Four Minutes
The coroner told them it takes four minutes to bleed to death from a cut to the jugular vein. The girl had been awake the whole time, lying in her blood, the rain falling, knowing she was dying.
Starsky looked down at the little girl. She looked about 10 years old. She'd been raped and beaten before her throat was cut.
The coroner handed him a Polaroid. "Thought you might need this. Oh, she had an ID bracelet. Her name's Anna."
Starsky pocketed the Polaroid and stepped away. He glanced at his watch and looked toward the horizon, the cold rain beating down on his slumped shoulders, water dripping off his curls.
Hutch approached him and put his hand on his shoulder. "You okay? Why don't we get out of this rain, huh?"
Starsky put his finger to his lips, and continued to stare ahead, glancing at his watch occasionally. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Four minutes later, Starsky spoke. "You ever realize how long four minutes is? She had to be so scared. God, I can't imagine what was going through her mind. We gotta find this guy, Hutch."
"We'll find him, Starsk. I promise," Hutch vowed.