It seemed like hours that Starsky had been sitting slumped on the couch, waiting with the pain filling his head and clouding his sense of time and place. Of course, hours hadn't passed at all, only minutes. As a cop, he knew that once a homicide was called in things moved typically fast. Especially a homicide involving a cop. He struggled not to succumb to overwhelming fatigue and bone-aching pain. His head and ribs were screaming for something, anything to dull the throb.
In his far from lucid state, he felt uncertain of how much of the nightmarish scene around him were real and how much were a product of his own confused perception. Could he really be here beside Hutch's dead ex-wife? Been with her when she was murdered? Or was he the cop who had walked in to find her like this? Perhaps he really wasn't sitting here doubled over in pain, under police watch. Maybe he could stand up and walk around, walk outside – to find Hutch who was out there talking to the medical examiner and the forensic team. Maybe it was just a normal night shift on the job and his head was playing tricks on him.
The sound of a voice outside his apartment filtered in to him. He listened to the voice and caught some of the words. He looked sideways at the body, at Vanessa, and remembered all too clearly that he had not just found her like this, but had heard the shots that rammed into her chest, and the screams as she had faced death head on.
This was real – all too real. There was no Hutch outside waiting for him to join him as he always did to confer on the case. They weren't going to walk out of here together to let the forensic team wrap up the scene while they went back to the station to punch out the report before driving home together after another long tiring shift.
Tonight there was no 'together' for Starsky.
In this, he was alone.
Perez was walking around just outside the door of the apartment talking on his radio. He sounded agitated. The second officer, Cassidy, was still standing by Starsky, jotting down notes and looking over at Starsky occasionally.
Eventually Perez walked back in and came up to Starsky again. He looked more than a little harried. "How are you doing there, Sergeant?"
There was little purpose in telling Perez the truth. "I'm doing okay, Perez. There some sort of hold up with the paramedic team?"
Perez looked apologetic. "We've had word there'll be a delay in the Santa Monica Homicide team and the paramedics getting here. Apparently, there's been one hell of a pile up on Ocean Avenue – something to do with some shots having been fired between two vehicles – Traffic is at a standstill and all available units and paramedics have been called to the site. The two detectives let me know they will meet you at the hospital. They'll be tied up responding to this major pile up for the next hour or more. The Forensic Team will be here shortly and the Medical Examiner. I've spoken to the paramedic by phone, and he's satisfied that we can arrange to transfer you to the hospital by car."
The thought of getting away from Vanessa's body was welcome and any delay in being interrogated by the local crime team was okay by him.
"Sure. I'm fine to be transported. I'd rather not have them question me until I get something for this damn head. So we gonna head off now?" Starsky knew the drill only too well. Hadn't he been on the other side of this scenario countless times? Still none of that insider 'know how' helped at this point. It did nothing to stop him from feeling like he was floundering.
Perez looked even more uncomfortable. His gaze moved to his partner, Cassidy, and then toward the entrance of Starsky's apartment. "Umm…as you know, Sergeant, Internal Affairs from LAPD will need to be involved. Cassidy already flagged it with the team when he called it in."
Starsky nodded wearily. A cop with a dead body beside him, one with two bullets in it from his own weapon, would be more than enough to bring in IA. "I expected as much."
"Internal Affairs fielded the call from the Santa Monica Department about – ah – about you being involved in the case."
Involved in the case. Starsky almost smiled at the polite reframing. Well he was damn well involved, that was for sure.
"Well yeah, I'm sure they'll be lining up at the hospital, too. Maybe I ought to start assigning timeslots for the interviews. What'ya think, Perez?" His listless humor failed to bring any lightness to Perez's grave face, and he sensed that Perez had more to say.
"Ah – well, it seems that an IA lieutenant is already on his way here. He wants to ask you a few questions now - before we take you to the hospital."
Starsky felt the first flash of anger since he'd woken up from the blow to the head. The mention of IA always galled him. No amount of dread and anxiety about his situation could stop that automatic response.
IA? Here already? Bad news travels fast.
Before he had a chance to say another thing, Starsky looked up to see Lieutenant Roger Carlson walk in through his broken doorway. In his less than coherent state, he wasn't sure if his mind was playing tricks on him or if it really was him. This was the man Lydia dumped him for. The man she had cheated on him with. Christ! The man he caught in bed with her. The sight of Carlson was just another shock to Starsky's already over-taxed system. Perez jerked around a little to stare at him when Starsky muttered loud enough for him to hear. "What in fuck's name is he doing here?"
Carlson said a word or two to Cassidy before crossing the living room toward Starsky. Middle height and overly muscled, his suit pulled in all the wrong places, its fluid lines lost on his robust frame. His dark brown hair was almost black and swept off his brow to highlight a face that was too broad and flat to be handsome. Dark brows that were almost feminine, and an accentuated square jawline added to the severity of his appearance. Eyes that were pale brown and flat added an animalistic quality to Carlson. It was the same impression Starsky got every time he looked at Carlson, a man he knew only vaguely but despised.
As Carlson's gaze zeroed in on him, Starsky stared back. Perez shuffled awkwardly, as if unsure of the reason for the tension.
Carlson walked up to Starsky and stood above him looking down from his vantage point. "Sergeant Starsky, do you understand why I am here? "
Starsky felt an overwhelming urge to spit in his face but quickly suppressed it. "I understand why IA is here, sure. Standard practice. What I don't understand, Carlson, is why the hell you are here."
"No?" Carlson raised his eyebrows. "I thought that would be obvious. The Santa Monica boys contacted us as soon as it was clear one of LAPD's men was implicated in a murder." His expression was neutral as his gaze swept over Vanessa's body.
"And you just happened to take the call when it came in?" Starsky forced himself to sit up higher fighting through the discomfort the effort caused him.
"Yes."
"Where's your partner, Carlson? You usually show up solo to crime scenes?" Starsky knew he was out of line but couldn't stop himself.
Carlson smiled coolly and refrained from responding to Starsky's jibe. "Sergeant, can you tell me briefly what happened here tonight?"
Starsky frowned at him. "I've already given Perez a statement. You want brief points? Two men made a forced entry. One of them shot and killed the victim. Like I said to Perez and Cassidy, she grabbed for my gun, struggled with one of them while I was tackling the other one. The gun went off as the other one pistol-whipped me, and then he must have shot her again. After that they trashed the place, looking for what they wanted and ran." Starsky got it all out and then sat back a little watching Carlson's face. "I'd prefer not to say anything else until I can get medical treatment for my injuries. And I'm gonna want legal representation before I answer any more questions."
"So these men killed the victim in front of you and then left you alive?" Carlson paused a moment, pursing his lips. "Sloppy of them, don't you think?"
"That's what went down." He knew better than to open his mouth about the way he felt about Carlson. "Did you go out of your way to take this case, maybe because of our personal history?" Starsky knew it was unlikely Carlson would satisfy him with a response, but he was unable to restrain himself from asking the IA lieutenant the provocative question.
"Sergeant Starsky, you should be more concerned about your personal history with the deceased." Carlson again looked at Vanessa's body. "You've been found at a crime scene, beside a dead woman. You got here all by yourself. I'm just the officer on duty."
Tired, Starsky slumped further into the chair. Bracing his arms across his aching chest, he tried to filter out Carlson's voice.
"I understand this is Hutchison's ex-wife." Carlson rubbed his hand along his jaw as he looked down at Vanessa's body and not at Starsky. "Were you two having an affair?"
Starsky battled to hold back the verbal attack he wanted to unleash on Carlson and said nothing.
"Did Hutchinson know you were with his ex-wife tonight?" Carlson asked blandly.
Starsky sighed remorsefully. "You can ask me that when my lawyer arrives. I'm ready to go to the hospital now. Unless, Lieutenant, you want to go up on charges for neglecting an injured witness at a crime scene." He couldn't help adding the more than subtle goad.
Despite Starsky's own internal battle to stay cool and collected, Carlson displayed no such difficulty. He stood looking calm and professional as he noted the scene, quietly measured up Starsky and managed to remain non-reactive to Starsky's undertone of resentment.
Starsky scrubbed at his face, feeling the bristle of his stubble caked with dried blood from his head wound. The physical evidence of his injury made him feel displaced. Tonight he was playing the other guy. Tonight he wasn't the cop who got to ask the questions. He was the victim, the suspect, who was expected to come up with the answers.
The experience of being the focus of the crime scene and not the one in control of it left him feeling alienated and depersonalized. Add to that his pain wracked body and the humiliation of being scrutinized by his current number one least favorite person on top of that and he was left feeling as impotent and disempowered as he had ever been.
He could see Carlson's eyes settling on his face and upper neck, noting physical signs of evidence. Still Carlson said nothing more, merely nodded at Starsky's request to not be questioned any further.
Starsky turned to Perez. "I want to go the hospital now. I'm in pain, and it's getting worse." He looked at Carlson. "Anything else you want to ask me will have to wait until I have legal representation."
"As you prefer, Sergeant." Carlson replied. "We can leave any further questioning until later."
Starsky eased himself to his feet, determined to walk away from Carlson unassisted. Perez moved toward him after saying a few words to Cassidy. Carlson pulled out his cell phone and moved away.
All Starsky wished for right now was something he knew he couldn't have: for Hutch to be sitting beside him telling him that everything was going to be okay.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
By midnight, Hutch was still wondering what Starsky might be doing with Lydia other than finalizing their brief relationship. When his door buzzer rang, he reached the intercom before the third ring sounded. Expecting it to be Starsky, he was surprised when the video image showed no Starsky but two other men.
"What the -?" He squinted. What are Carlson and Simonetti doing here?
"Sergeant Hutchinson?" Carlson said into the intercom. "It's Lieutenant Carlson and Detective Simonetti from Internal Affairs. We need to speak with you."
Hutch, already feeling adrenalin pour into his blood system, hit the buzzer and let them in. "I'm up the stairs to the left. Just give me a second to get some clothes on and I'll be with you." He quickly shrugged into a soft t-shirt and hastily pulled on his jeans, then opened his apartment door. As soon as he saw their expressions, he felt his stomach drop away.
Oh God no, Starsky…
Hutch saw something in Simonetti's face that he knew he'd worn on his own face so many times before. A look that said he was the bearer of news he would rather not have to carry.
Hutch thought his legs might not hold him up. He backed away from the door as they entered, leaning on the wall for some support "Is – is - ?" He couldn't get it out. "Something's happened to Starsky, hasn't it?"
"No, your partner is okay, Hutchinson," Simonetti said. "However, he is in the hospital, injured, but not seriously. He's been admitted for a possible concussion and wounds from a physical assault."
Hutch's relief at Simonetti's quick reassurance was short-lived. "What happened? You mean he was attacked? He was seeing someone tonight. Did it happen then?"
Simonetti spoke quietly but clearly. "Hutchinson, Starsky was involved in an incident in his apartment. According to his statement, two men broke into his apartment, attacked him, knocking him unconscious, and killed a woman who was there, then ransacked his place and fled."
"They killed Lydia?" Hutch said, shocked.
The two IA detectives looked at each in surprise.
"Lydia?" Simonetti asked.
"The woman Starsky was with this evening," Hutch clarified for them.
Simonetti again turned to Hutch. "I think you might want to sit down, Detective."
Hutch tried not to wince when Simonetti used such a clichéd phrase. What were they going to tell him? "I don't need to sit down. Just tell me what happened," he snapped back, unsettled by the unaccustomed role he felt placed in.
Simonetti sighed. "Detective, we regret to inform you that the woman killed in Starsky's apartment was your ex-wife, Vanessa Hutchinson. She was shot at point-blank range with Starsky's gun."
Hutch faltered where he stood. Of anything that they could have said, this was by far the most unexpected. Vanessa dead! Vanessa and Starsky?
"What in God's name are you talking about? Vanessa? No – No that can't be right. Why would she be at..." He shook his head at the men. "None of this is making sense."
Carlson gave Hutch a few moments to absorb this information. "Detective Hutchinson, can you tell us your whereabouts this evening?"
His question broke into Hutch's escalating anxiety. "My whereabouts? What's that got to do with what's happened to my ex-wife and my partner?"
Carlson said, "Standard procedure, Hutchinson. You know that."
Hutch nodded, understanding but still rattled. Of course it was standard procedure. Anyone related to the victim was automatically a suspect. He'd be doing the same thing if it were his case. Still he was surprised at how unready he was for the question. "Here – I was here all night, alone."
"Can anyone verify that? Your neighbors, maybe?" Carlson looked about the apartment. Hutch had left half-eaten food and a beer bottle beside it on the table, still half full.
"I was – I sent emails from my home computer. They'll be time stamped." Hutch's head was spinning.
"Detective Hutchinson." Carlson's voice pulled Hutch away from Simonetti's question. "Was your ex-wife seeing your partner?" The starkness of the unexpected question floored Hutch.
Hutch turned to face Carlson. "What are you talking about? Vanessa and Starsky?" He heard the indignant anger spring into his voice. "No, he wasn't 'seeing' her! She's only been in LA for a few days. She lives on the other side of the country."
"Your partner was with her tonight in his apartment," Carlson told him.
Hutch felt flummoxed. It was Lydia who was supposed to be with Starsky, not Vanessa. He had taken that call from her that morning in the squad room. Or had he? Did that mean that the whole story about taking the time to end it properly with Lydia was a fabrication? Why would Starsky lie to him about that? His head was reeling with turmoil.
Vanessa and Starsky? And now she was dead?
Oh God, Starsk, what have you done?
You've never liked her, and always resented how she treated me – but – you wouldn't -
Simonetti was talking to him, he realized. "We need you to identify your ex-wife, Hutch. We'll take you to the mortuary."
Hutch looked at Simonetti. "Mortuary?" Simonetti's request was sinking in. "Alright." His voice was level and he strived for calm. He pushed away his doubts about Starsky and Vanessa, aware that the two IA men were watching him more closely. He couldn't afford to let them see his reactions or his fears about what could have possibly gone on between his ex-wife and his partner. Once he got to see him, Hutch knew that Starsky would explain and make it clear.
"Does our captain know about this? Is he at the hospital with Starsky?" Hutch asked the men.
"Dobey will be informed," was all that Simonetti said.
Hutch nodded and quickly disappeared into his room to retrieve his shoes. He could hear the two men outside talking quietly. Taking a moment, he tried to prepare himself to face seeing Vanessa at the mortuary. He resented Carlson's presence, and knew it meant trouble for Starsky. Although he had no personal history with Carlson, out of loyalty to Starsky he harbored a degree of animosity toward him.
Back in the living room, he went to the closet to retrieve his holster. Neither of the two detectives said anything as he fastened his gun in place and snapped the holster closed.
"Would you tell me where they took Starsky? Which hospital? UCLA in Santa Monica?" Hutch asked as he pulled his jacket on over the holstered gun.
Hutch wasn't surprised to hear what Carlson said. "Hutchinson - your partner is a suspect in your wife's murder, and therefore is under police guard. You know, of course, that you won't be able to see him until his lawyer arrives and we talk to him."
Again, Hutch felt the unaccustomed sense of feeling the divide between professional understanding and emotional acceptance. Carlson's level statement caused a flare of anger in him that he knew better than to show.
"I'll want to be there when he's finished with the questioning. He is my partner, Carlson. I'm sure you understand." He said it quietly but firmly, the unspoken antagonism concealed beneath his control. He could easily find out where Starsky was anyway, so was a little surprised by Lieutenant Carlson's avoidance.
Simonetti was waiting at the doorway and looked at Carlson before speaking. "They took him to Saint John's. UCLA was backed up with the trauma from some big traffic pile up earlier." Hutch didn't miss the quick sharp look Carlson shot at Simonetti when he said it.
Hutch nodded, grateful enough that Simonetti had made it easier for him, not that it would have been difficult to find out where he could find Starsky.
After he'd finished at the mortuary, he'd make his way straight to the hospital despite Carlson's cautioning. Eventually, one way or the other, he'd get to see Starsky and bring him home. And once they were alone, he'd get the real story.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
The coroner's assistant pulled out the drawer and presented Vanessa's body. He looked at her face; her eyes closed and unseeing, her skin already waxy. Her face was lifeless but still beautiful.
Hutch's hand moved toward the sheet, carefully lifting the drape from Vanessa's shoulders. His hand wasn't quite steady as he looked at the two bullet holes. Hutch let the drape fall back. Then he stood looking at her face, storing away the memory. He touched her face, letting his fingers gently trail across her cool skin.
He turned and nodded at Simonetti who stood to the side. He didn't look at Carlson. "Yes. It's Vanessa – my ex-wife." It was all Hutch said before moving away from the body.
He turned on his heel and walked away. He was finished with the viewing.
Hutch made it to the corridor before he slumped against the tiled wall. Vanessa's death hurt. Even though he didn't feel about her the way he once had. Her loss still was a chunk out of his soul. She had been a big part of his life once – his whole life - once.
With some effort he straightened up again and headed toward the exit. The two IA men talked quietly behind him as they followed him out.
At the doorway, Simonetti called him. Hutch stopped and turned. "I'm sorry for your loss, Sergeant Hutchinson. The Santa Monica homicide investigators will be contacting Dobey about getting a statement from you. And we may have some further questions for you in the future."
Hutch held up his hand in acknowledgement and left the morgue, using his cell to call for a cab as he exited the building.
What had gone on between Van and Starsky? Why did Starsky say he was meeting with Lydia? He recalled the strained look on Starsky's face when he'd been on the phone in the squad room supposedly talking to Lydia. So, he had looked that way because he was talking to Vanessa? Is that why Starsky had cancelled their evening at Huggy's?
Concern for his partner's well being warred with his fear regarding why Starsky had kept him in the dark. They'd never gone behind each other's backs before, but Starsky had lied to him. That just wasn't Starsky – unless...
No. He pushed his doubt away quickly. Starsky couldn't abide Vanessa. Even if Vanessa had put the moves on Starsky in some sick way to try and hurt Hutch, he knew in his center that Starsky would never betray him in that way.
All he wanted now was to find his partner and get to the bottom of this. Once he could see Starsky, talk to him face to face, he'd find out what could have possibly happened in Starsky's apartment tonight that would have resulted in his partner's injuries and his ex-wife's death.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
Dobey's familiar bulky form was the first thing Hutch saw when he rushed through the sliding doors of the Emergency Department. His Captain was huddled with a small knot of men outside the swing doors of the assessment bays. One uniform and two plainclothes men, whom Hutch knew instinctively would be the homicide detectives from the Santa Monica unit, were talking with him.
Dobey locked eyes with him as soon as he entered the open waiting area as though he had been expecting his arrival. Before Hutch had a chance to make a line toward the group, Dobey broke away from the men, intercepting Hutch before he reached them.
His Captain took a firm hold of his arm and directed him into a more secluded sitting area on the other side of the room.
Hutch was already impatient and restless and pulled against Dobey's hold.
"Where? Where is he -?" Hutch demanded, adeptly reversing the grip Dobey had on him and instead grabbing urgently at his Captain's forearm.
"In one of the exam bays, getting assessed. We need to talk."
"How bad are his injuries?" Hutch made no effort to sit when his captain directed him to the closest chair. His gut was clenched in apprehension with whatever Dobey might have to tell him.
Dobey had the details ready for him. "He took a solid crack to the side of the head with a gun butt. Some soft tissue damage to his abdomen and chest. Maybe a cracked rib from a hefty kicking. The main concern is possible concussion." Dobey pressed down hard on Hutch's shoulder. "He's going to be fine, Hutch. Nothing serious I'm sure. I spoke only briefly to the admitting doctor, but he didn't seem too worried."
It was enough to take away a little of the rock hard stiffness from Hutch's back and shoulders, and he sagged a little with the initial relief.
He nodded toward the two detectives who glanced his way now and then while they spoke together quietly. "Did you get anything more from them?" He heard the wildness in his voice and knew he was close to losing it. "What the hell has gone on?"
"I don't know the full story. I know you've spoken to Carlson and Simonetti so you probably know as much as I do, Hutch." Dobey watched his detective, as though still trying to assimilate the news.
"So, where is he now? Is he still down here in one of the exam bays, do you know?" he asked Dobey, his gaze wandering to the corridor that led to the treatment zones. He could feel his own restlessness mounting, his anxiety starting to bubble inside. Too many unknowns that might only be answered by seeing Starsky.
"All I know is that he's being examined, probably given something for his pain. Paramedics never made it to the scene – same reason as the Homicide Team. Perez from the Santa Monica Department – you remember Officer Perez? You and Starsky spent some time with him around last fall I think," Dobey interjected.
Hutch felt impatient, thought for a moment, pouting out his bottom lip in concentration and then nodded.
"Well Perez brought him in here himself. Said that Starsky was in bad shape after having waited nearly an hour with no pain relief. I only got to speak to Perez briefly as he'd been stationed to cover Starsky while the medical assessment takes place."
"Christ! An hour without any analgesia for his smacked head." The thought of Starsky suffering unnecessarily only added fuel to Hutch's already rising anger.
"It happens like that sometimes – you know that," Dobey said wearily. "Hell, most of time getting the stubborn fool to even let a paramedic near him is a major feat. How is this any different?"
"Its damn well different, that's why!" Hutch yelled and then immediately felt contrite at lashing out at his captain with such a senseless comeback.
"Sorry – I'm just – "Hutch ducked his head and walked over to the water cooler. With a head that was not quite steady, he filled a cup and threw it back. He repeated the process twice more before crushing the soft paper and tossing it into the basket.
Dobey was well used to his temper and waited for his detective to settle. "Hutch. Sit down and calm down; there's nothing you can do right now. You won't be allowed in to see him yet. Let me get us both a coffee, and we can talk."
Hutch begrudgingly took a chair as his captain took the other one across from him. He rubbed roughly at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose hard enough to make his eyes water. "I don't want any coffee. All I want to know is what in Christ's name has happened tonight."
Dobey nodded and leaned forward. Even at the late hour and ambient temperature he swiped at his sweating brow with his oversized handkerchief. Hutch knew his captain detested these hospital scenes as much as he and Starsky did – but this was a bedside vigil with a twist. Starsky had never been brought into hospital as a murder suspect before.
"Look, I only got the call about it myself after Starsky was brought here. The Homicide team hasn't even seen him yet – they have to wait until he gets a thorough medical clearance – check for concussion, confusion – you know the drill." Dobey looked across at the men. "The Homicide boys from Santa Monica never even made it to the crime scene when Starsky was still there. There was some big shit fest happening on Ocean – multi car pile up after some local gang shoot out."
"Maybe Homicide hasn't seen him yet, but Carlson already got to him at his apartment," Hutch spat out in disgust. "He and Simonetti told me that already. Carlson of all people! Jesus, Captain – "
"Yeah – I heard. Seems from what I learned from the attending officers he was pretty keen to be the IA officer in charge as soon as he heard what had happened."
"I bet he fuckin' was…"Hutch growled.
"Hutch – let's not worry about Carlson at this moment. I recommend putting whatever animosity you might have toward him to the side for now," Dobey advised. "I don't want anything to stand in the way of getting Starsky out of this mess."
"Alright. Fair enough," Hutch said, biting the inside of his cheek. He hoped the lawyer would sort it out soon enough once the relationship between Carlson and Starsky was brought to light. Starsky should be spared the angst of having Clare's lover handling the investigation. "So what do you know? Did the attending officers give you some background? IA said that Starsky and Van were together at his place?"
Hutch didn't miss that Dobey appeared taken aback by his query. "That's right."
"I just don't get it." Hutch shook his head. "He was meeting with a girlfriend tonight. He was trying to smooth things over with her –"
"Hutch," Dobey started slowly, as though he needed to impress reality upon his detective. "Starsky was with Vanessa when she was murdered, not whoever this other woman might have been. They were both in his apartment at the time." Dobey fixed him with his serious dark eyes. "Are you trying to tell me you knew nothing about Starsky and your ex-wife meeting tonight?" He asked the question with deliberate emphasis.
"I have no idea why he was with Vanessa." Hutch heard his own bewilderment and he felt almost treacherous admitting it, especially when he saw the reaction it caused in Dobey.
"But you knew that your ex-wife was here – here in LA?"
"Yes. She was back here because she was ill – needed treatment. I took her to the medical center." Hutch looked distant as he said it as though realizing how intangible it all sounded.
"Where had she been living?" Dobey asked.
"New York for the past two years at least."
"She couldn't get the medical treatment she needed in New York?" Dobey raised his heavy brow quizzically looking bemused.
Hutch realized how lame it sounded, and remembered Starsky's own early skepticism at her story. "Wanted to see me I suppose. At least, that's what I assumed when she showed up." Hutch said distractedly. He could no longer remain seated and stood up to pace. "Why? Who would kill Vanessa? Could it be connected with the murder case we're working on?"
Dobey narrowed his eyes at Hutch. "I didn't even know your ex-wife was back on the scene. I was the one who was going to ask you what the hell has been going on that might have led to Starsky being implicated in her murder?"
"Vanessa being back in town had nothing to do with Starsky. That I know for sure."
"Do you Hutch? And yet you had no knowledge of them being together tonight at Starsky's apartment."
"This is crazy! What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Hutch barked.
"Starsky's apartment was trashed – the assailants were looking for something," Dobey went on.
"I heard that."
"You have no idea of what they might have been looking for then?"
"At Starsky's place? God no!"
"So you had no concerns about any activities Vanessa might have been involved in that could have led to her being at risk of a homicide?"
"No – nothing. We only talked a couple of times. She was her usual self but evasive about her medical condition."
"And Starsky?" Dobey prompted.
"What about Starsky?" Hutch stopped his pacing and whirled around to glare at Dobey. "What are you asking me here?"
"Settle down, Hutchinson! You think no one else is going to ask you these questions?" Dobey snapped back at him. "What did your partner's involvement with your ex-wife amount to over the past days since she's been back?"
Hutch felt the confused anxiety rising in him again. "Except for one brief meeting at my apartment on the morning she arrived – nothing. He didn't buy the story of the illness." Hutch sighed. "When it comes to Van, Starsky doesn't buy – didn't buy, much at all. Starsky and Vanessa – well he didn't abide her all that much."
All too late, Hutch wished he could retract his disclosure to Dobey.
Dobey grunted and mopped again at his shiny brow and big broad cheeks. "I've already gathered that from snippets I've heard from the two of you over the years."
Hutch looked nonplussed. "I didn't even think you'd know about my marriage to any real extent."
Dobey gave him a wan smile. "It would probably surprise you, Hutchinson – but I was – I'm a detective, too, you know. I do pick up on details that at the time might seem irrelevant. Still – it's not exactly a positive for our boy, is it?"
"What?" Hutch looked initially strained and then angry. "You mean because he and Vanessa were never on friendly terms? You can't be serious?" Hutch felt strangely uneasy all of a sudden – unsure of his place with his own Captain.
"Again Hutch – pull your horns in. I'm not the one you need to convince here."
Hutch felt his unease increasing. "IA said she was shot by Starsky's Beretta," Hutch said. "How do they know that with certainty until the ballistic report comes back?"
"Starsky himself already stated he heard his gun going off before he blacked out."
"So someone tried to frame him?" Hutch thought out loud, frowning as he spoke.
"We have no idea of anything like that yet," Dobey said.
"Have you arranged legal representation for him yet?" Hutch asked.
God knows how Starsky must have felt when confronted with Lieutenant Carlson. Hutch hoped his partner had kept his cool and not said anything incriminating to him.
"I've got the Departmental Union Representative coming in. Jackson – Tanya Jackson. She should be here by now, in fact. Is probably in with Starsky now I would think."
Hutch's spirits rose marginally at the news. "She's a tough player. She won't let anything slip and will do her best by Starsky. She'll keep the Homicide boys in place if they push too hard at him."
It was impossible, he knew, but still Hutch wished he could be with Starsky while the two Santa Monica detectives questioned him.
Dobey was looking at him with worry. "Tough, isn't it? Being on the other side of the fence for once?"
Hutch rubbed at his temple. He was tired, confused, but still wary enough to close his mouth and hold his fears in. He kept seeing images and flashes of past incidences where Starsky had clashed openly with Vanessa. All the times in the last year of his troubled marriage when Starsky had risen up in indignant defense against the vitriol Vanessa threw at Hutch in liberal doses. Starsky resented her on so many levels for what he perceived she had done to Hutch. For some reason tonight, Starsky had decided to meet secretly with the woman who had always managed to antagonize him.
Now she was dead.
Until he could talk to Starsky, Hutch really didn't know what was safe to say. Even to Dobey who he could see was also looking troubled about how Starsky had wound up in this messy situation.
Lost in thoughts of the past and fears of the present, Hutch became aware of Dobey considering him with a heavy brow. He still hadn't answered his captain's last question.
"Tough? For me?" Hutch's mouth felt stretched tight with the strain of worry. "Imagine how it must feel for Starsky."
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