Chapter 30 - 3 days later

During the next few days, Starsky started to regain his strength. The time he'd spent in the ocean had sapped a lot of his vitality and each time he tried to think of his past, a terrible pain ricocheted through his head, bending him double and making him sick to his stomach. So for the most part, he remained very much in the "now", concentrating on enjoying the peace and the family life of San Carlos.

It was a sleepy little village for the most part. Standing as it was right on the Mexican border, in one of those places that the US military ignored, there were comings and goings of immigrants several times a day. So relaxed was it, that a lot of the townsfolk worked over the border in America, or went there to trade, returning without any trouble each night. On the odd occasion that a soldier was seen in San Carlos, it was more likely that he'd be sat down at the small village centre cafe and bar rather than searching for illegal immigrants and their families.

On the third afternoon, however, there was just a little bit of excitement in the sleepy village when a large Toyota pick up truck painted in black with flames licking down its sides rolled into the centre of the village and stopped. As the large rough looking driver got out of the cab and looked around, the villagers melted away like ice cream in the Mojave, women pulling their grubby children into the houses and men slinking away from the bar to disappear inside. Only Miguel kept on working in the garage just off the village square and the driver of the pick up ignored the young man buried to his waist under the hood of the car.

The driver of the pick up looked around the village, poked his nose into the bar and knocked on a couple of tightly closed doors. He received no reply and as Starsky watched from the shelter of the garage, he caught the flash of a large Colt Magnum Python hanging from a holster on the man's belt. Wondering just how he could identify the weapon from such a distance, the brunet drew back into the shadows and waited with the rest of the villagers until the driver seemed to grow bored, got into the cab again and with a blast of his two torn horn, drove off dustily into the distance.

'Who was that?' Starsky asked Miguel who had straightened when he'd heard the horn. The young man shielded his eyes against the sun and watched the pick up disappear in a cloud of dust.

'Bounty hunter. We get them here all the time. Americans skip bail and come over the border thinking they'll escape. He's a regular. Mean piece of work. He comes here two or three times a week. We ignore him. It is sometimes best.'

The brunet watched the trail of dust disappear up the small dirt track leading to the village until it was a speck in the distance. Something about the man had made him feel uncomfortable and unsure of himself. Why was he afraid of a bounty hunter? And how come he could identify the man's weapon? Fear clutched at Starsky's throat. Was he a criminal? Is that what he couldn't remember about himself? Something about that notion felt familiar and he shook his head trying to clear the thought. If he had been a criminal, at least he had a chance to go straight from now on.

'Are you ok Dave?' Miguel asked. 'You look as thought you've seen a ghost.'

Starsky plastered a smile onto his face. 'No, I'm good. I'm um... gonna go for a run. I'm stiff, need to limber up. After that, I'll help you change that engine block if you like?'

The young Mexican smiled, genuinely liking their visitor who seemed so capable around cars. 'That would be good, thank you.'

With a nod, the brunet walked out into the afternoon sun and set off a steady lope up the hill the way the bounty hunter had gone. His body was healing well and he was beginning to feel trapped in the small house. He'd taken himself off for a run twice before and felt good that he could push himself further each day. As his feet pounded away at the dirt, he tried not to think about his past. The idea that he might have been on the wrong side of the law seemed somehow abhorrent to him, but at the same time, it seemed to fit. When he allowed his mind to go completely blank and stopped concentrating, he got the occasional flash of handcuffs; a badge; and again that recurring memory of a golden man. But when he tried to fix on the images, the pain returned threatening to take away his breath and make him throw up on the dusty road.

The brunet pounded on, his feet eating up the miles as he ran in a broad circle around the village. The scenery was dusty, brown and fairly unattractive scrubland and before long, Starsky could feel the sweat trickling down his back and chest. Stopping for a moment to take off his shirt and wipe his neck and face, he looked down again at the scars laying silvery white on his chest amongst the dark brown wiry hairs. He sat down on a convenient rock, his breath whistling in his throat and the sun hot on his shoulders. Pensively, he ran his finger up the longest of the scars, from the middle of his stomach up almost to his throat. Alongside the scar were small divots of flesh that looked as though they'd housed tubes at one time or another and further up, on his left shoulder another solitary wound, the skin puckered at its edges. Instinctively Starsky knew it was a bullet wound, although he could remember nothing of how he'd gotten it. Damn! His mind was as empty as the desert he was running though, his only memories being of the last few days and the hospitality he received from Miguel and Juanita.

The brunet's body stirred as he thought about the young woman. She was beautiful, but not in an obvious way. Sure she was pretty, her long black hair worn tied up in a chignon at the nape of her neck. Her soulful brown eyes searched his soul and were a refuge when he was hurting. But it was her caring way that had caught his attention. She had a way of looking at him that left him feeling slightly weak at the knees and he felt clumsy and shy when she was around. And yet, he missed her when she was away at the local school teaching. Then he had only Miguel for company, and although the young man was kind, caring in his own way, and had a sense of humour, Starsky missed Juanita keenly. With a sigh, and squinting up at the sun that was beginning it's downward sweep, the curly haired man got to his feet, hung his shirt around his neck and started the jog back to the village.

When he returned, it was past five o'clock and Juanita had been home for some time. She had a pot of stew on the stove, simmering gently and that night the three of them ate their usual simple meal sat around the family table. Afterwards, while the brother and sister cleared the dishes, Starsky headed out back to the garage and started to look at the car Miguel had been working on earlier on that day. He lost himself in his work. The work consumed him but he enjoyed it. There was something about the feel of the car beneath his hands that felt oddly comforting and for a while the brunet allowed himself the luxury of relaxing as his hands played over the engine, prodding here, using a spanner there. It was hot and he'd taken his shirt off earlier so that he didn't get oil on it, and he didn't hear Juanita come into the garage behind him. The woman coughed and Starsky stood up suddenly, hitting his head on the hood of the car. He turned, rubbing his head with his hand to see the woman, trying hard not to laugh and holding out a glass of iced tea. Thankfully he took it and drank it down in one, some of the drink spilling and dripping from his chin onto his chest. At the end of the drink, Starsky wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and handed that glass back to Juanita.

'Thanks' he said.

'Miguel is so happy that you know about cars. He's been struggling along on his own for a while.'

'Yeah, well. I guess I ought to be payin' my way somehow.'

'We do not ask for payment, it is good that we could help you. You should come in. It's getting late and you aren't up to full strength yet. It would not be good to get too tired.'

'I know. I just need to finish up here. Can you watch this part here? Tell me if any oil leaks out while I turn over the engine huh?'

Dutifully Juanita stood by the open hood of the car as Starsky got into the cab and turned the key. He revved the engine a couple of times and waited. 'Anything?'

'No, it looks good' the woman replied.

Turning the engine off, the brunet was just about to get out of the car when he glanced sideways at the passenger seat. There, open half way through, was a glossy magazine, but it was the image that caught Starsky's eye. He grabbed for the article and held the picture up under the hissing gas lantern so that he could get a better view. Juanita walked around to the open doorway of the car and looked in.

'Dave? What is it?' she asked.

'This picture. I know this place. I know that statue' he said hesitantly.

'It's the Statue of Liberty. That's in New York. You know that place? Do you remember it?'

'Not remember exactly. Well...yeah...maybe I do remember it. I dunno. But I recognise it. It means something to me. And this... .'

Juanita peered over his shoulder. 'Brooklyn Bridge.'

'And that's the East River. I know this place' Starsky said excitedly. 'I know this place, but I don't know why. I don't...can't. Shit! Why can't I remember?'

The woman put a hand on his bare shoulder. 'I don't know Dave. But it's a start.'

The brunet turned indigo eyes to her and she saw the animation in them for the first time. 'I have to go there. I need to get to New York. There're answers there, I know there are.'

'You will Dave. You will, but stay here for a little while longer...until you are well again huh?'

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Friday morning.

Hutch woke up slowly and yawned, feeling more tired now than when he'd gone to bed last night. It seemed always the way these days and very carefully he rolled himself into a sitting position and started working at the stiff, sore muscles around his left shoulder. He'd had a proper visit with the physiotherapist on the previous day and he seemed to feel even sorer than before, but there again, the guy had sure put him through his paces. Hutch grimaced when he'd thought about the stretching, the pulling and the rotating exercises he was meant to do and the sweat they'd induced the day before. And that was only as a result of two bullets. His mind went back over the previous years to when his partner had been recovering from his own gunshot wounds. Then Starsky had endured months of physio to get his body recovered from Gunther's men's five shots. Hutch had always had sympathy for the smaller man, but had never truly understood what Starsky had gone through. Not until now. Now the tears of pain and frustration meant a whole lot more to him and his admiration for the brunet increased tenfold.

Starsky. Where are ya partner? OK too early in the day to start worrying. Leave it till later huh Hutchy?'

Easing himself up off the bed, Hutch cursed when he saw the clock on the table read ten thirty. He'd told Traff he'd be up at eight, but it was obvious the soldier thought he'd needed more sleep, and truth to tell he had to agree. His healing body needed more rest than he felt he should give it, but there came a time when something had to give, and that time seemed to have arrived. Padding into the lounge, he was just about to put the kettle onto the stove when there was a persistent knock at the door. Hutch crossed the room and peered through the spy hole, sighing as he saw the familiar bulk of his Captain waiting to be let in. Dobey's visits were never a good sign. He took the chain off the door and opened it. Dobey walked in and stood uncomfortably just inside the living room.

'Cap'n.'

'Um... Hutchinson. Good to see you looking so um...'

Hutch looked down at himself. Dressed only in his pyjama pants, the dressing on his shoulder stood out white against his fading tan and his ribs did a passable impression of a xylophone. He snorted softly. 'So what? Thin?'

'So um...well.'

Hutch led the way to the sofa and sat down stiffly. Dobey followed, but remained standing, his fingers knotting and unknotting in front of him. The blond regarded him levelly.

'Ok, enough. Gimme the news.'

'What news? I was just here to um...'

Hutch closed his eyes. 'Something's happened hasn't it? Have they found Starsky? Have they found a bo...found him? Is that why you're here?'

'No, they haven't found anything. No body, no nothing.'

'Then what? Much as I like your visits Cap, usually you're around here to tell me what's happening with the investigation. And I know you. You don't give bad news over the phone.'

Dobey sat down heavily and his forehead creased in pain. 'I'm sorry son. I had a call from the coastguards today. They um... It's been almost eight days. They've um... They've called off the search. I'm sorry.'

'Called it off? Why? They haven't found him. They haven't found anythin'. They can't call it off' Hutch yelled, his face turning white.

Dobey shook his head. 'Hutch, think about it. They've been searching for eight days. Could anyone survive in the water for eight days? He wasn't exactly well when he went in, was he? You...we just have to face the very real possibility that Starsky is dead.'

'NO' Hutch yelled again, his eyes staring wildly. 'He aint dead and you've no right to say that he is. I'd know if he was dead. I'd feel it. An' I don't. I know he's alive an' I know we owe it to him to keep on lookin'. So we get the coastguards back, or we hire a boat, or we do somethin' but there is no way on God's green earth that I'm gonna give up until someone, God forbid, shows me his dead body. Do you have that? I aint givin' up.'

Wearily Dobey nodded. 'I knew you'd say that. The coastguard is out of the question. They've called off the official search. If you want to continue, it'll be down to you and Traff. But in the meantime, you have a stark choice. We either declare him a casualty now and call a halt to proceedings, or we carry on looking and hope to God he's here to answer his bail on Monday at the hearing. You have 2 more days to find him.'

'Fine. And I will find him. I will' Hutch said with finality. 'He's still out there, an' he aint dead, have ya got that? And when I do find him I'm gonna clear his name.'

'Just how're you gonna do that? Dobey asked, his eyebrows raised. You've seen the reports from the interviews with Fisher. He's tight as a ducks ass. He won't say anythin'.

'No, but these'll do all the talking for him' Hutch said bitterly, getting up to drop 3 cassette tapes into Dobey's lap.

'What're these?'

'Evidence. Primary evidence. I got 'em from Fisher's apartment. They're recordings of the telephone calls he made to Starsky, hypnotising him. We got enough there to nail that sucker with or without Starsky there.'

Dobey sighed. 'I aint even gonna ask what you were doing at a crime scene when you're off sick and not even assigned to the case. I don't need to tell you you're walkin' on thin ice.'

Hutch's face cracked into a broad grin. 'I'll walk on water so long as it clears my partner's name.'