CHAPTER 11

Starsky jerked awake with a start. He lay there, breathing heavily, as he tried to figure out what had awakened him so abruptly. After several minutes of listening intently without hearing anything unusual, he slowly allowed himself to relax. He ran the tip of his tongue along his dry, cracked lips, but his mouth was so dry it provided little relief. The water bowl beside him had been empty for some time, and his captor hadn't bothered to refill it. Closing his eyes, Starsky let himself drift back into a stupor.

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John Blaine sighed heavily as he tried to concentrate on the file lying on the desk in front of him. It had been a long day, and he was ready to go home. From the corner of his eye, he saw a uniformed officer approaching his desk.

"Detective Blaine?" the young officer said quietly, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other in the presence of the senior officer.

"I'm Blaine. What can I do for you, Officer…" he glanced at the young man's name tag "Collins."

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir…it may be nothing, but I thought you should know…"

"Know what?" Blaine asked patiently, smiling to put the young man at ease.

"My partner and I investigated a TA a couple of days ago. A drunk driver ran a red light and broadsided another vehicle. He wasn't hurt, but the other driver was a D.O.A. We didn't get a positive ID on the fatality until this morning. His name was Scott Mitchell and he lived out in the Valley."

"What's all this got to do with me?"

"Turns out he was a private investigator. We found a notebook in his car that indicated that he'd been following your partner, Detective Starsky, for quite some time."

"Where is this notebook?" Blaine demanded, immediately interested in this new information. Starsky had been missing for almost a week, and this could be the lead he needed to find him.

The younger man handed Blaine a small spiral bound notebook with a black cover. "It looks like he might have been following Detective Starsky's ex-wife too," he added as an afterthought.

"Thank you, Officer, for bringing this to my attention."

"Yes, sir. I hope it helps Detective Starsky somehow. For what it's worth, I think he got a bum deal."

"I'll make sure and tell him you said that," Blaine said with a thin smile. If I can find him. He thought to himself as the rookie walked away to return to his own duties. His fatigue forgotten, Blaine began leafing through the notebook.

Two hours later, he had read enough of the notebook to realize that the PI had been following Starsky and Kelly for the last six months. Why he was following them was unclear, but he had continued to follow Starsky even after Kelly's murder. His surveillance had ended the night before Starsky's disappearance. At least that was where the notebook ended.

He spent the next three hours finding out as much as he could about Scott Mitchell. He was divorced with no children and had been a PI for the past three years. His reputation was a bit shady, to say the least. For the right amount of money, he would investigate anyone, and at least twice, he had been suspected of planting evidence in favor of his clients. He was often behind on his bills, and yet he still appeared to live far above his financial means. Blaine was unable to find the name of any client who had hired him to follow Starsky and his ex-wife. Still, it was a connection that he couldn't ignore.

Slipping the notebook into his desk, he locked the drawer and left the squad room. Hot on the trail of a possible clue, he headed for the PI's home to do his own search for any evidence that might help him find his missing partner.

Mitchell lived in a rundown neighborhood that was frequented by hookers, drug addicts, youthful gang members and other degenerates. Half of the houses were abandoned with boarded up windows and overgrown lawns. The street was littered with trash, and the only working streetlight was at the far end of the block.

Mitchell's house was dark. The picture window overlooking the street had a large crack in it, and heavy curtains covered all the windows, preventing anyone from seeing inside the dwelling. Blaine twisted the doorknob and shoved against the door with his shoulder. It swung open unexpectedly, catching him by surprise. Stepping to one side of the doorframe, he drew his weapon and flipped off the safety. Moving cautiously, he peered into the dark interior of the house, alert for any signs of danger. Tentatively satisfied that the building was empty, he stepped inside. He felt along the wall on his left until he found the light switch. When he flipped it on, dim light from a bare overhead bulb filled the room. Carry-out containers, empty pizza boxes, and paper cups littered the living room. A stack of newspapers was on the floor next to the sofa, and a 12 inch TV with a pair of bent rabbit ears stood on a rickety stand in one corner of the room. The threadbare carpet was dirty and stained from years of abuse, and the walls were a faded shade of gray. A cautious look into the other rooms revealed the same neglect and clutter as the living room.

Re-holstering his weapon, Blaine began a careful, systematic search of the house. He started in the living room and ended in the bedroom. His search uncovered several items of interest. It was obvious that someone was seriously obsessed with David Starsky.

Blaine picked up the phone to check for a dial tone. Satisfied that the instrument was working, he dialed headquarters and requested that a crime lab team be sent to the house immediately. Blaine snorted in frustration as he hung up. You couldn't interrogate a dead suspect, and nothing he had uncovered so far told him what had happened to Starsky or where he was.

When the crime team arrived, Blaine gave them some last minute instructions, and then he left them to their jobs while he returned to headquarters to write up his report on the new development in the case. But, first, he called Ken Hutchinson to bring him up to date on the new information.

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Hutch frowned as he hung up the phone, pondering how this new information figured into Kelly Starsky's murder and David Starsky's disappearance. He had instructed Blaine to let him know immediately, day or night, if he discovered anything else that could be helpful to the case.

When he drove home, he was surprised to find Vanessa waiting from him in front of his apartment. Climbing out of his car, he approached his soon to be ex-wife cautiously.

"What are you doing here, Vanessa?" he demanded in a tightly controlled voice. She was dressed in a clingy, stylish white linen pant suit and outrageously high heels. A wide black belt accented her trim waist. But, Hutch was unfazed by her beauty. He knew far too well the cold heart that beat inside that perfect body.

"I need five thousand dollars for the payment on the condo." She said "It's due at the end of the week."

"Our lawyers discussed this. The condo is being put up for sale, and the proceeds will be divided between us equally."

"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? I still need a place to live."

"That is not my problem," Hutch said coldly. "Find another apartment. I did."

"You cheap bastard!" Vanessa hissed, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "You're going to pay for this!"

"I already am," Hutch pointed out as he brushed past her, entered his building and closed the street level door on her continued ranting. He climbed the stairs to his apartment and went inside, being sure to lock the door securely behind him.

It would be a few more weeks before the divorce was finalized and this was all behind him. In the meantime he would have to ignore Vanessa's demands and veiled threats. The divorce might have been her idea, but that didn't mean she was going to make it easy for Hutch to walk away from their marriage.