Jazzy

She's Not There

By M. Willow

Special thanks to MWH for inspiration.

Story synopsis: A mysterious woman with murder on her mind enters Starsky's life.

Chapter One

Well no one told me about her the way she lied
Well no one told me about her how many people cried
But it's too late to say you're sorry
How would I know why should I care
Please don't bother tryin' to find her
She's not there.

Well let me tell you 'bout the way she looked
The way she'd act and the colour of her hair
Her voice was soft and cool
Her eyes were clear and bright
But she's not there

The Zombie's 1960s hit song.

Cat eyes. It was the first thought that came to his mind when he saw the woman. She was demur, classically beautiful, the raven-black hair an exotic contrast to her porcelain skin. She had the most amazing eyes he'd ever seen. A man could live to be a thousand and never see anything like them. So light, so transparent, they seemed hardly to exist, the color a light shade of green, almost golden. Every man in the room was mesmerized. Right now a band of thieves could raid Parker Center and not one man would lift a finger to stop them. .

She was graceful, her movements slow, deliberate. She was elegant, her clothes designer chic. Hutch imagined she had once been a debutante. Had traveled the world, sipping wine on the Riviera, dancing under the stars in Rome, her every whim attended. She was mysterious, the remnant of a dream lost in the dawn of morning. Women like that existed only in the imagination of men. They did not appear at Parker Center. And they did not terrify a man like David Starsky.

Starsky sat, his face white, hands gliding across the typewriter. He would not look at her. And the questions he asked were in a monotone voice, almost as if the life had been taken out of each word.

Hutch watched from the sideline. He had been sent there by his partner with just one look, but he was ready for action. Waiting. Observing his partner's every move. The adrenalin that surged through him was usually reserved for those who appeared more dangerous than this slight, demure woman. Nevertheless, he was adept at reading the dark-haired detective, an ability both men shared, and one which had saved their lives countless times. He relied on it now.

Hutch refilled his mug with strong black coffee. It was hot, too hot to drink, but he swallowed scarcely noticing the burn, his eyes trained on his partner and the woman.

Starsky was typing, taking her report, listening to her account of having her purse snatched. He did this as he fell apart, hiding it brilliantly from all except Hutch.

Cold eyes. Deadly eyes. Someone had just walked across Hutch's grave and she was contemptuously sitting in the room with him now. He was a turkey the day before Thanksgiving. Her eyes spoke of challenge, and hatred, and revenge, but why would a woman he'd never met hate him? And he was certain they had never met because you didn't forget women who looked like that.

Susan Shepard was her name. She was a wide-eyed young woman in her early twenties who claimed to have left a sheltered existence for life in the big city after her aunt passed away. Said aunt had left her thirty-thousand dollars of which she had tucked into a purse and took off for greener pastures. Susan had decided to deposit her money in a bank once she reached town. She had therefore tucked all thirty thousand dollars in her purse. Upon reaching her destination, she decided to put the purse on top of her luggage. She had made one purse snatcher a happy man.

Hutch listened as she continued with her story, recalling how she'd arrived at Parker Center and headed straight for the brunet who nearly went into shock when he saw her.

She was a good actress, moving from near hysteria, to calm, flirtatious coquette in record time. Starsky was a good actor. He was obviously afraid yet flirting at the same time. They were both a mystery to Hutch. One he needed to solve, but it wasn't going to be easy.

Two months ago, Hutch finally hit rock bottom. He'd been on his way there for nearly a year. But this time, he'd thrown caution to the wind, deciding the best way to truly have a horrible life was to sleep with the woman Starsky loved. Kira had been all fire and plenty of ice, but the fire is what interested Hutch. She made him feel good. She was lemonade on a hot summer day, quenching a need in him. At first he lied to himself: Starsky doesn't really love her, we've shared women before, sometimes at the same time. She really loves me. When he finally gave in to his desires, he knew there was no going back. Soon nothing else mattered, not the case they were working on, not the guilt he felt each time they made love. He was enjoying the delicious taste of sin. It alone drove him to crazy acts of defiance. In the end, the most important relationship in his life was nearly destroyed.

Starsky walked in on them, both mused, still smelling of sex. The brunet had lost control, throwing punches, each one stabbing the essence of his soul. He'd taken it because he deserved it. But Starsky was a forgiving man and the friendship continued, slightly altered, minus Kira. This new relationship had barriers, at least in Hutch's mind. It didn't matter that Starsky had said nothing had changed. It had changed. Hutch was uncomfortable around the women his partner dated. In his mind, there was always the possibility of crossing the line. A careless thought. A bad day. A return to the deep abyss of depression could trigger a reprehensible behavior in him. He was soiled goods. He couldn't be trusted. It didn't matter that his partner disagreed. In short, Susan couldn't have picked a worse time to appear.

Hutch strained his ears, listening to the conversation. Susan had lowered her voice and blushed profusely. With her batting lashes and curly-black hair that remained free in spite of the tight bun, she reminded him of a bad silent film actress. She was playing the damsel-in-distress to the hilt, lending just the right amount of distress in her body language and voice. And Hutch knew it was a matter of time before his partner came to the rescue. Fear wouldn't stop him. He knew that about the man.

"I've nowhere to go," she said, her voice trembling. "My aunt only left me a little money. Now it's all gone. All because I was stupid. I wanted to wait and put the money in a bank here. Now what will I do?"

Starsky sat looking at her. He had somehow managed to control his fear, now he openly regarded her.

"There must be someone?"

"No. My sister is dead and so are my parents. All I had was auntie."

The story just didn't add up. She was well cared for, sheltered, wore expensive dresses. How could everything she own be contained in one purse. The answer was forthcoming.

"My aunt had a lot of money, so I never wanted for anything. But when she died, nearly all her money had been lost to bad investments. I received only thirty thousand dollars. That's all that was left."

And Hutch wanted to shout: why would you take it out in bills. Why not travelers checks, or bonds, or credit cards, or any damn thing that would keep you from coming here. Instead he took another sip of coffee.

Starsky was trembling. Susan was touching his arm and the man was actually trembling. All the while, the golden-eyed woman pretended she hadn't noticed. She was dabbing at her eyes with the other hand, her face grim. She was practically sobbing, her body literally shaking.

"What shall I do?" And she waited for the answer.

"You must have someone," Starsky said again. He said it as if he could somehow conjure up a relative.

"No one. I'm all alone."

And then the tears were falling, and before Hutch knew what happened, his partner was offering the girl his apartment. It seemed impossible that he would find himself standing at the damn coffee pot, watching the train wreck in progress, utterly useless. He was sipping coffee while Rome burned.

Susan was looking at him now, triumph in the golden depths of her eyes. He tucked his tail, filled the mug with fresh coffee and prepared to join them. "Would you like something, Miss Shepard?" he said, once he reached the desk.

Susan declined then spoke, "Your partner was kind enough to offer his apartment. But I must say no, detective Starsky. It hardly seems proper."

Starsky raised his hand in a mock Boy Scout salute. "I pledge to be absolute gentlemen. Word of honor. You can even have my room."

Starsky was all smiles, clearly flirting, but Hutch could still see terror in his eyes. The flirtation was done without conviction, almost mechanical, as if it were something to be expected.

Hutch handed his coffee to his partner who took a sip and handed it back. Susan's face had gone instantly cold, but it was so brief that Hutch wondered if he hadn't imagine it. Now she was smiling, accepting his partner's offer and asking both of them to call her Susan. All the while, Hutch sat there, completely useless, listening to his partner prattle on about sleeping arrangements and calling them both by their first names, now that they were to be roommates. Hutch had to put a stop to it.

Hutch reached into his pocket and pulled out three crisp one hundred dollar bills. He handed them to Susan. Starsky was reviewing the report so he didn't see the hatred that filled her eyes. When the brunet looked up, she resumed the countenance of the sweet, innocent girl.

"I wouldn't think of it, detective Hutchinson. It simply wouldn't be right."

It didn't matter that he told her it was okay and that his partner had a look of relief on his face. In the end, Susan wouldn't take the money. Round one and he was the obvious loser. Now if he could only find out what the game was about.

TBC