Hutch spent the next two months working closely with the other two
plainclothes detectives on the Langston police force. Jake Summerall and
Lou Cranmer were about as mismatched a pair as Hutch had ever seen. Jake
was a rough-hewn, ebony-skinned hulk, who wore a perpetually sullen
expression disguising not at all a perpetually sullen personality. Closed-
mouthed to the point of taciturnity, he was known throughout the county for
being quick to settle an argument with his fists, and for caring about no
one and nothing but himself, his country and his job - In that order.
Personally, Hutch considered him a bully and itched to take him down, but
restrained himself. He was going to have to work with this man for a long
time to come.
Summerall's partner was as much unlike him as two men could be. Lou Cranmer was a short man, slender to the point of emaciation but tough as whipcord when need be. As garrulous as Summerall was reticent, he filled the air with nonstop chatter consisting of stories, anecdotes, words of wisdom and once, to Hutches unbridled amusement, an endless array of bird calls designed to send any self-respecting ornithologist into hysterics.
He was the perfect counterpoint for the somber Summerall. They also seemed to be the only two people in Langston who could put up with each other for more than ten minutes at a time.
"Talk about the original odd couple," Hutch had privately commented to Starsky after being introduced to them.
"Odd couple, maybe. But are they good cops?" Leave it to Starsky to cut right to the root of the matter. Hutch could only shrug.
That question had remained unanswered for several weeks until one bright morning when Hutch had accompanied them on an unusual call.
Roger Banyon was a local recluse, widely rumored to have hidden a stash of money and jewels somewhere on the isolated property he and his family had inhabited for almost four generations. No one ever visited the house - Banyon was a self-professed misanthrope who was given to shooting at trespassers with an old shotgun loaded with a half-pound of rock salt. No one who had ever confronted that formidable deterrent went back for seconds. Most people just didn't go at all.
Today, however, was to be an exception to that common practice. A young boy from a neighboring farm had been taking a short cut across one corner of the Banyon property - very discreetly indeed - when he had heard what he took to be screaming coming from the direction of the house. Not being fool enough to investigate for himself, he'd returned home and informed his mother. She had immediately telephoned the police.
"I don't know why I'm going through all this trouble at all, mind you," she pointed out for what seemed like the dozenth time. "But being a God fearing woman, I just felt it my duty to notify the proper authorities. I mean it is my Christian duty, don't you think? Even if it is an old bas-- er, I mean heathen like Roger Banyon"
"Yes, ma'am." Hutch cut her off smoothly as she drew breath for another chorus of 'good citizen.' "We'll take care of it. Thank you for calling." He dropped the phone back into its cradle even as the outraged sputtering began. "Whew! Neil? Report of a disturbance at the home of Roger Banyon. Neighbor boy heard screams coming from inside the house."
"Oh, no." Neil cursed with real feeling. "That' old reprobate sits up there just waiting for someone to cross his property line so he can use that shotgun of his. Caught me once when I was twelve." At Hutch's raised eyebrow, he chuckled reminiscently. "Just rock salt, but darned if I didn't eat standing up for weeks."
He raised his voice. "Jake! Lou! I want you to go with Kenny out to the Banyon farm. Neighbor reported a disturbance."
"The Banyon farm?!" Cranmer squeaked, horrified. "For the luv'a Pete, Neil! You know what that guy is like."
"We don't need him along." Summerall jerked a thumb Hutch's way. "Lou and I can handle it without the city boy."
"You'll ail go, Jake Conner's voice was mild enough but there was an element of steel in it that even Summerall reacted to. "If you're going all the way out to Banyon's I want you to have adequate back-up going in. There won't be much I can do for you after the fact.
Summerall sniffed loudly, eloquently describing his opinion of the kind of "back up" Hutch was going to be.
Hutch recognized the implied insult for what it was and reached for his jacket with a wry smile. "Don't worry, Jake," he said, double-checking his Magnum, "I'll try not to slow you down too much."
An angry glare was the only reply to that, and a sullen pall reigned all the way to the dirt road turnoff heading to the Banyon estate. Cranmer broke the unusually long - for him - silence. "Pull over here, Jake," he directed. "We'll go the rest of the way in on foot. No sense advertising our presence until we have to."
It was only another quarter mile to the rambling old house, which was set in a clearing bounded by a running stream on one side and a neatly tended garden on the other. Cleared land surrounded the house on all four sides. The only approach that offered even minimum concealment was a roundabout route by the north corner of the field. There, a couple of sheds and some rusting farm equipment could conceivably serve as cover.
The three men moved by unspoken agreement from shadow to shadow, each keeping on eye on the house and the other on the progress of his fellows. Hutch watched his companions measuringly; they handled themselves well enough. Trained if unpracticed. The tense lines of his jaw relaxed fractionally even as his eyes began to glow.
Hutch, who was in the lead, reached the house and flattened himself against one paint-peeled wall. While he waited for the others to finish traversing the yard, he took the opportunity to move near the window listening intently.
"Hear anything?" Cranmer's tight whisper came from the vicinity of his shoulder.
"No." Hutch stretched up on his toes to risk a cautious peek in the window. "Nothing. Lou, you and I'll take the front. Jake - cover that back door. Count of twenty."
Summerall's muddy eyes narrowed stubbornly, his lips parted as though for a refusal. Then he nodded once and moved off, his feet making little crunching noises in the dirt.
Hutch crossed the wide porch and flattened himself to the right of the door. Cranmer mirrored his actions on the left. On the count of twenty. Hutch rapped loudly with the barrel of his Magnum. "Mr. Banyon? This is the police. Open up." He cocked his head, listening once again, then exchanged a swift look with Cranmer at the faint scuffling barely heard from inside. The blond held up three fingers and counted again quietly.
"One . two.." On three he gave the door a tremendous kick, shattering the lock and throwing it wide. Almost simultaneously, Lou Cranmer dived into the room, gun at ready. Cautiously, both men quartered the wide living room, covering each other until they'd reached the kitchen, and Cranmer had admitted Jake.
"Let's start with--" Hutch's muted whisper was interrupted by a low groan coming from the direction of what appeared to be a study off to their left. Warily, expecting an ambush, the three moved down the short hall to the study door. An unspoken command, a sudden rush and three men aiming three large guns controlled the study. The room's only inhabitant, however, provided very little threat indeed.
"Mr. Banyon?" Cranmer turned the battered and bloody figure over gently, laying a hand along the throat. "I got a pulse. He's in pretty bad shape though. He--"
Again that faint scuffling sound, this time from the room directly overhead.
"Stay with him, Lou." Hutch gestured towards the stairs with his gun. "Come on, Jake. Let's go hunting." Summerall grinned wolfishly and took the point, the stairs creaking ominously under his not-inconsiderable weight. A quick calculation brought both men to the wide-open door of an exceptionally sparsely furnished bedroom. The bed was without linen, and only an old highboy standing against the wall told of this room's ever having been inhabited. It did, however, boast one tightly-closed closet door.
Crossing the hard wood floor, Summerall pressed himself against the wall to the right of the door. Hutch took up a firing position across the room and gave an all-ready sign. Jake nodded shortly, then tapped -- quite politely -- on the door. "Police," he bellowed. "Come on out."
No answer. Hutch smiled grimly. "Stand back, Jake. I think I'll put a few rounds through the door. Leave my signature, so to speak."
The words were barely out of his mouth before muffled shouts rang out. "No! Wait!" "Don't shoot!" Two distinct voices. "We're comin' out!"
"Make sure your hands are in the clear," Hutch commanded curtly.
Very slowly, the closet door opened and two frightened looking men emerged. They wore fatigue jackets, fishing caps and held their hands very high indeed. "We're comin' out. Don't shoot,"
Summerall glanced inside the closet swiftly before slamming both men against the wall. "You alone?" A nod. "Good. Assume the position, you mothers, or I'll tear your heads off."
The men obeyed, ail the while babbling some far-fetched story of hidden money and treasures, "The old fart should've told us where he hid the loot," one sobbed. "We only wanted the money."
Jake cuffed them to the bed, then he and Hutch searched the rest of the house for good measure before herding the men downstairs to the study.
"You got 'cm. Good," Cranmer nodded approvingly, "I'm afraid Mr. Banyon here is going to need an ambulance."
"Right. Lou, you and Jake stay with Banyon and the Bobbsey Twins. Ill go get the car and call for an ambulance." Hutch turned to leave, but the older man halted him mid-step. "Hey, Blondie?" At Hutch's inquiring look, Lou smiled warmly. "Me'n Jake weren't so sure about you before. 'Big heroes.' 'LA hotshots.' That's all we kept hearing. We was expecting a couple 'a hot dogs. But ya done good, kid. Real good." Hutch returned the smile, his face warming at the older man's praise. "Thanks, Lou. I have to admit that I wasn't too sure about you, either."
And he was gone, his step lighter than before. Backup he could count on. One more worry out of the way. Yep, things were starting to work out pretty good here in the friendly little town of Langston, Oregon. ***
Summerall's partner was as much unlike him as two men could be. Lou Cranmer was a short man, slender to the point of emaciation but tough as whipcord when need be. As garrulous as Summerall was reticent, he filled the air with nonstop chatter consisting of stories, anecdotes, words of wisdom and once, to Hutches unbridled amusement, an endless array of bird calls designed to send any self-respecting ornithologist into hysterics.
He was the perfect counterpoint for the somber Summerall. They also seemed to be the only two people in Langston who could put up with each other for more than ten minutes at a time.
"Talk about the original odd couple," Hutch had privately commented to Starsky after being introduced to them.
"Odd couple, maybe. But are they good cops?" Leave it to Starsky to cut right to the root of the matter. Hutch could only shrug.
That question had remained unanswered for several weeks until one bright morning when Hutch had accompanied them on an unusual call.
Roger Banyon was a local recluse, widely rumored to have hidden a stash of money and jewels somewhere on the isolated property he and his family had inhabited for almost four generations. No one ever visited the house - Banyon was a self-professed misanthrope who was given to shooting at trespassers with an old shotgun loaded with a half-pound of rock salt. No one who had ever confronted that formidable deterrent went back for seconds. Most people just didn't go at all.
Today, however, was to be an exception to that common practice. A young boy from a neighboring farm had been taking a short cut across one corner of the Banyon property - very discreetly indeed - when he had heard what he took to be screaming coming from the direction of the house. Not being fool enough to investigate for himself, he'd returned home and informed his mother. She had immediately telephoned the police.
"I don't know why I'm going through all this trouble at all, mind you," she pointed out for what seemed like the dozenth time. "But being a God fearing woman, I just felt it my duty to notify the proper authorities. I mean it is my Christian duty, don't you think? Even if it is an old bas-- er, I mean heathen like Roger Banyon"
"Yes, ma'am." Hutch cut her off smoothly as she drew breath for another chorus of 'good citizen.' "We'll take care of it. Thank you for calling." He dropped the phone back into its cradle even as the outraged sputtering began. "Whew! Neil? Report of a disturbance at the home of Roger Banyon. Neighbor boy heard screams coming from inside the house."
"Oh, no." Neil cursed with real feeling. "That' old reprobate sits up there just waiting for someone to cross his property line so he can use that shotgun of his. Caught me once when I was twelve." At Hutch's raised eyebrow, he chuckled reminiscently. "Just rock salt, but darned if I didn't eat standing up for weeks."
He raised his voice. "Jake! Lou! I want you to go with Kenny out to the Banyon farm. Neighbor reported a disturbance."
"The Banyon farm?!" Cranmer squeaked, horrified. "For the luv'a Pete, Neil! You know what that guy is like."
"We don't need him along." Summerall jerked a thumb Hutch's way. "Lou and I can handle it without the city boy."
"You'll ail go, Jake Conner's voice was mild enough but there was an element of steel in it that even Summerall reacted to. "If you're going all the way out to Banyon's I want you to have adequate back-up going in. There won't be much I can do for you after the fact.
Summerall sniffed loudly, eloquently describing his opinion of the kind of "back up" Hutch was going to be.
Hutch recognized the implied insult for what it was and reached for his jacket with a wry smile. "Don't worry, Jake," he said, double-checking his Magnum, "I'll try not to slow you down too much."
An angry glare was the only reply to that, and a sullen pall reigned all the way to the dirt road turnoff heading to the Banyon estate. Cranmer broke the unusually long - for him - silence. "Pull over here, Jake," he directed. "We'll go the rest of the way in on foot. No sense advertising our presence until we have to."
It was only another quarter mile to the rambling old house, which was set in a clearing bounded by a running stream on one side and a neatly tended garden on the other. Cleared land surrounded the house on all four sides. The only approach that offered even minimum concealment was a roundabout route by the north corner of the field. There, a couple of sheds and some rusting farm equipment could conceivably serve as cover.
The three men moved by unspoken agreement from shadow to shadow, each keeping on eye on the house and the other on the progress of his fellows. Hutch watched his companions measuringly; they handled themselves well enough. Trained if unpracticed. The tense lines of his jaw relaxed fractionally even as his eyes began to glow.
Hutch, who was in the lead, reached the house and flattened himself against one paint-peeled wall. While he waited for the others to finish traversing the yard, he took the opportunity to move near the window listening intently.
"Hear anything?" Cranmer's tight whisper came from the vicinity of his shoulder.
"No." Hutch stretched up on his toes to risk a cautious peek in the window. "Nothing. Lou, you and I'll take the front. Jake - cover that back door. Count of twenty."
Summerall's muddy eyes narrowed stubbornly, his lips parted as though for a refusal. Then he nodded once and moved off, his feet making little crunching noises in the dirt.
Hutch crossed the wide porch and flattened himself to the right of the door. Cranmer mirrored his actions on the left. On the count of twenty. Hutch rapped loudly with the barrel of his Magnum. "Mr. Banyon? This is the police. Open up." He cocked his head, listening once again, then exchanged a swift look with Cranmer at the faint scuffling barely heard from inside. The blond held up three fingers and counted again quietly.
"One . two.." On three he gave the door a tremendous kick, shattering the lock and throwing it wide. Almost simultaneously, Lou Cranmer dived into the room, gun at ready. Cautiously, both men quartered the wide living room, covering each other until they'd reached the kitchen, and Cranmer had admitted Jake.
"Let's start with--" Hutch's muted whisper was interrupted by a low groan coming from the direction of what appeared to be a study off to their left. Warily, expecting an ambush, the three moved down the short hall to the study door. An unspoken command, a sudden rush and three men aiming three large guns controlled the study. The room's only inhabitant, however, provided very little threat indeed.
"Mr. Banyon?" Cranmer turned the battered and bloody figure over gently, laying a hand along the throat. "I got a pulse. He's in pretty bad shape though. He--"
Again that faint scuffling sound, this time from the room directly overhead.
"Stay with him, Lou." Hutch gestured towards the stairs with his gun. "Come on, Jake. Let's go hunting." Summerall grinned wolfishly and took the point, the stairs creaking ominously under his not-inconsiderable weight. A quick calculation brought both men to the wide-open door of an exceptionally sparsely furnished bedroom. The bed was without linen, and only an old highboy standing against the wall told of this room's ever having been inhabited. It did, however, boast one tightly-closed closet door.
Crossing the hard wood floor, Summerall pressed himself against the wall to the right of the door. Hutch took up a firing position across the room and gave an all-ready sign. Jake nodded shortly, then tapped -- quite politely -- on the door. "Police," he bellowed. "Come on out."
No answer. Hutch smiled grimly. "Stand back, Jake. I think I'll put a few rounds through the door. Leave my signature, so to speak."
The words were barely out of his mouth before muffled shouts rang out. "No! Wait!" "Don't shoot!" Two distinct voices. "We're comin' out!"
"Make sure your hands are in the clear," Hutch commanded curtly.
Very slowly, the closet door opened and two frightened looking men emerged. They wore fatigue jackets, fishing caps and held their hands very high indeed. "We're comin' out. Don't shoot,"
Summerall glanced inside the closet swiftly before slamming both men against the wall. "You alone?" A nod. "Good. Assume the position, you mothers, or I'll tear your heads off."
The men obeyed, ail the while babbling some far-fetched story of hidden money and treasures, "The old fart should've told us where he hid the loot," one sobbed. "We only wanted the money."
Jake cuffed them to the bed, then he and Hutch searched the rest of the house for good measure before herding the men downstairs to the study.
"You got 'cm. Good," Cranmer nodded approvingly, "I'm afraid Mr. Banyon here is going to need an ambulance."
"Right. Lou, you and Jake stay with Banyon and the Bobbsey Twins. Ill go get the car and call for an ambulance." Hutch turned to leave, but the older man halted him mid-step. "Hey, Blondie?" At Hutch's inquiring look, Lou smiled warmly. "Me'n Jake weren't so sure about you before. 'Big heroes.' 'LA hotshots.' That's all we kept hearing. We was expecting a couple 'a hot dogs. But ya done good, kid. Real good." Hutch returned the smile, his face warming at the older man's praise. "Thanks, Lou. I have to admit that I wasn't too sure about you, either."
And he was gone, his step lighter than before. Backup he could count on. One more worry out of the way. Yep, things were starting to work out pretty good here in the friendly little town of Langston, Oregon. ***