Nothing But The Truth
For some reason, Simonetti really had it in for Starsky and Hutchinson. I knew them mostly by reputation – gutsy and unconventional with an impressive record of arrests. I'd also heard they were so tight you could barely slide a butter knife between them. There was talk awhile back surrounding the Prudholm case and Hutchinson's aggressive stance in standing up for his partner. It was a blaze you backed away from rather than try to snuff out. Now it was Starsky's turn to run defense for his blond partner and he relished the role no less.
But Simonetti was a good cop, too, committed to his job the way other men were to a lover. You spend more nights sitting stakeout with your partner than you do in your own bed, eating more meals together out of paper sacks than at a kitchen table. You're bound to develop a bond with someone you spend that kind of time with. Up to this point I had no complaints about our working relationship.
I'd heard rumors of Simonetti's previous partner, not that we ever talked about it. The story was they had a long-standing, close partnership dating back to the academy. Then a young prostitute the other man had apparently been enjoying on the side came up missing, her blood staining the backseat of his car. That may have been when Simonetti's dedication to weed out dirty cops became nearly a religious obsession. There's a brotherhood of boys in blue, but when it comes right down to it, who can you really trust? A sorry state of affairs, admittedly, but that's the truth of it.
Now Simonetti was focused in on the tall blond and his very beautiful, very dead ex-wife problematically killed with the detective's Magnum. Hutchinson wasn't making the investigation easy. Starsky was making it damn near impossible. With all the evidence against his partner, I couldn't tell if Starsky was blind or just stupid. Even when presented with irrefutable facts, Starsky held out that it was all a lie. The thought that Hutchinson may actually have killed his wife, even in a fit of passion or rage, was inconceivable to him. But it was Starsky who was ultimately ordered to serve the warrant for Hutchinson's arrest. Once he agreed to do it, I almost felt sorry for him. What a waste of a good, six-year partnership.
When I followed him up the stairs to Hutchinson's apartment, it was clear his partner still didn't know the real reason we were there. I'll never forget the disbelief in the man's face or the pain that the sting in his words couldn't mask when Starsky tossed that piece of paper in front of him. A bullet-proof shield had inexplicably cracked and sharp pieces were breaking away with every word exchanged. I sure as hell didn't want to have to clean up the mess left behind. But it was as though I wasn't even in the room. Their eyes were only on each other.
"Have you ever known me to disobey an order?" The question, calmly posed, must have soothed Hutchinson a little and he seemed to relax. The tension in the room disbursed once both men realized the inevitability of the situation. No sense taking this whole thing personally. Starsky even agreed to use handcuffs as long as he was the one to put them on his partner. I had no problem with that. After all, better him than me.
How it happened I'll never know. There was no way they could have planned it ahead of time. Even the few minutes Starsky had had alone with Hutchinson before I came up wouldn't have given them enough time to work out the details of moves executed as smoothly as though rehearsed. Suddenly I was the one hand-cuffed to the table while Starsky and Hutchinson walked out the door practically arm in arm. There was no second-guessing, no backward looks except for Hutchinson coolly telling me to help myself to coffee.
I found out a little too late that there was no need for words between them, they just knew. They trusted each other that much. Maybe that's why Simonetti had it in for them. They had what he had lost.
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My partner's vitriol had barely diminished as I sat across from him sipping bitter coffee and trying to avoid his scowl nearly two weeks later. He'd made it known he didn't believe my story of how Hutchinson had put on Starsky cuffing us together, then the two of them making off like Butch and Sundance, with a murder hanging over their heads. I could hardly believe it myself. But that's exactly the way it happened.
I reached to open the manila folder holding the new cases - a detective charged with assaulting an officer and aiding a fugitive, another resisting arrest - then bit back my groan when I saw the names at the top. Not for the first time in recent days I wondered what it would feel like to know you always had cover no matter what dark alley you stepped into. The courage and comfort that knowledge gave. Starsky and Hutchinson's loyalty was like a living thing and I had no desire to test it again. As soon as Simonetti walked out of the room I tore the files in pieces and buried them in the trash.