Broken Doll Chapter 9, a starsky and hutch fanfic

Broken Doll-Chapter 9

The sigh from Starsky did not go unnoticed by Hutch, and he stole a look at his friend, just now noticing the beads of sweat on his face.

"Maybe we should call it a night, Gordo? You look pretty beat, pal."

"Yeah, I'm a little tired, I guess." Starsky squinted against the glare of the street lights on the damp road.

Hutch shook his head, knowing his stoic partner would never admit to still being sick.

"If you're sick, we can…"

"I'm just tired, Hutch. Back off, huh?"

Hutch lifted his hands in surrender. "Okay, I'm sorry, Starsk. I won't mention it again."

They sat in silence the rest of the drive, Starsky seemingly lost in thought. Hutch tried not to worry about his friend, but couldn't help thinking that his partner was too wrapped up in the case. Maybe even to the point of self neglect. Well, regardless, Hutch knew Starsky was still sick and that it was his job to worry.

The car pulled up in front of their usual haunt, and Starsky put a warm hand on Hutch's arm before climbing out.

"I'm sorry, Hutch. I didn't mean to snap. It's just that—I don't know…this case really has me on edge, I guess, but I shouldn't take it out on you. Anyway, buddy, I'm really sorry. Forgive me?"

Hutch smiled, never able to stay mad at his friend. "Sure, if you're buying."

"Anything you want, buddy."

"Zebra Three. Zebra Three. Stand by for a patch-through from Captain Dobey." The radio cracked to life, eliciting a moan from the two detectives.

Hutch reached for the mic. "This is Zebra Three, standing by." He looked at Starsky and shrugged his shoulders.

"This is Captain Dobey. Who'm I talking to?" the gruff voice demanded.

"It's Hutch, Captain. What'cha got?"

Dobey sounded irritable. "Hutch, you and Starsky get over to Park and 15th. There's something here I think you should see."

"We'll be there in a few, Cap." Hutch signed off and closed the passenger door with a bang.

"That's in Killingsworth, isn't it? Yeah, that's where the old Cline Hotel burned down last year—remember?" Starsky asked as he tore out of the Pits' parking lot, spraying sheets of water.

"Yeah, I remember. Insurance fraud, guy's serving five years. It's just an empty lot now, but wasn't the city thinking about building some low income housing there, or something?"

When Starsky didn't answer, Hutch glanced at him and saw the weariness that covered his partner's face. So much for getting you fed, huh, buddy?

"Starsk?" Still no answer from the obviously exhausted man. "Earth calling Detective Starsky."

Starsky answered without turning his head. "Sorry, I was thinking about Anna. Why was she let go? You don't think he'll come back for her, do you?"

Hutch knew his partner well enough to recognize when he had more than just professional concern for someone. And, in this case, he thought there had been some mutual attraction between his charming partner and a Miss Anna Lewis.

"I've been wondering that myself. Maybe he was interrupted before he could finish?" Hutch ran his hand over his smooth chin as he thought about the horrors Anna had been forced to endure. God, I hope we can find that bastard.

"This is the place." Starsky pulled up next to the Captain's Ford.

Patrol cars and camera crews surrounded the corner lot as police barricades held back the small crowd of curious onlookers.

Hutch noticed the Medical Examiner bending over something and pointed him out to Starsky. But when they heard the familiar sound of the Captain shouting, they decided it would behoove them to report in first.

"…And keep the reporters away, damn it!"

"Hey, Cap. What'd ya find for us?" Starsky inquired, his bloodshot eyes tearing slightly against the cold wind whipping around the lot.

"About an hour ago, the body of a woman was found by a man walking his dog. Warner thought it might be your guy and called me." The two detectives followed Dobey's pointing finger over to the far side of the empty lot and to the balding detective carefully collecting evidence off the ground.

"Any ID on the body?" Hutch's teeth began to chatter as icy rain continued to fall.

Dobey pulled his coat collar tighter. "Not that I know of. The M.E just got here and is going over the body. Why don't you two do your job and ask him?"

Starsky smiled at his blustering boss. "Aye, aye, Cap'n."

Before Dobey could respond, the two detectives trudged through the wet mud and clay, towards the medical examiner.

Abandoned in the muck was the nude body of a woman, lying face-up, dark hair covering her features and dried blood washing the ground around her. The ME and several officers stood around bagging evidence for the investigation.

Starsky took a shaky breath and winced against the pain in his lungs. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Can you tell us anything, Mike?"

"Not much. Don't have an ID on her yet, but I can tell you she's a 25-to-30-year-old Caucasian female, been dead about 12 hours, and this is the primary scene." Mike lifted her hand, looking for broken nails and defense wounds.

Starsky knelt next to the body and carefully removed the dark hair from over her face. A small hole was visible near her scalp, surrounded by powder burns.

Mike continued his analysis. "Looks like a possible rape. She has some skin under her nails and this one"—he held up her index finger—"has been broken down to the quick. Tells me our suspect will have some scratches on his body…"

Starsky interrupted. "She was shot," he stated.

"Yeah, looks like a small caliber gun shot to the head. Close range."

Starsky looked at Hutch. "This isn't our guy."

"How do you know that, Starsk? Her body has been mutilated like the others and she was raped." Hutch looked surprised by Starsky's quick dismissal of the body.

"She was shot, Hutch. That's not his MO. And she obviously wasn't cleaned before being dumped here. If Mike is right, and this is the primary scene," Starsky looked around at some of evidence markers on the ground, "it means this ain't our guy."

Hutch nodded in understanding. "Yeah, okay. I knew I kept you around for some reason, partner." He smiled and hung his long arm over Starsky's wet shoulders. "Let's tell Dobey it's not our guy, huh?"

O0O

"What do you mean it's not your guy?" Dobey shouted, spraying droplets of rain from his lips.

"Just what we said, Cap. This looks more like a pimp taking his anger out on one of his girls than anything else. Anyone report her missing?" Hutch spoke while Starsky danced from foot to foot trying to warm up.

"I'll have Warner ask around. If she is a prostitute, the girls around here should know. Now get that partner of yours home and dry. And try to get him to stop jumping around like a jackrabbit, for God's sake! Why don't you two ever carry umbrellas? Huh? Answer me that."

"Thanks, Cap." Hutch grabbed Starsky by the arm and began leading him away from the fading rant of their Captain.

O0O

They arrived at Starsky's apartment not long after midnight, both men wet, cold, and fatigued. As he closed the bathroom door, Starsky could hear Hutch foraging for food in his kitchen, and hoped, silently, for a bowl of hot soup.

Starsky switched on the bathroom light and rubbed his tired, burning eyes. A cough rumbled through his chest as he held onto the porcelain sides of the sink, trying to grab a full breath, fighting against the fluid he could now feel congesting his lungs. Damn, he thought as his breathing finally settled down some.

Drawing a shallow breath, he fumbled in his medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle of cough syrup, taking a long swig. The coughing continued despite the medicine, and he gasped for breath against the fiery pain in his lungs.

Small black dots began to dance in front of his eyes until he thought he would pass out. He slid down to the floor holding his chest, and attempted to draw a refreshing breath. Finally, the syrup began to take hold and the rumbling in his lungs quieted to a soft gurgle. He took another drink of the foul syrup, and stood up, looking in the mirror. You really look like crap, buddy, he said to his haggard looking reflection.

PLOP

The unmistakable din of dripping water reverberated through the bathroom. Starsky, still leaning on the sink, looked over his shoulder and toward the source of the noise.

PLOP

He listened closely and could almost swear there was more inside the noise.

PLOP

Yes, more

PLOP

What was he hearing? He held his breath, listening.

PLOP

There it was again, something within the noise was calling to him. He could hear it, almost. Perhaps if he got closer, just a little, he could make the words out.

PLOP

PLOP

Body aching with fatigue and fever, Starsky moved closer to the tub. Still, he couldn't quite make out what he was hearing.

PLOP

He reached toward the drawn curtain and pulled it back, the metal rings screeching along the rod.

PLOP

The drops of water spilled into the full tub causing icy ripples to skate across its surface. Starsky reached a tentative hand into the water, dismayed at the frigid temperature, and felt for the drain plug.

PLOP

The words were still there, but perhaps if he just pulled the plug…

PLOP

He grasp the metal ring of the plug with his middle finger and began to pull, but stopped when something dense brushed against his hand.

PLOP

He struggled to pull his hand away, but something soft and mucid grasped his fingers, then his hand, then his arm. Starsky stared into the blue water suddenly afraid; he saw what had a hold of him.

PLOP

A dark shadow slid through the water just below the surface. Eyes wide with horror, Starsky watched the mass as it climbed his arm, slowly encompassing it like wet tar. And with it, there was a smell. It was a musty and familiar odor, but also vile; the kind of smell that lingers after death. The kind of smell he remembered from the first murder investigation he covered; the smell of a corpse left rotting for days, maggots spilling off onto the floor, bodily fluids soaking the carpet.

Oh, God, no.

The realization came to him too late. That noise, that smell, it was calling out to him, for him. It wanted him. Frantically, he began to pull away using all his remaining strength. But the shadow was too strong, and now it began to take form. A sallow, distended body with lank ebony hair rose from the glacial liquid. The lifeless eyes looked at him menacingly as the hand burrowed into the flesh on his arm. The body rose up and another bloated hand pulled at his shirt, bringing him closer to the water's edge.

The thought of screaming for Hutch passed desperately through his mind, but when he inhaled to call out, his face was already under water. The name came out silently as pockets of air breaking the surface.

Starsky held the last of his breath as long as humanly possible, fighting against the deadly urge to inhale again. Water pushed against his closed mouth and permeated his nostrils. With no oxygen left, he hopelessly mouthed the name of his partner…"Hutch." A fog began to form over his sight, but still he struggled to hold on. The pain in his chest became almost unbearable as his lungs demanded air.

He felt the hands, hundreds of them, pulling him into the darkness as he drew in the colorless liquid. One gulp, two; then darkness, nothing more.

O0O

Hutch busily set about in the kitchen, searching through mostly bare cupboards for the makings of a meal. The fridge was equally empty and none of Starsky's usual dishes were in the drying rack. Shaking his head, Hutch knew his partner hadn't been eating. Grabbing two cans of vegetable soup from the cupboard, he began heating the contents.

Digging through the refrigerator, Hutch found a small chunk of cheddar and a half-loaf of bread for toasted cheese sandwiches, and one apple for slicing. He knew Starsky was still feeling bad, but hoped he would at least eat some of the warm meal being prepared.

Reaching for two glasses in the cupboard, his eyes fell upon a disturbing sight. He let out a loud breath against the anger he felt rising. In the cupboard was Starsky's mostly-full bottle of antibiotics.

"Jesus, Starsky. What is wrong with you?" Hutch angrily set the bottle on the table, and drummed his fingers next to it. This is truly the stupidest thing you've ever done, buddy. We are going to have a long talk about this.

Hearing Starsky enter the kitchen, Hutch decided this was as good a time as any to lay into his bone-headed partner.

"Starsky, what's the idea of this?" He turned to show his partner the full bottle of medicine, but was instead surprised to find he was alone. The sound of a chair moving in the other room startled him out of his bewilderment, and he passed through the kitchen door into the living room expecting to find Starsky lounging on the couch.

Nothing.

"Starsk?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement near the bedroom door and turned to confront it.

Again, nothing.

Hutch continued to stare at the closed door, a feeling of anxiety washing over him. He pulled his eyes away from Starsky's room, and glanced around the dim apartment fighting the creeping chill.

On instinct, Hutch walked to the front door and locked it, embarrassed for feeling so jumpy. When he turned backed, he glanced at the open bedroom door.

He wasn't positive, but he was pretty damn sure the door had been closed. Light was still pouring out from the bottom of the closed bathroom door, so Hutch knew Starsky was still in there, and he hadn't heard either door open. Hutch took a cautious step forward and stopped. The faint scent of roses was drifting through the air, and a soft voice was calling him. But whose? No one was here but him and Starsky.

Then the scratching started. Softly at first, but then it grew. The sound of long nails digging at the bathroom door. Digging and scratching. Trying to get out.

"Oh shit, Starsky!" Hutch rushed toward the door and pushed it open carefully—gasping with mingled relief and panic as he saw Starsky lying on the floor inside.

Taking long strides, he quickly reached the unconscious form on the cold tile, tossing the pill bottle in his hand aside and feeling hurriedly for Starsky's wrist. He felt a pulse weakly beating against his fingers. He could also faintly hear a rasping sound in the detective's chest. Hutch rose to call for help, when a small whisper caught his attention.

"Starsk?" Hutch knelt and looked at the slightly-opened eyes of his friend.

"Behind you…"

"What? What's behind me, buddy?" Fighting the need to look, Hutch instead brushed his hand over Starsky's forehead, feeling the heat radiating off him.

Starsky gasped for air between his words. "She… is."

He began to cough again, frightening Hutch with the noise he could hear rattling in Starsky's lungs. Starsky continued to stare, but Hutch realized it wasn't at him: Starsky was looking past him, over his shoulder.

Hutch then felt a cold dampness on his arm, a pressure, almost as if a hand were resting there. Feeling foolish, but not able to fight the urge any longer, he turned to look.

Nothing was there that Hutch could see, but he felt something watching.

Not wanting to leave his friend vulnerable, but seeing little choice, Hutch looked back at the man on the floor. "Starsk, I need to make a call. I'm going to get you some help."

Hutch stood and turned toward the door, but froze. Something shifted. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement, and felt a chill race down his back. He shivered, involuntarily.

"Screw this!" Hutch moved back to Starsky and began gathering him awkwardly in his arms. "Let's get you out of here, buddy."

Starsky didn't notice being dropped into the LTD, or the blanket being placed gently over his body. He was somewhere else, dancing to the tunes of Tommy Dorsey in the arms of the beautiful woman in black.

To be continued….