Tandy had grown up in Seattle, Washington. On her sixteenth birthday,
she'd treated herself - with her alcoholic father's welfare check - to a
one-way ticket to San Francisco, where she'd quickly learned to support
herself on the street. She was a pretty young woman, red-haired and
shapely, not spoiled by drugs or vice as yet, and so able to command a high
price for her services. For several years she did well, earning a
lucrative living for herself and her boyfriend, Adam. Unfortunately, Adam
got too used to the finer luxuries of life, including a precious white
powder with the ability to grant euphoric self-possession to the user, and
the propensity to strip aforementioned user of all his moral and ethical
values, and eventually his soul as well.
Tandy had tried cocaine herself for awhile but never allowed herself to become enamored of the thrill, Tandy was a practical, intelligent young woman.
Adam wasn't nearly as intelligent - or as self-controlled; after the third time he beat her up, Tandy left him lying in a drunken stupor and moved out. She eventually ended up - after a series of 'fresh beginnings' - in Langston.
Business was good in Langston for a pretty red-head like Tandy. She kept a low profile, working the bars rather than the streets, earning a decent living and garnering a small reputation as someone who could be trusted - within reason, of course.
One of those people who trusted Tandy was Elizabeth, a young teenager who'd escaped an abusive household only to find herself starving and frightened and alone. After a few bad experiences, Tandy had taken the girl in and gotten her started properly, teaching her how to choose the best tricks out of the crowd and how to avoid being cheated of her rightful pay. Elizabeth took the apartment next to Tandy's in a run-down rooming house. The two women became close; Elizabeth was the first real friend Tandy had ever had.
Tandy trudged wearily toward her apartment; one high heel dangling from her hand, the other -- heel broken -- made little clap-clapping noises on the pavement. Lousy night. Lousy, lousy night. Not only had some stupid oaf of a tourist stiffed her -- her of all people! -- but she'd had a headache all day and was out of aspirin too.
A light in Elizabeth's window shone like a beacon through the gloom of the early dawn. Thank God she was still up. Maybe she had some aspirin to take care of this headache. Unless she was... occupied?
Ah! The door was ajar. Elizabeth would have never left the door open if she'd been entertaining. "Lizzie?" Tandy stuck her head in and peered around myopically. Lordy, she was tired. A tell-tale lump on the bed brought her across the room. Asleep at this hour? "Lizzie, honey?" She rested a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Wake up, honey. I need some.... Oh . my . God!" White knuckles stifled the scream threatening to erupt from her throat. "Elizabeth?!"
Sightless eyes already glazed studied the ceiling unblinkingly. A battered face was barely recognizable as the once-beautiful, child-like countenance that had brought some measure of warmth to Tandy's self-serving existence. Oh, Lizzie.
Tandy screamed and kept on screaming until the blackness rolled in and took her away.
*
Starsky's keen eyes swept the scene, absorbing every detail of the squalid little room. Furniture was minimal, a bed, table, bureau, and two chairs taking up most of the space in the tiny efficiency. The victim had obviously been no kind of a housekeeper: unwashed dishes in the sink and laundry piled in one corner gave the room a dirty, disheveled effect and, here and there, cockroaches boldly forayed into the open in search of food. "Whaddaya got, Schmidt?"
An older man consulted his notes briefly. "White female prostitute, age fifteen, lived at this address six months. Doc says she was beaten to death sometime between two and three last night. Severe internal injuries, several broken bones." Starsky grimaced. "Anyone hear or see anything?"
"Nothing." Schmidt made a throw away gesture with his notebook. "Victim's hands were bound behind her and she was gagged. Couldn't move or scream."
"Terrific." Starsky crossed over to the blanket-covered body, stepping around the photographer imported from nearby Saratoga specifically for the job. "I'll need a Polaroid, Frank. "
"You got it, Sarge."
Starsky lifted one corner of the concealing blanket and gave the body a cursory examination. The girl lay on her back, arms bound behind her, a shapeless, pale mass against the white sheets. The battered face had once been delicate; here and there traces of fine bones and rich coloring could be seen between the bruises. Starsky shook his head at the waste. "Lab boys come up with anything?"
Officer Schmidt left off his examination of the cupboard to shoot him an apologetic look. "Her prints, a few smudges. Nothing useful."
"Hmmm." Starsky studied the bound wrists and gag. "Simple knots." He straightened up as Hutch entered the room and approached the body.
"Anything?" the big blond asked by way of greeting.
"Nah. Hooker, tied up and beaten to death. You?"
Hutch threw up his hands. "Nobody knows anything about last night. But...."
Starsky picked up his ears. "But?"
Hutchinson hesitated, then shrugged. "That girl, Tandy - the one who found the body? She knows something, I' m sure of it."
"But she ain't talking?" Starsky asked, examining the rest of the room in a single sweep.
"Not yet. I'm going to have another little chat with her, see if I can't shake her up a bit." He nodded over his shoulder "That's her - the redhead."
Starsky glanced back, eyes widening in appreciation at the slender, pretty woman peering nervously in the door.... "Wow! That's some looker!"
"Isn't she though?" Hutch pivoted toward the door, catching Tandy's eye. She held the gaze a moment, then retreated with an indifferent toss of her head. Hutch grinned. "She's really something else." He stepped back to allow two men with a gurney through. "How soon before we get a coroner's report?"
Schmidt, who was sifting through dustballs under the bed, spoke up. "Joe, at Saratoga General, works pretty fast. Maybe this afternoon, maybe tomorrow morning." He sneezed. "'S'cuse me. Nuff dirt under here to plant wheat."
Starsky politely passed across a pack of tissues from his pocket, then turned back to his partner. "Doubt we'll find anything out we don't already know. Looks like someone just likes to play rough."
Hutch sighed. "Thought we'd left all this behind in L.A."
"You got trash all over," Starsky commented philosophically. "This is--"
"Hutch, Starsky, look at this." Murphy had been searching the bureau, going through what pitifully few possessions marked the fifteen years the girl had spent on earth. He straightened, holding two objects between thumb and forefinger. One was a grainy snapshot of two women, the other a tattered address book. "This was hidden in the bottom of the drawer. Looks like the girl was acquainted with an old friend of mine."
The picture showed a fragile young woman - the victim as she'd appeared in life - arms twined around a familiar-looking redhead in a low-cut black dress. Both were smiling broadly at the camera.
"So that's what she looked like," Hutch commented softly. "Very pretty. And very young."
Starsky snorted disgustedly. "Too young." Elizabeth Carson did look very young indeed in that photograph -- a fifteen-year-old child who would never have the opportunity to mature into a woman, never have the chance to make something more out of her wasted, pathetic life.
"That's a shame," Hutch said sincerely. "Hey, Murph, which 'old friend are you talking about?"
In answer, the other man pointed to one name scrawled in the address book. "LeRoy Simpson?" Starsky peered over Hutch's shoulder. "You know this guy?"
The uniformed Murphy made a face. "Unfortunately. A real slime ball. Started running girls a couple years ago. Slick s.o.b., too -- knows the ropes. We haven't been able to bust him with anything."
"Yet." Starsky plucked the address book from his partner's fingers and skimmed it rapidly. There were few other entries to consider: a doctor's name, a coupe of local people and one out of-town address they assumed to be her parents. "Not much to go on here. Maybe we ought 'a talk to this Simpson guy first."
"And with Tandy," Hutch agreed.
"Let's talk to her first. She might still be shook up enough to tell us something."
Hutch shrugged his shoulders. "Worth a try."
"Won't you have a seat. Miss...?"
"McKendricks," Tandy supplied, sullenly. She'd never liked cops - hated them since that time in San Francisco when one beat her up and raped her for being slow with his grease money.
Hutch gestured again to the chair, which Tandy reluctantly took. "Miss McKendricks," he started in without further preamble, "I've got a feeling you know something which might help us find the murderer of Elizabeth Carson."
"Well, you're wrong," Tandy answered shortly. "I don't know nuthin'."
Hutch laced his fingers and leaned forward. "We know you and Miss Carson were friends. I'd have thought you'd want to help us find out who beat her to death."
A flash of pain crossed Tandy's face at this blunt statement, but she regained her composure almost immediately and, with it, her anger. "You listen to me, blondie," she snarled. "Lizzie was the best friend I ever had, and I hope whoever killed her burns in hell for what he did. I want him to pay! But I can't tell you what I don't know." Her voice grew progressively louder until she was fairly shouting by the end.
"Do you know LeRoy Simpson?" Starsky spoke for the first time from his post near the door, startling Tandy, who had forgotten he was there.
"Oh, it speaks!" she said mockingly. "Thought you were only here to protect the boyfriend from my improper advances." She laughed, ignoring the dangerous glint in Starsky's eyes.
"I asked you a question, sister." Starsky neared the chair, his proximity giving Tandy a bad second before her bravado reestablished itself. "Do you know LeRoy Simpson?"
Tandy paused, then considered the question safe enough. "I know him." "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Tandy," Hutch broke in again, drawing her attention away from the darker man. "Tell us what you know about him."
The woman transferred her glare back to the blond cop. She took her time with the answer, using the opportunity to appraise him carefully. Soft blond hair and mustache framing almost classically perfect features. Good shoulders. Tall, too. She smiled a little to herself. Good-looking hunk, she decided, unconsciously using one of Elizabeth's phrases. Sure wouldn't mind paying him off in trade. Kind'a pretty, though. Probably some kind of a 'mama's' boy.
Then she took another look into those arctic blue eyes and made a hasty reassessment. No mama's boy, that's for sure. Those eyes spoke of steel and controlled power, more so maybe than the other one. Of the two, her experienced eyes judged the blond as the more dangerous - the one not to cross. But there was something else in those eyes - a tempering compassion that ran through the man's personality like a streak of gold ore through rock. If only he wasn't a stinking cop.
Tandy took another minute before answering. She leaned forward in the chair, licking her full lips seductively. The hint was not lost on Hutch who could not have been unaware of this appearance and who'd obviously been through it all before. It did, however, bring an unexpected blush to his fair cheeks.
Tandy smiled. "I really don t know any more than anyone else does, officer," she purred, enjoying the effect on the blond. "Elizabeth met LeRoy when she first came to town. He sweet-talked her a bit, but she broke off with him after he beat her up a couple of times. He really didn't want to let her go."
"Why did he?" Starsky asked from behind her.
Tandy ignored him and continued addressing Hutch. "He didn't let her go, not really. He kept coming around bothering her but she's kind'a lucky 'cause he hasn't caught her alone yet." What she said sank in and she blinked back sudden tears. "Guess she doesn't have to worry about that now, does she?"
"Tandy, do you know anyone else who'd want to hurt Elizabeth?"
Hutch's voice was sympathetic, and Tandy found herself responding to it despite herself. "No, no one. Elizabeth was a good kid. She...." The tears flowed freely now, streaking her make-up. "Oh, man, I hate crying. I'm leaving." She stood up, intending to walk out and just let them try and stop her! She nearly collided with Starsky, who*d repositioned himself in front of the door. Tandy glared at him. "I want to leave!" she said, hysteria beginning to color her voice again. Another pair of blue eyes, darker than Hutch's, bored into her own. Not mv type she decided. More Lizzie's type. She liked 'cm darker than me. Oh, Lizzie!
The tears flowed again, unfeigned this time. She indulged a smug thought that even this smart ass wasn't immune to her tears. The stern planes of his face softened, the eyes wide and compassionate. Sucker, she thought contemptuously, but as gorgeous as the other one. Lizzie would have.... "Lemme go!"
There was a shuffling sound from behind as Hutch rose. "All right, Tandy. But if you think of anything.... "
"Yeah, sure, Blondie, I'll run to you first thing". Starsky moved aside and, without a backwards glance, Tandy flounced out the door.
"She knows something, Hutch." Starsky continued to stare thoughtfully at her retreating back. "I'm sure she knows something."
Hutch crossed to his side, his own eyes fixed on the woman as well. "Maybe, but she sure wasn't going to tell us anything else."
Starsky shrugged and returned to the desk. "We've still got Simpson. Wonder if anyone's come up with a location on him yet?"
"We've got every cop in the city looking for him. He's bound to turn sometime."
As a matter of fact, LeRoy Simpson turned up at him own home exactly an hour later. Starsky and Hutch decided it was past time they paid a visit on their prime suspect number one.
***
Tandy had tried cocaine herself for awhile but never allowed herself to become enamored of the thrill, Tandy was a practical, intelligent young woman.
Adam wasn't nearly as intelligent - or as self-controlled; after the third time he beat her up, Tandy left him lying in a drunken stupor and moved out. She eventually ended up - after a series of 'fresh beginnings' - in Langston.
Business was good in Langston for a pretty red-head like Tandy. She kept a low profile, working the bars rather than the streets, earning a decent living and garnering a small reputation as someone who could be trusted - within reason, of course.
One of those people who trusted Tandy was Elizabeth, a young teenager who'd escaped an abusive household only to find herself starving and frightened and alone. After a few bad experiences, Tandy had taken the girl in and gotten her started properly, teaching her how to choose the best tricks out of the crowd and how to avoid being cheated of her rightful pay. Elizabeth took the apartment next to Tandy's in a run-down rooming house. The two women became close; Elizabeth was the first real friend Tandy had ever had.
Tandy trudged wearily toward her apartment; one high heel dangling from her hand, the other -- heel broken -- made little clap-clapping noises on the pavement. Lousy night. Lousy, lousy night. Not only had some stupid oaf of a tourist stiffed her -- her of all people! -- but she'd had a headache all day and was out of aspirin too.
A light in Elizabeth's window shone like a beacon through the gloom of the early dawn. Thank God she was still up. Maybe she had some aspirin to take care of this headache. Unless she was... occupied?
Ah! The door was ajar. Elizabeth would have never left the door open if she'd been entertaining. "Lizzie?" Tandy stuck her head in and peered around myopically. Lordy, she was tired. A tell-tale lump on the bed brought her across the room. Asleep at this hour? "Lizzie, honey?" She rested a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Wake up, honey. I need some.... Oh . my . God!" White knuckles stifled the scream threatening to erupt from her throat. "Elizabeth?!"
Sightless eyes already glazed studied the ceiling unblinkingly. A battered face was barely recognizable as the once-beautiful, child-like countenance that had brought some measure of warmth to Tandy's self-serving existence. Oh, Lizzie.
Tandy screamed and kept on screaming until the blackness rolled in and took her away.
*
Starsky's keen eyes swept the scene, absorbing every detail of the squalid little room. Furniture was minimal, a bed, table, bureau, and two chairs taking up most of the space in the tiny efficiency. The victim had obviously been no kind of a housekeeper: unwashed dishes in the sink and laundry piled in one corner gave the room a dirty, disheveled effect and, here and there, cockroaches boldly forayed into the open in search of food. "Whaddaya got, Schmidt?"
An older man consulted his notes briefly. "White female prostitute, age fifteen, lived at this address six months. Doc says she was beaten to death sometime between two and three last night. Severe internal injuries, several broken bones." Starsky grimaced. "Anyone hear or see anything?"
"Nothing." Schmidt made a throw away gesture with his notebook. "Victim's hands were bound behind her and she was gagged. Couldn't move or scream."
"Terrific." Starsky crossed over to the blanket-covered body, stepping around the photographer imported from nearby Saratoga specifically for the job. "I'll need a Polaroid, Frank. "
"You got it, Sarge."
Starsky lifted one corner of the concealing blanket and gave the body a cursory examination. The girl lay on her back, arms bound behind her, a shapeless, pale mass against the white sheets. The battered face had once been delicate; here and there traces of fine bones and rich coloring could be seen between the bruises. Starsky shook his head at the waste. "Lab boys come up with anything?"
Officer Schmidt left off his examination of the cupboard to shoot him an apologetic look. "Her prints, a few smudges. Nothing useful."
"Hmmm." Starsky studied the bound wrists and gag. "Simple knots." He straightened up as Hutch entered the room and approached the body.
"Anything?" the big blond asked by way of greeting.
"Nah. Hooker, tied up and beaten to death. You?"
Hutch threw up his hands. "Nobody knows anything about last night. But...."
Starsky picked up his ears. "But?"
Hutchinson hesitated, then shrugged. "That girl, Tandy - the one who found the body? She knows something, I' m sure of it."
"But she ain't talking?" Starsky asked, examining the rest of the room in a single sweep.
"Not yet. I'm going to have another little chat with her, see if I can't shake her up a bit." He nodded over his shoulder "That's her - the redhead."
Starsky glanced back, eyes widening in appreciation at the slender, pretty woman peering nervously in the door.... "Wow! That's some looker!"
"Isn't she though?" Hutch pivoted toward the door, catching Tandy's eye. She held the gaze a moment, then retreated with an indifferent toss of her head. Hutch grinned. "She's really something else." He stepped back to allow two men with a gurney through. "How soon before we get a coroner's report?"
Schmidt, who was sifting through dustballs under the bed, spoke up. "Joe, at Saratoga General, works pretty fast. Maybe this afternoon, maybe tomorrow morning." He sneezed. "'S'cuse me. Nuff dirt under here to plant wheat."
Starsky politely passed across a pack of tissues from his pocket, then turned back to his partner. "Doubt we'll find anything out we don't already know. Looks like someone just likes to play rough."
Hutch sighed. "Thought we'd left all this behind in L.A."
"You got trash all over," Starsky commented philosophically. "This is--"
"Hutch, Starsky, look at this." Murphy had been searching the bureau, going through what pitifully few possessions marked the fifteen years the girl had spent on earth. He straightened, holding two objects between thumb and forefinger. One was a grainy snapshot of two women, the other a tattered address book. "This was hidden in the bottom of the drawer. Looks like the girl was acquainted with an old friend of mine."
The picture showed a fragile young woman - the victim as she'd appeared in life - arms twined around a familiar-looking redhead in a low-cut black dress. Both were smiling broadly at the camera.
"So that's what she looked like," Hutch commented softly. "Very pretty. And very young."
Starsky snorted disgustedly. "Too young." Elizabeth Carson did look very young indeed in that photograph -- a fifteen-year-old child who would never have the opportunity to mature into a woman, never have the chance to make something more out of her wasted, pathetic life.
"That's a shame," Hutch said sincerely. "Hey, Murph, which 'old friend are you talking about?"
In answer, the other man pointed to one name scrawled in the address book. "LeRoy Simpson?" Starsky peered over Hutch's shoulder. "You know this guy?"
The uniformed Murphy made a face. "Unfortunately. A real slime ball. Started running girls a couple years ago. Slick s.o.b., too -- knows the ropes. We haven't been able to bust him with anything."
"Yet." Starsky plucked the address book from his partner's fingers and skimmed it rapidly. There were few other entries to consider: a doctor's name, a coupe of local people and one out of-town address they assumed to be her parents. "Not much to go on here. Maybe we ought 'a talk to this Simpson guy first."
"And with Tandy," Hutch agreed.
"Let's talk to her first. She might still be shook up enough to tell us something."
Hutch shrugged his shoulders. "Worth a try."
"Won't you have a seat. Miss...?"
"McKendricks," Tandy supplied, sullenly. She'd never liked cops - hated them since that time in San Francisco when one beat her up and raped her for being slow with his grease money.
Hutch gestured again to the chair, which Tandy reluctantly took. "Miss McKendricks," he started in without further preamble, "I've got a feeling you know something which might help us find the murderer of Elizabeth Carson."
"Well, you're wrong," Tandy answered shortly. "I don't know nuthin'."
Hutch laced his fingers and leaned forward. "We know you and Miss Carson were friends. I'd have thought you'd want to help us find out who beat her to death."
A flash of pain crossed Tandy's face at this blunt statement, but she regained her composure almost immediately and, with it, her anger. "You listen to me, blondie," she snarled. "Lizzie was the best friend I ever had, and I hope whoever killed her burns in hell for what he did. I want him to pay! But I can't tell you what I don't know." Her voice grew progressively louder until she was fairly shouting by the end.
"Do you know LeRoy Simpson?" Starsky spoke for the first time from his post near the door, startling Tandy, who had forgotten he was there.
"Oh, it speaks!" she said mockingly. "Thought you were only here to protect the boyfriend from my improper advances." She laughed, ignoring the dangerous glint in Starsky's eyes.
"I asked you a question, sister." Starsky neared the chair, his proximity giving Tandy a bad second before her bravado reestablished itself. "Do you know LeRoy Simpson?"
Tandy paused, then considered the question safe enough. "I know him." "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Tandy," Hutch broke in again, drawing her attention away from the darker man. "Tell us what you know about him."
The woman transferred her glare back to the blond cop. She took her time with the answer, using the opportunity to appraise him carefully. Soft blond hair and mustache framing almost classically perfect features. Good shoulders. Tall, too. She smiled a little to herself. Good-looking hunk, she decided, unconsciously using one of Elizabeth's phrases. Sure wouldn't mind paying him off in trade. Kind'a pretty, though. Probably some kind of a 'mama's' boy.
Then she took another look into those arctic blue eyes and made a hasty reassessment. No mama's boy, that's for sure. Those eyes spoke of steel and controlled power, more so maybe than the other one. Of the two, her experienced eyes judged the blond as the more dangerous - the one not to cross. But there was something else in those eyes - a tempering compassion that ran through the man's personality like a streak of gold ore through rock. If only he wasn't a stinking cop.
Tandy took another minute before answering. She leaned forward in the chair, licking her full lips seductively. The hint was not lost on Hutch who could not have been unaware of this appearance and who'd obviously been through it all before. It did, however, bring an unexpected blush to his fair cheeks.
Tandy smiled. "I really don t know any more than anyone else does, officer," she purred, enjoying the effect on the blond. "Elizabeth met LeRoy when she first came to town. He sweet-talked her a bit, but she broke off with him after he beat her up a couple of times. He really didn't want to let her go."
"Why did he?" Starsky asked from behind her.
Tandy ignored him and continued addressing Hutch. "He didn't let her go, not really. He kept coming around bothering her but she's kind'a lucky 'cause he hasn't caught her alone yet." What she said sank in and she blinked back sudden tears. "Guess she doesn't have to worry about that now, does she?"
"Tandy, do you know anyone else who'd want to hurt Elizabeth?"
Hutch's voice was sympathetic, and Tandy found herself responding to it despite herself. "No, no one. Elizabeth was a good kid. She...." The tears flowed freely now, streaking her make-up. "Oh, man, I hate crying. I'm leaving." She stood up, intending to walk out and just let them try and stop her! She nearly collided with Starsky, who*d repositioned himself in front of the door. Tandy glared at him. "I want to leave!" she said, hysteria beginning to color her voice again. Another pair of blue eyes, darker than Hutch's, bored into her own. Not mv type she decided. More Lizzie's type. She liked 'cm darker than me. Oh, Lizzie!
The tears flowed again, unfeigned this time. She indulged a smug thought that even this smart ass wasn't immune to her tears. The stern planes of his face softened, the eyes wide and compassionate. Sucker, she thought contemptuously, but as gorgeous as the other one. Lizzie would have.... "Lemme go!"
There was a shuffling sound from behind as Hutch rose. "All right, Tandy. But if you think of anything.... "
"Yeah, sure, Blondie, I'll run to you first thing". Starsky moved aside and, without a backwards glance, Tandy flounced out the door.
"She knows something, Hutch." Starsky continued to stare thoughtfully at her retreating back. "I'm sure she knows something."
Hutch crossed to his side, his own eyes fixed on the woman as well. "Maybe, but she sure wasn't going to tell us anything else."
Starsky shrugged and returned to the desk. "We've still got Simpson. Wonder if anyone's come up with a location on him yet?"
"We've got every cop in the city looking for him. He's bound to turn sometime."
As a matter of fact, LeRoy Simpson turned up at him own home exactly an hour later. Starsky and Hutch decided it was past time they paid a visit on their prime suspect number one.
***