   It had hurt Starsky's pride, Hutch knew, to be weak, in need of assistance. Starsky was a man used to taking care of himself. He'd had to be, for many years now. Independence was important to Starsky. He depended on Hutch for friendship, loyalty, emotional support, and to watch his back on the streets, but he could and did take care of himself. And though he had recognized that he needed help while he recovered, he had worked hard to get back his strength - and independence.

   And Hutch had been reluctant to relinquish the role of caregiver.

   Could that be it? Starsky had given up hope? Had he believed that the reason Hutch had not let go was because Starsky was never going to be back to normal? Had he decided death was preferable to living that way?

   Had Hutch somehow missed the signs that Starsky wanted to die?

   If he had seen something, if he had asked the right questions, if he had reached out at the right moment, could he have prevented this?

   Hutch realized he'd left the city some time ago and was driving along a two-lane highway with trees on either side. He pulled off on a country road and stopped the car, trembling, with an ache in his gut and chest. He looked down at his hands on the wheel, trying to center himself, stop the world from spinning. It didn't work. He struggled against the burning ache in his heart and finally lost. Folding his arms over the steering wheel, he laid his head down and cried.

   "Starsky..." he whispered brokenly. "I want you back!"

   Captain Dobey and Huggy were both worried about their friend. They waited at The Pits for a while, then Dobey headed back home to be with his family. Huggy had driven around town three times looking for Hutch. He found no sign of him in any of the places he hoped he'd be. Hutch had been gone for a few hours when the captain decided he'd better call out an APB for his missing detective. The phone rang before he had a chance to make that call.

   "No sign of him, Captain," Huggy said. "I've looked everywhere our blond brother goes when he's worked up and then some."

   "Thanks, Huggy. I guess I'd better call it in," Dobey said with a weary sigh. His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock on the kitchen door. Through the glass in the door, he could see it was Hutch. Edith went to answer it. "Wait, Huggy, he's here."

   "Thank God," Huggy said.

   "I'll call you later." Dobey hung up the phone and crossed the kitchen to where his wife stood with her arms wrapped around the remaining half of the dynamic duo. The hour was late and Cal and Rosie were already in bed. The captain was glad they weren't up to see Hutch in this state. He was pale, shaking, and had obviously been crying.

   "Oh, Ken, I'm so sorry," Edith soothed.

   Hutch had dropped his head onto Edith's shoulder. He nodded weakly. Captain Dobey had never seen him look so devastated. When the doctor told him that Starsky would die after Gunther's hit, the look on Hutch's face was close to this. Then, his partner was still alive. Barely clinging to life, but alive. Also, if he had died, Starsky would have gone out on the job, under fire. Not giving up on life. Not destroying his life and his partner's with a single bullet. Just as Dobey was wondering if Hutch could survive it, the distraught man started to crumble. He leaned too heavily on Edith for her to support. Dobey quickly put an arm under Hutch and maneuvered him into a chair at the kitchen table.

   "Brandy," he said to Edith quietly as he pulled a chair over to face Hutch. He let go of Hutch's shoulder cautiously, unsure as to whether the man could sit up in the chair.

   "I want to go up there now," Hutch said.

   Dobey shook his head. "No. You need to get some sleep first." He took the glass of brandy from Edith and put it in Hutch's hand. "Drink it."

   Hutch shook his head, but Dobey insisted. He drank it, with a wry chuckle.

   "What's funny?" Dobey asked.

   "Starsky," Hutch said wearily. "Last time someone made me drink a shot of brandy, it was him. That's what he said to me when he came over after Van was killed. Drink it."

   Dobey didn't know how to respond to that. Everything would remind Hutch of Starsky. He knew this was going to be difficult. "I know how devastated you are, Hutch. I am, too," he said. "We need to be strong through this. We'll go up tomorrow morning. We can leave early, but Edith is going to go get the guest room ready and you're staying here tonight."

   "No, I need to go home," Hutch replied.

   "No way. You had us all worried. You've been gone for hours."

   Edith was back in the doorway of the kitchen. "That's right, Ken. We don't want you to be alone right now. I put some clean towels on the bed. You're staying here. Harold will drive you over to your place in the morning for a change of clothes."

   "Okay." Hutch didn't move. Instead, he looked at the captain with anguish in his eyes. "Why?" he asked plaintively.

   "I don't know, son. We may never know. I'm sorry. We'll just have to see what we can find out when we get up there tomorrow."

   "Did I push him there, Cap?"

   "What?"

   "I, he... he wanted me to stop hovering. Maybe he felt like that was all he could do. Oh, God, Cap. What if it's my fault? What if... what if I made him think he'd never be all right again?"

   Hutch's capacity to shoulder the blame for anything bad that happened to his partner was not news to Captain Dobey. He was afraid that Hutch would start blaming himself. Even in his shock and grief over what had happened, the captain was angry with Starsky. How he could do this to Ken Hutchinson was something Dobey would never understand. Starsky must have been out of his mind and somehow they had all missed it. He never would have intentionally hurt Hutch and, if he'd been in his right mind, he would have known that his suicide would destroy his best friend.

   "It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. Starsky must have lost his mind, Hutch. Please, let's go up there and get the facts. Whatever caused this, we all missed it. Don't start blaming yourself. He wouldn't want that."

   Hutch reluctantly agreed to go to bed. The few times he drifted off to sleep, he had terrible nightmares that caused him to wake up, sweating and shaking. In every one, Starsky was trying to tell him something important that was bothering him and Hutch wasn't listening. Each one ended the same... with Starsky putting his Beretta to his head and pulling the trigger as Hutch jerked awake.

   The following morning, Edith couldn't get either her husband or Hutch to eat anything. They left at seven, hoping to be in Santa Marta by eleven or twelve.

********

   When the medical examiner reached his office to wait for the men from Bay City, he started to gather everything they would need for release of the body. Despite the fact that it was a Sunday, he'd decided to have the autopsy completed that day if the victim's friends wanted it done that quickly. Suicide was such an uncomfortable situation for the surviving friends and family. He wanted to release Starsky to them as soon as possible.

   He reviewed the toxicology screen he'd run. No alcohol or illegal drugs had been detected in the victim's bloodstream. Goldwyn almost hoped he would find that Starsky had taken something that could explain his behavior.

   Walking into the back of the facility, Goldwyn was surprised to see his assistant, Frank Green.

   "Morning, Frank, what are you doing here on a Sunday?"

   "Morning, boss. I had a lot of paperwork to do. I also promised to get a body sent off to Martin Brothers this morning. The family is anxious to get the funeral done."

   "Okay. Well, I'm expecting two policemen from Bay City for David Starsky. I'll be taking care of some things. Let me know when they arrive. I'll be in my office."

   "Sure thing."

   Before going to his office to wait, Goldwyn went to his mailbox to find that his secretary, Mary, had transcribed the notes from the police interview with Laura Douglas. At his request, she came in the night before and did the work. They all felt terrible about the young man's death. Laura had an early flight scheduled to return to Vermont. She was overwrought and pleaded with them to let her go home. Since she wasn't under any suspicion in the obvious suicide, the sheriff had agreed to let her go if she would give a statement. With a heavy heart, Goldwyn took the report back to his office to read through it.

********

   "Here, try and eat some of this," Mel said as he set a plate of breakfast in front of the bleary eyed man sitting at his bar.

   "Thanks, but, I don't know...." The toast looked like a possibility, but the scrambled eggs were enough to send his aching head into a spin again.

   "At least eat the toast. You need something to chase down that aspirin. Wish you'd just let us call you an ambulance, David."

   David. David. Not quite right. "Dave. That's good enough."

   Mel put a cup of coffee in David's hand. Looking up at the young woman who had helped him get back into the bar, he smiled and asked her, "What's your name?"

   "Rachel," she answered.

   Rachel? He had no way of knowing that his face had grown a shade paler. His smile faded as he turned his head slightly down and to one side, his eyes looking at nothing. The gesture made him look like he was trying to hear something no one else could hear.

   The young woman put a hand on his arm and said, "Dave? You okay?"

   When he didn't answer right away, she looked up at Mel. Maybe they should ignore his wishes and call an ambulance anyway. Just as she was going to suggest that, their customer shook his head a little and looked back at her.

   "Huh?"

   "You sure you're all right? You looked like you were a million miles away for a few seconds," Rachel said.

   "Sorry. Your name... familiar." David shook his head a little, hoping it would clear it. He didn't want to admit to them that he was so confused. That might cause them to call an ambulance or the police. He started to pick at the toast and did his best to look like he wasn't going to fall off the bar stool.

   "Do you think the guy that hit ya was here in the bar last night?" Mel asked.

   David thought about that. "I don't know. I don't remember. He hit me from behind. Guess I never saw him."

   Mel didn't like it that one of his customers had been roughed up outside his place and he wanted to help David. He invited him to stay there while they went about their tasks and David took him up on the offer. Over the next hour, he sat and watched Mel and Rachel work. When he felt a little better, he got up and helped Mel put away a large collection of dried bar glasses. Bending down to pick up a box, he suddenly felt worse. His vision was flecked with little sparks and he sat down suddenly on the floor. Mel was in the back room and Rachel was sweeping, so neither of them saw him sitting there for a few minutes as he tried to get his head clear again. That was stupid. Rule number one today, no bending. He managed to get back to his feet before the others noticed anything was wrong.

   "Dave," Mel said, "I've got a room upstairs. You're welcome to try and get some rest. Maybe wash up. I've got some extra shirts up there. Why don't you get a shower and borrow one of them." Mel was about his size.

   "Thanks, but you don't have to do that. I should get out of your hair."

   Rachel piped up, "Nonsense. No one uses that room unless somebody needs to sleep off a bender." She winked at her boss and gave him a knowing look.

   "Okay, but I'll return the shirt later. After I wash it, okay?"

   Mel smiled at him. "Nah, don't be silly. Grab one of the ones with the name of the pub on it. You'll be a walking ad."

   Mel showed him to the room at the top of the stairs and left him alone. David stood in the middle of the room and turned around. His head hurt and he kept having strange little flashbacks. For some reason, this room was causing another one. He couldn't understand it. This was just a regular room. A little tattered, with an old, stained carpet, a double bed, and a bathroom. His pounding head reminded him that he probably should try to stay awake, but it just wasn't going to happen. David made it through a quick shower and then got into bed. For the few minutes before he slid into sleep, he stared at the ceiling, trying to remember more... trying to figure out who he really was and where he was supposed to be.

********

   Traffic up the coast was heavy. Hutch and the captain didn't arrive until after noon. Dobey stopped for gas and directions to the address he'd gotten for the medical examiner's office. Most of the way up the coast, his passenger remained silent. He answered Dobey's questions, but offered little other conversation. Hutch was naturally a quiet person, but the silence in the car was oppressive. Dobey saw him brush a tear away a few times... the only tears he'd ever seen Hutch shed other than when his partner was gunned down the previous May.

   They pulled into the gravel parking lot behind the medical examiner's office and Dobey stopped. He took a deep breath and said, "This is it."

   Hutch nodded and slowly got out of the car. He did everything he could to climb into his investigator's persona before they got inside the office. He thought that might be the only way he could get through the next hour.

   "Mike," Frank said as he stuck his head into his boss' office, "Captain Dobey and Detective Hutchinson are here."

   "Thanks, Frank. Show them in."

   The men shook hands and sat down in Goldwyn's office.

   The captain was surprised when he saw a different look come into Hutch's eyes. He'd seen his detective in what he might call steely determination mode many times. In this situation, that was the last thing he expected.

   "I want to see my partner," Hutch said without preamble.

   "We'll take care of that in a little while. First, I'd like you to look through his effects and I'll answer your questions." Goldwyn had dealt with grief throughout his career. He knew what it looked like in all of its forms, and the man across the desk from him was consumed by it. He believed the detective and his captain needed a few minutes to prepare themselves. Goldwyn spun around in his chair and grabbed a box. He turned back toward the desk and set it on the top in front of Hutch.

   The box was almost Hutch's undoing. His resolve began to fade as he looked down into it and saw his best friend's things staring back at him. If they could talk, he wondered what they would say. The leather jacket he'd bought Starsky to replace the one that Gunther's bullets destroyed was in the bottom. Goldwyn had cleaned the blood off of it, but the stains were still visible. Hutch reached a shaking hand into the box and touched Starsky's holster. The gun was missing, and the medical examiner told them that he had the Beretta locked up, but that it would be released with the body.

   "There's no question about what happened, I won't need to keep it."

   Hutch took out Starsky's badge. He opened the case and looked at the picture and the metal badge that had been so hard won after Starsky's nearly fatal run-in with James Gunther's hit squad. He put it into his pocket. Then, he opened the plastic bag with Starsky's watch and rings in it, retrieved the rings and put them on his own finger.

   Sitting with his fist clenched, the fingers on the other hand brushing against the rings, Hutch asked in a choked voice, "Was there a note?"

   Goldwyn shook his head. "I'm sorry, but there was none."

   "On the phone, you said that a young woman was a witness," Dobey stated. "We'd like to speak with her."

   "I'm sorry, but she was here on vacation. She left for Vermont early this morning." He passed the report to Dobey and added, "I didn't see a reason to detain her. She was extremely upset and wanted to go home. She gave the police a complete statement. It's all in that transcript."

   Hutch reached a hand out for it. Dobey moved his chair closer, so they could both read the report. He wanted to read it as much as Hutch did.

   "Some of what's in there may be difficult for you to take. I'll give you a few minutes while I make a fresh pot of coffee. You both look like you could use it." Goldwyn left the two men to their reading.

   When they reached the part where Laura recounted the things Starsky was saying in the last part of his life, Hutch couldn't believe what he was reading. "What was wrong with him?" he asked. "Something must have happened. Maybe he was sick or... I don't know, but look," he said as he pointed to one paragraph in particular.

   "He sounded pretty incoherent," Dobey said.

   Hutch let go of the paper and put his head down in his hands after he read that Starsky had asked Laura to tell him he was sorry and that he didn't mean to hurt him. She had offered to call Hutch for him, but Starsky refused. "Ah, Starsk," Hutch said aloud. "Why, buddy?"

   The medical examiner returned with coffee for them. When he saw the condition Hutch was in, he looked at Dobey for reassurance. "Do you need to lie down?" he asked Hutch.

   "No," he answered softly, "I just want to see him. I want to see him now."

   Hutch stood and squared his shoulders, determined to get through this. I will NOT fall apart now. They walked into the back where the bodies were kept. Dobey looked at him and said, "I can do this, son."

   "No. I have to do it for him. I wasn't there when he needed me, Cap. This is the least I can do."

   Captain Dobey sighed. He'd have to work on Hutch about the guilt that was gnawing at him later. That's one thing he was hoping Huggy would be able to help him do. They'd invited Huggy to come with them, but he declined. He didn't talk to Hutch about it, but he told Dobey on the phone that he just couldn't stand the thought of seeing Starsky like that. He'd try to get some rest and arrange for some friends to help him with the bar while they were gone. When Dobey brought Hutch back to Bay City, he wanted to be available to his friend at all times through the funeral process and at least the week after that. He and Dobey knew that nothing would be enough, but they had to keep Hutch going long enough to get his legs back underneath him.

   Goldwyn pulled out the drawer containing Starsky's body and was surprised to find it was empty. "Sorry, I must have the wrong drawer." He pulled open the drawer next to it. When he pulled the sheet back from the body, he was as surprised as the two men standing there with him that the man in the drawer was not David Starsky.

   "Excuse me, gentlemen," he said. "I just need to ask my assistant where he's moved the body." Possibly, Frank had put him in the other room in the back, near where the hearses came to collect remains.

   Goldwyn walked into the front office and said, "Frank, where is David Starsky's body?"

   "I haven't moved it," Frank answered.

   "Are you sure? I put him in 3d last night and it's empty."

   Frank swallowed hard and said, "Did you say 3d?"

   The medical examiner didn't like the tone in his assistant's voice. "Yes, I did. Why do you ask?"

   "Remember when I told you I had to get a body off to Martin Brothers early this morning? Well... I may have read the drawer number wrong. The body I sent was Dale Starland." Frank pulled out a clipboard and showed him. "I thought that said 3d. Maybe it was 3c?" Goldwyn's handwriting was difficult to decipher at times.

   This was a terrible situation. He'd seen it happen before, but rarely. "All right. Get on the phone with Martin Brothers and see if we can take these men over there to reclaim that body. Mr. Starland must be the one they just looked at."

   "I'm really sorry, boss. The initials were the same and, well... I'm sorry. Man, what a stupid thing to do. There's another problem, though. The Martin Brothers he went to isn't the one down the street. I sent that body up to the one in Monterey. I'd imagine they're up there already, but it's about four hours away."

   Goldwyn wasn't looking forward to telling the tense blond detective this news. But he didn't have any choice, so he went back to where Hutchinson and Dobey were waiting.

   "What's wrong?" Hutch asked as soon as he saw Goldwyn's face.

   "Is it that obvious?" Goldwyn shook his head. "There's no point in beating around the bush, gentlemen. My assistant sent your friend's body to a funeral home in Monterey, thinking it was someone else." Before Hutch could explode - as it was clear he was ready to - Goldwyn added hastily, "Partially my fault, I think. My handwriting is worse than most doctors' and the two men had very similar names."

   "Monterey?" Hutch spat. His face was flushed and his eyes shot sparks at Goldwyn. "How the fuck did you make a damned fool mistake like -"

   "Hutchinson!" Dobey bellowed, but Goldwyn could see when he glanced at the captain that the bellow was for effect. His eyes weren't angry. They were full of concern.

   Nevertheless, it worked, and Hutchinson shut up, though the effort it cost him to do so was clearly visible on his face.

   "Will they release the body to us?" Dobey asked.

   Goldwyn nodded. "My assistant's calling them right now. I am sorry about this."

   "We'll just go there and get him," Dobey said to Hutchinson, who nodded tightly.

   Since Monterey was such a long drive and they'd already been under so much stress, Dobey insisted they get a motel room and wait until the next day to go up there. In spite of Hutch's protests, Dobey won. They checked into a Super 8 near the highway.

   "Why don't I go get us some burgers or something and you try to get some rest, Hutch?" Dobey suggested, not liking Hutch's pallor or the dark circles under his eyes.

   "I can't just sit here," Hutch said.

   "Then take a shower or watch TV," Dobey said. "There's a Dairy Queen down the road. I'll be back in a few minutes."

   "Okay," Hutch said, flopping onto the bed and putting his hands behind his head. Dobey shut the door softly behind him as he left, and Hutch stared up at the ceiling, not seeing it. All he could see was Starsky's face as he imagined it must have looked in the last moment before the bullet ended his life.

   Hutch had seen Starsky in deep pain, both physical and emotional. He'd seen the look in his best friend's eyes when he'd told him Terry's prognosis and when Starsky had told him that Gillian had worked for Grossman. He'd seen the resignation when Starsky thought he was dying from Bellamy's poison. But no matter how bad things had ever been, there had always been a spark there, a determination to fight to the bitter end. Starsky had frightened him once after Terry's death, but it passed quickly... and they had made a pact between them.

   It just wasn't like Starsky to give up.

   A tear trickled out of Hutch's eye and he wiped it away. He didn't dare give in to his grief, not yet. Not until he'd seen the body. Not until he was sure. Somehow, he thought, he'd know when he saw the body what had driven Starsky to this.

   Dobey came back a few minutes later, loaded down with food. Hutch tried to eat, partly so Dobey wouldn't hassle him and partly because he knew he needed to, but it was hard going. He barely choked down one hamburger and part of a Coke in the time it took Dobey to go through two burgers, a large order of fries, and a chocolate sundae.

   "I'm going to take a shower," Hutch said when he realized he couldn't swallow another bite.

   Dobey nodded and made a "go ahead" motion with his hand. His mouth was too full to speak.

   Hutch let the water run until it was so hot he could barely stand it. He ached all over and hoped the heat would help, though he knew deep down the ache was coming from his heart, not his muscles. Once he was in the water, he let a few quiet tears escape. He was so tired of holding it all in and being strong for Dobey, Huggy, even Goldwyn.

   He needed Starsky.

   He'd never had to hold in emotions in front of Starsky. With him, he could be completely himself and never had to put on a show.

   But Starsky wasn't here. Starsky would never be here again.

   Hutch sank to his knees under the shower, trembling, until the water began to cool. Finally he forced himself to stand and turn the water off. He wrapped himself in a towel and went to the mirror to shave. His hands were still shaking, and when he tried to slide the razor under his chin, he cut himself.

   "God DAMN it!" Hutch threw the razor across the bathroom and then, for good measure, drew back his fist and hit the mirror as hard as he could. It shattered, badly slicing the back of his hand. Hutch swore again and thrust his bleeding hand under the running water just as Dobey burst through the door.

   "Hutch, what the hell -" He stopped and stared at the broken mirror and his bleeding officer.

   "I'm fine," Hutch snapped. "Do you mind? I'm not dressed."

   "Hutch - " Dobey began uncertainly.

   "Get OUT!" Hutch roared, and Dobey took the hint and retreated hastily.

********

   When David woke up, it was dark in the room and he realized he must have slept for several hours. Faintly, he could hear sounds coming from the barroom below: laughter, pool balls clicking together, music from the jukebox.

   For some reason, he kept thinking of Bay City. It was a long way south of here, almost 200 miles, but he had a feeling he should be there. Maybe that's where he was from ... maybe if he went there, he'd remember who he was.

   And maybe he'd wind up in jail, too. If Bay City was familiar, maybe it was because that's where he'd learned to hustle pool.

   He sighed and rolled over onto his stomach. What the hell should he do? Forty bucks wasn't going to get him very far no matter where he went.

   There was only one answer. He'd have to hustle a little bit longer, long enough to make himself a grub stake, and then get out of this town and try to get to Bay City. Maybe the answers he sought were there.

********

   Hutch ran cold water over his hand until the bleeding slowed to a trickle and examined the damage. Not too bad; mostly superficial cuts. Nothing that would need stitches. He did, however, need first aid supplies and that was something they hadn't brought with them. He sighed and looked in what was left of the mirror. A couple of large pieces still clung to the frame, enough so that he could see how bad he looked. He hadn't slept or eaten enough since they'd received the news.

   Awkwardly, with his left hand, Hutch combed his hair, finished shaving - more carefully this time - and dressed. He knelt and picked up the pieces of broken mirror, tossing them into the wastebasket and idly wondering how much the motel would charge for the damage. Finally, there was nothing more to keep him in the relative privacy of the bathroom and he opened the door. Dobey was sitting in the one chair, watching a ball game on the TV with the sound turned down. He looked up when Hutch came in.

   "I borrowed a first aid kit from the front desk," he said, pointing to it on the dresser. "Figured you might need it."

   "Thanks," Hutch said, moving toward it.

   Dobey stayed where he was and watched as Hutch bandaged his hand. As Hutch was finishing the job, Dobey said quietly, "Do you feel any better now?"

   Hutch gave a rueful laugh. "No."

   "Need a doctor for that hand?"

   "No."

   "Hutch.... " Dobey waited until Hutch turned to look at him. "I know how you feel. I loved him, too. Both of you boys are like sons to me."

   "You don't know how I feel," Hutch growled. "You know how YOU feel."

   Dobey nodded, accepting that. "Okay, okay. But you can't let this destroy you. He wouldn't want that."

   Hutch knew that was true. In a quiet moment during the frantic day they'd spent searching for the culprit when Starsky was poisoned, Starsky had said as much to him.

   "Hutch, if I don't make it -"

   "You're going to make it!" Hutch snapped angrily. "Don't even think it."

   "I might not," Starsky insisted. "We gotta face that, partner. I want you to promise me something."

   Hutch opened his mouth to argue, but the pleading look in Starsky's eyes stopped him. "What?"

   "That you'll be okay."

   Hutch didn't trust his voice, not with that look in Starsky's eyes and the gray look of suffering all over his face. So he nodded, patted Starsky's shoulder, and made the promise.

********

   After a shower, David felt much better than he had earlier. The dizziness was mostly gone and his headache had subsided to a dull roar. He entered the barroom with a jaunty step and looked around for his first victim.

   Some instinct warned him not to show his hand too soon. He played a few games casually, losing one on purpose but not letting that be obvious. He didn't play cutthroat, just relaxed, as if he were only killing time. It wasn't long, as he'd known somehow it wouldn't be, before someone suggested a friendly wager "to make the game more interesting." He agreed readily, suggested they play for a beer, and won that game, but barely. He flubbed a couple of easy shots during the game to give his opponent confidence.

   He took on another couple of opponents with the same bet - a beer - being careful not to let himself get too intoxicated. After awhile, he suggested they play for money instead. At first, he played for five dollars a game. Gradually, he worked up to twenty. And by closing time, with a supper break for a hamburger, he'd made two hundred bucks.

   That was enough for a bus ticket to Bay City and some money to hold him for a couple of days until he could find a good bar to hustle in there.

   Mel agreed to let him sleep in the upstairs room one more night and David made up his mind he'd leave Santa Marta in the morning.

********

   Eric Martin propped up the photograph of Dale Starland and opened a bottle of Chianti before he started working on the body. He'd once told the obit clerk at the Monterey paper that he always drank wine while he embalmed customers and her reaction had been amusing. People outside the business were always repulsed by the idea of an undertaker's work, but Eric came from a long line of undertakers, and considered the work he did to be necessary and fulfilling. His worst case had been a teenager who had committed suicide by shotgun in his mother's kitchen. The family had insisted on an open casket and it had taken Eric all night to put the poor boy back together. All night and enormous amounts of putty and makeup. But he'd done it, and the family had been able to have their visitation and funeral with an open casket, as they wanted.

   Dale would be easier, he mused, arranging his materials before pulling the sheet back. Dale - Eric always thought of the bodies by their first names, to help him feel close to them and care about them enough to do his very best work - had died of cancer. He would be thin and pale but that was easily fixed with makeup. Eric glanced at the photo again, taken before Dale had been diagnosed. It showed a smiling, healthy-looking man in his late forties and Eric smiled back at it. That's the way the family wanted to remember Dale, and Eric was going to help them achieve that.

   He pulled the sheet back and stared in astonishment at the body lying there. This man wasn't Dale Starland and he hadn't died of cancer. The damage wasn't as severe as that teenager who died from a shotgun blast, but it was bad enough. The man lying on the table had put a bullet in his head, probably from a handgun.

   Eric covered the body again and rechecked his paperwork. This was a dilemma. He picked up the phone to call the Santa Marta medical examiner. By the time he placed the call, everyone in the medical examiner's office had gone home. He told the answering service that it wasn't an emergency, but he left a message that he'd be returning first thing in the morning to exchange a body.

   "Exchange a body?" the woman asked.

   "Yes. Seems there's been some kind of mix up. I don't want to wait until they can come back up here. I'll be there when they open in the morning."

   "Yes, sir. Are you sure you don't want me to page the medical examiner?"

   "No, it's late. Thanks, anyway." Eric hung up the phone. He got the body ready to transport in the morning and then went home to get a few hours sleep before his road trip. Eric didn't know the medical examiner had been trying to reach him. The front line to the funeral home wasn't answered on the weekends, only the back line. He had missed the calls.

********

   The captain and Hutch rose early, just as they had when they left Bay City. They were on the road by the time there was light in the eastern sky. Hutch sat staring out the window, watching the sky as it turned pink. He'd refused to eat any breakfast and hadn't said a word since they pulled away from the hotel. An hour out of Santa Marta, he finally spoke.

   "Used to be, he never would watch a sunset," Hutch said, almost too softly for Dobey to hear.

   "What?" Dobey asked.

   "Sunsets. Sunrises. He always said they had them every day," Hutch continued.

   Dobey didn't mind that what Hutch was saying seemed incongruous with the situation. The man was talking, and he hoped that was a good sign. He didn't know how to respond... or if he should respond, so he maintained his silence.

   Hutch sighed deeply. He didn't take his eyes off of the sky. "That was before the shooting, Cap. About a month after he came home from the hospital, he... he was lying on the couch one day, looking out the window. Just kind of staring. He looked... I don't know, kind of sad or far away. I asked him if he was all right and you know what he said?"

   "Probably told you to quit hovering," Dobey answered with a wry grin.

   Hutch turned to look at him. "Good guess, but not that time. No. 'I get it.' That's what he said and I knew what he meant. He told me I was right all along. Sunsets were pretty and we should enjoy them." Hutch was getting choked up. He blinked a few times and turned back toward the side window. "Said he thought he was never gonna see another one and he meant to savor them."

   Neither man said anything for a few minutes. Hutch shook his head and said, "I just don't get it, Cap. It doesn't track. He went through all of the pain and hard work to come back. The physical therapist said he'd never seen a patient try so hard, or be so stubborn. Why? What did I miss?"

   Dobey had no answers. He watched Hutch put his hand in his jacket pocket where he was still carrying Starsky's badge. For years Starsky had been Hutch's touchstone. The friend against which all others were measured, just as Hutch had been for him. The captain was at as much a loss to divine the truth in what had happened to their friend as Hutch was. He never would have guessed that Starsky would give up on life. The only thing he could imagine was that Starsky had somehow come to believe he was a danger to Hutch or that he'd hurt him somehow. Beyond his life's work as a cop - to protect and serve the public - David Starsky's primary mission was to protect his partner. Dobey knew Starsky would have freely given up his life to save Hutch and that he wouldn't willingly do something to hurt him so irreparably.

   Conversation alternated for the rest of the drive between non-existent and Dobey listening to Hutch's painful speculations. The captain tried to be supportive and to offer comment when it seemed to be a good idea, but nothing helped. Hutch varied between inconsolability and a barely controlled rage that worried his boss. That the man would have to be put on an extended leave of absence from work on the streets was a given in Dobey's mind. As he listened, Dobey worried that Hutch might never be safe on active duty. Not only was the department suffering the devastating loss of Starsky, he feared Metro would also lose his partner - one way or another.

   When they reached Monterey, they found Martin Brothers and pulled into the quiet, tree lined parking lot. Hutch shook off his feeling of dread as much as he could and got out of the car.

   "You're doing all right," Dobey said to Hutch as he put a hand on his back and opened the front door for him. A brief flash of pain crossed Hutch's face.

   Hutch stopped and faced him. "I just want this part to be over, Cap. I want to take him home. I need to."

   "I know. Let's just get it done."

   The two men went into the funeral home and were invited to take a seat in the front office. Dobey accepted two cups of strong looking coffee and encouraged Hutch to drink some. He wanted to get Hutch back to Bay City as soon as possible. Dobey didn't like it that they were so far from their family and friends. He didn't know how much longer he could hold Hutch together without their support.

   After a few minutes, a conservatively dressed woman entered the room and closed the sliding doors behind her. "I'm Shirley Martin. Are you the gentlemen who drove up from Santa Marta?"

   "Yes," Dobey answered. He introduced himself and Hutch and explained why they were there. Shirley Martin squirmed a little and looked uncomfortable. The captain's heart sank when he realized that something else must have gone wrong. He looked at Hutch to see if he had picked up on her demeanor, and it was obvious to him that he had. If anything else happened to his tightly stretched detective, Dobey was concerned that he would snap. Hutch's eyes flashed with barely submerged anger. The captain decided he'd better maintain control of the situation.

   "Is something wrong?" he asked.

   "I am so sorry you two drove all the way up here. Apparently, you left before anyone could reach you," she replied. Hutch visibly tensed and prepared to say something, but Dobey stayed his comment by putting a hand on his arm. Mrs. Martin continued, "As you know, a body was delivered to us yesterday. Late last night, my husband got ready to prepare the body and he realized that the man who was brought here wasn't the one we expected. The Santa Marta medical examiner made an error. We were expecting the body of a man who died of cancer. The man they sent to us was a suicide."

   The underlying rage in Hutch's voice was not lost on either of the room's other occupants. "That man is not 'a suicide.' He's a person. David Starsky. MY best friend. Where is he?"

   Mrs. Martin was used to dealing with family members in grief. Sometimes they were angry, but this man was a volcano on the edge of eruption. She spoke as calmly as she could. "I'm sorry, Detective Hutchinson. Please accept my sympathy in what must be a terribly painful situation. I meant no disrespect." She took a deep breath, and told Hutch the thing she was afraid would bring about the eruption. "Regrettably, we didn't know you were coming for the body. Our regular driver is on vacation and my husband didn't want to wait. He drove your friend back to Santa Marta. He left early this morning." She watched Hutch carefully, becoming increasingly concerned as the trembling in his hands progressed until his entire body shook with rage.

   Hutch dropped the coffee cup on the oriental carpet and stood quickly, tipping the chair over in the process. Dobey reached out for him and called his name a few times, but the enraged man was not listening. Hutch turned and stalked toward the doors. He grabbed them and slid them apart so roughly, they disappeared into the wall pockets and banged into the stops hard enough to knock two pictures off of the adjacent walls. Captain Dobey looked at Mrs. Martin apologetically as Hutch stormed out of the room, but she waved him off, her face full of sympathy.

   "You'd better go after him. I'm sorry," she said.

   Hutch stomped out an angry pace back and forth in the parking lot. He ran both of his hands through his hair and pressed down on his head, as if he feared it would explode off of his neck if he didn't hold on tight. By the time Dobey reached him, he was railing out a string of invective the likes of which Dobey had never heard from him. Dobey had seen many facets of Hutchinson anger, but this was a new level. The usually collected blond was unraveling right in front of him.

   Dobey stepped toward Hutch and put a hand out to stop him. In the brief moment before the furious man shook him off, Dobey could feel the anger vibrating through Hutch like an electric current. Hutch's face was red and he paced away from Dobey with one hand on his chest, close to hyperventilating. The captain found himself worried that Hutch could have a heart attack.

   "Hutch, I want you to calm down," he said, pitching his voice low and steady.

   "CALM DOWN!" Hutch shouted as he spun around from his pacing. "How? They've lost him, AGAIN!"

   Dobey continued to attempt to placate the furious blond. "I know, Ken. I'm angry about this, too. This is a ridiculous situation."

   "She called him 'A SUICIDE', Cap. Like he wasn't a person." Hutch's voice was shaking and his harsh breathing had Dobey worried. "Son of a bitch!" Hutch shouted. His eyes were full of angry tears. Soothing tones weren't working and Dobey was afraid for Hutch. He decided to try the tough approach.

   "Be calm! I know you're angry. We'll go back down there and get him."

   "Don't tell me to be calm again," Hutch warned. For a brief second, Dobey imagined what it must have been like to be that mechanic who tried to kill Hutch in the hospital parking garage months ago. Before he was killed in lockup, the man had complained that the enraged detective had fired his gun beside him and he was afraid he was going to gun him down, despite the fact that he had surrendered.

   "You're out of line, Hutchinson, and this isn't helping. Starsky isn't going to be any less dead when we get down there."

   Ordinarily, Dobey was the soul of both professionalism and knowing the right thing to say. He realized as soon as the words left his mouth that what he just said to Hutch was the wrong thing. His attempt to play "bad cop" to get his friend back under control was about to fail miserably.

   The look of fury on Hutch's face clearly conveyed what he was about to do. In an instant, he slid over the edge completely and hit his boss with a right cross that knocked the large man off his feet onto the ground.

   For a few stunned moments, Hutch looked down at the man he'd just hit. The fact that the action had split open the cuts on his fist, which were now bleeding through the bandages, didn't faze him. The thoughts that flew through his mind left him reeling and a red haze began to crowd over his vision. Hutch couldn't believe he'd struck his boss. A flashback to the time he hit Starsky like that rushed at him.

   "Look around you. What do you think bought this place?" Those were the words that prompted Hutch to slug his best friend, knocking him to the floor. He pulled Starsky up and tried to convince him that he was wrong about Gillian. He accused his best friend of not liking the woman lying dead a few feet from them. When Starsky asked if Hutch wanted to hit him again, Hutch started to fall apart.

   "Hey... How many years've we known each other, huh? You're the best friend I got in the whole world. You think I like saying things like this to you?" Starsky had said in a voice choked with emotion. That's when Hutch completely crumbled, collapsing against Starsky and clinging to him like a lifeline while they both cried.

   Oh, God, Starsk. Who can I cling to, now? Damn! "C-Cap," he said, his shaky voice barely recognizable, "I'm sorry, I...." Hutch suddenly needed to get away from Dobey. He couldn't believe what he'd done and he couldn't face the look on Dobey's face - not anger, just shock and worry. Without another word, he turned and ran out of the parking lot, leaving Dobey sitting on the asphalt and shaking his head.

   "Brilliant," Dobey said to himself as he climbed to his feet, rubbing his jaw. He spotted a bench under a gazebo among the trees behind the parking lot. He walked toward it to sit in the shade and wait for Hutch to return. Dobey knew he would come back, he just needed to run off some steam. He said a little prayer that Hutch would be physically safe until he came back, and sat thinking about how Starsky told him that Hutch had a punch like an air hammer. How he was going to explain the bruise he was already developing was going to be a challenge.

PART TWO