She's Not There

By M. Willow

Chapter Thirteen

The plan went smoothly. Susan had been followed in plain sight, a brilliant plan conceived by Hutch who reasoned she would notice if only one person tried it. Nevertheless, she'd changed disguises, always emerging with the almost transparent green eyes. Hutch reasoned that she stashed a change of clothes in several locations, using them every time she needed to go to the nursing home. Her final change left her a dark-haired Latina. She had gone in this disguise to a nursing home. According to the source that reported back to Huggy, she saw a resident by the name of Magdeline Sweet. Sweetie, as she was called, had been housed in the home for less than six months. She was visited by a woman of Latin origin almost daily.

Hutch had gone to see the woman earlier. Mrs. Sweet had Alzheimer's, but some days were better than others. Sweetie was having a good day when Hutch saw her and she identified her visitor as Susan Roberts, her granddaughter.

The staff knew the dark skinned woman with the light green eyes as Susan Santiago, a woman who spoke broken English. She visited often, saying that she had been paid by members of the family to do so, and that the old woman believed she was her grand-daughter.

"Sad," one staff member said after seeing Hutch's badge. "No one comes except a woman paid to do it."

Hutch later learned that a middle-aged white woman had checked the old woman in the nursing home. This woman had identified herself as Charlotte Sweet, the daughter of the old woman. She had told the staff that she was new in town, and needed a safe place for her mother who was stricken with Alzheimer's. She was never to be seen again, calling only occasionally to check on her mother.

Susan Santiago had appeared one week after Mrs. Sweet had become a resident. All of this occurred six months before Susan entered Starsky's life. There was no doubt in Hutch's mind that the middle-aged white woman, who identified herself as Charlotte Sweet, was Susan. And that the old woman was really named Trudie Alexander, Jenny's grandmother.

At any rate, they had something now. Not enough to charge the Susan, but enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Hutch believed the old woman was telling the truth.

Mrs. Sweet told him that Susan was her illegitimate grand-daughter, and that she had been raised in Boston, but safely away from the legitimate daughter, Jenny. She went on to explain that Susan had been her nurse for one year before taking her to live in the Bay City nursing home. Mrs. Sweet was happy to be away from her son and and daughter-in-law, so never questioned why they never visited.

Mrs. Sweet was a kind woman who enjoyed talking about her grand-daughter.

"She's such a nice girl," she had said. "Always has time for me."

And then she told Hutch about how Susan used to sit and read Jenny's diaries to her.

"She reads everything to me but the naughty bits," Sweetie had said laughing softly. Then went on. "When Jenny died, Paul had her things transferred home. I think that's why Susan moved in with us, for the diaries and to see the only thing left of her sister. Paul would never have allowed it had he known."

Hutch found it remarkable that Paul Alexander had hired his own daughter to care for his mother without ever having recognized her. But then Susan was a master of disguise.

That was all Hutch could get out of her before Mrs. Sweet retreated to a world where memories are written on the wind.

Now, Hutch worked in his greenhouse, watering each plant with loving care. Dobey had given them both the day off. If Susan called she would be told they were out on assignment.

Hutch heard a sound behind him and knew his partner was awake. He had hoped that Starsky would sleep longer. The brunet had slept most of the day, scarcely rising except to go to the bathroom and take showers. Starsky had been avoiding him and Hutch knew why.

Hutch had returned home from his interview with Mrs. Sweet and found his partner looking at his body in the mirror. Starsky hadn't been aware of his presence, which was strange since it was a part of their whole sixth sense thing, but Hutch had been shocked to see the marks on his partner's body. There were angry, red marks on his back that looked like they had been made by a whip. They weren't deep, nor were there many of them, but they had to be uncomfortable. Hutch had retreated from the room and made enough noise to warn his partner before returning, but he planned to ask him about them.

"Want some coffee?" Hutch asked as soon as he felt his partner coming up behind him.

"Something stronger would be better," answered Starsky.

Hutch put down the watering can and faced the brunet. Starsky looked drawn and tired. He was skating close to the edge and it showed.

"Stop lookin' at me like that, Blintz."

Hutch came forward and placed a comforting hand on his partner's shoulder. "Just worried. Want to tell me what happened last night?"

Starsky swallowed hard. "What d'ya think happened?"

"Saw the marks."

Starsky dropped his eyes. "Don't want to talk about it. It's personal."

Hutch sighed.

"I wanna beer." The brunet headed for the kitchen, Hutch following.

Five minutes later, both men were seated next to each other on the sofa. Starsky had his head down, twirling the unopened can of beer in his hands, his legs bent and propped on the cocktail table. "I don't know what to do with this, Hutch. It's so hard being with her."

"Want to talk about last night?"

Starsky hesitated and Hutch worried that he wouldn't talk about it, but soon the brunet spoke, his voice low. "Things got a little out of hand when I got home. A little heated if you know what I mean. Ended up with her tying me to the bed…and ah…I allowed it."

He grabbed Starsky's hand, forcing the brunet to look at him. "She could have killed you."

"But she won't, will she?" Starsky said harshly. "She won't because she's in love with me. And I'm some sick bastard that allowed her to tie me down and…and…" Starsky jumped up from the sofa and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Hutch followed quickly, opening the door and finding his partner on the floor, heaving into the toilet. Grabbing a towel, he rinsed it in cold water and placed it over the brunet's forehead. He kneeled down behind the brunet, softly touching his back.

Starsky finished throwing up and fell back against him, allowing the blond to cradle him in his arms. "I'm sick, Hutch. The things we did…"

"Don't, you did it because you felt you didn't have a choice. But it stops now. You're not going back there."

Silence followed, Hutch holding his partner, feeling the tremors of his body. It seemed like time stood still, the two men on the floor, somehow not a part of the world. Hutch wanted to keep things that way; to hold on to the brunet with everything he had and never let go. But then he heard his partner's voice and knew that he could not.

"I gotta go back. We still don't have enough. I gotta go along with whatever she wants or she'll come after you. And we won't know when it'll happen."

"We know about the grandmother. We can put the rest of it together. You're not going back. I'm not going to let you sacrifice yourself like that."

Starsky broke from his embrace and came to his feet. Hutch stood facing him, both locked in a battle of wills.

"We ain't got a choice."

"The choice is we find some other way of catching her."

"And how many will die this time, Hutch? Answer me that. How many will die?"

"I saw what she did to you. I saw your back."

"And I saw the autopsy pictures of Jenny and the other three women. You know what a person looks like who burned to death, Hutch? Ya think it's pretty? Ya think it looks better than my back? You look at my back and see what she did to me. You see the scars, but they ain't nothin' compared to scars on my soul."

Hutch sighed, rubbing the line between his eyes, feeling the lump form in his throat. Starsky went on, his voice softened. "What we got is an old woman with Alzheimer's who claims that Susan is her granddaughter. Now, you and I both know she kidnapped the old woman, but we ain't gonna be able to prove it. It's circumstantial and if we can't prove it, we're gonna watch Susan walk out that door. And I ain't prepared to do that."

Dobey had called Boston the moment he received Hutch's report. The Boston police verified that Mrs. Sweet went missing about six months ago. According to the report, the family thought the old woman had wandered away from the nurse they'd hired. They'd been looking for her ever since, suspecting she was dead.

"I'm willing to bet the nurse was actually Susan," Hutch said. "Maybe they can identify her. Get her on kidnapping charges."

Starsky sighed. "And the parents were probably too busy counting their millions to even look at the nurse. And if they had, what would they have seen? Another phony face?"

Starsky put his hand on Hutch's shoulder. "I've got to go back there and I don't know if I can do it. But I got to."

"You don't, Starsk. We can use what we have. Maybe it'll be enough."

"It's got to be enough. And I'm not leavin' till I'm sure it is." Starsky stuck out his hands. "Look at my hands, Hutch."

Hutch looked down at them and saw nothing.

"You can't see it but there's blood on them. The blood of four women and now Kira. That's five people dead because of me. And you coulda been one of them. Now, I hate everything about her. But I'll hate myself more if I didn't do nothin' to stop her."

"So you allow her to tie you up? You allow her to do…"

"Anything she damn well pleases," Starsky interrupted. "I can put up with whatever she dishes out if it means she gets locked up in the end. I ain't gonna sit here and wait for her to come after you or find some other person to kill."

Both men stood looking at each other. Then Hutch spoke, "Then stay here tonight. One night to get your head on straight. Get some rest. You can tell her you're working overtime. Dobey will back us up."

"Can't. She'll get suspicious and she gets nervous if I'm not home by ten. Says it's because she loves me."

"Aww, buddy."

Starsky rubbed his head. "Think I need another shower, Hutch."

Hutch could see how difficult it was for his partner. All these years he'd carried the death of four women on his conscience, always blaming himself. Now he had a chance to put things right. But nothing could bring those women back to life. Starsky needed to see that. And he also needed to see that there was nothing he could have done differently, even with hindsight.

"Starsky, you did everything you could have done You told the cops, but they wouldn't listen. You called her father, but Jenny escaped. There wasn't a damn thing you could have done to stop what happened. You've got to see that. And you've got to let this guilt go before it destroys you."

Starsky swallowed hard and met his eyes. "I know you're worried about me. And ya got a right to, but I can't let this thing go. I lived with this thing more years than I care to count. And if she walks away and comes after you or somebody else, I don't know if I could go on."

It was an admission that chilled Hutch to the bone and he thought of a thousand things to say, a million words that would mean nothing to the brunet who'd spent years hearing Jenny's screams, blaming himself for her death and the death of the three women.

Hutch reached out and touched his partner's neck, felt the soft curls there, looked into the indigo depths of his eyes. He spoke softly, still wishing he could find the words to keep him there, safe, but there were no words, so he spoke from the heart. "Okay, you go back in there, back to her, but don't you dare let her kill you. You hear me? Don't you dare let her kill you."

Starsky's eyes softened, relating the love they both felt for each other. Hutch felt their connection, strong, unbreakable, a place where words were never needed. So he said nothing more, merely turned and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. On the other side, he leaned against the door, listening to the shower and the cascading water. He imagined his partner standing beneath the warm waterfall, desperately trying to cleanse himself, but Hutch wondered if Starsky would ever feel clean.

--

The next week went by slowly for Starsky. He'd taken a week off work, telling Susan that he wanted to spend more time with her. In reality, he knew he needed to stick close. Hutch was coming over for dinner the next day and both men were fairly certain that she would make her move then.

Starsky despised Susan and everything about her. She had no excuse for being a cold-blooded killer except her own greed. She wanted the money and the power that went with it. She indulged herself in the myth of the Medusa. She enjoyed the name. But he would use his hatred for her to bring her to justice. He was sick to go along with some of the things they did in bed, but it was all payment for his own sin. All the deaths, all on his hands. But no more.

He remembered the last weeks of Jenny's life as he sat at the kitchen table studying her sister. So much alike from the sweep of her brow to the way she held the cup in her hand.

On this particular day they were having dinner in his kitchen. Susan had again changed her hair, wearing it pulled back in a ponytail, the way Jenny used to occasionally wear hers. Starsky allowed himself to go back in time to the morning he realized he was a killer.

He had awakened one morning to find Jenny curled against him. She had been crying.

"I think I did something, "she'd said. "Something bad."

And he'd asked what it was.

"I don't know, but I can't get rid of it. I can't get rid of the blood." And then she'd dissolved into deep sobs. Sobs that cut through him like a knife. A girl was dead and it was his fault for not seeing how sick Jenny truly was. That was the day Starsky called her father.

Now Starsky stared at her sister. Saw the similarities, the mannerisms that were unquestionably Jenny's.

"Why do you look at me that way," Susan asked.

"How am I looking at you?" he asked, chiding himself for being so transparent.

"I don't know. Almost as if you're saying goodbye."

He laughed. "Course not. You and me are stickin' together like glue. We're not leaving this apartment for nothin'."

Susan got up and came to him, kissing him soundly on the lips and he didn't flinch. Instead he stood, lifting her from the floor. Right now he needed to be with Jenny. He needed to feel her body beneath his, taste her sweet nectar one last time. He needed to fill himself with her spirit, lose himself in insanity. They would make love on his terms this time. He would put away the past, the guilt, the blood, and he would give himself to the union of love. Tomorrow he would sign her sister's death warrant, but for now there was only Jenny.

--

It had been a little over a week since Kira died and things couldn't be better for Susan. She had been right to stay. Starsky was wrapped around her finger. He would give up anything to have her in his life. And their lovemaking showed how much he loved her.

Susan remembered last night, the way he'd been, the way they'd made love until the sun slanted in through the windows. There was nothing perverted about what happened between them. None of her usual assortments of whips and chains needed. But she'd been loved. For the first time in her life she'd been loved. She recalled every tender moment. Every kiss an admission of love. How had she gone so long without it?

Sex for her had always been about domination. The thrill of bodies coming together merely a biological release, but now, she knew what making love was about. He'd taken her virginity.

Susan stirred a pot of soup, adding onion and garlic to the mix. Ken was coming over for dinner and she was preparing a delicious meal. Afterwards, she had plans to put suspicion into her lovers mind. She almost regretted what she had to do, but Hutch still needed to die.

Tonight she would be Candy, a persona she put on with men who were somewhat impervious to her usual seduction techniques. She would send Starsky out to get some beer from the store and make her move on the big blond. Then she would make sure Starsky knew about it and he would get rid of Ken. Later she would give Starsky something to make him sleep, then she would pay a visit to the bothersome blond. It would look like a suicide. A lover scorned because the man he loved didn't feel the same way. It was an ingenious plot to build on the rumors that were already going around about the two. Susan knew the rumors were false, but they served her purpose.

"Hutch will be here any minute," Starsky said as he entered the kitchen, freshly shaved and wearing tight jeans and a white shirt.

"Almost done," she said. "I just hope he likes what I cooked." She made her voice sound small, almost timid. She looked shyly at the curly haired detective, practically batting her eyelashes. He came over, taking both her hands.

"Hutch will love it. You'll see."

Susan had stopped off and purchased health food from the local restaurant. She'd ordered Hutch's favorite, clearly aware that he would recognize the flavor. She had dished it into pans to make it look like she had cooked it from scratch. Then she had thrown away the evidence. Starsky believed that she'd spent the whole day cooking. In reality she had only prepared his meal.

"I sure hope he likes me," she said softly.

"He will. Just give it a try and remember you're number one in my life. He's out of here if he don't understand that."

Susan thought of the day her dog died and managed to create tears. Her body shook just a little.

"Don't, baby," Starsky said, wiping her tears away.

"It's just that I love you so much. I know what he means to you. I don't want to drive a wedge between you two." She watched the play of emotions cross his face. "I want him to be part of our lives. And he hates me."

"Just give it time. He'll see you the way I do. He's just protective of me. A pretty good trait in our line of work." His voice was whisper soft.

She turned her back and opened the oven door. She was wearing a short red skirt, so she could imagine the reaction it was having on the man so close to her that she could practically feel him pressed against her. She wanted him now, in the kitchen, in full daylight, with the windows open, but the doorbell sounded and he left her to answer it.

Susan pulled out a small bottle from her pocket. Things were going well, indeed.

TBC