Chapter 17

Captain Dobey sat hunched over his desk, reading the last of the day's reports. He wasn't surprised, per se, at not finding a report from his sometimes troubling duo; he knew they had spent the whole day out at the Grippo property, and he knew Starsky was still recovering from his recent bout of pneumonia. He also knew that a certain very protective partner had most likely forced Starsky home and to bed. Therefore, one sick partner plus one worried friend equaled no daily report. The math was simple and Dobey knew better than to try and fight it.

With a spent sigh, the captain picked up the final report and began dissecting it with less enthusiasm than usual. A burst of raucous laughter from the squad room startled him out of his funk. He lifted his large frame from his chair and opened his door to the noise.

"What in the name of Hades is going on out here?" he bellowed over the loud din of his men.

A plainclothes detective stepped forward with a look of guilt. "It's…uh…the news, captain."

"And what's so funny about the news tonight, Jenkins?"

The detective nodded to a group of other officers. They stepped aside and revealed a small television on a back desk. Dobey walked closer, his growing curiosity quickly turning to anger.

…once again, the footage we are about to replay was taken by one of K-Seven's very own camera men. In this footage you will see the unprovoked attack of Kiro News Seven's Martin Williams by an unidentified Bay City Detective…

The footage began with Hutch pushing a black microphone away with a curt "No comment" and then cut to a fatigued-looking Starsky shouting at the camera man and shoving the lens out of his face. The next lines were edited out but it was obvious to Dobey that Starsky was, very animatedly, using inappropriate language. And then he knocked the camera man over. At the comments and soft chuckles coming from the detectives gathered around, Dobey glared, immediately silencing them.

The footage then appeared to show his hot headed detective threatening the woman reporter, and Hutch intervening. Dobey felt his face becoming warm and by the time he saw Starsky tackle the camera man, he was sweating and his neck veins were bulging.

"Don't you men have something better to do around here?"

All of the gang quickly returned to their desks leaving the angry man to himself in front of the television.

He waited to hear the rest of the report, then calmly turned off the tube and strode quietly into his office, the door slamming shut behind him. Minutes later he was holding the black Bell telephone and pacing. "Millie, get me Detective Starsky on the phone."

O0O

Starsky hurt. His toes hurt, his chest hurt, his brain hurt. Even the tiny follicles of hair on his scalp hurt as the hot shower pounded down over him washing away chunks of mud, grass and blood. He pressed his head against the stall wall and let the heated stream course down his bruised body while he closed his eyes. He'd attempted to nap at the hospital while Hutch was having his nose set, but the wailing of an infant and two small siblings running wild, constantly bumping his legs, ensured that he did not get any rest. Damn the doctor for not letting me stay with Hutch, he grouched

A pounding on the door brought him out of his exhausted trance. "Don't fall asleep in there, Starsk, you might drown."

Starsky snorted at his friend's humor, and turned off the water. Pushing the curtain back, he grabbed a towel. He wrapped it around his waist as he dragged his feet laboriously to the sink. His eyes felt unusually heavy and he knew sleep would come quickly tonight. Leaning against the cold porcelain he yawned and rubbed his face, cringing at the burning sensation on his bruised skin. Eyes still watering, he looked up into the fog-covered mirror only to stumble back in shock. Written in the steam covered mirror were the words:

HELP ME

Stunned, Starsky stood in front of the plea trying to understand its meaning. Hutch, Hutch needs to see this, he decided, but his legs refused to move. A cold chill began to creep up slowly encompassing his body. His flesh shivered as the words were wiped away by an invisible hand. Before he could move, a pressure pushed against his neck and wrapped around to his face, where he felt gelid fingers prying his lips apart. He tried to fight, bringing his hands up and pulling the unseen fingers away, but he was frozen, as if bound, unable to move.

Choking. He was choking as the tendrils filled his mouth, and the pungency of its flesh overwhelmed him, long and moist, almost slimy. He was gagging against the over full sensation as the suffocating strands slowly made their way down his throat. Oh God, he thought, panicking. His heart began to pound furiously in his chest as his lungs filled with the probing vines. He couldn't breathe as they pushed further into him. He attempted to cough, trying to expel the foreign substance, but it was too enmeshed in his body. Was it trying to reach his soul, he wondered? The room around him grew hazy, then dark.

A fist pounded on the door. "Don't fall asleep in there, Starsk, you might drown."

His eyes snapped open, the glare of off white shower walls confirming that he was still among the living, and that he'd never left the shower stall. Starsky rubbed his eyes in an effort to wake, then stuck his head under the spray when the latter failed.

Blinking quickly to clear the water from his eyes, he turned around searching for something. What, he didn't know, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn't alone in the room. A chill ran down him and he realized that the water had turned cold. Shivering, he tuned off the spray and pulled back the curtains, a feeling of déjà vu skittering across his mind. Stepping from the stall, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around his waist, mindful of his sore and bruised muscles.

There was another rap on the door. "You in there, Starsk? Your soup's getting cold."

"Thanks." Starsky replied, less than enthusiastically.

He surreptitiously avoided the mirror as he retreated from the bathroom. Walking past Hutch into the bedroom, he used the towel to dry his hair.

"Jesus, Starsk. What's on your back?" Hutch followed him, stretching a concerned hand out toward his friend.

Turning circles to examine his back, Starsky finally gave in and asked, "What? What is it?" Oh, please, don't let it be a spider. He couldn't help the slight rise of panic in his voice.

"Calm down." Hutch snickered as he touched the reddish blue area near his friend's shoulder. "It looks like a rash, but it's in the shape of a hand print."

Grabbing a hand mirror off of the top of his dresser, Starsky held it so he could see the strange anomaly. "It's a bruise. Hardly feel it."

"That camera man got you good, buddy."

"Yeah, but not before I made him eat dirt." Funny, I don't remember him hitting me on the back. He stretched his fingers to touch the handprint on his upper back expecting to feel pain, but only felt the chill of his damp flesh.

Hutch pulled a dresser drawer open and threw a pair of tattered sweats to the shivering man standing before him. "Here, put these on. You're making me cold."

Starsky did as told and then flopped onto the mattress, trying to savor the feel of his soft down pillow cradling his head, but, instead, feeling all the pain and weariness of the day asserting control over his body. When he next opened his eyes, Hutch was standing over him with a glass of water in one hand and bottle of pills and a tube of liniment in his other.

"Hey, partner. Can you sit up so you can take your medicine?"

Starsky grunted a negative reply.

"Don't think I didn't hear you coughing in the shower, pal. Now take this."

A large white pill was placed in Starsky's hand. "I don't want it." He said, setting it on the night stand and closing his eyes.

"Starsky…"

Opening one eye to search out his partners face, Starsky reconsidered disobeying and sat up.

He popped the large tablet into his mouth, giving Hutch a sour look. "Wa'er?"

"Oh, yeah. Here."

The glass was handed over carefully, and Starsky took a sip. He felt the tablet slide uncomfortably down his throat. "Gah, that's awful."

Hutch took back the water, setting it on the night stand and removed the cap from the liniment. "Let's get some of this on you. Should help with the pain."

"Sounds kinky." Starsky waggled his brows but, at Hutch's warning glare, he rolled quietly onto his stomach. He had to admit, the sensation of the warming salve and the firm strokes of his partner's hands felt pretty good. The massage melted the tense muscles in his neck and back. As he began to drift, the familiar touch of his best friend's fingers filled him with a sense of safety he hadn't realize he'd been missing.

Hutch continued the massage, drawing comfort from the activity even though Starsky had fallen asleep minutes earlier. He felt the rise and fall of each slow breath and the rhythmic pulse in Starsky's neck, and wondered when the man would fracture.

Hutch knew his friend's tension was building to a breaking point, he could see it in his actions; snapping at the littlest of things, threatening reporters, hitting camera men. All of this was so far from Starsky's normal behavior that Hutch was tempted to force the issue.

Hutch patted his friend on the back in a melancholy manner and sighed. Standing up, he wandered out the bedroom door and into the living room. Pausing indecisively for a moment, he headed to the kitchen where the pan of soup sat cold and untouched on the stove.

Deciding to leave it for another time, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat tiredly on the couch. Too burned out to even turn on the television, he simply sat there, nursing his brew and worrying.

The phone rang. Hutch almost dropped the bottle as he jumped up from the couch in an effort to grab the phone from the desk before the shrill sound woke Starsky. He swiftly lifted the receiver, brushing it across his nose in the process. As tears of pain formed in his blackened eyes, he pulled the phone away, taking a moment to fight the burning in his face.

"Starsky? Starsky! Dammit, answer me!"

The voice was tinny and far away, yet Hutch recognized it as their captain. Tentatively, he put the phone back against his ear. "Uh, Cap, it's Hutch….oh. You saw that, huh?" Was it his imagination, or did beads of sweat just break out on his forehead? "He's asleep right now, cap. Yes sir, he did, but… well, yes, I did too, but…for crying out loud, cap, he attacked Starsky…yeah…yeah, I understand, cap… but I'm not sure he will….yeah? Well, at least something good came out of this…yeah, okay, give me the address…tomorrow morning, captain…yeah, alright."

The phone on the other end disconnected loudly, but Hutch stood with it to his ear a moment longer, Dobey's booming voice still ringing in his head, 'You have to keep a tighter rein on that juvenile partner of yours, Hutchinson,'

Hutch set the phone back in its cradle and picked up the paper. His eyes fixed tiredly on the address. Could it be, finally, they had a break in their case? Besides the chewing out by proxy, Dobey had phoned to tell them that an old friend of Elizabeth Short's had possible informationon the case. Did they want it? Hell yeah, they wanted it! Hutch was almost giddy at the thought of getting some news they could use to catch the sick bastard dissecting women.

Oh, and then there was telling Starsky about the administrative discipline Dobey had levied on him.

Hutch placed the paper back down on the table. He grabbed several Tylenol from the nearly empty bottle in the kitchen, and returned to his spot on the couch. It had been a fucking long, painful day, he thought as he closed his eyes and leaned back.

O0O

Dream or reality, Starsky couldn't tell. The images flashing through his brain were strong, almost painful. He was in the water - somewhere - not here. Hands were pushing him down until he was fighting to breathe. Through the icy water pooling over his head he could hear a shrill voice shouting.

You are a dirty, nasty child. Just like your father, useless, weak. Always touching yourself. That's all you think about, isn't it? Sick. It's sick. What do I have to do to you to make you stop? Stop crying. No one is around to hear you. No one cares. Just me. Just mamma.

In his own voice he heard himself begging not to be hurt, crying to be let out of the freezing water, calling out for his daddy. And then he was under again, drowning.

Now he saw the room. The room in the basement. Dead animals surrounded him, their hard cold eyes burrowing into him. There was a man, a man with a knife. He plunged the long blade into the stomach of a bloated, decaying dog, eviscerating it. Starsky felt a sharp pain in his stomach reaching up to his heart, nausea pushing its way into his throat.

Reggie's long dead, boy. No point in crying about it now. Now come over here and help me skin it.

The yelling and shouting were everywhere; he couldn't escape it, louder and louder. Blood, there was blood. He pushed down the stairs, felt himself tumble, and then his leg broke with a sickening snap, like the sound of a brittle twig. And then something old and stale was pushed into his mouth as he gagged against it, refusing to swallow. He tried shoving the terror away, but his arms were weak. He was weak. Sick and weak. And all he could do was scream and scream and scream and scream.

"Starsky?"

Starsky felt hands on his back, the gentle touch pulling him out of the tormenting dream. He became aware of his surroundings slowly, still feeling the tug of sleep on his mind. Rolling over, he saw the anxious face of his partner looking down on him.

"You all right there?" Hutch's voice cleared away the last of the fog. Feeling a smoldering fear eating through him, Starsky sat up and turned to face his partner.

"Yeah," Starsky cleared his throat. "Just a…just a dream." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and breathe through the heated pain in his chest. He remembered everything: the attic, the stairs, the message on the mirror, the voices screaming. He remembered all of it, and it made him sick.

Hutch gave Starsky a cynical look. "Just a dream, huh? Is that why you were screaming? And why you're drenched in sweat?" His eyes lingered until Starsky looked away.

Starsky sighed. He knew he was horrible at keeping things hidden from the man sitting beside him, but he didn't know if he could hold himself together long enough to reveal all of the torment he had endured over the last several weeks. He felt like he was hanging on by a very thin, much frayed string. "It…God, I don't know…it was really bad."

Hutch raised his eyebrows. "Can you elaborate a little for me?"

"Look, it's nothing, really. Just a bad dream, you know, blood, water, falling down stairs. It's, uh..." Starsky shut his eyes and brought a closed fist to his mouth in an attempt to hide the emotions fighting to escape, swallowing hard to hold back the scream he felt pushing out of him.

Hutch gripped his shoulder. "Starsky?"

It must have been the concern in his soft voice mixed with the totally familiar way his name was spoken by Hutch, but Starsky felt his walls crumble. He began to shake. "I remember everything, Hutch."

O0O

Hutch sat on the bed and listened as his partner wove a story of revulsion and terror, his eyes remaining fixed on his clenched hands.

Work took its toll on the men of the BCPD, and often left them with heavy loads to carry. What they carried, though, and how they got rid of it, depended on the individual. Some officers drank. Others beat their wives or lovers. Some even took their own lives. Some, the lucky ones, had partners to help them deal. Starsky had Hutch. Together they shared the weight, and when it got too burdensome, they yelled, and shouted, and sometimes even cried. That was normal. But Starsky holding onto his weight until it pulled him into the darkness was not.

Starsky was falling apart; his Adam's apple rapidly bobbed up and down as he fought to keep his tears at bay, his fists pressed against his eyes as if to block any unwanted visions. He was jittery and on edge, the words pouring out of him in a long breathless stream. He sat with his muscular legs pulled up to his chest, a pillow tucked safely between them and his chest, his broad shoulders and powerful arms wrapping tightly around his shins. He looked fragile, and that scared Hutch. David Starsky was a strong man, but whatever was affecting his friend right now had taken a deep toll, and Hutch wasn't sure how to pay the collector.

Detail after detail of the vicious attacks poured from Starsky's memory, some Hutch knew about, others new, and every one of them chilling. All he could do was listen and be there for his partner when he was done, and that was frustrating. Hutch was a man of action, but here there was nothing he could chase down or punch out or arrest.

Wide bloodshot eyes looked up and in them Hutch saw…what was it? Guilt? Shame? Reproach? God, what was Starsky thinking?

"I don't know how to stop this, Hutch. I feel responsible for her. It's my fault. I should have protected her."

Immediately Hutch knew what had been eating at his best friend and his stomach churned. "Buddy, I thought you were over this. I thought you understood. You can't hold yourself responsible for Anna's death. Some sicko chose to take her life and you were left out of that equation. You were in the hospital, remember? We had no reason to think she was in danger."

A tear trickled down the side of Starsky's nose. He rubbed it away with the palm of his hand. "I should have known. I should have…"

"There are no should haves, Starsk. You didn't know anything. Christ, we didn't know anything. Still don't. Shit, maybe I should have seen it coming. I wasn't the one lying unconscious in a hospital. If you blame anyone, it should be me."

That last comment grabbed Starsky's attention and he blinked the dampness from his eyes as he looked at Hutch. "No," he whispered in a voice cracking with emotion "S'not your fault. Oh, God, Hutch. Why is this happening to me? What's wrong with me?"

"It's no one's fault but the bad guy, buddy. And I can't tell you why…or…or how, this is happening, but we'll figure it out, I swear. I swear Starsk." He now held his partner in his arms, Starsky's head buried against his chest, as tired sobs escaped. "It's not your fault. Never was. Never could be. Shh, Starsk. Shhh."

As Hutch rubbed the trembling back, he felt his throat tighten. Better late than never, partner, he thought.

O0O

"Rise and shine, partner."

Starsky threw his arm over his face to block the sound. How could Hutch always be so damn cheerful in the morning?

"Go 'way, 'm sleeping." He rolled onto his side, realizing too late that his ribs would protest. With a hiss he sat up and drearily opened one eye. "What time is it?"

Always the mind reader, Hutch handed a cup of juice to Starsky. "Time for you to get up. We have an interview today."

"Yeah?" His voice was rough and still slightly slurred with sleep. "With who?"

"Some woman who saw a news story last night about the case. Says she knew Elizabeth and has some information for us."

"Well then, guess I'd better get up."

Starsky climbed out of the warm bed and trudged to the sink, where he grabbed his tooth brush. He leaned forward and momentarily eyed his bruised face in the mirror.

Hutch stood at the door watching his partner. Carefully, Starsky squeezed a thin rope of Ultra Brite onto the brush and began to cleanse each tooth using a circular motion, then up and down, and finally across before moving on to the next. The blue foam dripped from his open mouth into the sink which was more than Hutch could stomach so early in the day. He looked away as he spoke. "Dobey saw the news, too."

"Doey wa?" Starsky gagged on the words and began to cough.

"Hey, you okay there, buddy?" Hutch moved into the bathroom and patted Starsky on the back until he was sure Starsky would survive.

"Yeah, yeah, get off." Starsky spat the remainder of the paste into the sink and put his toothbrush away. As he splashed cold water over his face, his thoughts returned to the previous evening. He turned to look at his partner. Man, he hated these awkward moments. The words he wanted to tell Hutch, the words that said how grateful he was that Hutch hadn't run away, seemed to escape him, so he tried the best way he knew how. "Uh, Hutch? About last night…"

Hutch was still standing in the doorway watching him. "Nothing you wouldn't have done for me buddy. Now get dressed, we have a date." The caring smile on the tall blond's face gave Starsky the hope he needed. He wasn't alone in this; he had the world's best partner to back him up.

O0O

"I don't wanna know, Hutch."

"Starsky, Dobey saw the entire thing on TV. You don't think he's going to let that go, do you? You started a fight!" Hutch held on to the armrest of the Torino as his partner took a corner at top speed.

"I didn't start it!" He whined for the umpteenth time.

"Slow it down, will ya?" Hutch dug his fingers deeper into the vinyl. "Come on, Starsk, ignoring it isn't going to make the punishment go away." Man, his partner could be stubborn.

"We're here." Starsky slammed on the brakes causing the papers on Hutch's lap to slide to the floor, which Hutch bent to retrieve. "What's her name again?"

Starsky had avoidance down to a fine art, and his tight mouth made it glaringly clear that he did not want to talk about that subject right now.

"We are talking about this later, Gordo." Hutch directed his finger at his partner's chest.

"Not if I can help it." Starsky mumbled climbing out and slamming his door shut.

Hutch met Starsky's eyes over the top of the car. "What's that, Gordo?"

Starsky glowered at his amused partner then joined him at the sidewalk, a playful grin on his own face.

Hutch looked once more at the paper. "The lady's name is Georgia Smith, Starsk. Try not to scare her with that ugly mug of yours."

"Obviously you haven't looked in any mirrors of your own, Blintz." Starsky ribbed, straightening his jacket.

Mrs. Georgia Smith met them on her front porch, looking radiant for her years. She looked like a movie star to Hutch, and from the gleam in Starsky's eye, he surmised his partner was thinking the same.

The woman wore a coral colored silk shirt with a low neck, showing off a string of very expensive looking alabaster pearls. The shirt was neatly tucked into a gray tailored skirt, nicely actuating her small waist. She wore heels that were just high enough to give her the illusion of being tall, but Hutch noticed that without them she was probably no bigger than five two.

Her silver hair neatly framed her oval face in a mid-length style often worn by society women. And although Hutch wasn't one to usually notice an older woman's make up, hers was striking in the way the colors worked to open up her large jade eyes.

"Are you the detectives I was told were coming?" Hutch blushed as he realized he was staring.

"Yes, ma'am." Hutch climbed the front steps followed by his partner. "I'm Detective Sergeant Hutchinson and this is my partner Detective Sergeant Starsky. We were told you may have some information about a case we're working on."

"Please, come in gentleman." She waved her arm, beckoning them into her Craftsman home. "I saw the story on the news last night. It seems so long ago since I last thought of it, but now…" She grew quiet as she sat down, as if lost in memories.

Starsky sat on a chair near her while Hutch took his place on the couch. Pictures lined the walls of the tastefully decorated home, old photos of women in long, embellished gowns and men in custom suits. Hutch recognized one of the pictures as that of Harold Parker, an actor well known for his love scenes on and off screen.

"Those are pictures of my friends and me back when Hollywood was just starting to make a name for itself. I was young, just seventeen, when most of those were taken."

Starsky spoke first. "You were an actress?"

"Oh no, I was a dancer. But Elizabeth, she was an actress." At a look she mistook for confusion on Starsky's face, the woman continued. "Isn't that why you came here? To find out about Liz?"

"Yes, that's right, Mrs. Smith." Hutch took over the business end of the interview while Starsky continued to maintain an expression of bemusement. What is it, Starsk, he silently wondered.

She reached over to the wooden coffee table and retrieved a photo album, opening it for both men to see. "She was beautiful, wasn't she? I met her just before my twenty-first birthday. I was dancing in the follies, and she was looking for work. We began talking and were friends from that moment."

Hutch knew that feeling of instant connection. He'd had it with Starsky at the academy the first day they met. He looked over to his friend to see if he was thinking the same thing, but Starsky still held the same expression, only slightly greener than before.

"I called the station and spoke with your very kind captain. He told me you two were reinvestigating the murder. I just thought that maybe, now, someone would listen to me."

"What do you mean?" Hutch leaned forward.

Folding her well-manicured hands in her lap, Georgia spoke. "Just after Liz was murdered, I contacted the detectives in charge of the investigation and told them I was her roommate. They sent an officer over to our apartment to take my statement, and that's the last I ever heard from them."

"And you think that you have information that may help us catch her killer? Pardon my asking, but why did you wait so long to come forward?"

Hutch gave his partner a disapproving look. "Starsky…"

She looked directly into Starsky's eyes. "The man I told them about had…has…very powerful connections in this city, Sergeant Starsky. I was young and scared. If the police didn't feel it was important, or were too weak to deal with it, then I guess I thought maybe it wasn't important."

"What did you tell 'em?"

"Everything I could. You see, Elizabeth didn't come from a very good family. The poor kid moved around a lot trying to make a living. When she moved in with me she was broke and hungry. I got her a job working as an extra on the film set and that's where she met Mr. William Grippo. She saw him as a meal ticket and he saw her as something pretty to hang on his arm. Almost every weekend Mr. Grippo had her out to his estate for one of his infamous parties. She would come home after a weekend out there and tell me stories of all the famous men and beautiful women."

"Did you ever go to one of these parties?" Hutch asked.

She cast her eyes down to the pictures as she answered. "I'm ashamed to say I did. I thought it would help my career to be around all of the movie studio executives, but they were too busy with their drugs and orgies to even notice I was there. That's all the parties really were, an excuse to sleep with all of the starlets. Liz and I managed to avoid that for the most part, and after a while I just stopped going. I begged Liz to stop going too, but she said she could take care of herself. And I believed her."

"What happened to change your mind?" Both detectives were wrapped up in the drama of her story.

"She came home one night, beaten and afraid. I asked her what happened, but she wouldn't tell me. Told me it was for my own protection. But by the look on her face, I think she saw something she wasn't supposed to."

Starsky leaned forward. "And you think Billy beat her because of it?"

Georgia shook her head. "That's what's strange. Mr. Grippo was gone that weekend. He often traveled out of town for business, so his sister, Charlene, would stay at the estate, to keep an eye on things."

Hutch looked to Starsky, who nodded. "What was Charlene like?" He questioned.

"Quiet. Shy. Not at all attractive. You see, she was a large woman, almost as tall as Mr. Grippo, but she lacked his looks and personality. Although they were twins, they weren't very close. In fact I rarely, if ever, saw the two together. And they never talked to each other in front of guests. But we could hear violent arguments between them from the upper bedrooms. She often threatened him, detectives… Elizabeth never told me what happened that weekend, but she told me to stay away from Mr. Grippo, and I did. I believe his sister is capable of tremendous violence. I also know that Mr. Grippo would do anything to protect his twin."

"Thank you, Mrs. Smith. This has been a tremendous help to my partner and me." Hutch folded his papers and closed his notebook, placing them back in his jacket pocket, then nodded toward his partner

Georgia stood. "I hope it helps you find her killer, officers."

Hutch heard the creak of a door opening, and turned when a heavy breeze shot through the living room. Just as his curiosity was getting the better of him, a tall man entered from the porch carrying driving gloves and a satchel. Georgia moved to the older man and took his satchel, setting it on a buffet behind the couch. "This is my husband, Claude. Claude, these are the detectives I told you would be coming."

"Nice to meet you, gentlemen." The elderly man, obviously several years older than his wife if wrinkles and age spots were any indication, held out his hand. Hutch grabbed and released it in a friendly shake and waited for Starsky to do the same. When no recognition of the new man in the room came, he turned to look for his partner. Hutch was bewildered by what he saw.

Starsky seemed mesmerized by the table, where the breeze had turned a page in the memory book.

"That was Liz with the love of her life, Tommy Holden. He was a sergeant in the Air Corps during the war." By war, she meant, of course, World War II. Georgia Smith continued with her story, turning the page. Hutch heard a quick intake of breath from Starsky as the page fell open revealing Elizabeth in an elegant black gown standing next to a handsome man in his dress uniform.

Starsky hadn't looked particularly well at any time during the interview, but now he was the color of avocados and perspiration dotted his face.

Georgia didn't seem to notice. She continued her story. "This was taken in 1946 at the Sicily Club the last night they were together, the last time she saw him."

"What…what do you mean 'last time'?" Starsky sputtered.

"She told me that night that she and Tommy were engaged, but he had to return to Germany for a few weeks before he could be released from duty. On his flight home, the plane went down and there were no survivors. After that she fell apart and began to associate with the Grippos again."

A haunted whisper slipped from Starsky's mouth. "Beth."

Mrs. Smith looked up in surprise. "Yes, Beth. That's what he called her. How did you know?"

Starsky abruptly stood, as pale and green as Hutch had ever seen him. He politely excused himself and darted out the door mumbling something about checking in with dispatch.

Hutch fought the urge to chase after him. Instead, ignoring his need to check on Starsky, he wished the Smiths goodbye, telling them they'd be in touch. A few more pleasantries passed before Hutch was able to break away and join his partner at the car.

To Be Continued….