Chapter Eight

The Chief of Detectives stormed into Captain Dobey's office.

"I plan to file a formal complaint with I.A. on your man Hutchinson!" He told Dobey. "He was completely out of line last night with that suspect, practically assaulted him right in front of me!"

Dobey regarded the stern man who was currently acting as the interim Chief of Detectives while their regular one, Captain Ryan, was out on prolonged disability. He knew Eaton's personally, they had gone back a long way. He was a good cop but very different in both style and personality from Ryan who was much more familiar with the workings of the Ninth Precinct and the personalities of its seasoned detectives who worked the inner city.

The fifty-two year old man was strictly old school and by the book. And it was also a well known fact the man held little respect for the new "breed" of cop that dressed, talked, and dealt with the criminal and social elements in a far different manner than when he or Dobey had worked the streets.

This breed of men did not separate themselves from the streets in clear dividing lines but submerged themselves into them instead in a push and pull balance that required tough ass grit one minute, compassion and understanding the next, and a damn good partner to back them up. But it was that very combination that made it all work and got results when others failed.

And as far as Dobey was concerned, Starsky and Hutchinson were his best team. But more than that, the captain also understood the closeness the two partners shared, and in the end, they were not so different.

Dobey listened to the tirade over lack of discipline and respect and complete disregard for procedure before he stood up to his full height and defended his man. "Hutchinson may have reacted rashly, I'll agree, but damnit, Mike, that's his partner and one of my own men out there that scum left for dead!"

"He was out of line!"

"You and I both know I would have done the same damn thing if it had been Elmo."

Eaton stopped his tirade at the mention of Dobey's former partner. A decorated cop, Elmo Jackson had been killed years ago when both men had worked the streets. His murder, even after all these years, still left a big hole behind in the black man's heart, a hole that had eventually forced Dobey off the streets and behind a desk.

Dobey lowered his voice and tried to make Eaton understand. "Starsky and Hutchinson are close, Mike, like Elmo and I used to be, probably even closer."

"That may be so, but it's no excuse for breaching regulations. The man's too hot headed and I can see now what Ryan was talking about."

Dobey grinned. "Actually I think Captain Ryan was referring to Starsky. Hutchinson is the calmer one of the pair. Unless, of course, it involves a matter of his partner's safety and well being. Not so unlike how Elmo and I used to be, if you remember rightly."

The older man's stern features loosened just a bit. "I remember." He then grunted. "All right Dobey, I'll let it go with a verbal warning this time. But keep your man in line!"

Dobey nodded.

Hutch was just returning to the squad room as Dobey escorted Captain Eaton out of his office.

The two men came to a face to face standoff.

In a stern tone, Eaton spoke. "Due to the stressful circumstances surrounding your partner's disappearance, Detective Hutchinson, I have decided to give you only a verbal warning this time for your conduct. See to it, it doesn't happen again though."

Dobey saw the cold, icy, glittering edge in the detective's eyes and as Hutch opened his mouth with what Dobey was sure to be a heated retort, he intercepted it with a stern bellow. "Hutchinson!"

Seeing the tight, fierce, authoritative look on Dobey's face, Hutch clamped his mouth shut.

Eaton looked down at the younger man. "Detective Hutchinson, as long as I am at this precinct acting as Chief of Detectives you will tow the line on proper interrogations procedures or next time it will become a formal matter for Internal Affairs, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

With a curt nod, Eaton departed.

Several sets of eyes in the squad had been listening to the verbal down dressing. Dobey's brow descended "All right, show's over! You men get back to work! Hutchinson, in my office!"

He turned on his heels.

Hutch followed. In a stern voice Dobey ordered the detective to close the door and sit down.

"But..."

"Sit down!" Dobey repeated.

Hutch slumped angrily down into a chair, wincing.

Dobey looked at Hutch. "You need to go get that knee checked."

"It's fine. It's just a bruise."

Dobey grunted. He then went around to his desk and eased his own extremely large frame into the chair, sighing deeply. "Look, Hutch, I'm as worried about Starsky as you are, but you gotta be calm about this."

His head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "Calm! Calm! He's hurt out there Cap!" Hutch's voice nearly broke.

"And loosing your temper isn't going to help find him any faster either. Eaton's a good cop but he's black and white, strictly by the book. Don't push the envelope with him again."

"He's an ass! He's been off the streets so long he probably would get lost going to the grocery store."

Dobey raised his brow in surprise. The off-the-cuff comment was something Dobey would have easily expected to hear out of the mouth of the hot-tempered brunet on a good day, but seldom from Hutch and it was a gauge to Dobey as to just how much Starsky's obvious injuries and his current plight was affecting his partner.

Dobey's compassion went out to the man. "We'll find him, Hutch. We'll find him."

~#~

The faired haired detective slumped a little deeper in the chair, his entire demeanor showing his frustration, tiredness and worry. The image of Starsky's rumpled, grimy appearance, clearly hurt, and running away from him had shaken him.

After he'd lost Starsky in the back alleys of the tenement buildings, Hutch had spent several more hours searching the area and talking to whoever he came across, but again he'd come up empty and by mid-morning, with little else to go on, he reluctantly returned to the precinct.

He could feel Dobey's eyes on him. "Go home, Hutch and put your knee up, get some rest. As soon as anything more comes in we'll get a hold of you."

Hutch shook his head.

"I can't, Cap. Not until I find him."

The phone rang on the desk. Dobey snatched it up. He listened for a moment. "Hang on. He's right here."

Hutch's head came up as he was handed the receiver. "It's forensics."

The detective listened for a few minutes to the preliminary report from the lab on the evidence gathered in the alley. The blood type found on the ground and also on the pipe only confirmed what Hutch already knew. It was the same type as his partner's. The lab had also been able to lift several good prints off the pipe and had already sent them out to be processed and run against what they had in their computers.

"Thanks, Margie," Hutch said.

After hanging up, Hutch limped back to the squad room and sat down at his desk, staring at the empty chair directly across from him.

A few minutes later, Minnie came in, setting several folders down next to him. "Hey, Hutch. Here's those files on Edward LaRue you requested."

"Thanks, Minnie."

With an injured partner out on the streets and after what Huggy had told him, Hutch thought it prudent to learn more about Eddie LaRue and his dealings so on his way back into the precinct, he'd radioed R&I requesting the files to be pulled. If nothing else, it gave Hutch something to do while he was forced to wait for any additional leads.

Hutch pulled the first file off the stack and opened it, drawing himself inward, trying to stoically mask his emotions.

He could feel Minnie watching him.

"You want some coffee, Hutch?" she asked. "Just brewed a fresh pot."

He shrugged.

Taking that as a yes, Minnie went over and poured a cup, automatically adding cream and sugar. When she set it down next to him, Hutch stared at the tan color. It was how Starsky usually drank it. Hutch preferred his black but had just gotten used to drinking it that way at the precinct because they often, without even thinking about it, shared the same cup. He didn't bother to correct Minnie.

Despite his best intentions, Minnie could easily read the worry still on his face. She sat down next to him and then reached over and covered his hand with hers.

Hutch looked up.

The touch was gentle, comforting and to his surprise, Hutch realized just how much he had truly needed it at that moment.

Over the years touch had always been an intrinsic element in his partnership with Starsky. Growing up, Hutch had never really been raised with physical demonstrations of affection in the stern aseptic environment of the Hutchinson household. But that had dramatically changed the day he'd met his warm, energetic friend.

Hutch had learned early on touch was how Starsky silently communicated those emotions he could never put easily into words as much as it was his expression of solidarity and loyalty to him. A soft touch on the shoulder, a squeeze of a hand on an arm to guide or comfort, or just leaning shoulder to shoulder when talking were as common an occurrence between the two partners as legs across laps or feet propped up on the other's shoulders during cramped stakeouts, or the slaps on the back, jabs in the ribs, and thunks upside the head.

Hutch never exactly knew when that reserved, stand-off part of his nature had changed to one more comfortable with physical expression, but more than that in realizing just how much he had actually needed and craved it too.

In was in the accepting of it from others that Hutch still had difficulty with at times. Except when it came from Starsky. From his partner it had become second nature, an extension of the bond they shared, and right now he was acutely aware of its absence.

Minnie, seeming to read his thoughts, gave his hand a little squeeze in assurance. "Hey. It's going to turn out all right. You're going to find him. Don't worry. And all of us here are going to help."

"Thanks, Minnie."

"Sure, sugar. Now tell me what I can do."

He looked up. "You just did."

Minnie smiled, the admittance not lost on her. She squeezed his hand again and winked before standing up. "Whatever you need, just give me a buzz."

Hutch nodded as she left.

He studied the files. There wasn't much additional information in them that he didn't know already about LaRue beyond the fact he'd managed to weasel out of several indictments in the last year either from lack of sufficient evidence or a nice loop hole in the system much to the annoyance of the D.A.

After an hour or so, Hutch tiredly shut the files and got up, stretching his aching back and protesting muscles. He cringed again at the twinge of pain in his knee. Stiffly he left the squad room for a much needed bathroom break, and then headed down to the second floor.

Still trying to figure out who had attacked his partner in the first place, Hutch hadn't eliminated the two drunks in the bar and wanted to ask anyone down in Vice if they knew of the black stripper named Trixie. Unfortunately neither Jenkins nor his partner Barilla, the only two present in Vice's squad room, had heard of her, but then again, strippers were a dime a dozen. They did promise to check with some of the other detectives and get back to him.

When Hutch returned to his own squad room, to his surprise, he found Detective Marcello sitting in his chair.

Hutch went over and shook hands, hope making his heart skip a beat.

"I was in the area and thought I would stop in and see if anything's turned up on your partner," Marcello said.

Hutch's face fell. "Oh. Sorry. I thought maybe you were here with some news for me."

"Sorry, detective. Truly wish that were the case. I've been pretty busy with trying to figure out who my stiff was in the park. Finally was able to ID him."

"Oh? So who is he?"

"A two bit ex-con by the name of Tommy Maas. Name ring any bells?" Hutch shook his head. "Still don't know who stiffed him, but I guess it isn't any big social loss either. But I might have a lead."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you remember I told you I had just come from a homicide of a hooker at the Stardust?"

"Yeah."

"Well, according to Maas' parole officer, his last known address was the Stardust."

"That does seem pretty co-incidental."

"Yeah," the detective replied. His glanced settled on Hutch. "Look. I hope you won't take this the wrong way, Detective, but are you sure you and your partner weren't on some kind of undercover assignment or private party down there last night?"

Hutch's eyes suddenly narrowed. "No. I already told you. We were off duty just having dinner. Why do you ask?"

Marcello shrugged. "No reason, I guess, other than the fact The Pits seems like an odd place for two cops to be having dinner and your partner's still missing."

Hutch stood up to his full height. "It's owned by a friend of ours. What exactly are you getting at?"

"Nothing," Marcello said hastily. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't mean to imply anything. It's just that if you were, but you're not at liberty to say for one reason or another, I just like to know so I'm not stepping on any sensitive toes, that's all." Marcello sighed then looked at his watch. "I gotta run, Hutchinson. But I promise to still keep my eyes and ears open about your partner while I'm following up on leads about Maas."

"Sure. Thanks."

Marcello nodded and left.

Hutch sat back down. It was then he noticed something funny. The file on Eddie LaRue was lying open. He could have sworn he'd shut it before leaving his desk. And then a second thought occurred to him. He had never told Marcello specifically he and Starsky had been at the Pits, only that he and Starsky had dinner at a friend's bar. Hutch stared at the files then back at the closed door.

Dobey wandered out of his office. "Cap. Do you know if there are currently any undercovers or Feds working on the LaRue case?"

"LaRue? Eddie LaRue?"

Hutch nodded.

He shook his head. "But I can find out, why?"

"I'm not sure."

TBC...

(again, thanks for all the wonderful feedback and support)