"Ow!" My partner squeaked, giving me a dirty look. I sent a paper airplane flying his way as we finished up the reports that had waited patiently for our attention. It was a very busy crime week in Bay City, and there hadn't been time to get to the reports until today. I aimed the plane to glide over Starsky's head, but it ended up hitting him sharply in his eye.
"Sorry, Starsk." He was rubbing his right eye, and I could see it must have hit pretty hard. His eye was starting to tear up.
"Good thing I finished up here, Hutch, or you'd have to finish for me. I can't see nothin' outta my eye right now, pal." I walked over to take a closer look at his eye. He would survive, but he wouldn't let me off the hook until he'd milked it for all it was worth. He was rubbing it, trying to wipe the tears away and blinked incessantly trying to focus.
"Stop rubbing it, you'll only irritate it further."
"Yeah, well I think you planned this so that I would be at a disadvantage playin' pool tonight at Huggy's." My partner was setting up his excuse for why he wouldn't have to pay up tonight when I beat his sorry ass.
"You think? Because if you think I'm that good at aiming paper airplanes, maybe I'd do better to challenge you to a game of darts tonight." I was looking forward to seeing just how riled up I could get my partner.
"Either way, Hutch, I've been injured and it probably will affect my game. Thanks a lot."
"You're welcome." I smiled at Starsky, seeing that he would not be able to keep this up for much longer. He laughed and said, "Let's get outta here."
We walked out to the car. Starsky headed for the driver's side. "Are you sure you can see okay to drive?" I asked.
"Very funny. I can drive this car better half blind than you can with 20/20 vision." This was Starsky's way of admitting that his eye was fine and all had been forgiven. Our easy friendship was something that I would be forever thankful to still have in my life.
We had logged out at the precinct, but the radio was still on. There was a call about a domestic disturbance; the address was directly in our route to Huggy's. I looked at my partner. "We'd no doubt be the closest unit." Starsky looked less than enthused, but his duty would not allow him to ignore the call.
"Let's take it." I called in to respond to the call, and Starsky sped up as I placed the mars light on the roof. Hopefully, it would just be yelling and kicking between spouses – a case that could be easily handled with careful negotiation.
Starsky screeched to a stop in front of the house. It was a small brick and wood bungalow on a very nice residential street. All of the houses were similar, but slightly different, in nature - an occasional dormer here and slightly different pitch to the roof there to make the neighborhood seem less cookie-cutter. And the colors were warm and inviting, which went along nicely with the small patches of grass in the front of each home. Even in a drought you wouldn't need much water to keep these small areas green.
We got out of the car and walked to the front porch. Starsky knocked hard, hoping the sound would drift above the racket coming from inside the house. It sounded like two male voices and a female voice. And nobody had made their way to the door. Starsky pounded on the door the next time and shouted, "Police, open the door!" Again, no answer.
I turned the doorknob to see if it was unlocked. It was. I swung the door open hard with the hopes that the sound of the door slamming up against the wall or furniture would wake these people up to the fact that the police were here. We walked in, and I yelled, "Police, quiet down!" A woman, around thirty-five to forty, thin and blonde, turned to look at us. A man about ten years younger also turned. The rage in his face was unmistakable.
Just as Starsky started to show him his shield, the other man in the room stepped up and gave the first guy an enormous left hook, knocking him to the floor. The woman screamed, "Alan, no!" Alan was the one who threw the punch. I moved to that one quickly, putting his arms behind his back and shoving him up against the wall of the living room.
"That's enough, Alan." I told him. Starsky was checking on the other guy, who was obviously pretty able to take the punch. He was up off the floor and heading for Alan quickly. Starsky grabbed his arm and said, "Hold on. Knock it off. And someone start explainin' what's goin' on here!"
With both men subdued, the woman seemed to calm a bit and started to speak. "It's just a small misunderstanding, officers." She looked back and forth between the two men. "There's no more problem here. You don't have to stay."
I looked at Starsky and he smirked a little, knowing that there was more to the story that we would need to hear before we were on our way. He allowed me to explain, as the last time we handled one of these, Starsky's calm and thorough explanation of why we could not just leave resulted in one of the participating parties smacking him in the jaw, leaving him sore for days and black and blue for a week.
"Ma'am." I started. "I'm sorry, could I have your name, please?"
"Ginny." She responded curtly, the attitude, I was pretty sure, was for her two gentlemen friends, not for me.
"Ginny, we were called here for a domestic disturbance. That means that you were disturbing the peace of the neighborhood enough that your neighbors felt the need to call the police. Plus, my partner and I just witnessed an assault. So, there are now two incidents here that we are investigating. We can't just leave. Now, is everyone calmed down enough that you won't be attacking each other? If you can promise to stay cool while we try to work this out, then we'll let you both go." Starsky was still restraining the one guy, while I continued to hold Alan up against the wall.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm calm now. I promise not to do anything else." This was from Alan. I waited for a response from the other guy.
"Okay, okay. But I reserve the right to file charges against him for attacking me, though." The other guy spoke for the first time. Starsky and I decided to ease up on restraining them.
"Alright. First, I want names and addresses and then we'll listen to your story." Starsky started, taking out his note pad and pencil. I did the same and we proceeded to get the information, everyone remaining pretty well behaved, considering the war that was taking place when we first arrived.
Ginny and Alan Woodward were the owners of the house. Apparently, Jeff Harper was contracted by the Woodwards to do some work around their home. He had shown up, according to all three, to collect his pay for the work done to date. We looked around, and you could definitely see that there was fresh paint, and the wood trim also looked recently re-finished. It all looked pretty good.
According to Jeff, Alan refused to pay, stating they had an agreement that the work would have been finished by a certain date. Alan said that date was approaching quickly and there was no way Jeff would be able to finish everything by that date. Jeff demanded his money and Alan refused. Jeff told the Woodwards that if they did not pay him some money for the work he had done so far that he would leave everything as it was and not come back until he received some compensation.
There were drop cloths and paint and brushes and scaffolding set up in a couple of different rooms. Leaving all of that stuff would have been most inconvenient for the Woodwards, but it certainly did not warrant Alan Woodward attacking Jeff.
I looked to my partner. We silently agreed that we were not getting the whole story. But the three of them were sticking to it, so we decided to let the story ride for now.
"Okay. So what are we gonna do here?" Starsky asked the threesome.
"I need my money. Like I said, I'm happy to leave this stuff here and go work on a house for someone who will pay me for my work. I have plenty of work lined up right now. I don't need to work for nothin'." Jeff had a point, no matter what the agreement was.
"Look," I started, "Jeff here is obviously good at what he does. This is quality work that's been done so far. Why don't you give him some money, not all of it, but some, as a gesture of good will." I was speaking directly to the Woodwards, watching Jeff out of the corner of my eye. His expression told me that he was willing to accept this arrangement. "If you let him go now, you may end up with someone to finish up the job that doesn't care so much about the quality of the work. And I'm sure that you don't want that."
Starsky and I watched for some reaction. The Woodwards spoke softly to each other, and Alan put his arm around his wife and hugged her gently. It looked like we might have come to an agreement.
"Detective Hutchinson, you said earlier that there were two incidents being investigated. Is Alan going to be arrested for punching Jeff?" Ginny asked, looking toward Jeff with sympathy.
"That's up to Jeff, Mrs. Woodward. If Jeff chooses to press charges, then your husband will be arrested." All eyes were now on Jeff Harper.
"Hey, look, I just wanted to get paid for the work I did. I don't want any trouble. If I get paid something now, and we agree to a fair payment schedule for the rest of the job, then I don't need to press charges. Who has time for all this stuff, anyway." Jeff seemed to be a fairly reasonable guy, but I still had the feeling that we weren't being told the whole story.
"Mr. and Mrs. Woodward, how's that sound to you?" Starsky asked, wanting to wrap this up for the evening as much as I did.
"Okay, I guess that's fair." Alan Woodward replied. "Jeff, I'm sorry for hitting you. I guess I got a little carried away." The three agreed to a schedule for future payments, the Woodwards wrote a check to Jeff and Jeff and Starsky and I left the house at the same time.
"Nice job, partner." Starsky said to me as we drove away. "How come when I did your act last time I got punched in the face?"
"It's all about style, Starsky." I joked as we logged out for the second time that day. We would write up the report in the morning. Right now we had an appointment with a pool table and some beers.
It was about midnight when we finished up at Huggy's. We headed back to Venice Place. We were both going to be sorry for staying out so late on a "school night", but we had a great time. Starsky beat me three games out of five, so I guess he had recovered from his eye "injury". As we continued home, we came across police cars and an ambulance at the Woodward house. We'd both had a bad feeling about getting the whole story from these people, but we also were pretty confident when we left that everything was going to turn out okay with these three. It's funny how wrong you can be.
We stopped and showed our IDs as we headed into the house. Simmons and Babcock were there. "Whaddya got?" Starsky asked.
"Hey Starsky. Hutch. What are you doing here?" Babcock asked, closing his notebook as we approached.
"We had a domestic on this address about four hours ago. Everything was fine when we left. What happened?" I asked, knowing it was bad if they'd bothered to call out detectives to investigate.
"Well, it looks like you may have been snowed, fellas. According to the wife, the handy man came back and shot her husband. Dead. We got an APB out on the guy. Wife says she witnessed the whole thing." Simmons finished.
"Really. What else did she say?" Starsky was suspicious of this story from the get go. And so was I.
"She said she and her husband were in the bathroom getting ready for bed when they both heard a loud crash in or near the kitchen. The husband thought it might be a burglar; he headed toward the kitchen to check it out. He told her to call the police. She did. She heard a struggle in the dining room, and then a shot, and when she got there she saw Jeff Harper holding a gun over her husband. She said he looked at her and aimed the gun at her, too, then dropped it and ran out the back door. The first black and white got here just a few minutes later."
"That's quite a story, Simmons. Do you believe it?" My partner likes to get to the meat of the issue as fast as possible.
"Starsky, your partner asked me what she said. So I'm tellin' ya. I haven't decided if I believe her or not. But that's her story for now. Crime team will have to let us know if there are any prints to prove out the story." Simmons was beginning to sound a little testy, and so was Starsky. Starsky could definitely get cranky when he was tired.
"Alright. Did she say whether Harper was wearing gloves?" I asked.
"No, I asked but she couldn't tell. It was kind of dark." Simmons responded.
"Dark enough to put her ID in question?" Starsky was definitely not feeling good about Mrs. Woodward's story. I decided that this wasn't going to get us anywhere tonight and that we'd start fresh in the morning. Besides, it wasn't our case. It belonged to Babcock and Simmons. I was hoping that we wouldn't have to get involved with this case in the morning, despite Starsky's strong feelings about the voracity of Mrs. Woodward's story, and my lingering feelings that some part of the story was being withheld from us earlier in the evening.
We got to the precinct by eight the next morning and began to put together our reports for the domestic dispute at the Woodward home. I made sure to include our suspicions regarding the completeness of their stories; I felt this would be good information to pass on to Simmons and Babcock and that this might help them in solving this murder.
We dropped our reports in to Captain Dobey, who decided he wanted us to wait while he read the reports. This was not good. We waited, not sitting, hoping that this would project our urgency to get out of there to our boss. It didn't work.
"Starsky, Hutchinson, sit down." We sat down. "Starsky, Simmons tells me you think the woman isn't telling the truth. Why?" Aah, we were going to be pulled into this investigation after all.
"Well, ya know Cap'n, sometimes ya just get this feeling about someone. And I got this feelin' that she's not bein' straight with us." Well, I thought, that was definitive, Starsky, and sure to put the captain at ease.
"Starsky." Captain Dobey had raised his voice just slightly. "You've got Simmons and Babcock thinking the same thing. And since, with this woman's testimony, and some circumstantial evidence, we would have a pretty good case to take to the DA, you two are going to have to help Simmons and Babcock prove this woman's story, one way or the other. You got it?"
I stood to leave. Starsky was still sitting. "Got it, Cap." I looked at Starsk, and I'm sure he felt my eyes boring through the top of his head. He rose to leave, not looking me in the face.
Simmons and Babcock were working second shift, noon to eight, so we were going to have to arrange to meet, probably around dinnertime, to discuss the case. I looked at Starsky. "So, do you have any ideas on how you want to start, oh intuitive one?" I'm sure he could tell I was not happy.
"Hutch, I'm sorry, I know you didn't want this case. I didn't either, to be honest. We've had our share of tough cases lately, but we're in on this from the beginning. I wouldn't even feel right not helpin' Simmons and Babcock on this." He was right, of course, but that didn't make it any better, really.
"Yeah, yeah. So, we know there's an APB out on Harper." I wasn't able to finish, as Minnie walked in and said, "Jeff Harper? They brought him in about fifteen minutes ago. He's in holding."
"Really. That was pretty easy. You'd think if he had done this that he'd at least give us a hard time finding him." Starsky said to me as he grabbed his jacket.
"Has he had his phone call yet?" I asked.
"Nope. Waiting on Simmons and Babcock to get in. They've been called in early to interrogate him."
"Thanks, Minnie. Hutch?" My partner looked at me, and I knew what he wanted to do next. He was going to step on toes here, and he was expecting me to help him out. As I always say, my partner's instincts are usually pretty true, and he was probably right about getting to Harper quickly.
I called holding and arranged for Harper to be moved to an interrogation room. We waited ten minutes for the transfer, a good five minutes longer than we needed. It wouldn't hurt to let Harper sit a while, just in case he had murdered Alan Woodward. But we couldn't wait too long, as Simmons and Babcock were sure to arrive in good time.
We entered the room. Harper was sitting straight in his chair, looking nothing like someone who had just been arrested for murder. He seemed steady and undisturbed by his surroundings. It was a little unnerving. It was an attitude that we usually got from criminals who were confident in their lawyers' ability to get them out quickly. I was beginning to think that my partner's intuition had failed him on this one.
"Jeff, sorry to see you again so soon." Starsky began. "Do you wanna tell us what happened?"
Jeff looked from Starsky to me, and then back at Starsky. "Uh, I don't think I should talk to you guys. I think I should see my lawyer first."
My partner allowed me to continue. "Jeff, that is certainly your right. You do not have to speak with us. But if you did not do this, then we are your best bet here. Can you tell us where you were last night around eleven fifteen PM?"
He was clearly unsure of what to do. This was a good sign that the "lawyering up" he'd done earlier was just a ploy that he'd learned from TV. He seemed about ready to talk with us when the door flew open. It was Dobey. "Starsky, Hutchinson, come with me." There's nothing quite like our captain's bellow.
I looked intently at Jeff. "Think about it." I followed Starsky out of the room.
"What are you two doing?" Dobey yelled at us. It would be a miracle if Jeff didn't hear that inside that interrogation room. "Do you know what kind of crap I'm going to have to deal with when Simmons and Babcock find out about…" Dobey was not able to finish.
"About what?" Babcock asked as he entered the hallway. Simmons was right behind him. I looked at Starsky, and Starsky looked at me, and then we both looked to Dobey. And then both of us shifted our eyes back to Simmons and Babcock, not able to provide the contrite demeanor our captain was hoping for.
"Look," I started. "We thought we could get a little bit of a start on some leads, so we decided to interview Harper, that's all." And, to a degree, it was true. We had hoped to uncover some leads from this conversation with Harper; the fact that we intended to exclude Simmons and Babcock was strictly need to know. And they didn't need to know that.
"Oh yeah? Look Hutch, we are the lead investigators on this case. That means we will interview the prime suspect, not you." Simmons was pissed. If the tables were turned, I would feel the same way.
"Simmons, I think ya oughta let Hutch have a turn with this guy. He was able to diffuse the situation real nice last night, and he might be able to get farther with him today, too. What could it hurt?" Starsky was trying to help, and he was probably right, but Simmons went through the roof anyway.
"What are you saying, Starsky? That I don't know how to do my job? I can interrogate this guy just as good as either of you!" His partner grabbed his arm to stop his forward movement to my partner. I stepped closer to Starsky, as if my protective-mode switch had just been turned on.
"Okay, that's enough." Captain Dobey was going to make the final call on this one. "None of you thinks that the Woodward woman's story is true. And since Hutch had a chance with this guy last night and it worked, I'm going to let you continue this interview. But let me tell you this you two." He pointed clearly at Starsky and me. "This is NOT by the book. This is an exception to the rules of hierarchy that we play by here. I get to approve the exceptions here, not you! Understand?"
"Yes sir." I said. Starsky nodded his agreement. We both looked to Simmons and Babcock, their reluctant acceptance, if not agreement, with Dobey's decision evidenced on their faces.
We headed back to the interrogation room. Harper seemed a lot more concerned now. It was quite something to see the results of sitting people in a room all alone. "So, have you thought about talking to us?" I asked. Starsky stayed near the door, hoping that Harper would feel closer to me if he weren't hovering too nearby.
"I, I think I should talk to you. I didn't do anything wrong. I want you to believe that and help me."
"Good. We want to help you too, Jeff. So, tell us where you were between eleven and eleven fifteen last night."
Jeff proceeded to tell us that he had been working late at one of his customer's houses, finishing up for the night at about eleven thirty. The people were away for vacation, and he was not forced to leave at any particular time, so he was working late whenever he could, to get the job done sooner than planned. He was doing just painting for this customer; the progress he was making would allow him to start another job sooner. The faster he got jobs done, the more money he could make.
"Were you anywhere near the Woodward house once we saw you leave last night?" I asked.
"No way. I had enough of Alan for one night. I guess it sounds bad me saying something like that, but I really didn't want any more trouble with him."
"Jeff, Mrs. Woodward says that she saw you shoot her husband, and that you aimed the gun at her before dropping it and fleeing the scene." I thought I might as well move on to the heart of the case as it stood at that moment.
"What? I, I never, I mean, I didn't shoot him. I wouldn't even know where to get a gun, or know how to use one. I swear, once I left last night I never went back." He was really beginning to shake now.
"Okay, calm down. Do you have any witnesses to your whereabouts last night?"
"For wh-what time last night?"
"Well, from the time we left you until just about midnight." That's actually a good question for an innocent person to ask. I noticed the slight nod of Starsky's head, as if he'd heard my thoughts just then. Generally, a guilty person would have grabbed on to the fact that I had mentioned the eleven to eleven fifteen time frame. It's as if they knew they had to concentrate on that time and only that time to make me believe they were telling the truth. The innocent ones usually do not grasp the significance; they simply have no experience thinking that way.
"I left the Woodwards and stopped at a deli for a sandwich and stuff for dinner. It was about eight thirty and it was Nedloe's Deli on Sixth and Vine. They'll remember me being there. It was on my way to the house I was painting. Then I took what I bought and waited until I got to the house to eat. I didn't see anybody when I got there. I parked in the driveway and went in the house. It was already dark, so I suppose most people were in for the night. There wasn't anybody walking around or nothing."
"Is it possible that any of the neighbors would know what time you were there last night?" We were probably going to have to canvass these neighbors if we were going to come up with an alibi for Jeff.
"Yeah. Could be. I know the Jeffersons, they're my customer, told me they were going to tell some of the neighbors that I would be there painting so that they wouldn't get suspicious and call the cops, I mean police." I smiled. He was a little nervous, but he seemed to be telling the truth.
"Don't worry, Jeff. We don't mind "cops". We get a little irritable when we're called "pigs".
"Um, can I ask you a question?" Jeff asked tentatively.
"Sure."
"W-Why did Ginny say I shot her husband? I didn't do it. How can someone say that?" He was torn up about this, and I decided it was time to let him call his lawyer.
"I don't know. We're not sure yet just whose story is the true story. But for now, we're done. You get a phone call. Do you still want to call your lawyer?"
"No, but can I call my dad? He'll help me figure out what to do."
"Sure."
We walked out of the room, and I had the uniformed officer on guard take him to make his call. Starsky and I walked in to the room next door and met with Simmons, Babcock and Dobey.
"Ya know, the chances are pretty good that some of those neighbors are gonna be able to give him his alibi. You're paintin', at night, you're gonna need a lot of light. Probably pretty easy to see in to the house to see what's goin' on." Starsky said as he sat down next to Simmons.
"Yeah. Nice job, Hutch. Sorry about the way I acted earlier." Simmons replied.
Starsky slapped him on the back. "No hard feelings. Didn't mean to step on your toes." Starsky smiled, Simmons and Babcock each looking more at ease than they were in the hallway earlier. "So, what do you want us to do next?" Starsky asked, deferring to Simmons and Babcock as the lead investigators.
"Babcock and I will check out the Jeffersons' neighbors. Why don't you two go have a crack at Ginny Woodward. Maybe she'll let something slip to you that we didn't get out of her."
"Right. We'll meet up back here around four o'clock." I hoped that we could trip this woman up. I was beginning to believe that she had killed her own husband. We had the means and the opportunity. We were just missing the motive.
Ginny Woodward opened the door for us to come in. This was a little unusual, since she'd just lost her husband in a violent act. There would normally be someone there with her to help her through the expected mourning period. She appeared to be alone in the house.
"Yes, Detectives, please come in. Detectives Simmons and Babcock said you might be stopping in for some follow-up questions." She was very cool. At least she was wearing an appropriately conservative outfit for the grieving widow.
"Mrs. Woodward, we're very sorry for your loss." My partner began. "I hope you'll excuse our intrusion during this difficult time."
"Of course, Detective Starsky. I want my husband's murderer caught. Anything I can do to help, I want to do." That's odd. Had she not heard that we'd caught Jeff Harper?
"As you probably know, Jeff Harper is in custody now." I said.
"Yes, Detective Babcock called to inform me. I'm very grateful." No, something definitely was not right with this woman.
"Can you tell us, Mrs. Woodward, do you know why Jeff would want to shoot your husband?" Starsky began the questioning with the most important piece of missing information. Why?
"Well, I can only imagine that he was still mad at my husband for the withholding of the money he was owed. We didn't know Jeff that well, but he came highly recommended, and as you can see, the quality of his work is wonderful. I guess that he had a terrible temper and took it out on Alan."
"You think that his not getting paid would make him shoot someone?" Starsky continued.
"I'm sure you have heard of lesser reasons than that for people to kill another human being. I've read where people have been shot just by looking at someone wrong." She was sounding like she was completely convinced that the motive was there. But Starsky was not finished yet.
"Mrs. Woodward, I'm sure you'll agree that reasons like you described are rare. There is usually something much more serious going on when someone is murdered. Plus, Jeff had been given money when he left here last night." Starsky was dangling the bait; we just needed to see if Ginny Woodward would bite.
"Are you saying that you don't think Jeff did this? I saw him. I am a witness to my own husband's murder. Are you calling me a liar?"
"No, I'm just saying that you need to be sure of what happened. Your testimony is quite meaningful. But to be honest, without a good motive, and this does not appear to be a good motive, and if his alibi witnesses hold up, then all that we have is your testimony, and that, with a good defense attorney, could be shot down pretty easily considering how dark it was. You yourself have attested to the darkness of the room that night." Starsky was beginning to wear her down. She was getting flustered, without doubt. We had accomplished what we came for, but Ginny Woodward was going to provide us with a surprise, too.
"I have something that I was hoping to keep to myself. It will probably give you the motive you're looking for."
"What would that be?" I asked.
"Jeff Harper and I were having an affair. My husband only found out about it last night, just before you two showed up. My husband threatened to kill Jeff if he ever came back here. I guess Jeff took him at his word, and came prepared to defend himself."
I looked at Starsk. His eyes were screaming at me, "Don't believe it. It's another lie." I looked back at Mrs. Woodward, trying to see what she felt she would gain by continuing to provide stories that could not be verified. She was digging in deep with these stories, and was soon going to find herself unable to dig her way out.
"Okay. Well, I think we got what we came for." Starsky looked over at me briefly, then returned his attention to Mrs. Woodward. "Thank you for your time."
We left the house and walked in silence to the car. Once inside, we looked at each other. "She's lying, again." Starsky said. "Yeah, but how do we confirm that? It's her word against his if he denies the affair. And if he doesn't, then her story just got more plausible." I was sure whether or not he had an affair with Ginny Woodward, Jeff did not kill Alan Woodward. But we were currently still at a loss to prove it.
I started the engine and began to drive off. "Hold up, Hutch." I pulled the car over and faced my partner. "I think she's ready to make a mistake. I think we need to keep an eye on her and see what she's up to."
"Alright, partner, what's your plan?" I knew we had a four o'clock meeting with Simmons and Babcock, but I also sensed that Starsky was right on this one; that if we waited just long enough, we might be able to catch her in her own mess.
"I think we need to tail her. We don't know her motive, but we do know from forensics that she did not shoot the gun that night. So, she must have had someone else do it for her. I think she'll be in contact with that person soon, just to make sure she's covered her tracks."
"Okay. Then we'll pull the car over and wait."
It didn't take long for Ginny Woodward to venture out. She headed out, going the speed limit for the duration of her drive. We followed along fairly far behind; she did not notice us and did not seem inclined to make a run for it anyway. We continued following her until she pulled up in front of a private parking garage. The door opened automatically for her. There was no way to tell whether she had the controls for this or if someone opened the door for her from the inside. We waited a few minutes, then decided to try to make our way in.
There was a regular door next to the garage door, and Starsky proceeded to pick the lock and got us in pretty swiftly. It was dark, but only momentarily. A bright light came on quickly, and we were both blinded by it, and then I got hit on the head and it went dark just as fast.
I woke to my partner's groans. I was feeling about the way he was sounding. I crawled over to him and tried to get him to wake up more.
"Starsk, wake up." It was extremely dark, and I had to listen to his groans to know where to go. Although my head was feeling like a canon kept shooting off in it, I was also feeling a little too woozy, and was smelling some suspiciously familiar fumes.
"Starsk, come on, wake up." I finally felt his leg, and worked my way in the dark until I found his head. I slapped his face lightly. "Come on, we gotta get out of here."
"Aah, Hutch, I'm sick, and sleepy." Yeah, me too, partner. Starsky was feeling sick and sleepy because we were in the garage with a car running, which was filling the space with carbon monoxide gas. I don't know how long we had been in there, it was too dark to check Starsky's watch – he wasn't wearing the glow in the dark Yamamoto reflex I bought him as a replacement for the one that was shot and destroyed during the Bagley case.
I moved him away from the exhaust. He had been lying closer than me, and probably got the worst of it early on. And it was only going to get worse for him if we did not get out right away. Although we had put over two years between us and the shooting, and Starsky was fully recovered, he had lost some of his lung capacity when one of the bullets went through his lung. The repair job was universally hailed as a huge success, although Starsky was told that there would be times during extreme situations, like high altitude, if he was in a fire, or unmistakably in a situation like this, where his injury would be a decided disadvantage.
I pulled him over as far away from the car as I could get. I think I was close to the door, and I felt around to check that I was. I was, and I knew I had to do whatever it took to get that door open. I left Starsky at the door, and my eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark, although I was coughing so bad and my eyes were tearing so much I didn't know if I'd be able to find anything to break the door down in time before I passed out. And I was really worried about Starsky, because I wasn't hearing any coughing from him, just intense, painful gulps as he tried to get air into his lungs.
I found what I thought was a heavy pipe, and used it to slam the doorknob. I was successful pretty fast in breaking the doorknob off the door. Unfortunately, there was obviously some sort of a lock on the outside of the door, and that was what was going to do us in. I decided that I would have to heave my body as hard as I could into the door. I recognized that I might suffer a broken arm, or a dislocated shoulder from the effort, but it was a small price to pay to get Starsky out of there.
I slammed into the door, and felt very little give when I did so. And my arm was practically hanging from the shoulder socket from the effort. I decided I needed to keep at it, with the same side of my body. The damage was already done, and I just had to psyche myself in to knowing that the pain was worth it. I slammed one more time, and the door cracked down the middle. I kicked it in, and the door fell to pieces. I reached down and grabbed Starsky with my good arm. He tried his best to use his legs, but he was pretty wobbly from the lack of oxygen, and we both bounded through the door, falling to the hard concrete sidewalk.
We were both gasping for breath at this point, and someone came over and asked if we needed help. Thank God. Through severe gulps for breath, I told them to call the police and tell them we needed an ambulance. I was able to tell them to tell the police that there were officers down. And then I could talk no more.
I could tell Starsky was having a terrible time of it. He was still conscious, but in such obvious pain that I ached for him. I could hear his gasping over my own harsh breathing. I wanted to kill Ginny Woodward.
It turns out that we had only been in the garage smelling the fumes for about five to eight minutes. The doctor said that had we been exposed any longer than that, we would have been near death and not able to think clearly enough to free ourselves. He also said it was a good thing that the car was giving off the smoke, or we might not have known about the problem before we simply slipped into sleep. That was a scary thought.
Dobey, Babcock, Simmons and I were in the waiting room while they continued to work on Starsky. The doctors had been updated on Starsky's medical history, and wanted to make sure his lungs were clear before releasing him. He seemed to be in good hands, so I went over the afternoon's events with my colleagues.
"She tried to have us killed, I'm telling you. I don't know who her accomplice is, but I can guarantee you she is guilty of attempted murder, or she is at least guilty of conspiring to have us killed. I will also tell you that she is trying to flee the country right now. There is no way that she can know for sure that we did not see her in that garage."
"Okay." Dobey said. "I want the airports, bus and boat terminals and all rail cordoned off. I want this woman captured. This just got personal, men." Simmons and Babcock headed out to direct the blockade of the city. Babcock rubbed my back and said, "I'm sure Starsky'll be fine."
"Yeah. Thanks." I remained in the waiting room, still not quite feeling one hundred percent. The paramedics had started us both on oxygen pretty quickly, and I received more once I got here. But I was still feeling dizzy and nauseous. And they had to re-set my shoulder, which was no picnic. The one thing that would make me feel better would be hearing that Starsky was going to be all right.
The doctor finally came out. "You gentlemen are here with David Starsky?" He asked.
"Yeah. How is he?" I was desperate for news and I'm sure I sounded like it. Dobey had stayed with me while I waited.
"He's going to be fine. Come on, let's sit a minute. You've had a bit of a day yourself, haven't you?" He looked at me with concern, and I appreciated that, I really did. I guess he could have no way of knowing that how he was treating me was making me crazy.
"Just tell me about Starsky." I couldn't keep with the brave cop persona just then. When I was parted from Starsk, he was looking very bad. I needed to know, and this doctor could obviously tell that I wasn't going to make it much longer without knowing.
"He suffered a little more damage than you did, I'm afraid. But only a little. I'm going to keep him here overnight, on pure oxygen to try to replace what he lost. As you know, he is more susceptible to lung damage during an event like this than most of us. But he's going to be fine. I'll probably release him tomorrow afternoon. Then I would suggest just a few days of quiet time to give his lungs a break. But he will recover completely."
I felt Captain Dobey's arm on the small of my back. I needed that comfort just then, and he seemed to just know that instinctually. I was feeling a little shaky, and the captain helped me to a chair. "He's going to be fine, Hutch. He's tough. You two can take the next few days and the weekend off so that Starsky can recover properly. I want my boys ship-shape for work Monday morning.
"Thanks, Captain. But I think I should continue with the investigation. We have to catch Ginny Woodward."
"We will. I'll assign extra men. We'll get her." Cap wasn't giving me much choice. And Starsky and I have learned over the years to take these days when they are offered. So, this time, Starsky and I listened to our captain.
Starsky was released from the hospital Wednesday afternoon, and he spent the remainder of Wednesday and most of Thursday in bed. I slept a lot, too, on Starsky's couch. Huggy brought over some special back support pads and pillows and managed to construct a pretty comfortable bed for me so that I wouldn't get a back ache due to the sleeping restrictions my dislocated shoulder caused. And Huggy and Edith Dobey kept us in food for the duration of our convalescence.
Ginny Woodward was caught trying to get to Mexico through Tijuana. Now that was original. Simmons and Babcock had already verified Jeff Harper's story with the Jeffersons' neighbors. I guess in this circumstance it was good that the Jeffersons have nosy neighbors. At least it was good for Jeff Harper. A number of them were able to verify that Jeff had been there all night from about eight thirty until about eleven forty-five. We still did not know the whole story with Ginny Woodward, but Starsky and I were happy to let Simmons and Babcock handle the details.
Starsky had slept so much, and eaten so little since leaving the hospital that I was starting to worry that something was wrong. But he finally made an appearance at about seven in the evening on Thursday and said, "I'm starvin'. What's to eat?"
"A veritable feast, my friend. What do you feel like. Edith and Huggy have left us a refrigerator full of food. What do you want?" Starsky looked a little confused.
"I don't know if my brain is quite ready to make that call, Blondie. Can ya just put somethin' in and heat it up?" That didn't sound good.
Starsky was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, looking towards me. I walked over to him and asked him if he was okay. I went on, "You know, if you're not feeling well, we should get you looked at again."
"No, that's not it." He seemed a little down.
"Then what is it, buddy?" He had skirted death one more time. He should be feeling good about that, not depressed. I headed back to the sofa, but Starsky didn't follow.
"Aw, Hutch. Ya know what it is." I really didn't. I admit that I usually do know what is bothering my partner. He's not moody, like me. So, when something is bothering him, it's usually pretty easy to read. This time, I couldn't imagine what was bugging him. But it seemed pretty serious.
"Starsk, I really don't know what you're talking about. Can ya give me just a little hint?" I didn't want the atmosphere to become too glum, so I tried to keep the conversation light. But Starsky was intent on bringing it back down.
"I wasn't there for ya, Hutch. I couldn't back you up. And it was all directly related to the shooting. And then you had to dislocate your shoulder just to get us out. I don't think that qualifies as much of a back-up." Starsk was leaning against the doorjamb now, looking more dejected than I could ever remember. Starsky's memory was an interesting dynamic. It was so easy for him to remember the bad or difficult moments in our history. He felt deeply, and every time in the past where I was hurting or injured is indelibly imprinted in his memory. Yet, he conveniently manages to block out the numerous times where he was there to hold my hand, save my life, save my soul. I am put in the position of having to remind him of these moments at times like this. I assure you, it is a position that I gladly accept; a responsibility the weight of which I shoulder with honor, and would be willing to do daily, one for every day that has been given back to me since he suffered that cardiac arrest over two years ago.
"We're doing this again, are we?" I asked. I smile up at him from my place on the sofa, and he smiled back. "As you can see, my shoulder is healing nicely. You can put your guilt back in your pocket. I don't need it today, nor do I accept it ever. You are my partner, my best friend, and I would have no one else cover my back. I could never trust anyone in my life, or with my life, the way I trust you. Got it?"
"Got it. Thanks, Hutch." We stared at each other for a moment, and then he came to sit next to me. He slapped my knee and asked, "Hey, did Huggy bring something over for me?"
"Yeah, he told me not to look at it, so I didn't. It's over there, against the wall." I didn't know what it was, but at some point while Starsky was sleeping during the past two days, Hug had brought it over, saying that it was a surprise for me from my curly-haired brother.
"Yep, it's for you. You wanna open it?" My partner never ceased to amaze me.
"Sure. Uh, Starsk, what's this all about?"
"Nothin'. I just wanted to get ya somethin'. Anything wrong with that?" He seemed to have shed his "Gloomy Gus" persona for now, so I wasn't going to push it.
"Nothing's wrong with that buddy. I appreciate it. So, what have we here." It was a pretty big box, and it was pretty heavy, too. I was still having trouble with my shoulder, so Starsky helped me bring it over to the coffee table. I ripped the tape off the box, and the cardboard fell open like a book to reveal the most stunning mahogany cabinet. There were two doors, and when I opened them I found a beautiful, and very professional-looking, dartboard.
Starsky had left the room, and was returning when I said, "I, I don't know what to say. Starsk, it's incredible. Where, I mean, how…" I didn't really know what to say, and my partner decided to help me out.
"I asked Huggy to find me the nicest one he could. I think he did good, huh?" Starsky was beaming, as he handed me the darts to go with the board. It really was an incredible gift. I wanted to tell him that although I appreciated the gift, that there was no gift that could compare to the friendship I shared with him. I wanted to say that no matter how many gifts I unwrap from him, that the most precious gift that I'll ever receive is having him for my partner. And I wanted him to know that the miracle of his friendship and our partnership was priceless to me. But it wasn't the right time to say those things. I know he knows them and that I shouldn't have to say it. But I would tell him one day, because he deserved to hear it all.
So instead, I said, "You wanna help me break it in?"
The End