She's Not There
By M. Willow
Chapter Four
Days and nights followed with Starsky fighting his desire for Susan. He was slowly falling in love with the past, incapable of doing anything about it. He realized it was a pattern that had started after Terry died. He wanted to be in love. Have a wife, maybe a couple of children and a home with a white picket fence. That need had led him to make bad choices in relationships.
First there was Rosey. She was a gangster's daughter, an impossible relationship for a dedicated cop. And then Kira followed— a far worse choice. Kira had nearly cost him the most important relationship in his life. He was still paying for that mistake.
Hutch couldn't forgive himself. Starsky had, but it didn't matter to his stubborn blond partner. For the last four months, Hutch avoided any interaction whenever Starsky was involved with someone. The excuses were endless: I have a headache; I have to work on this case. I'm tired, how about another time. All in all, it ended up with the fact that Hutch didn't want to spend time anywhere near the women in Starsky's life. It didn't matter if the relationships were casual. It was as though he didn't trust himself. Thought he might have another lapse, yet Starsky trusted him implicitly.
Starsky needed Hutch. His feelings for Susan were confusing. Was he falling in love with the lovely brunet or was he still in love with Jenny? In short, he needed his partner's insight to sort through the mess, but Starsky was keeping a secret. A secret about his past and the woman who'd died so long ago. If Hutch found out about Jenny, he would never look at him in the same way again.
Starsky sighed. It was midnight and he was lying on the sofa, unable to sleep. It had been a pattern since Susan had decided to parade around the house in skimpy outfits. First it had been pajamas—pajamas that clung to every curve. The pink nightgown followed. If she stood in just the right place in his apartment, Starsky could see every curve and a little more. The darn thing was practically transparent.
And tonight there had been the yellow baby doll pajamas. The thing was short with matching panties in the same color. They were watching an old Bela Lugosi movie and she had managed to sit very close to him, long legs perched on the coffee table. Starsky had spent the evening battling a serious hard-on as he tried his best to concentrate on the blood sucking vampire on the screen.
She wore perfume too, a serious coincidence since it had been Jenny's signature scent. Still anyone could go to the store and buy a bottle of perfume and the girl had no way of knowing what it was doing to him. Damn, it was hard to keep a promise, he thought, remembering his pledge to be a perfect gentleman. Right now he was so turned on that if a sheet had touched him, he would have lost all control.
Starsky considered going to visit Hutch. He could crash on his partner's sofa and forget the gorgeous woman sleeping in his bed. But he'd tried that a few nights ago. Had sat on his partner's sofa, babbling incoherently, with Hutch trying to figure out what was going on with him. He didn't need a repeat of that scene. Not that it mattered.
Starsky was pretty sure Hutch had launched an investigation into Susan. He'd pretty much acted like a basket case the first time he saw the girl, and Hutch was too good at reading him not to notice. He figured the big blond hadn't found anything or he would be calling him in on the carpet, spilling every notorious deed committed by the gorgeous brunette. No, Hutch had searched in vain which meant Susan had checked out okay. As for Starsky, he knew the girl was completely innocent. Of course he could easily be considered biased. It didn't take a head shrink to tell him that his symptoms were classic guilt association. He felt responsible for Jenny's death and a woman who looked just like her shows up. He was therefore transferring his feelings to her. The head shrinks probably even had a name for it, like transference something or other. But it didn't matter. Susan made him feel good. And lying on the sofa at twelve midnight, he felt too damn good.
"Get a grip," he said quietly, propping himself up on his arms. "Or you gonna be chargin' in there, begging that poor girl for somethin' you don't have a right to."
Starsky was well aware of the emotional rollercoaster the girl's first lover took her on. It wouldn't be right to take her through it again. He wanted her because she looked like Jenny. Of course the black hair was different and the women had slightly different features, but those green-yellow eyes were nearly the same. And Starsky was betting her lips tasted the same too. And the body…he caught himself, getting up from the sofa quickly and charging into the kitchen. Once there, he turned on the faucet, and drenched his face with cold water, thinking how he'd be better off with a cold shower.
He was looking out the window, enjoying the moonlit night when he heard a scratching sound, like a needle being placed on a record. He heard someone enter the kitchen, smelled the perfume and knew it was Susan. What followed, however, was totally unexpected. It was a familiar song. Their song. The haunting strands of the old Flamingo's 1950s song floating across time, taking him back through the years. Back to Jenny.
He swayed, holding on to the sink for support, listening, remembering.
"My love must be a kind of blind love
I can't see anyone but you.
Are the stars out tonight?
I don't know if it's cloudy or bright
I Only Have Eyes For You, Dear.
The moon maybe high
but I can't see a thing in the sky,
'Cause I Only Have Eyes For You….
They'd kissed for hours to that song, their lovemaking becoming urgent. Now, Starsky turned to see a vision. She stood in the moonlight, soft hair cascading down her back. She'd changed out of the baby-doll pajamas and now wore a long, sweeping white gown. The gown caressed her shoulders, emphasizing her long, swan-like neck. He hadn't realized how beautiful she was.
Susan started to walk toward him and the scent of her perfume nearly took his breath away. It was light, sensuous, Jenny's scent. He reminded himself that this woman was actually Susan. It didn't matter that she moved like Jenny. That she wore her dark hair the way Jenny wore hers. He'd spent the last ten years of his life wanting her. Needing to erase his guilt. This was simply a case of the mind's desperate need for resolution. In Susan, he had found Jenny. And she was alive and well and he hadn't caused her death.
He closed his eyes, needing for the charade to continue. As Susan neared, Starsky pictured Jenny, her long red hair falling down her back, eyes sparkling like jewels. He remembered the taste of her lips, the way she moved beneath him when they made love. He remembered her laugh, the way she looked at him. And then he heard Jenny speak.
"I want you to make love to me."
He didn't stop her when she kissed him, melded her body against his. He responded to the kiss, deepening it with desperation. And then clothes were falling to the floor. He pushed her back against the kitchen table, letting his hands wander down satin skin. He felt her touch, looked into golden eyes and saw resolution. And as they made love, he thought only of Jenny.
--
Hutch was pacing the floor of his bedroom. He'd spent days in front of Starsky's apartment, days of searching for information on Jenny. He'd come home because he realized that staring up at his partner's apartment had done nothing but put dark circles under his eyes Now he waited for the telephone to ring and doubt had settled in as his nightly companion. Was the girl an innocent? Had he spent so many years looking at the underside of life that he saw monsters wherever he looked?
He shuddered and sank down on the bed. He and Starsky had a psychic connection. It was inexplicable, but there nonetheless. If he had a bad feeling regarding the curly-haired detective, then it was real.
"God, Starsk, what have you gotten yourself into and how can I stop it from happening?"
Now the it was the problem. An attractive woman was in his partner's apartment, probably his bed by now. He was in danger, but Hutch had yet to uncover what that danger was. If Kira hadn't happened, he could have told Starsky that the woman was poison. That he had a gut feeling and that she was up to no good. He could tell him and Starsky would listen. Then both detectives would work together to discover her motivations. But that had been before his betrayal. Before the time he'd destroyed the most important relationship in his life. Now he was walking on thin ice and one slip could send him spiraling. He couldn't just walk in there and tell Starsky something about Susan without proof. He couldn't just walk in there and say, "hey, your girl was looking at me like a tiger at snack time. Get rid of her." Right now he had nothing but suspicion and that wasn't good enough.
Starsky would wonder if he were up to his old tricks. That maybe, just maybe, his only motivation in the matter was getting Susan in his bed. If Starsky believed something like that, Hutch wouldn't be given another chance. He would be out of his partner's life forever. A scary thought, made even more so, since Susan would have free reign.
"Damn," he said, slamming his hand down on the bedside table. "What does she have on you? What would make a man who's faced down the worse criminals, turn into a quivering mass of terror just by the appearance of one, green-eyed woman?
Hutch picked up the phone and started to dial. He placed the phone back on the cradle before it could ring. He sat there, staring at the wall as if it had answers. Then he heard a sound coming from the living room. He'd taken to putting his gun in the nightstand at night, so he reached over and picked it up and waited. Soon a familiar feeling spread over him and he put the gun back on the nightstand and padded into the living room.
Starsky was sitting on the sofa, his eyes staring straight ahead. He seemed distracted, unaware that Hutch entered the room. Hutch fought rising panic as he slid onto the sofa.
"Hey, buddy, what brings you here at this hour? Thought you would be with Susan." Hutch hoped his voice sounded normal.
"I was. Thought I would come here. Didn't mean to wake you."
"Wasn't sleeping." Hutch placed his hand on Starsky's shoulder. "You okay?"
"Yeah, just needed to get out of the house for a while. That's's all. Nothin' wrong."
Starsky's voice was shaking.
"Something going on with you and Susan?"
Starsky didn't look at him. "I don't know. Somethin' happened between us, somethin' I wasn't ready for. So I left."
Hutch wondered if they'd slept together. If so, Hutch had even more reason to worry. Starsky wouldn't just leave a woman alone after making love to her. "Want to talk about it, buddy?"
"I don't know how to talk about it, Hutch. I just don't know."
Starsky dropped his head into his hands, his body hunched forward. "Let's just drop it. Okay."
"Sometimes it's better to talk about it, Starsk. Maybe we can figure something out."
"Not this time."
"Since when has that ever been true?"
Starsky didn't say anything, just looked up at him as if he had been stung. And Hutch knew what had put that look in his eyes. He'd betrayed his partner. The trust the brunet once had in him was gone, or severely altered.
Hutch splayed his hand. "Look. I know what I did was wrong. I know that it will take time. But…"
"Listen, Hutch, this has nothin' to do with that. I forgave you, remember? Now, let's just drop it."
"This thing is eating you up. How can I just drop it?"
"Easy. Pretend I'm not here and go back to bed."
"But…."
"No, "buts." I ain't ready to talk about this." Starsky frowned. "I'm just tired. Been workin' a lot trying to solve those robberies. Just want to get some sleep."
They'd both been working on a robbery case. The man had been breaking into homes over the past two months, hauling away anything he deemed valuable. The case held a special significance to them because most of the robberies had taken place in Starsky's neighborhood. Both men therefore took it personal, putting in more hours than they probably should. But if Starsky was tired, it had more to do with Susan than the robberies.
"We both know this has nothing to do with the robberies. It has to do with Susan Shepard."
"She's a nice girl, Hutch. This whole things about me. Don't blame her."
"I do blame her because you've been a basket case since she walked into Parker Center. From the looks of you, you haven't been sleeping well. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on in that head of yours."
"I don't know."
"You do know."
"I don't know. I don't know, Hutch. I'll tell you if I knew."
They were both shouting, his partner's face marred with frustration. Hutch lowered his voice. "You're falling over the edge. Think I can just sit here and not do anything?"
Starsky's hands were shaking. He stood up, looking down at Hutch. "Think I'll go home. This was a bad idea."
But Hutch stood, grabbing his arm. They stared at each other for a second, and then Hutch spoke, "Stay. I'll back off. Just don't go back there." He knew his partner could hear the fear in his voice.
Starsky sighed, pain and something else on his chiseled features. "She's a nice girl. What happened was my fault. She's vulnerable, Hutch. Don't put this off on her."
"What happened tonight?"
But his partner didn't speak, just sat down heavily, head dropping into his hands. His body rocked slightly and Hutch wondered if he were actually crying. He sat down next to him, sliding his arm around his partner's shoulders.
Starsky slid closer to him, allowing the contact. Then he looked up and Hutch could see that he had been crying. "I can't tell you, Hutch. I'm ashamed."
"But not with me, buddy. You can tell me anything." And as Hutch said the words, he prayed that it was still true.
"Give me time. I just need time." Starsky sounded so desperate. "But right now I just need to rest. And I need…I need to know you're here with me. Okay? I need to feel that I'm not alone? I don't…I don't…" Then his voice cracked.
"You're never going to be alone. I'll always be there for you."
Starsky had turned his face to look out the window. The moon had gone behind some clouds so the room was almost dark except for one lone lamp at the end of the sofa.
"Thanks, Hutch." And with that, his partner settled himself on the sofa, his body curled in a ball. Hutch stood up and went to the closet. He came back with a spread and pulled it over his already sleeping partner.
"Night, buddy," he murmured once the dark-haired detective was covered. But the only answered he received was Starsky's soft snores.
--
The woman moved slowly through the crowds, past street vendors, sleazy pubs, and the many restaurants that dotted the landscape of what had become known as Skid Row. She was an unremarkable woman, blending into the grayness of the area. She had dish-water blond hair that hung in greasy clumps around her head and a thread-bare dress which fit snuggly around a plump figure. Over this she wore a coat that was equally tattered. She carried a large shopping bag, a prerequisite for any woman who found herself living in that area of town.
It was a hot day, the noonday sun battering the city with scorching temperatures. The worn out shoes the woman wore scarcely shielded her feet from the hot pavement, so she walked with a sort of shuffling gate, her eyes straight ahead, never making eye contact with anyone for more than a second.
Skid row, at this hour, was filled with desperate souls who ambled down the street clutching bottles of liqueur, or lay sleeping it off in alleys. Most men hardly noticed her. The few who did only wanted liqueur and hoped she was willing to share. Even these men wouldn't seek sex from someone who looked the way she did now which was quite contrary to the previous night.
The sex had been spectacular. She'd had to hold back. Pretend to be the innocent persona David needed. It had been difficult but necessary. They had made love till they both fell into an exhausted sleep, but Susan had awakened to find herself alone, a note pined to the mirror.
"Going in early," it said. And it was signed David.
It was still dark outside. Not yet five o'clock. There was only one place he would have gone at that hour. It made her angry. Made her aware that she needed to have Ken taken care of as soon as possible. And so she had risen with the sole intent of bringing an end to her rival. By noon she had made her contact, collected the money from the bottom of her suitcase, and headed out.
Getting the clothes had been simple, especially after the bag lady had stopped fighting and died. She'd then taken the smelly clothes and shoes, put on a dark-blond wig, heavy with the oil she brought from the corner store, and became Millie.
The Millie persona opened the door to a greasy spoon restaurant and ambled in. The place reeked of unwashed bodies and old cooking oil. It was a dark, desolate place with peeling paint and wooden tables and chairs. There were a few men who sat hunched over dark coffee, no doubt laced with alcohol. These men ignored her as she made her way to the back of the restaurant. There, seated was a man clothed completely in black. The man looked up as she neared. This man was just as concerned about concealing his identity as she, so his clothes were shabby and just as smelly as hers. She was pretty sure he hadn't resorted to murder to get his ensemble. He would have considered it a classless act.
She looked into his cold grey eyes. He wore a wool hat that covered his hair which could have been any color. The lines on his face put him at about fifty, so she figured his hair would be grey, but then, lines could be faked. He smiled as she approached.
"Well, well, quite a disguise, old girl. I approve." He said this showing full yellow teeth He spoke with a cultured British accent, belaying his somewhat humble surroundings. Susan had no idea what he actually looked like. He was a hit man and that was all that mattered.
She heaved her bulk into the booth and sat the bag between them.
"Names Millie. Now, cut the crap, Johnny," she said. She enjoyed pulling herself into a role. Millie had not been the name of the bag lady, but it would do for the character she was playing. .
Johnny on the other hand, enjoyed using just one name. He was simply Johnny to all who hired him. Had been for years. It was as much his calling card as the green eyes were hers. If you needed someone taken care of, you called Johnny.
She spoke quickly, "I got a job for ya, Johnny boy, so let's deal."
"Not like the other time, I hope. It really was quite bloody."
"What you complainin' about. Ya got paid didn't ya?" Her voice was raspy like a woman who'd smoked too many cigarettes and drank too many bottles of whisky.
"Yeah, and they still haven't found the bodies. Most distressful. I hate having dead bodies floating about unclaimed. I'd rather discover my mistakes poste haste."
Johnny smiled broadly, then reached into the bag and pulled out a thick vanilla envelope. Inside, Susan had put five-hundred thousand dollars. She had balked at the price. The last murder had only cost 50,000 dollars and that had been for two, but Johnny had pointed out the risk of killing two cops, especially if he were caught.
"You'll get the rest later," she said. "And there better be no mistakes. I ain't payin' for mistakes."
He pushed the envelope into the pocket of his tattered coat, holding his hand there just a fraction longer, as if he could count the money through the envelope. Fixing her with serious eyes, he spoke, "It'll be done. Surprise you're not doing this one yourself, Millie."
The thought had crossed her mind, but she wanted her hands clean on this one. She wanted innocence on her face when the big blond reached the end. The other one she could care less. Johnny may as well do both jobs so she hired him. Still, Johnny was becoming too curious.
"Get it right, Johnny boy. I don't have time for mistakes." But even as she said it, she knew the man never made mistakes. Ken was as good as dead and she poised to become the supportive girlfriend. She could picture it now, David praising her, saying she was the woman who saved his life.
"I don't make mistakes, old girl. Just make sure you do nothing to lead the cops to me. I've never killed a cop."
"Ya ain't got no reason to worry. I know what I'm doin'."
"Yeah, but this time it's personal, isn't it? And personal means you can fuck up. And I don't need a fuck up."
Johnny's voice had become hard, but she kept the fear out of her voice when she spoke, "How ya know it's personal? You ain't been snooping, has ya? "
She didn't wait for an answer, continuing in the same craggy voice. "Now get this straight. What I do is my business. I strongly suggest you remember that." She held his gaze, the challenge clear. There were rules in their relationship. They went way back in the killing game, but two rules remained: they always met in disguise and they never got in each other's business. They were professionals in a nasty business and breaking the rules meant death.
He nodded his head, the smile deadly. "Just wanted to make sure."
"Ya ain't got nothing to worry about." She fixed him with an equally deadly smile.
Johnny pulled out a cigarette, but he didn't light it. "You know, one day I would like to know what you look like, dear. I bet you're quite a looker with those green eyes."
She dropped the accent. "To see my face is to see death, Johnny. And we wouldn't want that, would we?" She grinned, enjoying his discomfort. She had a reputation in the business and he was well aware of it. If she wanted him dead, he wouldn't see midnight.
TBC