Disclaimer: This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made from it. No infringement on anyone’s copyright is intended.

What Did I Miss?

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