Disclaimer: This
story is written for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made from it.
No infringement on anyone’s copyright is intended.
This story is part one in a series.
© 12-2001
"I'll just be a few minutes," Hutch said, gathering up
his savings account passbook and various papers scattered around the front seat
of the Torino.
"Take your time," Starsky said, deadpan. "I'll wait
for you here, Mr. Hutchinson."
"Aw, stuff it," Hutch said with a grin, getting out and
heading for the bank's front door. Starsky slid down in the seat and closed his
eyes.
It was busy inside the bank, with several people in each line.
Hutch sighed, looked at his watch and eyed the lines, trying to choose the one
that seemed to be moving the fastest. None of them were, if the truth was told,
so he simply joined the closest one. Starsky had tried to talk him out of what
he was there to do – withdraw a substantial amount from his savings in order to
upgrade his greenhouse – but Hutch was determined. His greenhouse was part of
what kept him sane in this crazy job, and he'd never been one to worry much
about stockpiling money. The greenhouse was more important to him than having
lots of money in the bank.
Sooner than he'd have thought possible, it was his turn. He pushed
his passbook and a withdrawal slip, along with his driver's license, across the
counter to the teller. After a wooden smile and a stiff "How are you
today, sir?" she didn't speak again, simply completed the transaction and
pushed everything back across to Hutch. "Thank you, Mr. Hutchinson,"
she said, not even managing a smile this time. He smiled at her, however,
realizing she was having a long, hard day, and turned to go, only to be
confronted with a familiar face.
"Ken?"
Hutch froze mid-step. He hadn't seen Cassandra Davenport since
before his divorce from Vanessa. Hadn't wanted to, either. They'd never gotten
along, and her husband – Hutch didn't even remember his name now – had been
even more of a snob than she was.
Cassandra smiled. "Don't tell me you don't remember me,
brother-in-law. Ex brother-in-law, perhaps I should say."
"I remember you," he managed to say, stepping out of the
line he was in to allow the next person access to the bored teller. He moved over
to stand next to Cassandra in her line. "What are you doing here?"
"I moved out to Bay City a few months ago," she said,
lifting one hand to smooth back the side of her perfectly coiffed auburn hair.
That was new – it used to be brunette, like Vanessa's. Her eyes were the same
startling aqua shade as her sister's, and it disturbed Hutch a little to
realize how much the sisters looked alike – had looked alike. "After I
divorced Allen, I put out some feelers and got a marvelous job offer from a firm
here. So I took it."
"What do you do?" Hutch asked.
She gave a tinkling laugh. "You don't remember, do you? Well,
I don't blame you. It was never as important as Allen's work, was it? I'm a
fashion buyer for Bainbridge’s."
He remembered now. She'd studied fashion design in college, and at
the time, he assumed it was just an excuse to be at college to snag a rich
husband. That's why Vanessa went to
college, a nasty voice whispered inside his head. Well, Vanessa had failed,
hadn't she? She'd hitched her horse to the wrong wagon, assuming Ken Hutchinson
would follow his father into law. He had, but not in the way she'd envisioned.
"That's terrific," he said. "So you're divorced
now? I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be," she said with a laugh. "It was doomed
from the start, I think. Allen was just so – well, he couldn't play with his
own toys, let's put it like that."
Hutch felt his face grow hot.
"I'm sorry, I've embarrassed you," she said, reaching
out a cool hand to place it on his. "Listen, are you busy tonight? I'd
love to have dinner with you and catch up."
"Well, I, uh -" God, he hated it when he stammered.
"That is, my partner and I were going to -"
"Your partner?" Her lovely brow creased, then cleared.
"Oh, yes, David, isn't it? You're still a cop, then?"
He nodded.
"I'd love to have him, too," she said, then laughed.
"I mean, he's welcome, too. Do you know Chez Helene's?"
This time, Hutch laughed. "I live in the apartment above
it."
Something passed over her face and was gone too quickly for him to
identify it. "That's lovely," she said. "I'll meet you both
there at seven, shall I? Marie is a friend of mine and will save us a table,
I'm sure. Do say yes. I hate to eat alone, and I'll have to tonight if you
don't accept."
"I'm sure that's a rare occurrence," Hutch said,
summoning up the gallant good manners his mother had tried so hard to teach
him.
"Silly," she said, giggling. "So, seven?"
"Sure," he said, hoping Starsky wouldn't kill him. His
partner's opinion of Vanessa had been lower than low and he wouldn't be likely
to feel much friendlier toward her sister, especially since they'd planned to
have a steak at Huggy's and take it easy tonight.
"That's wonderful." Cassandra was next to be waited on,
so she patted his hand again in farewell. "I'll look forward to it."
Starsky was half asleep when Hutch got back in the car, but he
pried one blue eye open and slid upright to start the car. A glance at Hutch's
face halted him. "What happened?"
"What are you talking about?" Hutch attempted an
innocent expression.
Starsky wasn't buying it. "I know that look, buddy. What
happened in there? You look like you saw a ghost."
That bad? Hutch gave a
rueful grin. "Ran into an old ... friend. Cass. Van's sister."
Starsky stared. "What the hell is she doing here?"
"Moved here. Got a job here. Got divorced and started over, I
guess." He gave a shrug. "Wants to take us to dinner."
"Us? Both of us?"
Hutch nodded. "Tonight. Chez Helene's. I said we'd go."
The blank astonishment on Starsky's face would have been funny if
Hutch hadn't felt so strange about the whole encounter.
"I hope that's okay," Hutch added. "I know we had
plans, but -"
"That's okay," Starsky said, seeing more in Hutch's face
than Hutch wanted him to. "You sure I won't be a third wheel?"
"Fifth wheel," Hutch corrected automatically. "She
told me to bring you, too."
Starsky studied him for another moment or two. "Hey, I like
the food there," he said with forced casualness. "Guess we better get
to work then, so we'll be on time, right?"
"Right."
Starsky even consented to put on a tie and sport coat for Chez
Helene's. Hutch, on the other hand, felt a contrary compulsion to wear jeans
and a t-shirt, but he also put on a tie. The restaurant wasn't all that elite,
but it wasn't Huggy's, either.
"Honestly,
Ken, what's come over you?" Vanessa stood in the doorway between bathroom
and bedroom, her makeup half done, her hair still in rollers. "You're not
wearing THAT, are you?"
"What's
wrong with this?" he asked, turning away from the mirror where he'd been
tying his tie. He was wearing tan brushed-denim pants, a light cotton shirt in
a tan plaid and a plain tan tie. The shirt had been a gift from Vanessa and
he'd thought it would please her for him to wear it. Not much pleased her these
days, however.
"You can't
go to the country club in that," she said.
"I'm
wearing a tie," he said, pointing to it.
"Ken,"
she said, her voice rising a little in that impatient tone she used when she
thought he was being deliberately dense, "this is the country club. A suit
would be appropriate. That looks like something you'd wear to the policemen's
summer barbecue."
That was a dig –
the latest in a long line of digs – at his job. He felt his adrenalin start to
pump, but forced it down. Tonight was important to her. He didn't want to ruin
it with another argument. "Okay, honey," he said, trying to keep his
tone level. "Which one do you think I should wear?"
"You're a
big boy. Pick out your own clothes." She turned and went back into the
bathroom and he had to clench his fists so hard it hurt to keep from shouting
an angry retort back at her. He started to undress so he could change and had
made it down to his briefs when he heard her being ill in the bathroom. He ran
across the room to the door and saw her on her knees.
"Van?
What's wrong?" He knew better than to approach her. There was nothing
Vanessa hated more than for someone – even her husband – to see her looking
less than her best.
She couldn't
speak, but she waved her hand in a "go away" gesture and he retreated
obediently. He finished dressing, and sooner than he'd thought possible, Van
appeared, looking as beautiful and perfect as always.
"Feeling
better?" It was all he dared say in reference to her being sick.
She nodded.
"Fine. Must've been something I ate at lunch. Let's go."
Cassandra and
Allen were waiting for them. It was rare that Vanessa's family – any of them –
bothered to come to Bay City for a visit. In fact, they disapproved of his and
Vanessa's move out there and constantly worked on Vanessa to come home. But
when they did come, they always took them out to dinner somewhere expensive and
posh, places where he and Vanessa couldn't afford to eat even on their combined
salaries. And Vanessa's family knew it. If they'd done it out of kindness or
affection, it would have been different. But Hutch knew they did it to show him
how inadequate he was as a provider for their precious Vanessa. They always
asked when he was going to "get tired of being a cop" and finish law
school. They liked to tell Vanessa about all her school friends back home and
how well they were doing financially. And for weeks after one of these visits,
Vanessa was twice as hard to live with.
He heard the sound of the Torino pulling up in the street and a
few moments later the sound of Starsky's sneakered feet pounding up the stairs.
The door opened and Starsky called, "You decent, Blintz?"
"More or less," Hutch called back, finishing with his
tie and stepping back to check the effect. He supposed he would do. Starsky
appeared behind him. Bless him, he was wearing jeans with his tie and sport
coat, and the inevitable Adidas.
"Don't you look purty," Starsky said with a grin,
turning Hutch around and straightening his tie for him.
"Thanks, darling," Hutch returned good-naturedly.
"Want a beer before we go?"
"Nah. I'll have one with dinner. I'm starvin', too."
Cassandra was waiting in the foyer and Hutch heard Starsky draw a
sharp breath behind him.
"She's a knockout," he hissed into Hutch's ear.
"I know," Hutch said softly, raising his voice to greet
Cassandra and introduce her to Starsky.
"I remember hearing about you when Vanessa and Ken were married,"
Cassandra said, taking Starsky's hand as if to shake it, but simply holding it
instead. "I'm so glad you came, too."
"I'm sorry about Vanessa's death," Starsky said.
Cassandra nodded. "Thanks, David. It was pretty hard on all
of us," she paused and glanced up at Hutch, "but let's not let it
ruin our evening together. I hope you're both hungry. I have an expense
account, and I love to abuse it." She laughed.
They were seated almost immediately and all three ordered drinks.
Starsky and Hutch both had beer; Cassandra ordered white wine.
She took a delicate sip from her glass before leaning across the
table to smile winningly at Hutch. "I know we weren't the best of friends
when you and Van were together," she said. "Let's put it behind us
and start fresh, okay, Ken?"
"Sure, Cassie," he said. "No hard feelings."
She giggled. "Nobody ever called me ‘Cassie' except
Ken," she told Starsky. "Not even my parents. I've missed that, and
you," she added to Hutch. "Tell me all about what you do. You're a
detective now, aren't you?"
Hutch couldn't help feeling suspicious – she was being far too
friendly compared to the way she'd always treated him – but lately Starsky had
been telling him he was getting bitter and cynical and he was determined to
prove him wrong. He told her about some of their cases, leaving out the worst
details. She talked about her job. Starsky was unnaturally silent, answering
when spoken to but otherwise just listening to them.
When their food came, conversation died for a while as they ate,
but Cassandra started it up again by asking him to tell her about Vanessa's
death.
"Oh, Cassie, you don't want to hear -"
"But I do," she said soberly. "I hadn't seen Van
for three or four months before she died. She was always traveling and hadn't
been home for a visit. We kind of grew apart, Ken. And that bothers me. You
were here. I need to know. Please?"
Hutch glanced at Starsky. How much should I tell her?
No more than you
have to. No sense upsetting her.
"That's amazing," Cassandra said, her eyes twinkling.
"What is?" Hutch asked.
"That silent conversation you two just had. I don't know what
you said, but it was plain you were making a joint decision and you never
opened your mouths."
Hutch reddened. "Well, partners, you know. We spend a lot of
time together -" he trailed off uncertainly.
"I'm not offended," she said. "I think it's nice.
Now, about Vanessa?"
So Hutch told her about it, leaving out the worst details again,
and also leaving out how he and Starsky had bent the rules when Dryden and
Starsky had come to arrest him. Starsky contributed more to this conversation,
even making Cassandra laugh with the story of Huggy hiding in the casket at the
funeral home to tape Wheeler's confession. When they finished, she shook her
head and finished her wine before speaking.
"Van always was a little wild," she said. "No
offense, Ken, but I think that's part of why she married you. She wanted to do
something our parents wouldn't necessarily approve of."
"She wound up regretting that," Hutch said, not even
realizing he sounded bitter until Starsky gave him a little nudge.
"It could have worked, though," Cassandra said. "If
she'd only given it a chance. If she'd accepted you for who you are. But she
was Daddy's girl, deep down, even though she fought it all her life."
"I guess," Hutch said. Vanessa had been a lot like her father.
"I wish she'd have had the baby," Cassandra said.
"It might have saved the marriage."
Hutch felt as though he'd just climbed off a carnival ride. He was
dizzy and lightheaded and his stomach was queasy. "What did you say?"
"The baby," Cassandra said. "If she'd had the baby,
maybe you and she would have stayed together. A baby might have drawn you
together. Instead, you -"
"What baby?"
Both of them
were more than a little drunk. It was their anniversary and they'd celebrated
with dinner and champagne. A lot of champagne. Now, lying in bed, Hutch turned
on his side and propped his head on his hand to gaze at his beautiful wife. She
giggled and reached up to stroke his hair.
"Why are
you looking at me like that?" she asked.
"Because
you are the loveliest thing on the planet," he answered, leaning over to
kiss her.
"That's
sweet."
He kissed her
again, more urgently, and let his hand drift down to caress her bare skin.
"You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think
it's time we thought about starting a family."
She pulled away
and sat up, clutching the sheet to her protectively. "A family? Now?"
He was puzzled.
"Well, not tonight," he said with a grin. "Kids might interrupt
our celebration. But -"
"You think
it'd be nice for me to be barefoot and pregnant?"
"You don't
have to go barefoot," he said, the wine making him a little slow on the
uptake and his need for her crowding most other thoughts from his mind, anyway.
"That isn't
funny."
"I wasn't
trying to be funny, babe," he said, reaching for her again. "We can
talk about it later. I just thought maybe we could start thinking about it. I
don't want to rush you. We've got plenty of time -"
"Your life
wouldn't change a bit," she said angrily. "You wouldn't have to get
fat or go through labor or change diapers or -"
"Whoa,
honey," he said, sitting up, too. "Later, okay? We'll talk about it
later. I'm sorry I said anything."
But there had
been no placating her and they hadn't talked about it later. They hadn't talked
about it at all.
Starsky put a hand on his arm and gave it a little squeeze. He was
alarmed by the way the color had drained from Hutch's face.
Cassandra covered her mouth with her hand. "You mean you
didn't know about the baby?"
"What baby?" Hutch repeated, and Starsky could feel the
tension in the muscles of Hutch's arm.
"Oh, God. Oh, Ken, I'm sorry. I thought you knew. Van was
pregnant -" She stopped and her eyes grew moist. "You really didn't
know?"
"When was she pregnant? And what happened to the baby?"
Hutch's voice shook, try as he might to steady it.
Cassandra reached for her wine glass, but it was empty. She
signaled the waiter, who brought another one, and she didn't speak until it
arrived. Hutch waited, but his face was still too pale, and it was taking every
ounce of self-control he had not to shake her and force her to give him the
information. Finally, she took a big gulp of her wine and reached across the
table to take his hand. "She had just found out a few weeks before she
left you," she said gently. "She – she had an abortion."
"When did she have this abortion?" Hutch felt his eyes
beginning to burn and he had to work hard not to let Cassandra see it. Starsky
unobtrusively slid his arm around the back of Hutch's chair. He was close
enough that Hutch could smell his aftershave, and though he didn't say a word,
he didn't have to. Just having him there helped.
"In July of ‘73," Cassandra said. "She was about
three months along, maybe a little less. I can't believe she didn't tell you
-"
"I can," Hutch said bitterly, and didn't care if he
sounded bitter. "She knew I'd try to talk her out of it. She also knew it
would affect the divorce. All she wanted was to be rid of me and anything to do
with me, including my child!"
"Hutch," Starsky said quietly, and that one word brought
Hutch's emotions back under control.
He glanced at Starsky. Thanks. I'm okay now.
No, you're not,
but I ain't goin' anywhere.
There were tears in Cassandra's eyes and one slid down her cheek.
"Oh, Ken, I am so sorry. I thought you knew. I thought it was a mutual
decision -"
"I would never have agreed to that," he said shortly.
"She didn't even tell me until it was all over and she'd
moved back to Duluth," Cassandra said. "She never told our parents at
all. They'd have been horrified, not just about the abortion, but that she got
it at one of those -" She stopped. "It wasn't a regular clinic,"
she finished lamely.
"A back-alley butcher, in other words?"
She nodded. "I think so. She didn't really go into details.
And I'm not sure, but I think something went wrong and she probably wouldn't
have been able to have children afterwards. I remember when she told me about
it she said, ‘I'll never have to go through that again.'"
“Wasn’t that the same year it was legalized?” Starsky asked.
Hutch answered, still sounding bitter, “I’m not sure, but what
difference does it make? She wouldn’t
have wanted there to a record anywhere.”
How could Vanessa have done that and he'd never known? Hutch
searched his memory, but knowing how Vanessa could manage to present a perfect
appearance to the world even when she was deathly ill, he wasn't really
surprised. And right after she'd left him, there had been weeks they hadn't
seen each other. They'd communicated only through their lawyers...
"Cassandra," Starsky said, "no offense, but I think
we oughta call it a night. Hutch has had a bad shock and -"
"Of course." She signaled the waiter again and asked for
the check, removing a Diner's Club card from her wallet. While they waited for
the waiter to come back, she slid a business card out of a gold case and wrote
on the back of it. She held it out to Hutch. "Call me at home or at work
if you need me," she said. "Anytime at all. I can't tell you how
sorry I am -"
Hutch made no move to take the card, so Starsky did and slid it
into his shirt pocket. The waiter came back and handed the slip and the card to
Cassandra. She signed it quickly, returned the card to her wallet, and stood.
"I am sorry," she said again, looking down at Hutch. He
didn't raise his eyes.
"Thanks for dinner, Cassandra," Starsky said for both of
them. He stood, too, and prodded his partner to his feet. "We'll see ya
later, huh? Come on, partner."
They climbed the stairs to Hutch's apartment in silence, with
Starsky keeping in physical contact with Hutch all the way. He was the one who
opened the door and prodded Hutch through it, steered him to the couch and sat
him down. He went to the refrigerator and brought back a beer. Hutch took it
without a word and drained half of it in one swallow. Starsky sat down next to
him and put his arm around his back, rubbing in soft, soothing circles as he
felt the tension. Hutch's muscles were stiff and his face was white, with dark
circles forming under his eyes. Long minutes passed before Hutch, staring down
at his beer bottle, said in a soft, hoarse whisper, "She killed my baby,
Starsk. Vanessa killed my baby."
Starsky's throat closed at the raw pain in those quiet words, and
he pulled Hutch a little closer. He didn't know what to say. He couldn’t help thinking terrible thoughts
about Vanessa. Thoughts he was trying
to keep from showing on his face. Of
all the ways that woman could have chosen to hurt his partner, this one had to
be one of the worst. This was worse
than cheating on him, but Starsky thought Vanessa was above that. When she bored of her time with Hutch, she
simply dumped him.
Sitting next to his partner, his arm around his shoulders in
supportive silence, Starsky let his mind wander to Hutch and Vanessa’s breakup. The two men had known each other a long time
when it happened, and they had been plainclothes partners for a year.
Starsky would never forget how upset Hutch was that night. Van had decided if he wasn’t going back to
law school, she was finished with him.
She needed to set her gold digging sights on someone who hadn’t pissed
off his wealthy parents with his career choice. The phone call he’d made to
tell Starsky she was gone was burned into Starsky’s memory.
“St-Starsk?” Hutch’s voice sounded weak and as if he were
in pain.
“Hutch? What’s wrong, buddy?”
“I... Oh, God,”
Hutch replied without answering.
“Are you hurt?
What’s going on?”
“I’m... she’s...
aw, shit.”
“Where are you?”
Starsky had begun to feel panicked. He
wasn’t sure what was happening, but whatever it was, couldn’t be good.
“Wh...Why?”
“Why, what,
Hutch? Tell me what happened, dammit!”
The long pause
on the other end of the line caused Starsky’s heart to feel tight in his
chest. He called Hutch’s name a few
times and didn’t get an answer. He was already putting on his shoes to rush to
wherever Hutch was, but he hadn’t gotten any answers from his obviously
despondent partner. His mind was racing with the possibilities. Had Hutch hurt Vanessa? Had she hurt him? Somehow, he knew it had to be about Vanessa. She had been on a roll hurting his partner
lately.
“HUTCH! Listen to me! Are you at home?”
He heard a
muffled sniffling sound and a quiet reply.
“Yeah.”
“I’m on my way.”
Starsky had raced to Hutch’s apartment, unsure of what he might
find. What he found nearly broke his
heart. Hutch was sitting in the middle
of his bare living room. The only things the Wicked Witch of Duluth had left
him were his guitar, his clothing, his plants, a lava lamp, and the telephone. He found out later, she’d even taken the
coffee pot. Not to mention having
cleared out his bank accounts. The ones
she could get to, anyway. Hutch had a
sizeable trust fund that she was legally barred from touching. Mr. Hutchinson had seen to that. Even Starsky hadn’t known about it for
years.
The only other thing Vanessa left in her vapor trail was a cruel
note that drove Hutch to thoughts of suicide.
Starsky worried about him constantly for a couple of months, rarely
leaving him alone. Taking the Magnum
away from him wasn’t an option as long as Hutch was on active duty, but his
having it scared Starsky to death.
Hutch was so depressed; Starsky thought he was taking chances on the
street. Not with Starsky’s life, never
that. He was always there to back up
his partner, but Hutch was taking chances with his own life. One night, they’d been separated and Hutch
had gotten himself cornered in an alley.
He’d been severely beaten before Starsky came along to rescue him.
Picking up the pieces of his friend’s broken heart had been a
difficult task. Starsky never wanted to
see Hutch in such pain again. He
thought that Vanessa’s death had at least assured that she could never hurt
Hutch again. Now, Starsky got a chill
from the realization that the woman had reached out from beyond the grave and
grabbed his partner with her icy hand – wrapped around Hutch’s heart.
Hutch felt Starsky shiver and said, “What?”
“Sorry, Blintz. I was just thinking.”
“About Van?”
“What else? Aw, Hutch, I
don’t know what to say. I know this
hurts you. I can feel how much it hurts
you.”
Hutch was crying now.
Silent tears that made Starsky’s heart ache for him. “How could she,
Starsk?” He leaned forward with his
elbows on his knees and dropped his face into his hands.
Starsky rubbed Hutch’s back and said, “I don’t know, buddy. It’s a terrible thing to do. To not even ask you....” He stopped speaking
because Hutch was shaking his head.
“No, no, you don’t understand.
I want to know how she could hate me so much.”
That simple statement marked the end of Starsky’s composure. The tears he’d been trying to hold back so
he could be strong for Hutch started to slide down his face. Hutch was starting to lean toward him and he
slowly collapsed into Starsky’s lap.
“I would have kept the baby, Starsky. She had to know I’d want it.”
Starsky didn’t have it in him to speak platitudes about Vanessa’s
possible motivation. He didn’t believe
that she had anything other than selfishness in mind when she had the
abortion. No doubt she hated Hutch
then, but the fact that she kept it a secret was telling. Short of killing Hutch or, worse yet,
killing Starsky, Vanessa couldn’t have done anything more hurtful to his
friend, but she’d have had to tell him about it for it to be effective.
Starsky was angry. Angrier
than he’d been in a long time. “It
wasn’t that she hated you, Hutch.
That’s not it at all. What good
did it do if she never told you? She
didn’t want any ‘complications’ in her life, buddy. Her motivation was simple.
She was a spoiled, selfish bitch who wanted her own life, without
hindrances. A baby would have tied her
to you in some way forever and she couldn’t have that.”
Hutch wrapped an arm around Starsky’s leg and held on tightly
while he cried. Starsky knew this was
going to be a long haul. They had to
work in the morning and he was worried that Hutch wasn’t going to be in any shape.
“Buddy, I’m gonna call Dobey in the morning and tell him we’re not
comin’ in.”
“No. We’re going in.”
“Hutch....”
“I can’t just lay around here all day tomorrow and wallow in the
pain. I can’t. Work’s what I need.”
“Buddy, you need to give yourself some space to grieve. This is a big deal.”
“I mean it, Starsk. I need to work.”
Starsky considered it.
Maybe he could arrange for them to work in the precinct for their whole
shift the next day. The mounds of
paperwork they always seemed to be behind on could probably be counted on to
see to that.
“All right,” he said while gently patting Hutch on the back. “We’ll play this your way. If you can’t handle it, though, you tell
me.”
Hutch nodded on Starsky’s lap.
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
They sat that way for a long while. Both of them cried and Hutch poured his heart out to Starsky
about all of the feelings he was being flooded with since Cassandra had dropped
the bomb on him.
“What if she’d kept the baby, Starsky? He’d be about five and a half now.”
“Hutch, don’t do this, buddy.”
“He’d be in kindergarten.
Old enough for T-ball.”
“Stop it, now. The only
thing this is going to do for you is make you more upset.”
“I know. I just can’t help
wondering. I might never have a
child. What would it have been
like? Would he have looked like me, or
would she? Would I be a good dad?”
“You’d have been the best dad ever, Hutch. Don’t think like that. You might still get that chance, buddy. You’re still young. Besides, I thought the ‘What If’ game was my
department. You tryin’ to horn in on my
act?”
At least that got an abbreviated laugh out of the troubled
man. Starsky spent the best part of the
next two hours getting his partner calmed down enough to go to sleep. He wished that Hutch would get angry, vent,
throw things. That would be better than
the state he was in at the moment. When
Hutch crumbled this way, quietly sobbing his pain out, Starsky knew how deeply
hurt he was. This was not Hutch’s, “I’m
angry but I’ll let off some steam and feel better” pain. This was deep, in his
soul, shattered heart pain. Starsky knew he’d have to work hard to help his
best friend find his equilibrium again.
When Hutch was cried out, and his breathing was becoming slower
and more even, Starsky knew he needed to get him to go to sleep. Hutch was as limp as a noodle, but somehow
Starsky managed to get him on his feet and help him to bed. He pulled off Hutch’s shoes. He’d already divested him of his jacket and
tie hours ago. He sat on the side of Hutch’s bed and rubbed his back, soothing
him to sleep.
Starsky stood to go out and crash on the couch when he heard Hutch
quietly ask, “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“Of course not, pal. I’m
gonna stay here tonight.”
“Thanks, Starsk.”
“Good night, Hutch.”
“‘Night, Starsk.”
Starsky made a bed on the couch and proceeded to actively not
sleep for hours. He was so angry HE
wanted to throw things. How dare
Vanessa do such a thing? He mentally
smacked himself when he had the thought that it was a good thing she was
already dead. He had definite homicidal
thoughts toward her on this night. One
thing was bothering him and he was going to check on it the next morning. Whatever his thoughts, he knew he’d better
get them all out of his system so he could be there for Hutch.
~*~*~*~
The next day, Hutch wasn’t up at the annoying hour he usually
arose. Starsky woke up early for a
change and realized his partner hadn’t budged all night. He was glad in a way – that probably meant
Hutch’s dreams were not too distressing.
He often had nightmares, but not last night. He must have been too wrung out to have nightmares.
In the year since Vanessa’s murder, Hutch had become more
cynical. He’d given up a lot of his
healthy habits, he’d let his hair get a lot longer, grown a moustache, and lost
his every morning jogging habit.
Lately, he’d only gone a few times a week. Starsky went to the kitchen to make them something for breakfast,
a little sad that he didn’t need to worry about how to make the blender produce
one of Hutch’s morning shakes. He’d
given them up, also.
After breakfast, showers, and getting dressed for work, they went
out of the apartment to the Torino.
Hutch had barely touched his food and he looked rough around the edges.
“You sure you’re up to this?”
“I’m sure. Let’s just go.”
As they pulled away from the curb, Hutch stared at Chez Helene’s
like it was new to him. He would always
remember that it was where he’d heard about what Vanessa did.
The morning was going better than Starsky had hoped. Focusing on their paperwork monster was
giving Hutch something to do that was keeping his mind off of things. Starsky had found the time to slip in to see
Dobey and explain things, and then he went out and told Hutch he had to run
down to records for something.
Starsky was on a mission.
He wanted to see Vanessa’s autopsy record. He’d read enough autopsy reports to know that the ME often
mentioned whether a woman had ever given birth. Maybe they could tell if she’d ever been pregnant and had
recorded it.
He took the file into a small conference room and reviewed it –
paging past the reports, the records of Hutch being accused of her murder, the
pictures of the crime scene, and the notes naming the real killer. Hutch had been exonerated. He finally came to the autopsy report and he
read it with an odd sense of detached fascination. Hutch had never read the report.
He couldn’t. A lot of people saw
Hutch as cool and collected to the point of being icy. His Nordic stoicism was well known. Starsky, and Hutch’s other friends, knew the
truth. Hutch was like an onion – a man
of many layers. That calm demeanor was
his exterior facade. Starsky sometimes
wondered if the deadly accurate, dangerous man he partnered with on the street
was a mask for the musical, sensitive, gentle soul that was his best
friend. His recent bout of cynicism had
Starsky worried, but he couldn’t think about that now. He needed to focus on the autopsy
transcript.
The victim,
Vanessa Davenport Hutchinson, was a Caucasian female, age 34. Victim was 67 inches tall, weight 120
pounds. Blood type A+. Cause of death was from a single, large caliber gunshot
to the chest. The murder weapon was a
Colt .357 Magnum. The bullet....
Starsky skipped through the more graphic parts of the
autopsy. He didn’t care how much
Vanessa’s liver weighed, or really need to read about the skin and blood found
under her fingernails. Skin she’d
scraped off of Hutch’s hand after he blocked her from slapping his face at The
Pits. He finally came to the part he wanted
to read.
Extensive
uterine scarring indicates that the victim had an abortion, probably done in a
non-sterile environment. The condition
of the uterus is such that the victim was rendered incapable of carrying a
child to term. This abortion was possibly
mid term, and probably done four or five years ago, based on the appearance of
the scars and the level of healing.
The victim’s
general health....
That was what Starsky wanted to know – if it was true that Vanessa
had ever had an abortion. He was
feeling a bit guilty about his attraction to Cassandra. She was a beautiful woman, but she was
Hutch’s ex-sister-in-law. He almost
felt disloyal. That’s why he had
decided to try and check out her story.
He didn’t want to take it on face value because she was a beautiful,
sophisticated woman to whom he was tremendously attracted. This was Hutch’s heart she was playing with
and Starsky wanted to be certain. His
secondary reason was a natural caution brought on by the fact that Cassandra
was Vanessa’s sister. She looked a lot
like her sister. Maybe she WAS like her
in more ways than one. Starsky knew
he’d better tread lightly.
He returned the file to the records room and went back
upstairs. Hutch was just finishing up
another report when he walked into the squad room. Starsky was getting pretty hungry and he was hoping he could coax
Hutch into eating.
“What’d’ya say we knock off for a while and grab some lunch?” he
asked as he pulled out his chair and sat on the back of it, resting his feet on
the seat.
Hutch looked up from signing the report and said, “You go
ahead. I’m not hungry.”
Starsky leaned closer to him and said, “Come on, go with me. Maybe you’ll find out you are hungry. Besides, the fresh air will do you
good. Come on, we’ll grab some
sandwiches and run down to the park to eat ‘em. Okay?”
Hutch could rarely resist Starsky when he was like this –
concerned only for Hutch. He decided to
give in with little argument. Maybe his
partner was right.
Just as they were exiting the squad room, Simmons and Babcock were
walking toward them. They were laughing
about something. Starsky stopped them
to say a quick hello and Simmons explained.
“Man, they’ve got about eight brand new bikes downstairs for that new
group of motorcycle jockeys.”
Starsky’s eyes lit up at the news. “They’re here?”
“Yeah,” Babcock said.
“They let us take one around the block.
You should go down there and ask ‘em.”
“Come on, Hutch, let’s go,” Starsky said, grabbing his partner’s
arm excitedly.
“Starsk, I don’t -”
“Sure you do. It’ll be fun. Come on, please?”
Hutch shook his head, resigned, and followed Starsky down to the
garage, where a row of shiny new Harley-Davidson Super Glides was the center of
an admiring throng of officers. Benny Barton, the officer in charge of the
motor pool, was beaming as proudly as if he’d just given birth to the bikes.
“Starsky! Hutch! I wondered how long it’d take you two to show,”
Benny said with a big grin. “Whattya think of ‘em? Ready to turn in the Tomato
for a real set of wheels, Starsk?”
Starsky laughed. “Naw, Benny, not permanently. Too hard to make
out on a bike, y’know? But I’d sure love to take one of these babies for a
spin. Can I, huh? Can I, please?” He folded his hands and pretended to plead.
Benny’s grin got even wider and he tossed a set of keys toward
Starsky. “Be my guest, Sarge. Don’t wreck it.”
Starsky caught the keys and strode toward the bike Benny
indicated. “She’s a beauty,” he said, walking around it and gently stroking the
shiny fender. “Who’s gonna ride ‘em?”
“The traffic guys,” Benny said. “Department thought it’d be easier
for ‘em to hide and spring speed traps with bikes than it is in squads.”
Starsky mounted the bike and experimentally stood it up off the
kickstand to get the feel of it. Benny held out a helmet, which Starsky
accepted and put on before he started the bike. “Hey, Hutch, come on. I’ll give
ya a ride.”
“No,” Hutch said, making no move to climb on. “You go ahead.”
“Aw, come on, buddy,” Starsky begged. “I won’t do nothin’ crazy.”
“You can ride one yourself if you want,” Benny offered.
Hutch shook his head. “No, my concentration’s kind of off today. I
wouldn’t feel safe.”
“Then get on with me,” Starsky said. “Just around the block, then
we’ll go get some lunch.”
Hutch rolled his eyes, but gave in and climbed on behind Starsky,
pulling his sunglasses out of his pocket and putting them on. “Once around the
block,” he said. “And only once.”
“I promise,” Starsky said, revving the motor and giving a mock
salute to Benny. “Be right back.” Traffic was light this time of day, for a
change, and Starsky, waiting for a break so he could pull out of the lot into
the street, grinned over his shoulder at Hutch. “Almost makes a man want to go
back to uniform, don’t it?”
“Nope,” Hutch said. “Traffic duty sucks almost as much as writing
reports.”
Starsky chuckled, found his break, and pulled out into the street.
The big bike responded almost like a living thing and even Hutch had to admit
it was fun. Starsky stopped at the light and, just for fun, hit the siren.
“Cut that out,” Hutch said, laughing in spite of himself. He was
holding onto the chrome luggage rack behind the seat, and he let go with one
hand to poke his partner in the ribs. “Juvenile delinquent.”
Starsky snickered and turned right. What happened next happened so
fast that neither of them could ever get the story the same. An alley cut the
next street in half, a street lined with small businesses – a pawnshop, a
couple of clothing stores and a mom-and-pop grocery. Starsky was going about
thirty miles an hour when a car careened out of that alley and broadsided the
motorcycle. Hutch saw it coming out of the corner of his eye and only had time
to shout his partner’s name in warning before the impact, which threw him through
the air to land with a sickening thud in the street about 10 feet away. Starsky
desperately hung onto the bike as it skidded sideways and fell over, sliding
into the curb and pinning his right knee to the sidewalk. The car kept going,
and Starsky just caught a glimpse of white as it sped away. His ears were
ringing and his knee was on fire, but he disentangled himself from the
motorcycle and his helmet with the help of a pedestrian who had run over to
help, and staggered over to Hutch. Another motorist had stopped her car just in
time to keep from running over Hutch, and she was already out of her car and
kneeling next to him.
“H-Hutch?” Starsky’s heart was in his throat and he threw himself
down next to the woman. She had produced a scarf from her jacket pocket and was
using it to wipe blood from Hutch’s face. So much blood...it soaked into his
hair and ran over his forehead and dripped onto the ground. “Oh, my God,
Hutch!”
Hutch’s face was white and he was out cold, but he was breathing.
Starsky was afraid to move him or touch him.
The man who had helped Starsky get off the bike said, “I sent my
son to call an ambulance. Is he hurt bad?”
Starsky couldn’t speak. He shook his head helplessly and gently
touched Hutch’s cheek.
“Looks like he took a nasty knock to the head,” the woman said.
“It probably looks worse than it is. Head wounds always bleed a lot.”
Starsky was shaking like a leaf, with tears standing in his eyes.
The woman laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be all
right,” she said, very gently. “Are you hurt?”
“I-I don’t know. I don’t think so,” he said blankly, his whole
attention focused on his partner, who still had not stirred.
A squad car roared up and a traffic cop Starsky didn’t know got
out. Simmons and Babcock were right behind him in their car. They had gone back
downstairs to wait and see what their friends thought of the new bike, and they
heard the dispatch to roll to a motorcycle accident right around the
corner. Without a word, they’d run for
their car to make sure it wasn’t Starsky and Hutch. Simmons got to Starsky first and knelt, putting his arm around
him. “You okay, Starsk?”
Babcock very carefully parted Hutch’s hair to see if he could tell
how badly he was hurt.
“Be careful!” Starsky barked at him. “Don’t move him!”
“Easy, pal,” Simmons said soothingly. “He’s not going to make it
worse.”
The traffic cop was taking statements from the witnesses first and
had just got to Starsky when the ambulance arrived. “All right, sir, I need you
to tell me what happened.”
“Go to hell!” Starsky said, rising long enough to get out of the
way for the paramedics, but not so far out of the way that he couldn’t watch
what was happening.
The traffic cop frowned fiercely. “Look here, sir, you can’t talk
to an officer of the law that way, even if you are upset -”
“You look,” Simmons said angrily. “This is Detective Serg