Even with the time they spared dropping Hutch's car by the station, the detectives arrived at J.R. Rikard's office just ten minutes after eleven. His practice resided in a Victorian house that had long passed the border of quaint into the realm of antiquated. Hutch stood on the front sidewalk battling queasy memories of Ezra Beam. As usual, Starsky tread firmly on the same wavelength, "If there's a goat's head in the front room, I'm leaving."

"Ram's head."

"Whatever."

"Did you say something?" Saunders turned and peered down at Hutch from the top step.

"No."

"Well, then get the lead out, Hutchinson, I want to pick this guy's brains."

"This is the guy who just got back from an overseas business trip?" Starsky ran a finger over the back of a ratty chair in the client waiting area. Hutch agreed with the question and its inherent meaning as he took in the various pieces of bargain basement furniture that formed the receptionist's workspace. Hutch had to silently admit with a sideways grin at Starsky that the receptionist herself was the sole bright spot in the drab interior. Tall and buxom, she sported wavy, strawberry blonde hair that flowed almost to her waist and a set of remarkably flashing hazel eyes. Starsky caught Hutch's teasing, sympathetic eye and gulped loudly, red spots mingling with the tan in both cheeks. Hutch's grin broadened: he had just acquired enough ammunition to bait his lover into any number of passionate favors later.

"Window shopping doesn't mean you fork out the cash, Hutch," Starsky mumbled, sheepish. Then he realized that Hutch's grin had just about split the blond's face in half and he relaxed into an answering grin himself. "You're entirely too secure in our relationship, babe. Couldn't even make you jealous if I tried. 'Course I guess it helps that you know she couldn't see me even if I wanted to flirt."

But Hutch had to swallow the grin because both Saunders and the receptionist turned around and included him in the conversation. "Ms. Lymon says we'll need to wait for a few minutes. Mr. Rikard arrived late this morning--"

"He was in a state," Ms. Lymon interjected and her beauty crumbled under the curse of a twangy, grating, fingernail-on-chalkboard voice. "Apparently he'd seen the newspaper article about Ms. Froman."

"In a state" did not do the man justice, Hutch and Starsky telegraphed to each other when the trio finally reached the main office, opulently decorated compared to the downstairs portion of the house.

"What year is this, Hutch? 'Cause I feel like I just stepped into a '40's flick." Once again Hutch thought his best friend's take on the situation a bull's eye. Even Rikard's suit smacked of Cary Grant more than Brook's Brothers. And, when Mr. Rikard attempted to stand at his desk upon their entry and wobbled on his feet, Saunders completed the '40s Hollywood illusion by rushing over to grasp the lawyer's elbow and saying in perfect Ray Milland fashion, "Steady yourself, man."

Rikard was also movie screen handsome, in his early thirties perhaps, and soft-spoken, practically mumbling a phrase of gratitude to Saunders. Starsky leaned against an antique sideboard that contained '40s era decanters of various liquors and remarked, "Strong, silent type with the brassy-beautiful secretary. This can't be 1979, babe."

"I--I apologize. I returned from Italy late last night and this morning when I retrieved my reserved newspapers from my neighbor...I read...." Rikard broke off, teeth chattering, and sank down in the vast, ancient swivel chair.

"Just how long has Carla Froman been your client, Mr. Rikard?" Hutch began the questioning, anxious to swing the pendulum back to late twentieth-century Bay City.

"Client? Carla is not a client, Detective Saunders."

"I'm Saunders; he's Hutchinson," Saunders corrected.

Starsky burst out laughing and just about knocked over the whisky decanters in the process. He jumped away from the sideboard with mild alarm and choked down the last giggle.

"Pardon me. We found one of your business cards in Carla's purse." Hutch strained to keep any sign of humor at bay, but his nose still twitched and his lips itched to mimic his Starsky's grin.

"Oh," Rikard achieved a weak smile. "I gave her one of my cards from the first batch I ever had printed about three months ago when I left my former firm to set up my own practice. She must have left the card in her purse and just forgot about it."

"Pardon our having to ask, but what exactly was your relationship with Carla if she wasn't a client?" Saunders still seemed trapped in the body of Ray Milland.

"I am a close family friend of the Fromans'." Mr. Rikard responded with stiff shoulders and offended sensibilities. "Carla was--was like a--a younger sister to me. As was Libbie, of course. We played together as children."

"I didn't know people spoke that kind of English anymore," Starsky observed, finding a more secure post over by the wall of bookshelves.

"So Carla has never consulted you about a legal matter?"

"No, I'm sorry. Carla led a very sheltered life, I'm sure you know by now. Watching her cope with being deaf inspired me to form a practice that caters to the blind, the hearing impaired, and any number of other disabled groups."

A soft knock on the door preceded Ms. Lymon poking her head and upper body into the office. "Mr. Rikard, Derek Welch has arrived for his eleven thirty appointment."

"Thank you, Sandra. Tell him I'll only be a moment."

Hutch caught Starsky's gaze and was startled to find the dark-haired man's radar on high alert. Something had registered in that finely tuned detective's brain. But Saunders had resumed the questioning, "You say you just returned from Italy. How long were you over there?"

"I left six days ago. A key witness in an on-going medical malpractice suit has taken a faculty position at an Italian university and I was graciously invited to visit him and take a taped deposition. Made a bit of a vacation out of business while there. I wish--I wish I'd returned sooner. Perhaps I could have been some comfort to Carla's family...."

"The guy sounds like Gary Cooper trying to sound stuffy," Starsky announced, this time without a trace of humor. In fact, Hutch had to will himself not to swing his attention over to his lover's face because he'd heard the telltale Starsky bullshit alarm ringing in the words.

"Do you have any idea why Carla would have been the target of a--" Saunders' question drew the ire of Rikard, whose faded blue eyes suddenly sprang to life.

"Absolutely not, Detective Hutchinson!" At Rikard's interruption, Saunders opened his mouth obviously to correct the lawyer yet again and then thought better of it. "Carla was a wholly decent, loving person. She did not invite violence or unsavory people. I think you'll find this atrocity is just a random act of malevolence indicative of our society's overall decline in moral--"

"Yes, well, thank you for your assistance, Mr. Rikard. We won't keep you from your next appointment," Hutch nodded imperceptibly at Saunders and they beat a hasty retreat.

"That was a complete waste of time," Saunders smacked the steering wheel with a fist. "I was hoping--"

"Medical malpractice? Me, too," Hutch agreed quickly. "Anything that remotely resembles a motive. Even malpractice would have been slim pickings because the doctors have enough insurance to pay off God these days. They don't settle their mistakes by murdering patients. But Carla keeps sounding like the modern day version of the Virgin Mary. Who wants to kill someone like that? Why? Much as I hate to admit it, maybe Rikard's got a point. Maybe this is a random--"

"No, Hutch. I'll eat tofu and sprouts off your lips for a month if I'm wrong, but I think this is a definite targeted killing. Somebody, for some reason, wanted Carla Froman out of the picture. And I'll bet you another month of shared protein shakes that Rikard is somewhere behind all this mess." Starsky leaned his elbow on the armrest of the car door and stared through the window at the Victorian house.

"What next?" Saunders shoved the key in the ignition.

Hutch sighed. "I'm going to introduce you to a totally un-likeable person named Fat Rolly."

"Oh, really? And why do I warrant this honor?"

"You sound like Rikard. God, I hope that's not contagious. Fat Rolly has an uncanny talent for recognizing other sewer rats. Since the computer didn't spit anything out regarding Cathy's description of the man in the bar, I'm hoping Rolly might be able to shed some light."

"And some lice along with it," Starsky muttered. "Better keep Saunders at a safe distance; he hasn't had his rabies shots yet."

Fat Rolly greeted Hutch without a single sarcastic remark or displeased look. For a minute Hutch had to reassure himself that he was in the correct sleazy pawn shop/ fencing operation. Rolly's quick, uncomfortable glances at Saunders solved the mystery even before the rotund, loudly dressed man said,"Don't seem right."

"Excuse me?" Saunders looked to Hutch for guidance, but Hutch was trying too hard to swallow the lump that had formed around his tonsils.

"No offense, pretty boy, but you ain't a match. Aw, come on, Hutch, I don't know if I can do this without Starsky gettin' in my face. That was half the fun."

"With my stronger senses, I wouldn't get near your face now," Starsky commented with deep feeling.

"Oh," Saunders said quietly.

Hutch frowned at Rolly. "Yeah, and you're the same guy who was trying so hard a few years back to see that neither of us ever got in your face again."

Rolly groaned and chomped into an over-sized deli sub. Mouth full, he said, "Hutch, ya ever gonna let me live that one down? Henderson was the bad apple--I was just the--what's the word?--inter--inter--something inter--"

"Don't strain yourself, Rolly. Middle man will do."

"And they weren't even tryin' to kill you fellas, just make it seem that way, remember? Big difference."

"Fine line," Hutch disagreed. "So just swallow all that fake grief before I knock it back down your throat."

Rolly choked on the bite of sub and coughed into a napkin. "Damn, you're gettin' to be a cold, unfeelin' bastard in your old age, Hutchinson. Where's your respect for the dead? And to think people on the street were startin' to say you two were--"

Hutch had one hand on the man's tie and another in the greasy black hair, pulling the man out of the rickety chair and shoving him against the wall before Saunders could move a muscle. "You can evade my questions all you want, Rolly, but you're not going to tap-dance over Starsky to do it, you clear on that? I'd like nothing better than to make you eat that sandwich through a gastro-tube, you poor excuse for--"

"Hutchinson!" Saunders voice cracked like a whip, but everyone in the room knew the fury focused solely on Fat Rolly. Shocked, Hutch let his grip slide and Rolly slunk away to the chair and his abandoned sandwich. Saunders approached the chair and batted the plump hands away that were straightening the atrocious, crumpled tie. "Now, listen up, Rolly. I don't have a history with you like Hutchinson and Starsky. I don't give a damn about you. I see five violations of city code in this room alone and I will make your life a living hell with that as just my jumping-off point if you don't act a little more cooperative. Capische?"

"What he ain't got in muscle he makes up for in speech," Rolly admitted, favoring Saunders with grudging respect. "Okay, pretty boy. What do you want to know?"

But Hutch took over, "Heard of anybody in town lately specializing in death by garrote?"

"You mean a paid guy?"

"Yeah. Mr. Max is completely tongue-tied on the issue, so I'm wondering if the guy isn't imported. And you are so gifted at knowing the movements of imported nasties, Fat Rolly. Try this one on for size," Hutch extended the sketch.

Rolly gave the drawing his best speculative frown. "No...nope. Nothing. Never seen him before."

"Look hard, Rolly."

"Don't havta. Listen, Hutch, to prove I'm bein' straight with ya, there is a guy in town with a gig. One of the pimps over in Porn Row is gettin' too big for his britches and is poachin' on some drug dealer's territory. That's all I'm gonna say. But the guy on that job looks nothin' like this. And don't ask me when the job's goin' down, 'cause I don't know."

"Better get on the horn to Vice and Narco, Hutch," Starsky said, picking up on Rolly in a rare moment of honesty.

Hutch was still trembling from the encounter with Fat Rolly when he climbed into the passenger seat of Saunders' Dodge. Saunders sat quietly for a minute and then whispered, "How about something to eat? My treat."

"I'm not--" but Hutch let the sentence hang as he remembered that he was now in charge of supplying Starsky with food. Starsky sighed, "I'm not hungry either, Hutch. Not after that little sideshow. Rolly could put a guy off food for a week." "I'm not hungry, Saunders," Hutch finally said.

"Maybe later," Saunders agreed and turned the car in the direction of Metro.

When they arrived at the station to look over the Carla Froman file and re-group before going the rounds on their "beat," Hutch remembered another order of business left unfinished. He took advantage of Saunders' trip to the john to slip into Dobey's office.

Dobey looked up from his cheeseburger and grumped, "Knocking is a nice habit, Hutch. Can't you see I'm eating? What do you want--and it better have something to do with the Froman case, because I'm getting irate phone calls about an unsolved murder involving a poor, little deaf girl. Like it isn't a tragedy when anybody dies that way. Well?"

Hutch waved a hand that cut through the tirade. "Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what, Hutchinson?"

"Don't give me that, Cap'n. You know what I mean. Why didn't you give me the scoop on Saunders? His partner."

Dobey dropped the cheeseburger on the plate and knocked some fries onto the cafeteria tray. "Where'd you pick up on all that?"

"From the man himself."

"Is he--Is he a problem for you, Hutch?"

"A problem, Cap'n? A problem? Hell no, he's not a problem. I just want to know why I didn't know my new partner had lived through that kind of misery before he got here. Granted, that first night things were hectic. But you've had plenty of time since then to pull me aside and fill in the particulars. Why didn't you?"

"Hutchinson, I do not have to explain my every decision to my detectives, however much you might think--" But Dobey's storm blew to pieces at the look on his senior detective's face. "Sit down, son."

"Oh, terrific." Starsky propped on Hutch's chair arm. "When he pulls out the 'son' it's not gonna be pretty."

"Did Saunders tell you the whole story? About his partner's--er--lifestyle...the tussle with IA?"

"Yes, every detail. Why?"

Dobey looked acutely uncomfortable. Scratching his head, pushing the plate away, settling back in the chair, and looking at the file cabinet. All signs that he didn't know how to broach a topic.

"Just spit it out, please, Cap'n. Saunders will be back in the squad room in a minute looking for me."

"I--I wanted you to get to know him for himself, Hutch. Saunders is a first-rate man, I think. I didn't want your--your relationship with Starsky and what happened with Saunders' former partner to immediately hinder your working as a team. Even though Saunders was innocent, the implication that he didn't care for--um...men of that type--"

"My--my relationship....Type? What the hell do you mean by--"

"Told you, Hutch. Some cats just will not stay in bags." Starsky patted Hutch's knee.

"Hutchinson, I--How long have we known each other? You think I didn't notice something different not long after that Vietnam vet case? I've been married for almost as long as you've been alive, Hutch. You think Edith hasn't looked at me too many times to count the way Starsky looked at you...and vice versa? I might be getting old and I eat too much, but I'm not blind or stupid."

"You never said anything," Hutch whispered.

"You never gave me cause. The two of you went about your jobs the same, kept cleaning up the streets.what was there to say?"

"But your--your beliefs?"

Dobey smiled. Known for his devout religious upbringing, the captain folded his hands almost prayerfully under his chin and said with unusual softness, "I won't say I understand the situation, Hutch. But I'm no one's judge and jury. You two formed the best team of detectives ever to walk through those squad room doors--that's what mattered to me. I'm hoping you can at least care about your job again with Saunders as a partner. He looks up to you, Hutch. Clear as day." Dobey dropped his hands. "So, get out there and solve this damn case before I have the commissioner and the press breathing down my back!"

Hutch knew a patented Dobey dismissal when he heard one. He rose unsteadily and had to avoid leaning on Starsky's arm as he approached the door. Just as he was about to open the door, Dobey's voice resumed its special softness, "And, Hutch...if you ever need to
talk--"

Hutch waved a thank-you and left the office.

>>>>>>>
"Penny for your thoughts, genius?" Starsky pleaded, fitting his body against the tense back of his brooding blond. Hutch stood in the middle of the greenhouse, staring into the night sky.

"Just thinking. All that tough talk we tossed around about not trying to hide and taking whatever would come--Now to find out that people really did already know.... Huggy, Dobey--"

"You're not sure how you feel about that?" Starsky guessed.

Hutch turned and wrapped long arms around his mate. "Oh, babe, I don't mean that in a negative way. I guess I just don't understand how--What did we do, say? Dobey says it's the way we looked at each other, but I don't think I looked at you any different than I did years ago."

"Hutch, you ever think maybe these feelings go back a long ways? Long before that night after we told Kira to shove off?"

"What do you mean?"

"What we feel now. Maybe we were walking around in some kind of fog. Think about it, Hutch. Even you accused me of never understanding Gillian. Maybe I didn't. I always felt weird around you and Abby. And not just because she had you on all those kooky diets, fasting and stuff. You rolled your eyes at girls like Sharon and Laura so many times I thought you were gonna damage something up there. You tried your damndest to talk me out of falling for Rosey. I hated breathing the same air as Vanessa. Think all that don't add up to something? I've never wanted a guy before in my whole life, but I'm starting to think maybe I wanted you the first time I laid eyes on you."

"Soul mates are soul mates regardless of the plumbing, hmm?" Hutch smiled, kissing Starsky's forehead.

Starsky's breathing quickened under the delicate pressure of the lips on his face. "And you think I'm crude, Hutchinson."

"If what you say is true, why didn't people think something all along?"

"Got a theory for that too, smart guy. Maybe what Dobey and Huggy picked up on is that we were finally happy. You know? After we got our acts together. We were pretty down on the job for a while after losing Lionel. But with each other, we were right on target. Maybe for the first time. Hard to hide that kind of connection."

"You are a hopeless romantic," Hutch whispered into a curl-framed ear.

"I'm not a hopeless anything with you around, babe," Starsky turned his face so he could take the tip of Hutch's nose into his mouth. Hutch tightened his hold on the teasing bundle of love in his arms. Starsky stepped back and twirled his finger in the blond hair just above Hutch's forehead. "Hutch? Can I ask you something?"

"Oh, brother. Whenever you ask permission to ask a question, I end up in trouble."

Starsky yanked on the hair.

"Ow. That's attached."

"Well, lemme ask my question."

"Who's stopping you?"

"Fine. I guess I should have asked you this at the beginning. I know I was pretty much blind until that first night together, but you--you had to be feeling something before then, right? I mean, what you said in the alley at The Pits--"

Hutch winced at the memory. He had not enjoyed being alone with his thoughts after that incident and before Starsky turned up at Venice with his brave honesty and healed his heart. "Yes, I was."

"When--when did you--" Starsky tripped over his tongue and just smiled. Hutch felt his cheeks growing warm.

"I didn't really admit to myself what I was feeling--or accept what I wanted--until right before the mess with Kira. But the first time I realized it was possible to--want you...." Hutch couldn't continue. He turned away from Starsky's probing eyes and wanted to climb into one of his plant pots and hide. Starsky massaged his shoulders and kissed the nape of his neck.

"Just tell me, Hutch. What's the harm in talking about it now?"

"Because it's humiliating!" Hutch half-screeched. Starsky laughed.

"Damn, this must be good. Come on, babe. You don't want me to pull this out of you with twenty questions."

Hutch groaned. "Pine Lake," he whispered.

"Huh? Got to speak up, Hutch. Heightened senses don't mean I've got dog's ears."

"Pine Lake!"

"Wha'??"

Hutch whirled around, entire face flushed. "When you grabbed me outside the cabin...don't tell me you don't remember that."

Starsky looked for a minute like he was trying to dredge up a long-forgotten memory, but then his eyes sparkled and his mouth quirked. "If memory serves, you begged me to let you go."

"For good reason. Another minute and we'd've been having a discussion about why it suddenly felt like I had shoved half my damn tackle box down the front of my jeans!"

Starsky doubled over and held his mid-section, convulsed in laughter. Hutch's face turned as forbidding as a tombstone. Starsky ended up sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth, cackling. Hutch made a sound of exasperation. "Thanks, Starsky. I didn't think I could ever feel more foolish about that memory, but you've just proven me wrong."

Starsky swallowed his laughter and lifted eyes full of love. "Oh, Hutch. Nothing to feel foolish about. It's just...funny, I dunno. I can still see your face clear as day--and to think it was because--Oh, man. I wish you'd--"

"No," Hutch said seriously. "Don't start thinking something might have happened between us then. I was not ready. Took me a good deal of meditation not to end up on a shrink's couch after that weekend."

"What happened to Mr. It's-No-Big-Thing? You made me feel like I was some kind of backwoods ignorant boob after Johnny died. And you almost ended up at a shrink's after getting hard from hugging me?"

"That wasn't a hug, Starsk. That was a full-body press with your mouth just a few short inches from mine. Besides, it's one thing to be open-minded about a subject in general and another to come up hard against your own personal reality. Out of the blue. No warning. Just boom! Especially when I believed you'd hop the next 747 bound for anywhere if you figured out my little predicament. That scared me far more than those sideshow Satanists!"

"So, what made you start accepting what you felt?" Starsky was concentrating now, eyebrows drawn together, and Hutch sat down on the floor next to him.

"After I got shot, after that disaster with Marianne, I realized that no matter how bad my life seemed to be, how tired and pissed at the world I felt, I still got up every day just to see your face. One smile from you meant I could sleep at the end of a day, after a shift. That was a revelation, let me tell you. And then I almost burned all my bridges going into an outright panic over your relationship with Kira--"

"You kept me from spinning out of control, Hutch."

"What?"

"During all those shaky times. That's what made me understand how I felt. You were falling apart and trying to hold me up at the same time. And I realized I wanted to put you back together again."

Hutch extended trembling hands and cupped Starsky's face. Starsky brushed fingertips over those loving hands. "I thought I was making your life a living Hell," Hutch said, eyes roaming Starsky's face for confirmation of his admission. Starsky shook his head and smiled. They sat in silence, staring at each other, locked in a moment.

Sometime in the middle of the night Hutch woke with the unpleasant sensation of cold, empty covers where his spouse should be. He waited a few minutes, letting his eyes adjust to the lighting, in case Starsky had just gotten up to the--He sat straight up in bed. No, Starsky didn't need the use of those facilities anymore. He pushed the sheets back trying to calm his immediate alarm with various excuses for Starsky's absence. He's reading a book, he's--He was nowhere in the apartment. Hutch eventually migrated to the kitchen without any logical reason for doing so and found a note pinned to the fridge. "Couldn't sleep. Thinking about case. Gone to poke around Rikard's home. Don't worry about me."

Hutch clenched the note into his fist and pounded it against the freezer door. "Don't worry! Don't--Deep breath, Hutchinson. Deep breath. He's a grown-up, streetwise cop. He's also a ghost, dammit!" Hutch flung the note in the trash and vanished into the other room to fling on the nearest set of clothes. Holster on, badge in hand, halfway to the door, Hutch paused.

"Home," he said out loud again in the semi-darkness. "He said home.does he mean?" Hutch ordered himself to slow down long enough to find his telephone directory. Starsky had made that an easy task: the book lay open on the coffee table. Hutch ran a finger over the page of relevant R's until he found "Rikard, James Robertson, Residence." Hutch repeated the address in his head until he felt it stick and then slammed out of the apartment.

Hutch parked a respectable distance from the condominium in question and sat in the car debating his options. He slammed a hand against the door handle, panicked for a second that he'd trigger the horn, and then exited the LTD, creeping inches at a time toward the dark condo. Hutch cautiously approached one lower level window unimpeded by an entire garden of sticker bushes like the other main window and peered into darkness where he thought he detected movement. His lover was slipping cat-burglar fashion through what appeared to Hutch's adjusting eyes to be a home office or study. Suddenly in the process of shutting a desk drawer, Starsky's heightened senses must have kicked in because he glanced up and then made his way to the window. Hutch could only imagine what expression he displayed for Starsky because the gorgeous snoop offered a wobbly, I'm-in-deep-crap grin in return.

Two minutes later Starsky greeted Hutch on the condo's front walk and took the blond's arm, escorting him silently in the direction Hutch indicated. Only when they reached the car, did Hutch's bloody-finger nailed-grasp on control fail. "Are you out of your mind?" he bellowed.

Starsky raised a finger to his lips. "Hutch, ya wanna wake the dead--uh, sorry, bad phrase. This is a highly residential area and you don't want to explain why you're shouting into thin air--"

"Don't you evade the issue, David Starsky. I repeat: are you out of your mind?"

"Well, if you want to get technical, I suppose--"

"Starsky, you were in there plundering through the personal belongings of a man who was actually at home and sleeping, right?"

"Yes, he's home and sleeping. Good guess. You're forgetting the tiny detail of my invisibility, Hutch. I could steal the Hope Diamond in this state."

Hutch leaned on the roof of the LTD, index finger aloft. "And you're forgetting that you're a cop! For God's sake, that was an illegal search, invasion of privacy, breaking and entering--"

"I didn't break a damn thing, thank you! Just walked through the door. Literally. Besides, will you listen to yourself? You sound like a whole gaggle of Saunders's on his first night as your partner. How many times have you and I bent the rules--"?

"Bent them, yes. Ripped them to unrecognizable shreds? No."

"Hutch, get in the car."

"Starsky--"

"Get. In. The. Car."

Hutch got in the car.

Starsky sighed, rolled his eyes heavenward, and slid through the door into the passenger seat. He turned and lifted a hand, caressing Hutch's pale cheek. "Easy, Hutch. I'm fine. Nothing bad happened."

"I wake up and find you're gone." Hutch stared straight ahead and didn't even show response to the hand stroking his cheek.

"Gotta deaden that protection impulse a little, Hutch. I love you being loving, concerned, caring, everything you've always been, and I know we've always watched each other's backs, but I'm not gonna handle being smothered well, babe. I'm not in any more danger like this than I was before--In fact, I'm probably better able to avoid trouble."

"How the hell did you even get here? Wiggle your nose like Samantha?"

"That's a witch, Hutch."

"What?"

"Samantha. From 'Bewitched.' She'd wiggle her nose and make stuff happen."

"Okay, so I'm no TV expert. Answer my question."

"It's true that I haven't figured out the whole ghostly just-wanna-be-somewhere-and-boom-you're-there thing. I took the good old-fashioned route. Slipped onto a bus I knew was headed in this direction and walked over from the stop."

Hutch let out a rush of air and sucked back in deeply. "Fine. You're independent. You're invincible. I'm a nanny on steroids. That does not give you the right to suddenly quit acting like a cop--"

Starsky reached out and grabbed Hutch's face in both palms, turning the rigid neck so they could lock eyes. "News flash, schweetheart. I am not a cop. I won't ever be a cop again."

"Nonsense--"

"Hutch, listen to me! When would I ever be able to testify on a stand? Or any dozen other things cops do everyday and take for granted. I'm locked out of that world now."

"That's not true, Starsky. I thought we talked about this in front of that rose garden--"

"You precious blond idiot, I'm not griping and whining anymore. Can't you tell? I've come to terms with what I am--and I know now I can be something much better for you than a cop."

"Hmm? What are you talking about?"

"Your ace in the hole, Hutch. Your secret weapon on the streets. Without doing anything that would hurt anyone, I can go places we never could, see things, hear stuff, help you and Saunders put pieces together a helluva lot faster. You understand?"

"Kind of like a ghostly private investigator? I guess I could live with that," Hutch said as he felt the beginnings of a grin tug on his lips.

Starsky produced an almost lewd smile. "If I'm the hard-boiled P.I., I guess that makes you my beautiful associate--"

"Whatever you've got in mind, it better not entail my putting on a low-cut dress," Hutch countered fiercely.

Starsky laughed, pulled the stern face close and licked at Hutch's lower lip. Hutch expelled a whimper, said nothing about their sitting in plain view, and opened his mouth invitingly. Starsky wrestled those wide lips into submission and bathed Hutch's inner lips and the roof of his mouth, sliding the tip of his tongue like a dental diagnostic instrument over each separate tooth with precision. The sensation verged on narcotic and Hutch pulled away with great reluctance. "Whoa, Starsk, you keep doing that and I'm going to--" Hutch's face changed and Starsky's eyes widened.

"You're serious? I could push the eject button just by kissing you? After all this time?"

"Oh--Oh, yes." Hutch held up both hands in mock surrender and backed against the driver's door. "You just about did. But we need to take care of business. Just what did you accomplish in there, David Starsky, P.I.?"

Starsky grinned and made up for the absence of a working dome light. "I had a good thirty minutes at least to prowl before you showed up at the window. Found some interesting things about that Rikard character, Hutch."

Hutch cranked the car. "Let's continue this as we go. I don't want to draw too much attention. This isn't even our normal beat and we don't have a shred of a reason to be staking out Rikard's condo."

"Could you handle picking up a pizza on the way home? There's that all night place over on 7th."

"Starsk, this is how you know I really love you. I'm actually willing to ingest pizza at three in the morning just to please your completely unchanged appetite. Tell you what: we'll save the debriefing until we get home. How about some music?" Hutch flipped on the radio and smiled as the strains of a particularly romantic song heated the atmosphere of the vehicle.

Starsky slid over and fondled Hutch's ear lobe with his left ring finger. "I wonder just how powerful that tapping activity gets." He tapped his finger with his other hand and then gave an exultant shout, "All right! I'm on a roll. Maybe I'll get the hang of that other ghost stuff yet."

Hutch risked a glance away from the road. "What did you do?"

Starsky held up his left hand for inspection. The ring finger boasted a solid gold band.

Hutch assessed their surroundings and pulled the car off the road behind an abandoned gas station shielded from the prying eyes of traffic. He didn't bother to kill the engine before he turned and opened his arms. "Want to try pushing that eject button?"

An hour later Hutch wiped his mouth with a napkin, swirled the root beer in the bottle, and patted his stomach. "Got to admit, that pizza actually hit the spot. 'Of course I'll probably have my head buried in the Alka Seltzer box by morning, but right now I'm feeling good."

Having received several pizza-flavored kisses, Starsky too felt replete. He lounged against the sofa cushions; feet propped on the coffee table, and folded his hands in his lap. "Umm...."

"Oh, no, you don't," Hutch tapped the dark head, recognizing Starsky in sleepy wind-down. "I want to know what you turned up at Rikard's."

"Oh, yeah." Starsky snuffled, snorted, and rubbed his eyes with both fists. "Okay. Where do I start?"

"What perked your ears at Rikard's office earlier? I saw your alarms going off, but I couldn't say anything and then later I--um--got distracted."

"I wonder how that happened," Starsky teased, words wrapped in huskiness.

"Easy. I have a super-human lover who takes advantage of the fact that I'm addicted to his every breath. Now, fill me in on Rikard. I need sleep to function at work tomorrow."

"Well, you saw Rita Hayworth, Rikard's secretary. Now, from what I've seen, guys like Rikard tend to get all flustered about women like that--I mean, not just lust but really head over heels-- but when she peeked in to tell him about his appointment, I watched him real close. Nothing. Not a hint of chemistry. That combined with his gushing about Carla Froman gave me an itch that maybe something more than just family friendship is going on here."

"Following you so far. And the verdict?"

"That's what's strange. Rikard's study is chock full of Carla's pictures. All in fancy schmancy frames. Practically a shrine to the woman and some of 'em look several years old. But when I dug around in his desk and such, I didn't find letters from Carla or anything. I found a couple letters from Libbie."

Hutch raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really?"

"O-o-h, really. If you wrote that stuff to me I'd suffer spontaneous combustion."

"That heated?"

"Buddy boy, you got no idea."

"No wonder you were in a tizzy when I got you in the car." Hutch grinned.

"With you I'd be in a tizzy on a glacier."

"You too, Starsk," Hutch said gently, fingertips caressing the new addition to Starsky's left hand. "Back to the case. What's your best guess about Rikard?"

"Best guess? He's lying through his perfect teeth about his relationship with both of the Froman girls. Hutch, you should have seen that study. There's probably two-hundred dollars worth of picture frames alone."

Hutch stroked his chin, nodding in slow motion. "Our problem is going to be how to use this information."

"Right. I couldn't remove any of the 'evidence'. You can't just show up at the station tomorrow and tell Saunders, 'Guess what, Libbie Froman sends written fantasies every month to Rikard, who has a ton of Carla's pictures all over his desk and bookcase'. "

"We could go back through Carla Fromans' belongings. See if we can't scrounge up some evidence of a connection between her and Rikard. Might rile the family, but if Dobey is so pressed for us to solve this case, we'd have his backing."

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that. Maybe we've overlooked some hiding place for 'sensitive material'. T-Terry had this box she used to keep her special jewelry and a small coin collection, but the bottom had this little trap door thingy that opened a small hidden drawer...and she kept some of the stuff I wrote there."

Hutch stroked a hand softly through dark curls, offering wordless support before he said, "Sounds like we got a plan, partner."

>>>>

Saunders shoved a paper bag across the table to Hutch's side of the desk while he tapped his other hand restlessly against his leg. He had the phone receiver propped on his shoulder. "Somebody there? Yes, this is Detective Saunders of the Bay City PD. I was talking to Lieutenant Spears about--yes, that's right. Thanks. Spears? No problem. You were saying?"

Hutch delved in the bag and pulled out a bagel breakfast sandwich that consisted of cream cheese and strips of avocado and fresh cantaloupe. Hutch's mouth watered but Starsky grimaced. "Uhh. He's got your tastes pegged solid, pal, and you can keep all of that to yourself. I'm gonna sit here and fantasize about a jelly donut."

"...Thanks, Lieutenant. Have a good one." Saunders hung up and groaned, stretching.

"Thanks," Hutch mumbled around a mouthful. Saunders smiled.

"You never did let me buy you lunch yesterday. Figured I'd sneak a meal in some way."

"What have you been up to and just how do you manage to get here before me every day?"

Saunders took a gulp of coffee and laughed, "It's called having a fiancée who gets up before the roosters when she has day shifts at the ER. I've gotten trained to match her schedule. Boring hanging around in an empty apartment, so I get here as quick as I can. As to what I've been doing, I've been on the phone with some other California police departments digging for any hint of professional mechanic activity. Just in case our guy left BC for a gig elsewhere close by. San Diego looked a possible positive hit, but Lieutenant Spears dashed my hopes. They've got a guy in custody who specializes in strangulation and took out a lower level political figure just two days ago, but he doesn't come close to matching our description."

"Hmm....Hell of a thought, though. Here's one for you: want to face down Libbie Froman one more time?"

"I just bought you breakfast. What do I do to make you *really* dislike me?"

"You do not like that girl, do you, Saunders?"

"Frankly, no. My nerves find her as corrosive as acid. Why?"

Hutch outlined some of Starsky's feelings about J.R. Rikard from their office visit, wishing yet again he could give credit where credit was due. Then, he suggested searching Carla's room. Saunders nodded approval. "Yeah, I'll go for that. Think we need to swing this by Captain Dobey in case we start taking heat from the Froman clan?"

"Be a good idea," Hutch said. "Ounce of prevention and all that."

"I can't believe you are here again. She was killed in this city, not Lithuania. Why can't you solve the crime without continually disrupting my grief process?" Libbie shot daggers at both of them with her sharp green eyes. Saunders raised a hand and opened his mouth, but Hutch rushed into the gap.

"Miss Froman, I would think our actually solving the crime no matter what it takes could only help your 'grieving process'."

"Now what are you insinuating, that I don't care? Of course I care, but my parents agree that I need to try to resume a normal life as soon as possible."

"Murders have a way of making that difficult," Saunders answered, voice chilled.

"You know, I need to wear those red long johns under my clothes around him when he gets like that," Starsky commented, a smile lighting his face.

Libbie stepped aside. "Come on in, do what you want. I'm starting summer session today so I have class in an hour."

"Shouldn't take that long," Hutch soothed, brushing past her.

After half an hour, Hutch and Saunders were exchanging looks of disappointment when Starsky stepped through the closed closet doors and hustled up to Hutch. "Mother lode, Blondie. She's got one of those...whatchmacall'em--dainty lingerie bags. You need to have a look."

Hutch abandoned his inspection of a miniature curio cabinet and flung open the closet doors. Libbie appeared at that moment and said, "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Just what we told you we'd do. Have a look through Carla's belongings."

"Including her clothes? Do you think she was killed for her fashion sense?"

"Ms. Froman, I've had about enough--" Saunders fell silent at Hutch's headshake.

Hutch made a show of rifling through clothes, peeking in a shoe bag, and finally stumbling across the lingerie bag. He lifted it down from its hanger and brought it over to the bed.

Libbie smirked. "Oh, you're that kind."

"Libbie, I suggest you let us continue our search undisturbed. You're coming awfully close to interfering with a police process. Ring any bells to a pre-law student?" Hutch used his best no-nonsense face.

Libbie paled and stammered a few incoherent syllables before she left the room. Saunders winked at Hutch. "Not that it would ever stand up in court, but I applaud your creativity, partner."

"I wanted her out of here before I threw something at her and ended up with a police brutality charge," Hutch said, grinning.

"Too bad we know a man killed Carla Froman. I'd be willing to plunk down hard cash on a bet that Libbie Froman could wield deadly force," Starsky added.

Hutch looked up from the lingerie bag for a moment and then shook his head. A fleeting thought flashed through his brain, simmered, and fizzed out before he could grasp the meaning. His eyes fell on the part of the bag that caught Starsky's interest. A small velvet zippered bag attached to the inside bottom. He unzipped it, fished a handkerchief out of his pocket, and carefully extracted four incredibly delicate pieces of onionskin stationary.

"What have we here?" Hutch breathed.

"Something worth my giving up on this jewelry case?" Saunders asked hopefully. Hutch unfolded one of the papers and read aloud:

"You are my destiny.
Though I may falter and in life fail.
You are my memory
Of happy times before I grew frail.
Weak from needing,
Desiring what only you can give.
Starved and bleeding,
My soul only in your hands may live. --James."

"Well, and didn't I see on Rikard's very impressive framed degrees that J.R. stands for James Robertson?" Saunders smiled. "Quite the Alfred, Lord Tennyson."

"No kidding," Hutch indicated the other pieces of stationary. "These are all poems. And each has To: Carla written at the top."

"I think we have enough to go knock on Rikard's door one more time," Saunders' smile broadened.

"Don't get overly excited. Rikard may be sickeningly sweet, but that's not motive for murder. Besides, he doesn't fit the description of the killer and can you see Rikard forking over liquid capital for a paid hit?"

"Are you kidding? That poem has 'unrequited love' written all over it. Maybe he got tired of seeing her walk the Earth a free woman but never his. He's old-fashioned enough to think up a ridiculous, 'if I can't have you nobody can' kind of scenario. He's also the kind not to get his hands dirty himself."

"Gotta admit, Hutch, the man has a point," Starsky piped up. "Even though we can't tell him that there's a weird piece of puzzle missing. Those letters from Libbie."

Hutch smacked a fist against his other palm. "If it was unrequited love, why did Carla keep the poems in her lingerie bag? I'm starting to feel like we're peeling an onion."

"Yeah, and only three layers down. Let's go see what Ms. Fashion Sense has to say about her sister's relationship with Mr. Rikard."

Libbie treated the poems with disdain and contempt. "Oh, James can be such a softie. He pitied Carla a few years ago when it looked like she wouldn't be able to attend school. The pity developed into this slight infatuation that lasted a few months. Then he came to his senses."

"He sent her these poems when she was just nineteen?" Hutch looked over them one more time and found that they were indeed undated.

"Yeah. Carla's always seemed more mature than she is in years."

"What do you think of Mr. Rikard, Libbie?" Saunders asked.

Libbie bit her lower lip, flashed her eyes, but did not change facial coloring. She finally shrugged. "He's a nice guy. One of Dad's favorite people. We've known him forever."

"Yeah, and her letters sound like she's known him in more ways than one," Starsky snorted.

"So," Saunders drawled. "We go see a man about a girl?"

"You ever consider a career in law enforcement?" Hutch grinned.

Starsky groaned, "New partner means time for some new jokes, babe."

Ms. Lymon broke into a pearly smile the minute Saunders and Hutch approached her ramshackle desk. Today she wore a chiffon-lace confection that looked straight off the rack at Frederick's of Hollywood. Even Saunders faltered in his steps and rubbed the back of his neck. Hutch whispered, "Saunders. Shame on you." That produced a vivid shade of red on his cheeks that matched his Cleveland Indians T-shirt. Starsky wondered out loud just how many baseball teams Saunders supported.

"We need to speak to Mr. Rikard again," Hutch informed her while Saunders regained composure.

"Oh, I'm sorry. He's in a very important meeting right now."

"We'll just wait until that meeting concludes," Saunders said.

"Oh, but it could take a long, long time."

"We just might interrupt that very important meeting, then," Hutch smiled.

Ms. Lymon turned into a strawberry-blonde puddle. Starsky sidled up to Hutch and placed a possessive hand on the well-shaped corduroy-encased rear. "You still got it, Hutch. Even if it doesn't matter anymore, you still turn heads."

"I'll just go see how long he's expecting...yes, I'll be right back." Ms. Lymon turned after a lingering look at Hutch and prissed over to the staircase.

Saunders nudged Hutch with an elbow. "I think you've acquired a fan."

Hutch smiled and shrugged. Saunders' face assumed a tenderness and Hutch instinctively knew he was remembering Hutch's assertion by the swan pond that he would never try to replace Starsky. They were interrupted by the re-appearance of Ms. Lymon who promised an interview with Mr. Rikard in five minutes. She was true to her word. Perhaps four minutes later Rikard escorted an elderly man, with a leg brace and crutches, down the stairs and to the door. When he finished his farewells, he turned and greeted both detectives with a polite but tepid smile.

"Gentlemen? Shall we go upstairs? No interruptions, Sandra."

"Nice to know we've got the guy's full attention," Starsky said, sneering and following the trio up the carpeted stairs.

"Now, what can I do for you, Detectives?" Rikard began immediately after offering beverages. At their polite refusals, he said softly, "Oh, yes, you're on duty. How silly of me."

"Did they put this guy in a time machine in 1947 and drop him down here a couple of years ago?" Starsky inquired as he leaned against his favorite part of the bookshelves.

"Mr. Rikard, we're here because we've discovered a discrepancy in some of the information you gave us yesterday and we'd like you to clear it up for us." Saunders must have had a finger on the pulse of Rikard's sensitivities because the statement did nothing to cause the lawyer discomfort. His smile only widened and he offered whatever help he could provide.

"We think you may have had a closer relationship to Ms. Froman than you indicated yesterday," Hutch said.

That put a crack in the mask of congeniality. Rikard's lower lip pulled down in surprise. "Which--" He cleared his throat. "You're referring to Carla, I presume? Who has been telling you about any supposed relationship I may have had with Carla?"

"No one has been gossiping, Mr. Rikard. In the course of a more thorough search of Carla's belongings, we discovered a set of poems written to Carla and her sister confirmed that you sent them."

Rikard sighed. "Yes, I--I know what you must have found. I do apologize that I was not more forthcoming yesterday, Detectives. I--I have far too much respect for Carla to discuss intimate parts of her life in the current situation. And the--the relationship of which you speak was very delicate."

"Perhaps you'd better explain 'delicate.'"

"You must understand, we were promised each other."

"Oh, man, I did not just hear that," Starsky gasped. "Does he mean what I think he means?"

"You're saying you--had some kind of pre-arranged betrothal?" Saunders' brown eyes silently asked Hutch to tell him he was hearing things.

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. It has always been her father's fondest wish that we would marry. Carla was uncertain of her feelings about this 'arrangement' so I was allowing her plenty of time to seek her own way. I felt certain that she would consent in the end."

"What damn century are we in? Forget 1947. 1847 maybe," Starsky's tone expressed open disgust.

"By allowing her to seek her own way, what do you mean exactly?" Hutch's eyes narrowed, an eyebrow quirked, nose picking up the scent of a turning point.

"Well, I knew she'd developed a friendship with this--this shady character with a ridiculous name. He owns a bar in a completely unsavory part of town. I heartily disapproved of the situation, but I did not put my foot down. I--I wish I had now that events have taken their present course. I did, however, mention some of Carla's activities to her father. At least I can salve my conscience with that. Though I hope this Mr. um...Bear doesn't have an easy conscience."

Saunders had a hand lightly pressed against Hutch's chest but no one restrained Starsky. He bounced directly into Rikard's line-of-sight and then stuck his face right up next to Rikard's ear and snarled, "If I thought for a second you'd feel it, I'd make you eat that little speech."

Hutch spit his next question through clenched teeth, "You informed Mr. Froman about Carla's friendship with Huggy Bear?"

"Yes, about two weeks before she was killed."

"Let me ask you something else, Mr. Rikard," Saunders took over with a concerned glance at his partner. "Why didn't you just know we referred to Carla earlier? Why would there be any doubt? Is there a reason we might have meant Libbie? I'd advise you to answer as truthfully as possible; you've already withheld information from us once."

"Bulls-eye!" Starsky grinned. "Go get him, tiger!"

Rikard swayed on his feet and gripped the edge of his desk, "I--I protest. What can this possibly have to do with Carla's murder? Explain the relevance?"

"The relevance is that we have a homicide on our hands. And if we want to find out who killed Carla Froman, we have to understand the relationships immediately surrounding her. We can't afford to overlook any source of a motive. They did teach you about the burden of proof in law school, Mr. Rikard? We can't get that proof without asking questions."

Hutch's lecture withered Rikard's resolve. He sat--almost fell--down in his swivel chair and leaned on the desk. "Libbie was a temporary insanity of mine. For six months, ending about three months ago, we shared an--an intimate relationship. I was uncomfortable with the situation from the beginning, but I had grown weak in my belief that Carla would--c-care for me. Eventually, I ended the dalliance. Not one of my finer moments, gentlemen, but Carla was--was so understanding. She never once used my mistake against me."

Starsky threw up his hands. "Does this guy have a single clue how he sounds, for Chris'sakes?"

"How did Libbie feel about the break-up?" Saunders asked.

Rikard's mouth twisted into a frown of distaste. "Libbie fancied herself wronged, of course, for quite some time. Strained our friendship, I'll admit, but she's a very strong, self-assured young woman and in the end she came to see the sense in our going our separate ways."

"When did you send these poems to Carla, Mr. Rikard?" Hutch folded his arms across his chest and looked almost queasy.

"Oh, a few years ago. I--I wanted to write more, but Carla asked that I not send her any until she felt free to respond to them properly. Of course, I could never refuse any of her requests."

"Get me outta here," Starsky pleaded, "before I lose the lunch I haven't had yet."

Once outside, Starsky stretched out his arms, breathed deep, and pounded his chest. "Fresh air. Jeez, I thought I was going to suffocate in that place. May be a year before I can watch an old movie again."

Saunders tapped his keys on the roof of his car. "Thoughts?"

"Besides the fact that if I've ever seen a more self-righteous sonuvabitch, I don't remember when?"

"Agreed. Does that make him a murderer?"

Hutch squinted in the blazing sun. "Much as I hate to admit it, I don't think he's the brains behind this killing. He just rings true in too many ways. Not that I won't plead for a warrant to get at his bank records. But look at his office. He's just getting his feet wet in his own private practice--the furniture in there is worse than mine. He probably got the house at bargain prices because no one else in his right mind would want the damn thing. Not the ideal candidate for contracting a hit."

"Yeah, and I noted that he didn't pull the typical 'that sounds like an accusation' stunt on you when you hit him with the burden of proof. I can believe his excuse for not leveling with us about Carla yesterday. He's just the kind of guy to let his feelings about Carla's so-called privacy override his good judgment as an attorney."

"I want five minutes of Mr. Froman's time. Why was he so careful to conceal that he knew about Carla's relationship with Huggy? Speaking of Huggy, we're due to pick him up at the hospital this afternoon."

Saunders laughed. "I'll enjoy that. Someone very present-day after all that nineteenth-century syrup in Rikard's office."

If polled, all three detectives would have probably agreed that Mr. Froman had aged fifteen years since the day he identified Carla's body. He settled them into his office on the thirty-fifth floor of his executive building. A contractor turned real estate mogul, he lectured them for a few minutes on initiative, in effect implying that they had not shown enough in the pursuit of Carla's murderer. Starsky sat on the arm of Hutch's chair and stroked a hand across the fine blond strands resting on Hutch's right ear. The caress calmed Hutch, who had slipped for a minute back in time and heard the echoes of similar lectures delivered by his CEO father.

"I gather you have some questions for me?"

Hutch felt a rush of gratitude at the lecture's end. "Yes, we've just left J.R. Rikard's office. Have to admit I'd like to know why, when you were questioned by Detective Saunders about Carla's close friends and even acquaintances, his name never came up. Libbie also failed to mention him to me."

"Simple, Detective Hutchinson. James had absolutely nothing to do with this atrocity. He was in Italy at the time of her death. Why drag him into the fray?"

"You know, I have to say, Mr. Froman, I get really tired of murder victims' families withholding important information from us because they don't deem it vital to our case, and then they whine when we have no criminal in custody within what they deem a proper amount of time."

"Detective Hutchinson, I don't like what you're implying--"

Hutch had enough. He jumped to his feet, ignored Saunders' look of dissuasion, and held up a silencing hand. "And I don't like your thinking you're the expert here, Mr. Froman. We have reason to believe this may have been a paid killing committed by a professional. If so, then Mr. Rikard's trip to Italy does not prove his innocence in this crime."

"Oh, that's ridiculous. James loved Carla. He had every hope of making her his wife someday."

"Really?" Saunders asked. "From what we've heard, Carla may not have supported that hope."

Mr. Froman frowned. "Carla is--w-was one of those young women whose kind and loving heart is not tempered enough with good, old-fashioned common sense. She had this belief that she had to prove her independence as some kind of role model for other deaf people."

"Did that belief lead her to develop a friendship with Huggy Bear?" Saunders moved imperceptibly closer to Hutch when he asked the question. He need not have worried: Starsky already had a hold on the blond's arm.

"Exactly. Case in point. Sheer rebellion against better judgment on her part. My poor princess thought that fraternizing with people completely out of her class might prove that she was somehow normal."

"Is that something Carla actually said or are you supplying her words just like you and Rikard would like to have run her life?" It was Saunders' turn to flinch in the artic blast of Hutch's accusation. Mr. Froman slammed a hand down on his desk.

"Your captain is going to hear about this ill treatment, Detective Hutchinson. I have friends in this city at high levels of influence. You just might find--"

"If I thought it worth my while, I'd tell you where you could put those friends, Mr. Froman. All I care about is putting away the person responsible for cutting a life pitifully short in a brutal manner. You didn't have to see your daughter's body up close right after the deed, Mr. Froman. I did. So, excuse me if I don't give a damn about treating you nicely. How would you like your high-placed friends to hear that you're considered uncooperative in the investigation? Take for instance how you insisted to Detective Saunders that you knew nothing about Huggy, but Rikard told us that he informed you of Carla's friendship at least two weeks prior to the murder."

"Hutch, I think I love you," Starsky sighed, laying his face against his blond's quivering shoulder.

"All right!" Froman thundered. "You don't understand. I'd just lo-lost my baby. My little girl. I didn't want to talk about the part of her life that may well have gotten her killed--especially in front of my wife, who didn't know about that aspect of Carla's new independence. Then I come home and find out Libbie's told her mother an even more worrisome version of their relationship which, I am infinitely pleased to find, was inaccurate. I don't buy this nonsense about a professional killer. I--I think one of that Huggy Bear's thug friends is responsible. Carla w-was pr-probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you're wasting your time sniffing around James Rikard. Our families have been friends for years. Early on it was decided that he would take care of my little girl and I'd sponsor his legal practice after they were married."

"Don't tell me you mean...a dowry?" Saunders' eyes widened. Froman had the grace to look away from the detective's astonishment.

"In essence, I suppose. In any case, Rikard has no motive for wanting my baby girl dead."

"What did you plan to do about Carla's friendship with Huggy?" Hutch demanded.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Mr. Froman. You're a man of action. Initiative. Are you saying you weren't going to try to exert your influence? What if Carla's feelings for Huggy had shown signs of deepening and becoming more what Libbie believed them to be?"

"Carla and I had several heart-to-heart chats about the situation. I think she was beginning to see the sense in distancing herself from that unwise connection."

"Good God!" Starsky plopped down in the chair Hutch had vacated. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. What twilight zone are we in?"

"You want to know what I find strange?" Saunders approached the desk and stared directly into Froman's face. "I have such a hard time understanding how a girl so chummy with her dad, her sister, her mom--so easily persuaded--didn't mention in one of these heart-to-heart chats that she's possibly dying with cancer."

Froman paled. "I--I h-have a hard time sleeping at night when I think of h-how much she suffered alone without our help. I can only guess that she thought we'd--make her quit school and come back home. She wanted so much to--to be normal."

"Smart girl. Sounds like the only sane, rational member of the bunch," Starsky said.

"We won't take any more of your time, Mr. Froman, but we may be back. As you said, we have to exercise initiative," Saunders said as he backed away from the desk and gestured at Hutch.

Hutch could not resist a parting shot. Just as he and Saunders moved to the door, Hutch turned around and said, "She didn't suffer alone, Mr. Froman. She had a real, true friend down to the last. She confided in Huggy about the cancer." The look on Froman's face made up for every minute of their interview. Hutch walked to the elevator with a much lighter heart.

"If I didn't think it'd give Saunders heart failure, I'd push you up against this elevator wall and kiss you into next week for that little stunt. Huggy would have been proud of you." Starsky had to satisfy himself with dragging a fingertip down the bridge of Hutch's nose.

>>>>>

"Well, Dr. Fuller rests securely on the side of the angels." Saunders hung up the phone and propped his feet up on the table.

"Hmm?" Hutch flipped through his notes and scratched his head.

"That was the top-notch OB-Gyn specialist Dr. Fuller told us about. The one Carla consulted for a second opinion about her options. He just got back in town from a research conference. His expert take on the situation is that Dr. Fuller had done everything medically possible to make an earlier diagnosis. No mess-ups, no missed signs. Carla's cancer was just highly unusual and voracious. No explanation for it. Not that we were counting on that anyway. As you said, doctors don't go hiring hit men to keep their patients from filing medical malpractice suits."

"What makes us so sure that this guy is professional?" Hutch looked up from his notes.

"Great minds, Hutch. I was just thinking the same thing."

"What?" Saunders pondered the question. "Well, the MO for one thing. Weapon. An eye-witness description of the killer doesn't match anyone in Carla's acquaintance or close circle...have I covered all the bases?"

"Something just doesn't sit well with me about this whole damn thing!" Hutch flung his notebook down on the table and jumped up, plodding over to the water cooler.

"HUTCHINSON!"

"Guess Froman made that phone call after all," Saunders winced.

Hutch drank down the water, crumpled the cup, and tossed it over his shoulder without looking. Starsky draped an arm over his shoulder. "Two points, Kareem. Now, just go in there and hold your head high. I'm right beside you."

Saunders trailed them into Dobey's office. Captain Dobey stood up behind his desk and put his hands on his hips. "Will you tell me just what you thought you'd accomplish by raking Donald Froman over the coals, Hutchinson? You do know--or maybe you don't--that he plays golf with the commissioner every other Friday! The commissioner!"

"He was withholding information vital to the case, Captain Dobey," Saunders spoke up.

"And you!" Dobey swiveled. "I've heard about your dragging Mr. Froman and his family straight from the morgue to an interrogation room. If we don't all lose our heads over this--Hutch! What is so damn funny?

Hutch coughed, sputtered, and choked. He could not tell Dobey that the humor stemmed from Starsky's having carefully sprawled on the top of Dobey's desk in a seductive pose and tapped his chest and legs. The sight of Starsky's proud nudity on the unwitting captain's furniture blasted away Hutch's resolve to hold in any expression or emotion that might give someone a clue to Starsky's presence. "I'm--I'm sorry. I--"

"What, Hutch? You think you've got some kind of guardian angel looking out for your badge? There are more sharks out there than just IA, you know."

"I've got a Patron Idiot," Hutch murmured with a glance at the desk.

Starsky sat up, stuck his tongue out at Hutch, and clothed himself, muttering, "Jeez, Hutch, I try to take your mind off Dobey's tongue-lashing and that's the thanks I get?"

"What was that, Hutch?" Dobey hollered.

"Nothing, Captain."

"Now, listen, men. We're blessed by the Almighty that Froman doesn't realize how close a connection Hutch has with Huggy Bear. Watch your steps with this case. I want it solved yesterday, but I want every i dotted and t crossed. I want a case so airtight the Good Lord himself couldn't poke holes in it. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain," said three voices in unison.

Dobey looked around the room. "Is there an echo in this office? I could have sworn I heard--I have got to go home early tonight. Get out of here and give me some peace!"

They didn't wait for a second dismissal.

Huggy stopped just short of falling on both detectives with kisses and declarations of love when they appeared at the hospital. He had already been wheeled down to the main lobby and sat tapping hands restlessly on his knees. The nurse with him looked haggard. Of course, a male, two-hundred-and-fifty pound nurse probably wouldn't get the red carpet treatment from Huggy Bear, Hutch and Starsky agreed with each other silently, vying between them for the largest smirk. Saunders just put his hands on his hips in an imitation of Dobey and when the male nurse left, said, "Well, Huggy, how did you and Sweetie-Pie over there get along?"

Huggy crooked a thumb at him and looked at Hutch. "This guy thinks he's a comedian already? Who injected him with humor serum?"

"He has his moments," Hutch answered, stone-faced.

"I have to because Hutchinson sure doesn't," Saunders retorted.

"And neither of you can top my knock 'em dead personality," Starsky laughed.

"Can we have a debate on your comedic talents, my two fine gents, somewhere else? I'm starting to feel like a sterile specimen." Huggy cast disgusted glances around the medical surroundings and shuddered.

"You would have been out of here two days ago if you hadn't spiked that sudden fever, Huggy. What gave you the bright idea to do that?"

Huggy glared at Hutch. "Not my choice, Blondie. Thank ya kindly. And I didn't exactly ask to get my ears more intimately acquainted with each other thanks to a barstool, either. Damn, what does that Cathy woman do in her spare time? Kung fu?"

Hutch wagged a finger at him, suppressing his laughter at Huggy's face. "Now you've had a taste of what cops have to face every time we walk the streets."

"Yeah, yeah, you're all heroes. Granted. No argumento. Can we leave now, plee-ase?"

"You didn't find even one pretty nurse to make your stay worthwhile?" Hutch asked sympathetically, gesturing for Huggy to vacate the wheelchair so they could find Saunders' car.

"One, yes. Also found out she has a boyfriend who makes that nurse look like Tiny Tim. No, thank you, fellas. Don't wanna end up back in here with only half my head next time. The Bear takes great care to keep his pretty face and what little hair he has in place."

Saunders cracked up. "Yeah, Bev would kill me if she had to patch up your bloody pieces." He glanced at Hutch. "Huggy always rhyme like that?"

Hutch rolled his eyes. "You'd be amazed."

Huggy shrugged. "It's a gift. What can I say?"

"Nothing you haven't already said so much I can quote it," Starsky grinned, obviously thrilled that their friend had recovered enough to sound just like his normal self.

"Drop me by The Pits, fellas, I want to see how much I have to do to turn the place back into its previous party-riffic condition."

"Yes, sir." Saunders pulled out of the patient pick-up bay and Huggy reclined in the back seat. Hutch glanced back and spit out the mineral water he was gulping.

"Glad you think this is funny, babe," Starsky glared at him. Huggy's instinctive positioning for comfort threatened to land his head straight through Starsky's lap. Huggy could not feel the ghostly presence, but Starsky was trying to fold himself into a paper doll to avoid the awkward contact. Hutch found the entire scene priceless. Saunders let one eye stray from traffic.

"What's going on in this car?"

"Uh, nothing, Saunders. Just laughing at Huggy taking a 'bear' nap."

"Now, see what I mean? If we have to depend on you for the humor in this partnership, we're in deep cow-dung."

"Got to agree with Saunders on this one, Hutch." Starsky delicately tried to shove Huggy's head a few inches to the side. His efforts at inconspicuousness failed miserably. Huggy raised his head and groaned.

"Can we limit the potholes, Saunders m'man? My head still does not like excessive movement."

"What potholes?" Saunders asked.

"All units in the vicinity of Berrill Avenue," the radio crackled.

"Zebra-3, dispatch. Hutchinson here."

"Zebra-3, 2-11 in progress. Sammy's Kwik-Stop, Berrill Avenue, cross-street Denton. Officer down, officer requires assistance. Repeat, officer down."

"Just a few blocks from here," Hutch said to Saunders. "Do a U." He lifted the mike. "Zebra-3 we are responding."

"Roger that, Zebra-3."

"With a civilian in tow?"

"With this particular civilian, yes," Hutch said.

Huggy snorted. "Thanks, Hutch. So glad you're willing to protect the Bear's skin."

Starsky resisted shoving Huggy's shoulder. "Aw, come on, Huggy. He's praising your well-known fearless nature." Hutch smiled, oblivious to the pained expression developing on his other partner's face. Saunders clenched the steering wheel as though clinging to a helicopter's rope ladder.

When they arrived at an appropriate parking place, Hutch turned in the seat and gave Huggy his most stern glare. "Stay here, Hug. No matter what. Stay here and down in the seat."

"Hey, don't have to tell me twice, Mr. America."

"Yeah, really," Starsky laughed, stepping through the door to join the detectives and lusting after anything that resembled a gun.

"What have we got?" Hutch asked the officer they found trembling behind a squad car while he cradled the still form of another cop. Hutch got down on his knees and shook the man's shoulders. "Martin? Talk to me. It's Hutch." He placed two fingers on the fallen cop's neck and lowered his head.

"Hutch? B-Barry's gone, Hutch. The store clerk--he's down, too. Lucky--no customers. Three of 'em in there, just enjoyin' themselves. You're the first back-up to arrive."

Saunders grimaced, fingers curling and the nails cutting into his palms. "Barry's his partner?" Hutch nodded, and then light dawned. He grabbed Saunders lightly on the forearm.

"Hey, pal. You're gonna be okay in there?"

Saunders pulled away. "I'm a cop, Hutchinson. What, you think I'll stand back out here and let you go in alone?"

"I'm not--"

"Don't finish that thought, however much I appreciate it, babe," Starsky smiled tenderly.

Hutch changed course. "I'm not implying that, Saunders. Just want to make sure you're ready for this."

"That store clerk could be alive. We've got to get him out."

"Then how do want to play it?"

Saunders flung Hutch a half-grin, eyes thanking him for trusting his capabilities enough to ask his opinion on the matter.

Starsky didn't give him a chance to answer before he outlined his own definitive game plan."Here's how we're gonna play it. I'm going in there and do something to distract their attention," Starsky said. "And you two do the split front-and-back."

Before Hutch could say a word, Starsky walked calmly through the glass storefront with a final wink back at his lover. Hutch motioned for Saunders. "Down," he said, and got down into a crouch-walk, approaching the building. He wagged the Magnum, halting Saunders' approach behind him, and peered one eye into the store. He heard a sudden shout.

"What the hell! Carmichael, are you doing that? Tossing chip bags around?"

"You kiddin'? I'm over here by the porno mags."

"Sick, sick puppies, both of you. We weren't supposed to hurt anyone," wailed a feminine voice. "Let's just get the stuff on the list and scram!"

"Shut up, Monica. Somebody's tossing potato chip bags."

"Are you strung out, Dietz?"

"I know what I saw!"

Hutch turned to Saunders. "Now. Down low, around to the back entrance. I'll give you two minutes and then I'm going in the front."

Saunders clasped Hutch's shoulder in a 'take care' gesture and took off in a crouch until he reached the side of the building where he rose into a dead-run. Hutch ticked off the seconds and after the proper interval, he readied his gun, breathed deep, thought of Starsky, and pushed open the store's door. He rolled into a defensive position with as much cover as he could find and yelled, "Police! Weapons down, hands high, people!" He noted the entrance of Saunders right on time.

Caught in the middle, one of the burglars dropped his gun immediately, flinging both hands in the air. A second masked individual, smaller than the rest and unarmed, also surrendered, screaming. The third decided to take matters into his own hands and raised his weapon, aiming directly at Hutch.

"Don't do it, man. Not worth it. You're going down one way or another. Got you on both sides." Hutch steadied his arm and stared into the eyeholes.

Starsky rushed to the previously armed burglar and stood over the gun, ready to do whatever necessary to keep the guy from changing his mind and reaching for the weapon.

The remaining gunman faced Hutch down with a visible tremor in the arm controlling his gun-hand. Saunders held his breath. Starsky leveled his eyes on the face that kept his spirit tied to the earth. After an interminable pause, the masked man lowered his arm and let the gun fall with a clang on the floor. Saunders lowered his weapon and sprinted behind the counter.

"Clerk's dead, Hutchinson."

"No!!" screamed the female, who pulled off her mask and sat down hard on the floor.

"Well, would you looka there," Starsky breathed. "Remember that face, Hutch?"

Hutch looked up from cuffing his guy and murmured, "Monica Harden?"

Monica wouldn't look at Hutch. She just buried her face in her hands and tossed her long red hair back and forth in silent hysterics.

"You want to tell me what Libbie Froman's best friend is doing robbing a convenience store this side of town?" Starsky asked, stepping aside so Saunders could cuff the criminal in his phantom custody.

Sirens broke the silence and Saunders groaned, "Explain to me why back-up always arrives after it's needed?"

"ABCs of police work, Saunders," Hutch said.

"Yeah, then tell me something else. Just who was tossing around the potato chip bags?"

Hutch shrugged and made his way over to Monica.

Huggy greeted both men with a broad grin and a relieved sigh. "Had me worried for a minute, dudes. I was just about to formulate a plan of attack and ride in with Huggy's Cavalry."

Hutch sighed, knowing his friend's tendency to break out in hives around direct violence. "Yeah, and I'd have arrested you on general principles and thrown you in the slammer for the night."

"Hutch, I'm going to seriously reconsider letting you keep up a running bar tab," Huggy grumped, folding his arms.

"Oh, how many times have we heard that empty threat?" Starsky smiled, high on the sight of his healthy blond in the front seat.

"The Pits, Huggy? We're in kind of a rush to get back to the station now."

"Yeah Saunders, thanks. So, did everything go down without a hitch?"

Hutch frowned. "No, Huggy. Not quite. Dead clerk and a cop lost his partner."

Huggy fell silent.

>>>>>>>

Saunders yanked the chair away from the desk and dropped into it with a thump. "Can you believe that story? I thought I'd heard my fair share of eye-poppers."

"One of these days we'll swap stories and see just how virgin you are," Hutch teased.

Saunders wadded a piece of paper and flung it across the table. "Yeah, right. You're all of three years older than I am, Hutchinson. Get over yourself."

"Been a cop longer."

"Point taken. But rich kids putting on masks, sporting guns, and going on a convenience-store robbing scavenger hunt all to get into some exclusive college club at Jameson? Can't wrap my brain around that one."

"It's called-- they get handed everything from birth and nothing means anything after awhile. Suddenly, they have to find a new way to get kicks. Or else, some turn away from it all and try to find something to do with their lives that has meaning."

"Sounds like some personal experience coloring that explanation," Saunders said.

Starsky wrapped arms around Hutch's chest from behind and buried his face in the creamy skin of Hutch's neck, drawing in a deep breath. "Oh, yeah, my Hutch is one of the rebels with a good cause."

Hutch closed his eyes briefly, wishing he were anywhere but in the middle of a squad room. "Yes, I have some experience. You pretty much met my father this morning, Saunders. Froman and Stephen Richard Hutchinson are cut from the same cloth."

"And you're one of the ones who turned away from it all?"

"Did my best, which made Minnesota too cold for comfort, let me tell you."

"Better than being responsible for a dead police officer and innocent cashier."

"Yes," Hutch's voice cracked and his eyes dimmed. "Barry and Martin have been partners for three years. Barry is--was godfather to Martin's kids. Damn! If they'd just waited for help. Going in two against three without a clue how armed--"

"Hey, we went in two against three. What's the difference?"

Hutch opened his mouth and shut it with a smack of his lips. "Uh huh, Einstein, how are you gonna get yourself outta that one?" Starsky asked with a swat on Hutch's back.

"Well, I--uh--"

"You really do think you've got a guardian angel, don't you?" Saunders accused.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"We could have walked into a slaughterhouse in that store."

Hutch leaned forward. "Yeah, maybe. So why didn't you speak up with a better plan?"

Saunders stood. "Because I'd follow you into hell, Hutchinson. You're that good a cop. Don't let it go to your head, though. I'm the brains in this outfit." He turned and left the squad room. Starsky smothered his laughter in Hutch's hair.

>>>>>

"Umm....Love that song," Starsky crooned his appreciation, wrestling the guitar out of Hutch's hands and straddling the now vacant lap. Hutch enfolded him and clung tight. "Oomph. You still weigh what you always did, Starsky."

"Too heavy? Want me to move?"

"Not on your sweet life." Hutch's arms tightened around Starsky's back.

Starsky groaned at the exquisite pressure. "Feeling okay, babe?"

"Feeling grateful."

"Hmm?"

"You made this afternoon possible, Starsk. We owe that bust to you."

"Ah, Hutch. You did just fine yourself. Plenty of times you and me would have done the same thing without someone in there tossing chips. Don't start second guessing yourself. I did learn something today, though."

"What's that?"

Starsky massaged Hutch's scalp with all ten wiggling fingers. "Hasn't gotten any easier watching you stare down the barrel of a gun. Too close, Hutch. Too close."

"Easier for me."

Starsky pulled back, letting his hands cradle Hutch's face loosely. "What?"

"Think about it. Now I know if something happens to me we'll just be completely together.you're my proof of what lies beyond. You. You're my eternity."

"Hutch, don't you dare start thinking like that."

Hutch's relaxed body tightened and he shifted uncomfortably. "What the hell do you mean? You said--What happened to forever, buddy?"

"Hey, wait. I don't mean that's changed. That will never change. But you can't go around feeling okay about eating a bullet, Hutch. Don't you see? You'll fall into the trap of taking chances and you've got someone following you around now who has a lady depending on you to help him come home every night."

Hutch surged forward and blanketed Starsky's lips with his own. One hand kneading the muscles beneath Starsky's left shoulder blade and the other sliding seductively up a strong thigh, Hutch parted his lips and moaned into the talented mouth. Breathless, he pulled away. "I think Saunders is wrong about who has the brains in this team."

"Really?" Starsky gasped.

"Oh, yeah."

"So, who's the genius?"

"Me. For falling in love with you."

"Now you know what talk like that'll do for you."

"Get naked, Starsky."

"Make me."

Hutch grinned and grabbed Starsky's hand, tapping it against the appropriate places on the body pinning him to the couch. Starsky pretended indignation. "I should never have shown you how easy that is." Suddenly, he cupped Hutch's chin with concern. "Hutch? Buddy, why the long face? I'm teasing--"

"No, I just--A cop lost his partner, his best friend today. Hurts. Like a cold spot in my heart that won't get warm...and I feel I shouldn't even try to be happy right now."

"Hurts me, too, Hutch...I share your pain, remember? Barry was a damn good man and one helluva cop. We'll mourn him and miss him. And I could've watched you die today, so my heart's in need of a little soothing, too. Tell you what. How 'bout I go rustle us up some wine that I can kiss off your lips and we'll just sit here and hold each other, huh?"

"I love you."

"Right back at you."

Hutch watched with mouth-watering appreciation as the nude backside bounced its way over to the kitchen. He was still lost in the sight of Starsky, this time bearing a wine bottle and a glass, on his way back to the couch when a remarkable sequence of events occurred. A knock on the door sounded only a second before it pushed open.

"Hutch, you in here, bro--"

A crash and shattering of glass filled the room simultaneous with the inimitable noise of a human body falling to the floor. Hutch was off the sofa like a cannon ball in flight.

"Jeez, Hutch, he saw--he saw me holding the wine bottle. I mean, he didn't see me but he...." Starsky gave up on coherency and rushed over to Hutch, who pulled Huggy's limp body from the floor and hoisted him over to the couch. The obvious reason for Huggy's visit, a covered styrofoam plate of Huggy's Hutchinson specialty, decorated the floor. "Well, between the wine and the food, this has been your floor's night for first-rate service, babe."

"Cold cloth, Starsky."

"Oh, yeah." Starsky dashed into the bathroom and returned with the requested cloth.

Hutch bathed Huggy's face. After a moment, Huggy stirred and blinked his eyes. "Hutch?"

"You fainted, my friend. Sure you should be out of the hospital? What prompted the social call?" Hutch wanted desperately to distract Huggy from remembering what he saw before he turned to dead weight.

"I thought--with that cop losin' his partner today and all.you might want some food and company...but you...Hutch, I saw--Damn it, I know what I saw! He's here. Ain't he?"

"Huggy, I don't know what you're talking--"

"Give it a rest, Hutch. Starsky? Starsky, I can't see ya, but I know you're in here. I knew it!"

"Knew what, Hug?"

"You, Hutch. You haven't been right. Not...not if he was really *gone*. You lost the misplaced side-burn. You wear four-year old clothes again. You act like Saunders is a pleasant addition to your life instead of a curse from the nether regions. You think I'm a complete fool? He's here. I don't know how, but you know I've always believed in the--shall we say--paranormal. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me he's not in this room."

"Hutch, go ahead...."

Hutch faced Starsky. "What about not revealing yourself to anyone? This is different than knocking over some chip bags in a store." He relished the feeling of being able to talk to Starsky in the presence of another human being. Huggy just beamed like a spotlight.

"Accidental, Hutch. I didn't do anything to initiate it. I don't think the Powers-that-Be can blame me."

"Yes, he's here, Huggy."

"You can see him?"

"Yes. See, hear, touch. Nothing's changed...well, nothing important. Some things are even improved." Hutch grinned at his lover. Starsky flushed.

"Oh, yeah?" curious Huggy asked. "What's he wearin'?"

Hutch turned the color of the wine spreading in a stain on the floor. Huggy laughed out loud. "No, do not tell me. Wine, you two, the guitar out....I do not need to know, my man. Point him out to me, though."

Starsky, feeling awkward standing even invisibly nude in Huggy's presence because his existence was no longer a secret, clothed himself and then reached out and snatched Huggy's scarf, tying it around his own neck. Huggy's face should have been made into a poster. "Damn! Damn, damn, damn. This is great! Starsky, God, I've missed ya, Curly."

Starsky felt his eyes water. "Y-you too, Huggy."

"He says, you too, Huggy," Hutch translated. Huggy clapped his hands together.

"Uh, Hutch, you better issue him a warning. Word of this can't spread or I might get yanked out of here."

Hutch knelt in front of the couch and captured Huggy's attention. "Huggy, listen close. You can't tell anyone about this. Absolutely, under no circumstances, can anyone else know. I could lose him, Hug. The Power that's allowing him to be here with me won't tolerate all the rules being flaunted. Do you understand?"

Huggy nodded and crossed his chest solemnly. "I will take this to my grave. Oh, you don't know how righteous this makes me feel, knowin' the Dynamic Duo is still intact. I--I was startin' to seriously worry 'bout you, Hutch."

"What do you mean?"

"I was starting to think maybe you didn' really love Starsky at all. I mean, you weren't actin' like you even missed him."

Hutch stared at both Huggy and Starsky, mouth agape. "You--you think other people feel that way? That I'm somehow cold, callous...not mourning...."

Starsky grabbed Hutch from behind in a hug just as Huggy shook his head and said, "No, no, Blondie. I'm sure most people think you're puttin' on a brave front. That makes sense. But I know you better than that. I was about to sit you down and have a man-to-man with you."

"So, what now?" Starsky asked.

"Starsky says, what now?"

Huggy snapped his fingers. "Well, I don't open the place 'til tomorrow. Why don't we go hang down there tonight like old times? You and Starsky can play pool, listen to tunes.I'll replace the food I just threw all over your floor--"

"That sounds like an offer we can't refuse," Hutch grinned.

Huggy said to the floating scarf, "Get decent, Don Juan. I'll have no streaking cops in my bar. Even invisible ones."

"H-u-u-tch," hummed a husky, morning-lustful voice directly into a blond framed ear. Hutch lifted a hand and swatted at the intrusion. "Ba-a-abe..." Insistent, yearning. Hands dragging fingernails like soft ploughs up and down smooth arms. "Trying to sleep," Hutch murmured, sniffing.

"You've just got one more hour before you're supposed to be at work."

"Then I'll sleep forty-five minutes of it. Late, late night at Huggy's."

"Yeah, wasn't it a blast! Never knew how much I missed a damn pool table and pinball machine. But H-u-ut-ch...."

"Leamealonestarsk...."

"I want you."

Hutch rolled over and contemplated the man who sat draped toga fashion in bed sheets like a Roman senator gone insane. He rubbed his eyes, split his entire face with a yawn, and groaned loud and long. "Don't know how much good I could possibly be this morning, Starsk. Really tired."

"Let me just love you. Spent the last four hours just looking at you."

"You did what?" Hutch was wide-awake now.

Starsky hung his head and stared through a veil of lashes. "You know I don't really need sleep now."

"Right, but you've got an apartment full of things you can use to occupy yourself. Or, what about your determination to be an independent spirit?"

"Har har har." Starsky rolled his eyes.

"Sorry. Early morning; bad puns. They go together." Hutch traced Starsky's jaw with a solitary fingertip. "But I meant what I asked. You didn't have to just sit here and watch me sleep."

"Didn't have to. Wanted to. Went for a walk on the beach right after we got back here and you conked out. Came back in and couldn't sleep. I didn't know how much time I was spending looking at you until I saw the clock. You do stuff to me I don't even understand, Hutch. Aw, great. Now that I sound like a worse sap than Rikard, I'm going to go bury my head in a package of salami and pretend I can still eat it."

Hutch grabbed an arm just as Starsky started to vacate the bed. "You're not going anywhere."

"Lemme go, Hutch."

"Not a chance, partner. You want me to match your sap? Would that make you feel better? Okay, I'll try. How about you can't melt a guy's heart and then leave him lying in a bed all by himself."

"You're tired, remember?"

Hutch grinned and broke into a rendition of "Sexual Healing." Starsky laughed and fell back on the bed, covering Hutch's mouth with a strong hand. "Love your singing, beautiful, but Marvin Gaye would howl if he heard you."

"Yeah, everyone's a critic." Hutch ran hands in circles on Starsky's back. Starsky closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

"Why don't I make you sing something else?"

"Uh huh. What?" Hutch started pulling him down for a kiss.

"My name. Over and over and over.."

"Starsky--" Lips met, mouths parted, fitted over each other, danced silently.

"Yeah, like that, only with more feeling."

"Sta-arr-rsky...."

"You're a quick learner."

Hutch's eyes rolled back. "With your fingers doing that, it's instinct, babe."

"Would you like something else there besides my fingers?"

"Oh, damn you, Starrrrsky!"

"I'll take that as a yes."

>>>>>>>

"Okay, let's go over motive," Saunders set up the portable chalkboard and scribbled motive at the top. Hutch yawned and Starsky snickered.

"Saunders, where did you get that thing?"

"One of the rooms upstairs. Hey, writing ideas down can really make 'em fit together."

"I feel like I'm back in high school." Starsky sat cross-legged on top of Hutch's desk, giving him a particularly nice view of blue jeans put to good use. Hutch found concentrating on the chalkboard a difficult task for more reasons than boredom.

"Now, first question is, of course, who had the most to gain by Carla's death?" Saunders began jotting down names on the board.

"Dear God, I'm trapped in an Agatha Christie novel," Hutch mumbled.

"Oh, thanks, Hutchinson. You got any bright ideas? Any answers to our dangling questions? 'Cause Dobey's only getting more impatient by the minute."

"He's learning," Starsky chuckled. "Said 'Dobey' without the captain in front of it."

"Go ahead, Saunders, lecture me on motive."

"Start with Rikard. Carla's his golden goose, right? Marriage equals no more yard-sale furniture in his law practice, et cetera. But what if she intended to tell doting Papa about his fling with Libbie?"

"Why not two months ago then? Or while the fling was actually going on?" Starsky propped an elbow on his knee and leaned his chin in his palm.

Hutch yawned again. "Timing is wrong," he echoed Starsky. "And Rikard's smart enough to know that in any emotional state Carla was worth more for his interests alive. I think despite his affair with Libbie, he was convinced to the bitter end that Carla would see reason and trot down the aisle with him happy as can be."

"Grant that and who do we have left?" Saunders countered. "Dr. Fuller is a wash-out. No hint of any ethical impropriety going on behind the scenes that he would have needed to cover. We turned up nothing at Jameson. Mr. Froman is a stranger animal--" Saunders lapsed into silence, rolling the chalk around in his hand.

"Chalk him off," Hutch said before he could stop himself.

Starsky snorted. "Drink your coffee, Hutch. If you don't wake up you're gonna kill us all with your bad jokes." Hutch leaned forward in a perfectly normal movement that enabled him to elbow Starsky in the backside.

"Why eliminate him?" Saunders frowned. "In addition to having the means necessary for arranging a killing, he also has a control streak the size of his own executive building."

"Cop's instinct, Saunders. True, we haven't had a go at his records thanks to the cowards responsible for issuing warrants. But I don't need to sift through his financial statements. Much as I hate to admit it, you just can't fake that display of outright shock he pulled in the ME's lab."

"Shock at seeing what he ordered with his own money," Saunders offered, reluctance in his voice.

"No. Genuine grief and incoherency. And his explanation for keeping quiet on the issue of Huggy Bear sounds legitimate. I don't like the man, but I can't question his sincerity. Now, if you want an example of a good stage performance...." Hutch went absolutely still. His mouth opened and his eyebrows crawled up an inch on his forehead.

"Uh, Hutch-- I know that look. What just turned the lights on up there?" Starsky tapped Hutch's forehead with a fingertip.

"Saunders, you're a genius. Give your chalkboard a kiss; I'll be right back." Hutch vanished out the squad room doors. Starsky remained glued on the table smiling at Saunders' blank stare. He said quietly and with a hint of disappointment, "I'd shake your hand, partner, but you'd never know it happened."

Hutch returned with the statement recorder and a tape. He popped in the tape and pushed play. A trembling female voice said plaintively, "So we were going to lose her anyway?"

"I'm missing about half the equation here, Hutchinson."

"The cancer!" Hutch practically shouted. "I knew the cancer had something to do with this whole thing. Saunders, if Carla had told her family about her cancer and just how serious it was, she might--no, I'd bet she would still be alive today. Come on, we're going to pay Cathy Winston a visit."

"You lost me now, Blondie. What the hell does Cathy Winston--?"

In an odd echo, Saunders slipped into his denim jacket and said, "What the hell does Cathy Winston--?"

"We're gonna question her about a phantom hit man."

"Did you slip something in his coffee, Saunders?" Starsky asked as he filed out behind the detectives. "Or maybe I really did blow his mind this morning."

They ended up having to talk to Cathy Winston in the maternity waiting room at Lincoln Hospital where Leah was due to have labor induced within the hour. Out on bail and trying bravely to face whatever the future held, Cathy greeted Hutch and Saunders with a soft, pleasant smile that made her look like an entirely different person. Her smile faded, however, when Hutch pulled her over to the corner grouping of chairs with a stern expression on his face.

"We don't have time to spare, Ms. Winston, so we're going to have to do this here and now. I need you to come clean about that night at Huggy's."

"W-what? What are you talking about? I poured my heart out to you both about that horrible--what more can I say? I even gave you a description."

"Yes, that you did." Hutch pulled out the composite sketch and dropped it in Ms. Winston's lap. Saunders sat back in the chair raking his eyes over Hutch's face as if trying to read the detective's thoughts on a forehead screen.

Starsky grinned. "Hutch, babe, I am impressed. I think I know where you're going with this now and it's a doozy."

"Yes, that's the man--that's.what's the problem?"

"The problem is, Ms. Winston, we have trouble getting that good a description out of people who've had a long look at somebody in broad daylight. Makes me kind of wonder how you managed to be that observant from a hiding place across a dark bar. Didn't dawn on me until just this afternoon because we'd had such success with another eyewitness who helped us find you. But he's an exception to the rule. Plus, you made such a credible witness. Regret, fear, honesty. All very real...and useful for hiding what wasn't real."

"I--I don't know what you're talking--"

Saunders' jaw dropped into his lap. Hutch didn't give him a chance to recover before he pressed further. "Ms. Winston, why don't I tell you what really happened and you can nod if you agree? You told us everything in vivid detail about Huggy's attack. No doubts about any of it. But then you came to the part about Carla Froman's murder. Here's how I think things went down. You'd just come through from dumping the barstool you used to KO Huggy. You're standing in the darkness in that little room with the pay phone when you hear the sounds of someone entering the bar. Now, you're terrified. For one thing, you know Huggy has at least one friend who's a cop and who hangs around him sometimes at odd hours. What do you do? You go for a hiding place like you said. Probably behind the bar because that's the closest place you can duck. But you don't move once you get there, right? You're petrified of being found after what's happened. You wait and you listen and you hear the murder. Prob
ably gasping choking sounds and then a loud noise as the body hits the floor. Only after things have gotten really quiet do you even attempt to come out of hiding. By then, you've got a body on your hands. And you panic, going through all those elaborate motions to set-up a smoke screen to hide your own activities that night. Still, you're worried sick that you're going to be found out. You start regretting that dispatch call, and you're right, that was your biggest mistake. So, what do you think? You think if we nab you for being there that night, we're not gonna buy your story---"

"Yes!" Cathy Winston interrupted, eyes wide and flashing around the waiting area. "I was so afraid. I--I figured if I could make it clear somehow that I didn't have anything to do with that girl's death, I'd have a better chance of staying out long enough to be with Leah. I thought it c-couldn't hurt. I mean, you'd find the real guy responsible for--and then I could just say it was dark and I was frightened...."

Saunders shook his head. "Ms. Winston, to have worked in a legal office, you know nothing about how the system really works, do you? What you've done is willfully obstruct an official investigation. Not only that, but you could have put an innocent man in jeopardy."

"Th-that's s-stupid." Cathy extracted a tissue from her purse and wiped her button nose with undue force. Then she wagged the sketch in the air emphatically. "H-he d-doesn't even exist."

"Nope, you're wrong," Saunders insisted. "That's not how the brain works. At the very least you mixed together a bunch of characteristics, but more likely you pulled someone out of your memory bank. Probably a perfect stranger you've seen around town. So, knowing just how seriously you've hindered our job, would you consider making things easier for us by thinking long and hard about what you actually heard?"

Hutch couldn't refrain from a startled sideways glance at Starsky, who laughed. "He knows how to work 'em, Hutch."

Cathy Winston looked all of three-years old scrunched down in the chair, pulling and tugging on her tissue, her button features screwed into a concentrating frown. "I--I heard a small sound. Almost like a scared kitten screeching, you know? And then like you said, gasping and choking. I--I think I also--yes, there was grunting too. Like when you lift something too heavy."

"Low or high pitched?" Hutch asked.

"I don't understand," Cathy said.

"Put yourself back behind the bar, Cathy. It's quiet; you're listening really close. You hear the grunting. If you had to imagine the person grunting, what would you picture?"

Cathy looked at Saunders like he asked her to produce gold out of granite but after a minute her eyes widened and she blinked furiously back and forth between Hutch and his partner. "Oh, oh no. I--I shouldn't have conjured up a man at all, should I?"

"Where did you get that stuff about the human brain not manufacturing an imaginary murderer?" Hutch demanded when they left the hospital.

"We're a team, Hutchinson. Somehow my chalkboard helped you. Well, you jogged my brain with your Agatha Christie reference. Hit me like a train when you started outlining how she fabricated the killer. When we picked Cathy up at her sister's house, there was only one book on the coffee table. Little too much of a coincidence that it was Christie's >>The Pale Horse>>. A variation of what Cathy did takes place in that book--that's probably where she got the idea, but she doesn't remember--only the fabricated 'killer' in that story turned out to be a real, innocent person. So I jump-started her memory of that and then played on her normal, decent tendencies and remorse about hurting people. She has already shown that she's not heartless--"

Hutch lost the battle with controlled laughter. Starsky leaned up against him and they started a symphony of snorts and guffaws. Saunders presented a picture of wounded dignity.

"Just what is so damn funny?"

"Y-you--" Hutch gasped, in danger of swallowing his tongue. "You read Agatha Christie novels?"

Saunders turned the same color he wore in Ms. Lymon's presence. "I--Bev's a big fan. What can I say, she tells me all the plots--Okay, dammit, yes, I read 'em too. What, that makes me unsuitable for law enforcement? What the hell do you read in your spare time, Hutchinson?"

Hutch raised one hand to demonstrate his inability to speak and wiped tears from his eyes with the other. Starsky choked and said, for his lover's benefit, "Oh, Hutch just digs Reader's Digest and National Geographic. I'm not complaining, though. That African Rainforest tribal mating ritual he read about has definite advantages--"

That stopped Hutch from hemorrhaging with mirth. He matched Saunders' facial tone. Saunders cleared his throat. "Point is, the trick worked didn't it? Frightened her into using her brain and giving us something useful. Mind telling me the secret behind your revelations?"

Hutch climbed into the passenger seat and took a deep breath. "Going through motive, you got me thinking about people's reactions when you brought up Froman. Something had been bothering me all along about my interview with Libbie, but I couldn't put a finger on it. Then, like you, I got hit by a train. The only time she sounded legitimately grieved and shocked was when I mentioned the cancer. Same thing with Cathy Winston. The only time she sounded, I dunno, off somehow was when she described how she witnessed the murder and then gave us the description."

"I hate to bring this up, Hutch, but you've still got an alibi to contend with here. I can figure where you're headed with a motive, but a person being in two places at once is a hurdle."

"Zebra-3, dispatch."

"Zebra-3. Hutchinson."

"Stand by for patch-through from Captain Dobey."

"Hutch?"

"Yeah, Cap'n?"

"Get back here ASAP. Monica Harden's attorney is ringing my phone off. Says she's anxious to talk to you."

"Got it, Cap'n. We're on our way."

"What's all that about?" Saunders asked as they pulled away from the hospital.

Hutch glanced in the back seat as he said, "I think that's the sound of our last hurdle falling down."