This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit, and is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders of the rights to Starsky and Hutch.

NOTE: The premise I've used for this story is very unlikely, if not downright impossible. But, this same idea has been used many times in movies and novels, so I wanted to give it a try too. I just hope the story events, as I've described them, will make sense and someone will find it entertaining.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta reader and friend Rebelcat. Also to Kate CMT, Lovinface and Ea for all their help and advice.

--Suspicion--

Chapter 1

It was just before three in the morning when Hutch, with lights and siren, breaking the speed limit, drove his brown LTD through the nearly empty streets of Bay City.

It had all begun a few short minutes earlier when the piercing ring of the phone had broken the silence of his apartment, awakening the blond detective.

"H'llo?" He had answered sleepily, rubbing his eyes with one hand. A glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand told Hutch that it was 2:45 a.m.

"Detective Hutchinson?" asked a female voice at the other end of the line. Her detached, professional tone of voice and the ominous implications of any unexpected call in the night quickly banished the remaining traces of sleep from the blond detective's brain.

"Detective Hutchinson, it's Louise Martins. Chief Nurse at Memorial Hospital. A patient has been brought to the emergency room. According to his ID, his name's David Michael Starsky, and you are listed in our records as his next of kin."

"S-Starsky's in the hospital? Why? What happened? Is he going to be okay?" Hutch asked frantically. He was already out of his bed, reaching for the jeans and shirt he had tossed carelessly onto a chair a few hours earlier.

"I'm sorry, detective. The doctor will have to fill you in on Detective Starsky's current condition," the nurse answered, without losing her professional poise.

Hutch struggled to get dressed without losing his grip on the phone receiver. "Can't you at least tell me what happened?"

"You'll have to speak to Detective Starsky's doctor." She said gently but firmly.

Hutch didn't need to be told twice. Without uttering another word, he hastily hung up the phone. He strode to his front door while buttoning up his shirt and putting on his holster and leather jacket, almost all at once. He rushed down the stairs of his apartment and got into his car, racing toward Memorial. He pulled to a halt front of the emergency entrance in record time.

"Detective Kenneth Hutchinson," he said, flashing his badge at the nurse standing behind the emergency admissions counter. "My partner Detective Starsky was brought in a little while ago."

Oh… yes," the older woman said, after checking the registration book. "Detective Starsky is still in the Emergency Room. Doctor McGuire is treating him."

"Please… Can you tell me anything about his condition? What's happened to him? Anything you can tell me will be great. Please," Hutch pleaded.

"I'm very sorry Detective," The nurse apologized. "You really should ask Doctor McGuire about all of that."

"It's okay, nurse," Hutch reassured the woman, knowing from past experience that she was only following standard hospital procedure.

"Now would you please fill out these forms, Detective?" the grey haired nurse asked. She placed a couple of sheets on the counter for Hutch to complete and sign on Starsky's behalf. Later, she directed the detective to an empty and impersonal waiting room at the end of the corridor.

In there, the blond one sat on a rather uncomfortable and worn out armchair, bracing himself for the wait to come, and the possible bad news afterward.

Meanwhile, in a house, somewhere in the woods…

The first sensation to meet the senses of the dark haired man as he awoke was pain. Pain, acute and mercilessly nagging at the back of his head while he blinked repeatedly, trying to get rid of the fog that surrounded him. Pain, biting at his wrists, tightly tied at his back by a thick rope. Pain, spreading across his throbbing jawbone where a massive fist had crashed a short while ago.

The last memory he could recall before the darkness had engulfed him was of being suddenly awakened by huge hands ruthlessly dragging him out of his bed. Taken aback by the unexpected attack, Starsky had done his best to defend himself. But his valiant attempt was cut short when a hard punch to his face sent him flying backward to land unconscious on his bed.

Now he was in an unknown place, barefoot and dressed only in his pajama bottoms, sitting in a heavy wooden chair. He had been securely restrained by ropes tied around his torso, wrists and ankles. Starsky was sitting in the middle of a nearly empty room. The only pieces of furniture were a large, rectangular table and another wooden chair, similar to the one he was currently occupying. Actually, the room Starsky was in reminded him very much of the interrogation rooms at the precinct, a thought that did nothing to ease his growing apprehension.

The detective struggled against his restraints for several minutes, trying to loosen the ropes that held him prisoner. Soon, though, he had to give up his fruitless efforts. Starsky was still panting with the effort when he heard the soft noise of the door at his left being unlocked …

xxxxxxx

"Detective Hutchinson?" A young man wearing green scrubs stepped into the waiting room. He approached Hutch, who got quickly to his feet.

"I am Doctor McGuire," the physician said as he reached out to shake Hutch's hand.

"How's my partner, Doctor? What's happened to him?" Hutch asked anxiously. He looked at McGuire with a touch of mistrust. The blond detective wasn't sure if he wanted a doctor who didn't seem to be older than twenty-five treating his partner.

"From what the paramedics told me, an eyewitness saw Detective Starsky struck by a car while crossinga street. That same witness called 911 to request assistance," Doctor McGuire explained. "However, given the circumstances of his accident, his injuries could have been much worse than they are."

On hearing that, Hutch felt some of his tension ease. He gave a deep sigh of relief.

"As you most likely already know, the chances of a pedestrian coming out only slightly injured after having been struck by a car are rather slim," McGuire elaborated. "But Detective Starsky has been lucky. Very lucky indeed."

"Does this mean he's okay?" Hutch inquired eagerly.

"Well… I'm afraid okay isn't the right word. But he'll be, I hope… given time, I think he…"

"Okay Doc. Stop beating around the bush," Hutch said in a tone of voice that made McGuire lick his lips nervously. "Cut to the chase. What's wrong with Starsky?"

"You see, Detective Hutchinson. Detective Starsky has several rather nasty bruises and scrapes on his body and face. Also, it appears that he hit his head quite hard against something. I'm not telling you that he has suffered permanent brain damage or anything, however…" McGuire seemed about to start rambling again, but Hutch's piercing stare brought him back on track quickly. "Well, in short. As a result of that blow to his head I… we think that Detective Starsky is suffering from retrograde amnesia. That means he…"

"You think?" Hutch cut off. "What the hell does you think mean? Are you telling me that you aren't sure if Starsky has amnesia?" By this point in his conversation with Doctor McGuire, the blond one was starting to really lose his patience.

"We hope his memory will come back in matter of a few hours. Or perhaps a few days. However, so far, apart from his name, your partner doesn't remember much of anything. And, of course, he has no memory of the accident or of any prior events..."

xxxxxxx

Seeing the door unlock, Starsky tensed. In his current situation, unarmed and tied to a chair, he had no chance to defend himself against whomever might be about to enter the room. However, the survivor in him refused to quit fighting. His whole body radiated defiance to his unknown captors.

The first ones to enter the room were two huge men wearing dark suits and ties. They placed themselves at either sides of the door, crossing their arms over their wide chests in a clear bodyguard stance as a beautiful woman stepped into the room. She had long, jet black hair and big hazel eyes and she seemed to be in her early forties.

"Well, Detective Starsky…" she said, walking toward Starsky as one of her bodyguards locked the door. "I must say that the pictures don't do you justice… Not at all." As she spoke, the woman ran her eyes lasciviously over Starsky's muscular upper body. His chest rose and fell with every nervous breath he took.

"Who the hell are you, lady?" Starsky asked, roughly. He took note of the appearance of the woman. She was very beautiful, in a sinister, dark kind of way. Her attire, from her burgundy silk blouse, her black pants, and the jewels she wore, to her stiletto-heeled shoes, spoke of wealth.

"You have a temper," the woman replied. "I love it. I love men like you, Detective. Hot-blooded and brave, wild and handsome as a black panther." She ran her delicate, manicured hand over Starsky's nude torso. An invisible cloud of Chanel No. 5 surrounded the detective. "Really, it'd be a shame to have to inflict any damage on such an extraordinary body as the one you have, Detective Starsky."

"I've asked you a question, lady. Who are you?" Starsky repeated in a cold voice.

Appearing disappointed by the lack of effect her bold advances had on her prisoner, the woman perched on the edge of the table. "My name's Linda Collasanto, Detective. I am Enricco Collasanto's wife."

Upon hearing these names, Starsky truly understood the seriousness of the danger he was in…

xxxxxxx

Right after filling Hutch in on Starsky's condition, Doctor McGuire left to attend to his other patients. The blond one, while waiting to be allowed into his partner's room, had a few minutes to reflect on what the young physician had just told him.

According to McGuire's explanation, Starsky – a man who loved his prized Torino so much that he drove it even when he could easily have walked the distance – had been a victim of a hit and run while crossing a street. Which mean that, after Hutch had driven him home, Starsky – instead of driving – had decided to walk somewhere. But just a few short hours earlier the brunet had announced that his plans for the night would consist of eating a sandwich, watching a Bogart movie on TV and going to bed early.

Yeah, okay… Maybe he ran out of sliced bread, beer, milk, or whatever, so he decided to walk to the grocery store… Or maybe he took the Tomato, but he couldn't find a parking spot near the store entrance… Hutch mused, dubiously.

On a rational level the theory made sense, but somehow, Hutch couldn't bring himself to believe it. His gut was telling him that something was wrong…Very wrong there.

The worried detective was still lost in these thoughts when a young nurse informed him that he could enter Starsky's room.

The man lying on the bed was asleep under the effect of the painkillers the medical team had given him. Hutch sat down on the small bedside armchair and carefully took in the appearance of the one he thought was his friend. His face was swollen and a nasty looking scratch marred his left cheek, from his jaw to his temple. That side of his face had, in all likelihood, been the side that had taken the worst of the impact against the asphalt when the car had struck him. Hutch felt a shiver run down his spine. That ghastly scene was one he would rather not picture. The blond one also guessed that under the white hospital gown there had to be a number of painful bruises and lacerations. However, Hutch was deeply relieved that his injuries hadn't been much worse.

Then, his mind went back to ponder the events of the last few hours...

Starsky a victim of an accidental hit and run? Maybe this job of ours is making me paranoid, but I just can't buy it, the blond detective thought. This whole thing's quite improbable… unless the accident was no accident… But then... if someone intended to kill Starsk, how is it that he's not even seriously injured?

In his mind, Hutch ran through a list of recent cases that over the last few months had earned him and Starsky a number of new enemies. There were quite a few of them, but at the top of that list, the name of Enricco Collasanto definitely stuck out as the most dangerous and powerful enemy of them all…

Some months earlier, in a complex combined action between the BCPD and the FBI, Collasanto and several of his men had been arrested. Until that moment, Collasanto had been one of the most elusive, influential and dangerous mobsters operating in the East Coast over the last ten years.

Currently Collasanto was in jail, awaiting trial after Judge Donald Peterson had refused to set bail for him. In addition, Charles J. Lennox and his family had been hidden in a safe house some miles away from Bay City. Lennox had been Collasanto's personal secretary for many years, until he finally had betrayed him. His breaking point had come when the mobster, in the heat of an argument with Lennox, had openly threatened the man's wife and kids.

Now Lennox was the main witness for the prosecution. He was the man who, in exchange for immunity from prosecution and a new identity for himself and his family, could help sentence his former boss to spend the rest of his life in prison for the many crimes he had committed. Collasanto might even face capital punishment. Lennox was the one man who Collasanto would most like to find and silence forever.

And the problem for Starsky and Hutch was that they were two of the very few police officers who knew the location of the safe house where Charles J. Lennox and his family were hiding…

I bet Collasanto would love to get his hands on Starsky, me, or both of us. Hutch thought. Even though he hadn't accepted it for himself either, Hutch regretted his failure to convince his stubborn partner to accept protection from the precinct.

But that guy's not stupid. He won't kill us… at least not before he gets out of us the information he so badly needs right now…

xxxxxxx

Collasanto's wife had talked. She, visibly enjoying the barely hidden apprehension in her prisoner's tense features, had explained to Starsky all about the twisted plan Collasanto had concocted in his prison cell to find Lennox.

"Firstly, let me make something clear, detective… If you think that someone out there is looking for you, you can forget it. No one's looking for you, because as far as everyone's concerned, from Detective Hutchinson to the whole Ninth Precinct, you aren't missing…"

"Don't make me laugh, lady," Starsky shot back, derisively. "Of course Hutch, and the whole rest of the Ninth Precinct, are going to notice I've been kidnapped. As a matter of fact…"

"Have you ever wondered how much money can buy, detective?" Linda Collasanto cut him off.

Starsky was taken aback by the unexpected question.

"A large sum of money can buy almost anything," she added. "Even a man… especially a man like Sam Clayton. A poor devil who has dreamed his whole life of becoming an actor, a celebrity with fame and fortune and the admiration of the people, but who knows deep inside that he'll be nothing but a loser all his life."

"Clayton? Sam Clayton?" Starsky asked. His defiance had turned into puzzlement.

"Yes. Sam Clayton. One of the men working for the cleaning and maintenance service in the Ninth Precinct for the last two years. As most likely you've noticed, that dark-haired, blue-eyed guy already bore quite a strong resemblance to you before he went through the plastic surgery. And you should see him now, Detective. Our team of plastic surgeons did an outstanding work on him."

"You can't be serious! Damn you! You're just trying to fool me!" Starsky shouted. He began thrashing in an attempt to free himself from the ropes keeping him restrained and at the mercy of a deranged woman and her goons.

"Take it easy, detective," the woman said, unruffled, once Starsky, out of breath, had stopped his fruitless struggle. "You'll want to hear the rest of what I have to tell you. Especially because I am about to talk about your partner, Detective Hutchinson."

"Listen, lady… Don't you dare hurt Hutch or I swear you're going to regret it much sooner than you think," Starsky growled, looking at the woman with hate-filled eyes.

"Right now your partner is at Memorial Hospital, Detective Starsky. But so far, he's fine. Actually, Hutchinson is in there taking solicitous care of you, because a while ago, you were a victim of a hit and run. But don't worry, Detective. The other Detective Starsky will be just fine. None of his injuries are life threatening. However, as Doctor McGuire must have already informed detective Hutchinson, Detective Starsky has come through the accident suffering a very well-timed case of 'amnesia.' So far as everyone around him knows, he doesn't remember a single thing about the last several months, hence, Detective Hutchinson won't think it at all suspicious if his partner starts asking him questions about the most recent cases they've worked on. Hutchinson won't wonder why his partner wants to know about the Collasanto case. Or about Lennox's whereabouts."

"That's a stupid plan, lady. And you know it," Starsky snapped. "No way is Hutch going to be unable to spot the difference between that guy and myself."

"Yeah, yeah…We have very reliable information sources, Detective Starsky. We know very well just how close your partner and you are, and of course, we're quite sure that eventually Hutchinson will discover what's going on. But by then it'll be too late for Lennox… and maybe for your partner, too."

"What do you mean?" Starsky asked, trying to gain time to think of any possible way out, though he clearly guessed the ominous meaning in the woman's words.

"My dear Detective, don't try to fool me," Linda Collasanto said, almost playfully. "I just can't believe that, besides those fine looks of yours, you haven't also gotten an exceptional intelligence. In a couple of days, the well trained 'copy' of you we have created –so to speak– will have been able to get the information we need from Detective Hutchinson. From then on, well… let's just say that Sam Clayton is absolutely expendable to us. Just as your partner and, unluckily, you are. For us, you are all pawns in a chess game. We don't care in the least if Clayton hurts or kills Hutchinson, or if Hutchinson kills, hurts, or arrests Clayton. Whatever happens to him, our phony Detective Starsky knows better than to betray us. And, of course, we have prepared a 'plan B' in the unlikely event our main plan doesn't work." The woman kept explaining. "If for some reason, our man has been unable to get the information we want, in… let's say two days, then we'll, sort of "rescind his contract". And meanwhile, for good measure, we'll have gotten that information from you."

"You're dreaming, lady," Starsky stated defiantly. "You aren't going to get a single answer from me. I wouldn't even give you my birth date."

"Oh Detective, You're just delightful!" Linda Collasanto uttered an evil giggle. "But believe me," she added, becoming serious and casting a brief look at one of her bodyguards. "No matter how hard you try to resist, you will end up giving us Lennox's whereabouts. My men have very convincing methods of getting the answers I need to know from any man, even the most stubborn ones."

As if to emphasize the woman's statement, and too quickly for Starsky to brace himself, a huge man stepped up in front of the brunet and punched him full force in his stomach. Starsky gasped in pain, trying to double over.

"Now I have to go out for a while, Detective."Linda Collasanto grabbed a handful of Starsky's hair and pulled his head backward to stare in his eyes. "But I'll come back later to ask you about the exact location of the safe house where Lennox and his family are hiding. And let me warn you... If I don't get the answer I want to hear, and if I don't get it fast, I won't care in the least what my men do to you…"

xxxxxxx

Over the last couple of hours, as the man posing as Starsky dozed in his narcotic haze, Hutch had made a phone call to Dobey to inform his superior officer about Starsky's accident. As well, he talked to one of the two young police officers who had been at the scene.

"We got a call from an unidentified man, Detective Hutchinson," the uniformed policeman told Hutch. "He asked for an ambulance. We told him to wait for us, to take his statement, but when we got there, Detective Starsky was only accompanied by a pair of young bystanders. From what they said, the man, after calling us from a nearby payphone, left the scene in a hurry.

"Have you got a description on the man?" Hutch asked.

"Yes, sir. But according to the couple who saw him, he looks like most other people. Early to mid 50's, short brown hair getting thinner on his forehead. About 5'10 height, 160 to 170 pounds, dressed in brown corduroy slacks and a black turtleneck… Nothing that'll make it easy for us to find him. Besides, the eyewitnesses weren't able to see his face clearly, so there's no chance a sketch artist could draw him."

"Yeah... I got it," Hutch said tiredly, as he rested his stiffening back against the wall next to the payphone. "It's okay. I'll wait for Starsky to wake up. With any luck he'll be able to give me more details about the car that hit him."

Out of respect for Starsky, Hutch wasn't willing to share with an almost unknown fellow policeman the current, real condition his partner was in. But the blond one was aware that unless Starsky's memory returned in the next few hours, the chance of finding the car's driver would be almost zero.

After hanging up the phone, Hutch grabbed a drink from the coffee machine in the waiting room and came back to keep his vigil by his sleeping friend. By then, dawn was less than an hour away.

The blond detective tried to make himself comfortable on the lumpy armchair by Starsky's bed. Hutch stretched out his legs and rested his head against the back of his seat. He closed his eyes and tried to give some rest to his fatigued body and mind.

For a while, nothing could be heard in the room. Then the man in the bed began to stir.

TBC