Chapter 29

Traff woke suddenly, his eyes piercing the gloom of Hutch's curtained bedroom. He stretched lazily and scratched his hands through his short curls before turning over onto his side and pulling the blanket up around his eras. The soldier was just about to allow himself to drift back to sleep when his eyes fastened on the part opened bedroom door. Sure that he'd left it wide open earlier and curious as to whether Hutch was sleeping ok, Traff flung back the sheets and eased himself out of the bed, padding silently into the living room. He looked around, confused for a moment. The sofa was vacant, and no light shone under the bathroom door. Cursing, and with a bad feeling, the curly haired man flicked on the light, made a cursory search of the small apartment and then peered through the window. He cursed again when he realised that Hutch's car was also gone and Traff grabbed for the telephone.

Dialing the number he'd come to know by heart, Traff waited until the phone connected, glancing at his watch. The fingers read 6:15 and when the phone was answered he asked if he could be patched through to the custody sergeant in charge of the cells.

The patch whirred on the line and the 'Yamato here. Who's this?'

'Um…this is Tom Trafford. I was there earlier last night with Detective Hutchinson.'

'Yeah, I remember. How is Hutch? He was pretty cut up about things.'

'I was gonna ask you that. I'm um….I was wondering if he might have been back there. You haven't seen him have you?'

The voice on the other end of the phone sighed. 'No. I've been on duty all night. I haven't seen him. Why? What's he done?'

Traff recognised the concern in Yamato's voice and was just about to launch into an explanation when he heard a noise at the door and a moment later, Hutch pushed his way in, his face grey and his body held stiff as though in pain. The soldier sighed deeply. 'It's fine Sergeant. He's right here. Sorry to have bothered you.'

Traff replaced the receiver and watched in silence as Hutch shouldered out of his holster and hung it up behind the door of his closet. The blond cop walked over to his cupboard, took out a bottle of whiskey and a glass and poured himself two inches of the amber liquid. He stood with his back against the counter top, took a deep breath and knocked the fiery fluid back in one chug. Spluttering slightly and ending in a cough, Hutch reached again for the bottle and would have poured another large shot had Traff not gently taken the bottle from his hand and put it back in the cupboard.

'Wanna tell me what's got you hittin' the bottle at 6 in the mornin'? where've you been? And why didn't you tell me you were goin' out?'

'Coz I'm not married to you. I can go out when I need to' Hutch snapped trying to get the bottle back from the shelf. Traff blocked his way.

'Hey. What's this all about Chief? What's happened?'

Pained crystal blue eyes locked on emerald greens and Hutch sagged against the counter. 'M'sorry. That was out of line.'

'Well somthin' happened. What's up? Share huh?'

'I woke up an' I felt I had to do somethin' so I went back to Fisher's flat.'

'Shit Hutch! Was that wise? It's a crime scene aint it? And as far as I know, you aren't on the case.'

'I'm still a cop and it's my partner's disappearance that we're investigating. I had to do something.'

'So what? Did you find somethin'? What's got you so bent over?'

'I found something. I found something that's gonna nail Edgar Fisher and send him down for the rest of his natural,' Hutch threw three tapes onto the sofa and stared at them. The fourth was now somewhere at the bottom of the ocean where he'd thrown it after he'd driven himself to the pier and had walked to the end in the pearly, milky light of that dawn.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

In that same milky dawn, fifty miles to the south of Bay City another curly haired man woke slowly and stared at the rough plastered ceiling above him. Starsky stared at one spot for a while, his mind a blank and his body still aching in places he never knew it was possible to ache. The previous evening, three days into his stay with the Cortez family, Juanita had once again had to bathe him, his fever spiking so fiercely that the blankets he lay on had been soaked and his body had shaken so violently that he'd felt his teeth would be shaken free of his head. Dreams tore at his sleep and he'd cried out incoherently until Juanita had taken him in her arms and cradled him like a child. Eventually the young woman and her brother had filled an old tin bath with cold water and had lowered the sick stranger gently into it in an last ditch attempt to lower his temperature.

For some time he'd led in the cool water thrashing his head and fighting the fever dreams still haunting his mind. Eventually though, he lay still, the fever having broken and he remained in the cool water until it had heated to his body temperature. Finally his eyes had cracked open and he'd looked around him, embarrassed that once again he'd had to be taken care of by the girl. She'd said nothing when her brother had helped Starsky out of the bath and had helped to hold him up as she gently toweled him dry and helped him step into an old pair of draw string pants.

The three had shuffled back to the sofa in the lean to and once again Starsky had led down, exhausted by his fever and his injuries and had drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Now, although still sore and aching, he felt warm and rested….. and hungry. Starsky couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten and as his stomach rumbled loudly, he threw back the single rough blanket covering him and rolled himself into a sitting position. The room shimmied around him for a moment and he sagged back against the wall, gasping for breath and keeping his eyes firmly closed. Eventually, the bed seemed to remain still and he took the opportunity to look around him again.

The lean to was small, but neat and tidy and clean as a new pin. A rickety wooden desk stood in one corner, papers stacked tidily and chits of paper hanging on a spike from the wall. An equally rickety chair was pushed neatly under the table and other than that the only bit of furniture was the sofa on which he'd slept for four days.

With a grunt. Starsky stood slowly and swayed on rubber legs. A cold sweat broke out down his spine and bile rose in his throat but he swallowed it down. He made a grab for the table and staggered towards the open doorway, looking out into a car repair garage. The smell of engine oil, gear oil and gasoline fumes seemed oddly familiar to him and the brunet forced his legs to take another few steps into the larger space, enjoying the familiarity of the place. It was bright and hot in the engine shop and as Starsky wound his way carefully past the inspection pit and the various work tables. He picked up a solenoid, blowing a speck of dust off the top. He replaced it on the workbench and was about to turn back when he heard an engine near the door start up. It fired, cut, fired and took hold, but it stuttered and ran roughly. The hood was up and from beneath it he heard a muffled curse.

Clutching at his bruised side and ribs he made his way over to the car and saw that Juanita's brother was covered in oil and frantically rubbing at the engine with his hand and a rag.

'It's the tappits' Starsky said over the noise of the engine.

Miguel straightened so quickly that he hit his head on the hood and rubbed at his head as he smiled at the handsome stranger.

'You look a little better Senior.'

'Uh huh. I feel it. You having problems?'

'Yes, the engine keeps cutting out.'

'It's the tappits. I can hear 'em. Used to have the same problem with my own car.'

'You did? What did you drive?' the young Mexican asked, wiping the oil from his hands.

Starsky smiled. 'She was a beaut. I had a….I had….damn!' he snapped, the pain lancing through his temples, although for a fleeting moment he had a vision of a bright red car, a blond man standing by its open doorway. Starsky rubbed hard at his head as the pain subsided, but it left him gasping and Miguel brought the chair from the lean to. As Starsky sat down thankfully, Junaita walked into the garage with a glass of lemonade. She handed it to her brother with a smile and then appraised her patient.

'Well Matt. I did not expect to see you up and about. How are you feeling?'

Starsky smiled shyly at her. 'Much better. Thanks to you. I don't know how I can ever repay you.'

'Matt knows about cars' Miguel announced.

'You do?' Juanita asked

'I think so. Leastways I seem to know about 'em. I didn't think about it, it just came to me. I could help around the garage if you like? When I'm stronger.'

'That would be good. We never have enough time to do everything' the young woman said happily. 'But for now, you should rest. Maybe you would like to come into the house and have a drink?'

'Yeah, that'd be good. And um…. Is there anythin' to eat?'

'Of course. Come. Lets' go inside.'

Starsky followed slowly as Juanita led the way into a small whitewashed single storey house next to the repair shop. The inside was cool, the deep eaves of the house keeping the sun away from the windows and keeping the air inside relatively cool. It was simply furnished with wooden furniture spread with brightly covered throws and rugs. The brunet was beginning to feel tired and sat patiently while Juanita busied herself with some bread a lump of cheese and a glass of lemonade. Starsky's mouth watered at the sight of the food, but after only a few mouthfuls he was full. He slaked his thirst and sat back.

'Enough?' Juanita asked.

'Guess my stomach must've shrunk. But it was great, thanks.' For some inexplicable reason, Starsky felt shy and tongue tied around the girl and she, in turn blushed as she felt his eyes on her.

'You shouldn't overdo your first day out of bed. Don't make yourself too tired, you've been very sick.'

'And you've been very good to me.'

'You can help Miguel when you are able. I couldn't help but notice when you were in bed….. you have many scars senior. How did you get them?'

Starsky looked down at his chest, his fingers running down the long silvery scars showing up through the brown hairs. They meant a great deal to him. Something bad had happened and yet, he didn't know what. 'I… I dunno. Guess I'm just not a lucky guy huh?'

'You're lucky that we picked you out of the ocean when we did. I think maybe another hour or so and you would have drowned. Do you remember why you were out so far from land? Had you fallen from a boat maybe?'

Starsky's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to think. A boat? He didn't remember a boat. Somehow that didn't seem right at all. The brunet sighed. 'It's all a blank. I can't remember anything…..it's all blank, like I never existed before….shit! why can't I remember?' His voice held a hint of panic in it and gently Juanita put her arms around his shoulder, hugging him to her.

'It will all come right Senior. I promise you. Maybe when you have rested some more, you will start to remember.'

'But you've no idea what it's like. I have no name, no past, no friends. I don't remember whether I was a garbage collector or a brain surgeon. It's all just black.'

'You have a name while you are here.'

'Yeah, you called me Matt. Nice name, but I don't think it's me. I don't feel like a Matt, but I guess it's as good as any.'

'What name do you fell like?' Juanita asked, hoping that now he was more relaxed, the man might be able to remember.

'Dave.' Starsky almost shouted the name out at the same time as his head exploded into a miasma of pain. He clutched at his head, lowering it to his knees as he pawed blindly at it. The pain robbed him of his breath for a moment and he groaned as the flashes behind his eyes continued to spike into his temples and along his brow.

Juanita knelt in front of him, unsure of what to do as Starsky writhed on the hard wooden chair, his head still clutched in his hands, his breath coming in ragged sobs. 'Make it stop' he whispered. 'Oh sweet Jesus make it stop. Hurts….hurts so bad.'

The woman took his face in her hands and drew him to her, Without thinking she kissed him lightly on the lips and wiped away the single pain tear that dropped from his eye with her thumb.

'Rest Senior. It will pass, but at least you have your name….Dave. It suits you. Now come, lie down and I will bring you a cool cloth.'

The pain receded slightly and Starsky eased himself back until he could lie on his side on the hard bench, cradling his head on his arm. The woman laid a lavender scented cloth on his forehead and rubbed small comforting circles on his back. 'I am not going anywhere. Sleep. Rest' she murmured and for a split second, once again, Starsky had the impression of a blond man, a golden face smiling down at him.