East Meets West
Two detectives from two very different backgrounds join forces to catch a killer.
Chapter One
Detective Kenneth Hutchinson, known as Hutch to his friends and co-workers, handed the attendant his boarding pass as he stepped through the archway into the plane. The Stewardess, a perky blonde with a trim little figure and brown eyes, smiled at him brightly.
"Welcome aboard, Mr. Hutchinson." She glanced at his ticket and said, "Fourth seat on your left. Next to the window."
"Thank you," Hutch said politely as he strolled down the aisle. He paused long enough to open the overhead compartment and shove his carry-on bag into the storage space above the seats. With a sigh, he settled into his seat, tucking his long legs into the narrow space between his seat and the one in front of him.
Coach seats weren't made for men his size, but a seat in the first class section of the plane was an unnecessary luxury that the Bay City Police Department wasn't about to spring for.
Not that Hutch minded. He had grown up in a privileged family where the little extras that money could buy were taken for granted. His father was a successful plastic surgeon in Duluth, Minnesota who had expected his only son to follow in his footsteps. When Hutch rebelled against his father's demands, it led to a falling out that left him estranged from his family.
Instead, Hutch married his college sweetheart and moved as far away from Duluth as he could get. All the way to California. He finished college, switching to a major in criminal justice, and then entered the police academy as soon as he graduated. He graduated from there at the top of his class and joined the Bay City Police Department where he had risen through the ranks, becoming one of the youngest Detectives in the department after only five years on the force.
Unfortunately, being a police officer's wife was not what his wife had in mind when she married into the prestigious Hutchinson family. She divorced Hutch after two years of marriage and retuned to Duluth. Fortunately, there had been no children born of their union. That had been another inconvenience that the former Mrs. Hutchinson had no time for.
Following the stewardesses instructions, Hutch fastened his seat belt as the plane taxied down the runway preparing for take off. After a smooth lift-off, the plane was in the air. As soon as the seat belt sign went off, Hutch unfastened his seat belt and relaxed in his seat.
For the past six months, Hutch had been part of a task force trying to track down a serial killer preying on the homeless and more destitute citizens of the city. Five weeks ago the murders had suddenly stopped. Then a week ago, reports had filtered in that made it look like their killer had relocated to the east coast. New York City to be exact.
Captain Dobey had assigned Hutch to be the detective who would go to New York City and work with the department there to see if they were both after the same unknown subject, or "unsub", as they were known in police jargon.
The flight to New York was a long one, and the inboard movie was Airport, a film that didn't interest Hutch. He tuned his earphones to a channel playing light jazz music and leaned his head back against his seat, closing his eyes as he let the music wash over him.
An hour into the flight, the stewardess tapped him on the shoulder. Turning down his earphones, Hutch looked at her with a smile.
"Excuse me, sir," she said politely. "But would you like a meal? You have your choice of Chicken or Beef."
"No thank you, neither one," Hutch told her. "But, I would like a drink. A club soda, light on the ice."
"Certainly, sir. I'll get that for you right away." She continued down the aisle, taking other drink orders as she went. She returned a short time later with Hutch's drink, passing it to him with a cocktail napkin and a flirtatious smile. As she walked away, Hutch noticed that she had written the named Trudy and a phone number on the napkin.
Hutch was accustomed to attention from the fairer sex. With his blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and lean, muscular build on a six-foot-one frame, women were automatically drawn to him. Combine that with his cultured background and his natural charm, and he could literally have any woman he wanted.
Even when he was casually dressed as he was for his trip, in blue jeans, a black leather jacket and a pale blue tee shirt, he still gave off an air of sophistication that had been inbred in him from childhood by his strict, overbearing parents.
Hutch slipped the note into his pocket even though he knew that he would never call her. He had no objection to one night stands, and actually preferred them to a committed relationship, but after his flight he knew all he would want to do is check into his hotel room and get some sleep to avoid the inevitable jet lag as much as possible.
The rest of the flight passed uneventfully, landing in New York shortly after seven P.M. that evening. Since California was three hours behind New York, to Hutch's body it was still only four in the afternoon. Since he had refused the meal offered on the plane, his rumbling stomach reminded him that he hadn't had eaten since breakfast.
He decided to grab a bite to eat in the airport terminal before catching a cab to his hotel. He chose a relatively empty café that advertised fresh yogurt and salads. He ordered a large ice tea without sugar and a chef's salad with ranch dressing on the side. Although Hutch did indulge in the usual junk food fare from time to time, most of the time he stuck to healthier choices in his normal diet.
After finishing his meal, he gathered his bags from the luggage carousel and left the terminal. He turned up the collar on his jacket as he stepped out into the cooler night air. After living for so many years in California, his body had become acclimated to the warmer weather of the west coast.
A row of yellow cabs were lined up at the curb waiting for potential fares. Hutch stepped up to the closest one and slid into the back seat as the driver got out and put his luggage into the trunk.
As the driver slid back into the car, Hutch said, "The Tremont Hotel, 3310 Lexington Ave."
The driver pulled away with a sudden jerk that threw Hutch back against the seat. The cab wove recklessly in and out of traffic, and Hutch let out a sigh of relief when they pulled up in front of his hotel twenty minutes later. Paying the fare with a modest tip included, Hutch climbed out of the car and gathered his bags as the driver sped away, already on the lookout for another potential fare.
He entered the modest building that housed the hotel and walked to the front desk. A bored-looking receptionist looked up from the magazine article she was reading.
"May I help you, sir?"
"Hutchinson. I have a reservation."
The woman behind the desk consulted her reservation book and nodded. "Yes, here it is. Hutchinson. Reservation for one for two weeks. Is that correct?"
"Yes," Hutch told her
"The bill has already been paid in advance. If you find that you'll be needing the room any longer then two weeks, please let the front desk know two days in advance." She recited the speech in a dull monotone as she reached behind her and took a key from one of the numerous hooks on the wall. "Room 117. Last room on your left at the end of the hall." She turned back to the magazine she had been reading before being interrupted by Hutch's arrival.
Hutch carried his two bags and overnight case down the hall to his room, setting them down long enough to unlock the door. Carrying the bags inside, he closed the door, turned the lock and pocketed the key.
He walked into the modest bathroom where he stripped off his clothes and took a quick shower, letting the hot water soothe away the weariness in his muscles from the long flight. He dried off briskly with the thick, soft towel supplied by the hotel.
Walking across the carpet to the queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, he flopped down on his stomach without bothering to dress in his pajamas and drifted into a deep slumber.
The sun was shining brightly when he opened his eyes the next morning. An early riser by nature, Hutch noted the time. It was almost nine A.M. New York time which meant it was six A.M, back in Bay City, the time Hutch usually got up in the mornings.
Most mornings back home, he took a three mile run before showering and dressing for the day. But, since he wasn't familiar with the streets or neighborhood he was in, he reluctantly by-passed his normal routine. After a quick shave, he dressed for the day in pair of kaki slacks and a camel colored sweater. Slipping on his shoulder harness, he buckled the straps and slipped his magnum into the holster that nestled securely under his left armpit. He shrugged on his black leather jacket and adjusted it to make his gun was hidden from view.
He left the hotel and caught a cab out front, instructing the driver to take him to the Twenty-first precinct of the New York Police Department. The driver eyed him curiously but didn't question his fare's destination. Although he looked harmless enough, the driver sensed that Hutch was not a man to be messed with.
Half an hour later, he stepped out of the cab in front of the metropolitan police department. Unlike Hutch's department back in Bay City, the Twenty-First precinct was housed in an older brick building with bars on the lower windows and graffiti covering the outside walls. Uniformed officers, well dressed businessmen, and other citizens were going in and out of the glass doors that opened into the building.
Hutch climbed the crumbling steps to the front entrance and stepped inside. The controlled chaos inside reminded Hutch of home. People were all talking at once, and clouds of cigar and cigarette smoke filled the air. Phones were ringing, and somewhere in the din, a baby was crying.
Hutch made his way to the front desk and told the duty officer, "I'm here to see Captain Drew."
"Third floor, homicide squad," The heavyset sergeant on duty said gruffly as he immediately turned to the next person in line.
Hutch followed the man's directions. A sign on the elevator said it was out of order so he climbed the rickety stairs to the third floor and followed the names on the frosted doors until he found the homicide squad room.
Opening the door, he went inside. The large room was filled with desks. Uniformed officers mingled with plain clothes officers. Some were talking on the phone, others were typing reports, while others were booking prisoners. The noise level was even higher than it was downstairs in the lobby. Hutch saw a door to his left that said Captain Drew, so he walked in that direction.
"Come in!" a gruff voice barked in response to his knock. Hutch concealed a smile. The man's tone reminded him of his own Captain back home. Hutch opened the door and stepped into the tiny, cluttered office.
A heavyset man with gray hair and a heavily lined face sat behind the battered desk in the middle of the room. He looked up at Hutch with a questioning look on his face.
"I'm Detective Hutchinson from Bay City P.D."
"Oh yeah, the hot shot detective from California. Hang tight while I get the detective handling the case on this end." He shoved himself to his feet and lumbered to the door. Opening it, he bellowed into the squad room, "Starsky! Get your tail in here!"