This chapter has a graphic coroner's report that some may find offensive.
Broken Doll-Chapter 6
Hutch left work early after getting Huggy's worried call, and entered the apartment carrying a new prescription from the doctor. He sat next to Starsky on the bed with a bottle of sugary cherry-flavored syrup.
"Come on, buddy. Wake up. You need to take this. The Doctor said it will help with your nausea. Come on, sit up."
Starsky opened his dark eyes and blinked, trying to focus. Hutch could see petechial hemorrhaging in his eyes, a result of the severe vomiting and dry heaving Huggy warned him about.
"Hey, Blintz." Starsky croaked. "How ya doing?"
Hutch smiled at his sick partner. No matter how down you feel, you still worry about me. Don't you buddy. "I'm fine. But you don't look so hot." He felt Starsky's forehead for fever and brushed a damp ringlet out of Starsky's eyes. "Huggy said the medicine is making you vomit. So the Doc gave me something that should help."
Hutch put an arm behind Starsky and helped pull his weak partner to a semi-sitting position. He then pulled several pillows behind his friend and leaned him back onto them.
"There, that should make it easier to take your medicine. Open up, Starsk."
"No. I don' wanna, Hutch," came the raspy sounding whine Hutch fully expected.
"I know. But the doc says you have to take all of your antibiotics, and this stuff here should help you keep them down." Hutch held up the bottle of red liquid.
"No."
"Look, Starsky"—Hutch was prepared to fight his defiant friend—"take this now, or I'm going to have to force it down you later."
Starsky looked at Hutch with sad puppy eyes, but opened his mouth and swallowed the saccharine liquid.
"Ughhh, what is dat?" Starsky spat in disgust.
"Here's some water, Starsk. You need to take your pill." Hutch popped the large yellow pill into the disapproving mouth and helped Starsky with the water. He then assisted Starsky to the bathroom for a round of empty dry heaves. Though it was over quickly, Starsky was left in an exhausted state.
"You ready for bed, buddy?" Hutch asked using the damp cloth to cool the smaller man's neck.
Starsky nodded, then slowly walked from the bathroom. Outside the door he stopped and looked back at his partner. "Hutch?"—whispered so softly it almost went unnoticed. His eyes began to roll backward, and his knees collapsed beneath him.
"Whoa, there, Starsk. Easy, now. Hold on to me, buddy, and let's get you into bed. Alright?"
"Yeah, 'kay" mumbled Starsky, standing on wobbly legs and clutching onto Hutch's arms. The blond helped his friend to bed and lightly tucked the covers around him. Starsky shivered; the warmth of the blankets was not enough to keep the tremors from his feverish body.
"I don't feel so good" Another small whisper, almost a sigh.
"Shhh. Go to sleep, Starsk." Hutch crawled onto the bed next to Starsky and caressed his curls while singing softly. Soon Starsky's breathing was less labored and Hutch knew he was finally sleeping. "You'll feel better tomorrow, partner. I promise."
O0O
At first Starsky didn't completely register the noise coming from the bathroom. As he slowly began to gain awareness, though, the sound was no longer a droning, but instead more like weeping. He was sure of it now, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Weeping, soft and mournful. Someone was in his bathroom, crying. He slowly sat up in bed careful not to wake Hutch, who was sound asleep on top of the covers. Starsky put one foot over the bed and onto the floor, then the other, trying not to exasperate his sore muscles.
He stood, unsteadily at first, and shook his head in an effort to rid his mind of haze. Quietly, he walked toward the dark bathroom, curious more than anything about the clamor. He stepped onto the cold bathroom tile, and walked toward the tub. But as he drew closer, the room began to stretch and grow before him. Starsky grabbed the wall for balance, then moved again toward the tub, compelled to look behind the closed curtain. Each step he took seemed to be slow and heavy, the bathtub curtain far away.
He didn't notice the bathroom door silently shut behind him.
He was spellbound by the glowing blue light leaking from around the curtain. Hidden behind the plastic drape a woman's voice could be heard weeping. He moved closer and extended his fingers, but the curtain was still outside of his reach.
As he got closer, the weeping became unbearable. He covered his ears, desperate to block the wails. His head pounded with the sound of each sob, and tears of pain fell from his eyes. Louder and louder it became; thumping, beating, screaming. Then a ringing began in his head. But was it in his head, he wondered? Or was it, too, coming from behind the curtain?
He watched, and the curtain began to move. It began to undulate as if it were breathing. He stood frozen, fascinated and horrified at the movement. As he stared, horror-struck, a few rawboned fingers wound their way around the curtain, clutching it. A raw hand moved over the edge the tub, the skin grey and opaque, the nails black. The arm then snaked forward reaching for the floor, followed by a long, pale, bony leg. Next he saw a dark head emerge, the hair wet and reedy. Then a face. He recognized the white eyes sunken into the colorless grey skin. The bloody gaping mouth hideously smiled at him. Her eyes, too, saw him, claimed him. She moved closer, her nude and distended body disjointedly shifting on the floor, propelled ahead by graceless dead arms. One hand grasped at the slippery tile floor. Then the other. Each time, the body shifted closer to him.
He watched in revulsion as the bloated figure moved towards him. Starsky dropped his hands from his ears and took a staggering step back before freezing. One stride closer she came, then another, and another. Her grisly hand was now at his feet, reaching out. He turned to run, but the claw had a hold of his foot. He twisted and fell onto his stomach, scrambling with his fingers on the floor to escape. He reached out a hand toward the closed door, but she held him back.
He tried holding his breath against the smell of death, but as she began to claw her way up his legs, her moist skin oozing onto his, he gasped in repulsion. He closed his eyes and felt her raw fingers dig into his back and her torso slide onto his. Fingers touched his curly dark hair, pulling, knotting, hurting.
"NO!" He screamed. But she continued to consume him. "NO!" His body shook. He felt as if he was being ripped apart. "NO!"
"Starsk?" Hutch turned on the night light.
"Wha… Hutch?" A ragged breath.
"Buddy, you were yelling in your sleep. You're okay, I'm here with you. Wake up for me now. Wake up, Starsk."
Starsky peeled open his eyes. Hutch leaned over him, worry etched in the lines of his face. Starsky looked around confusedly. "I… I was in the bathroom. And that…that woman…"
"Starsk, you've been sick. You're in bed, and you're running a fever. Do you understand? What you saw was not real, Starsk. It was a dream."
"No. It was real. It was…"
"It was a dream." Hutch saw the confusion in his eyes. "Lie down, buddy. I'll get your medicine."
"It was just a dream?"
"Yeah, just a dream."
As Hutch walked toward the bathroom he heard Starsky's soft comment—"But it seemed so real."
Hutch turned on the bathroom light and reached toward the medicine cabinet when something caught his attention. He looked down at his bare feet and realized he was standing in water. He followed the trail of liquid with his eyes back to its origin; the bathtub. He slowly walked toward the tub and pulled back the curtain with one swift motion. The tub was empty and dry, much to Hutch's relief. He grabbed the medicine bottle and left the bathroom. Now he's got me paranoid, he thought and then looked over his shoulder toward the bathroom.
Hutch, having received Dobey's permission, took two days off from work to stay with his sick friend. Starsky slept the majority of the time, waking only for his medication and an occasional nightmare. His temperature was nearly normal by the end of the second day, and he wandered from his room in search of food.
"Hey, buddy. Good to see you up. How're you feeling?" Hutch put his book down on the coffee table and followed Starsky into the kitchen, offering an arm for his wobbly friend. He sat Starsky down at the table and began pouring a glass of juice for the famished man.
"How long I been out?" Starsky asked without looking up.
Hutch handed him the juice then sat at the table facing Starsky. "About 3 days altogether." Starsky finished the glass and Hutch poured him another.
"No wonder I'm so hungry! What we got ta eat?"
"How about a nice big bowl of oatmeal and some toast with jelly?"
Starsky gave Hutch a look of disgust. "I'm starving, Hutch. Give a guy a break."
Hutch moved to the stove and began the oats. "You haven't eaten in days, buddy. Let's go easy on your stomach, huh?"
Mumbling his way into the living room, Starsky replied, "A guy could die of hunger around here. A lot you'd care."
"What's that, Starsk?" Hutch yelled from the kitchen. Starsky rolled his eyes, then immediately regretted it. Sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, he waited for the vertigo to fade.
O0O
"Hey, wake up, Sleeping Beauty. I have your breakfast." Starsky quickly opened his eyes, surprised he'd fallen asleep. "Sit up so I can put the tray on your lap."
Starsky was astonished and delighted to see not only oatmeal and toast on his tray, but also several slices of bacon and scrambled eggs. He ate till he was full, but despite his effort, left most of the food untouched.
"I guess I wasn't as hungry as I thought," he said, not wanting to admit Hutch was right about his recovering stomach.
Hutch removed the tray. "Once you're feeling better, I'm sure you'll be able to pack away food like before. Hey, if you're feeling up to it today, I can update you on the murder file that's been following you around. I looked through it while you were sleeping, and found some things you might be interested in."
Although he was beginning to recover, Starsky had to admit he still wasn't feeling up to par; being out of bed and rummaging about the apartment had worn him out more than he wanted to admit. His throat and lungs still burned and he had a pounding headache, but if taking on this unsolved murder would potentially rid him of the revolting specter, he was all for it. So, he and Hutch made plans to discuss the case after lunch, giving Starsky time for a much needed nap.
O0O
Starsky fought his nausea as he looked at the file photo of the murder scene. The picture he held showed a nude body, dissected at the waist and placed at the scene like a broken doll. Although the picture was black and white, the ferocity of the crime was obvious.
"The coroner's report says the cause of death was hemorrhage and shock due to concussion of the brain and lacerations of the face," Hutch read from his notes, as the pale detective put the gruesome photo down and picked up another.
"Was she raped?" Starsky hated asking, but the answer could help them find the killer.
Hutch shivered visibly and Starsky could see the uncertain look on his face. Obviously Hutch was unsure about answering the question. But Starsky understood, these types of crimes never got easier to talk about. "Vaginal and anal, after death," he finally stated. "The coroner also found feces in her stomach."
Starsky rapidly jumped off the couch and ran into the bathroom. He emerged 10 minutes later, ghost-white and embarrassed.
"Sorry 'bout that. Guess my stomach is still pretty sensitive," Starsky offered in explanation.
Hutch smiled. "Do you want to keep going or call it a day?"
"Any suspects?" Starsky replied in answer to Hutch's question.
Hutch flipped through the pages of his notes. "Some hardware salesman named Peter Hanley. He was the last one to see her alive. Seems he spent the night with her in an uptown hotel, but says nothing happened."
"Oh yeah, right. Are we supposed to believe he took a beautiful woman to a hotel and then slept alone?"
"Yep." Hutch tossed the file to Starsky. "Look for yourself."
Starsky spent a minute reading Hanley's interview. "Unbelievable. It says he passed two polygraphs, though."
"And we know how reliable those are…"
Starsky offered an affirmative nod. "What else did you find out?" he asked
Hutch flipped a few more pages in his notebook until he found what he was looking for. "A letter was sent to the Bay City Examiner along with several photos and some personal papers, among other things. The note said they belonged to Elizabeth. However, no prints were found."
Starsky knew Hutch was waiting for him to ask the thousand dollar question, so he obliged. "Gloves?" he guessed.
"Nope. Gasoline," Hutch continued. "Someone used gasoline to remove the prints. Let's see… along with the pictures, the newspaper received her birth certificate, social security card, and…here's the big one, an address book belonging to Billy Grippo."
Now Starsky was really surprised. "The Mafia guy?"
"The one and only. Back then he owned a night club and theater. Dobey says Grippo was just getting started in the business."
"Well, he's the real deal now."
"There's more, Starsk. Several pages were torn out of his address book."
"What the hell was she doing with Billy Grippo's address book in the first place?" Starsky was really hoping this case did not involve the Mafia. If it did, then Elizabeth's murder would most likely be impossible to solve.
"That's not all I found out, buddy." Hutch seemed pleased with all the new information he was giving his partner.
"Well, spill it, blondie, we don't have all night." Actually they did, but Starsky was curious to hear what Hutch had uncovered.
"Well, it seems a reporter for one of Hearst's papers remembered a similar murder a year before, in 1946 A socialite was strangled, raped, and cut up pretty badly before she was dumped face down in a bathtub."
Starsky's eyes grew big and his face paled. "A bathtub? She was left in a bathtub?" What…what about the other one, E…Elizabeth?"
"Coroner's report says she was washed of all blood before being dumped, most likely in a tub."
"Jesus, Hutch. What does this mean?" Starsky put his throbbing head into his hands.
Hutch took a deep breath before answering. "It means we may be dealing with a serial killer."
Starsky took a deep breath and audibly released it. "Well, shit." He shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "Where do you wanna start?"
"If you're feeling better tomorrow, how about you call Minnie and see what she can find on Hanley. Maybe then we can cross him off the suspect list. After work, I'll go visit Betty Talbert. Since she found the body, maybe she can give us something new to work with. According to the DMV she still lives in the same house."
Starsky was quiet a moment, then with gleaming eyes he looked up, grateful for his caring partner. "Thanks, Hutch."
"Any time, partner." Hutch smiled and patted the brunet's leg. "Now get to bed. We'll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow."
For several minutes the two men sat quietly together, both caught up in their own thoughts. Then Starsky stood up and strolled to the bathroom. He knew Hutch followed him with his eyes, ready to jump in if needed. But despite his still somewhat-shaky feeling, he was doing better than he had been.
He brushed his teeth and climbed under his covers, relieved Hutch was staying another night, despite his feelings of guilt. Starsky knew his couch was lumpy and uncomfortable to sleep on, and would probably give Hutch a stiff neck and sore back. But, he'd make it up to the Blintz later, he promised himself before falling into a fitful sleep.
To Be Continued…