Chapter 13
Carlson arrived at the precinct long before dawn. IA was empty at this hour, giving him time to work on his own investigation. He logged into his own computer and made short work of accessing the common IA files on the Hutchinson woman's murder. Flicking through the screens, he scrubbed at his tired eyes. Christ, he was tired. Fatigued to his bones from his late night secret surveillances and his early morning clandestine starts while trying to keep abreast of the investigation.
It shouldn't be like this. He shouldn't be reduced to sneaking around his own office, stealing opportunities to unearth anything new in Simonetti's in-tray or elsewhere in the IA files. If Hutchinson had kept his opinions to himself, he would still be on the case, right beside Simonetti, not here in the still-dark morning hours like some thief in the night.
Still, as frustrating as it was, if he eventually managed to blow the lid off Starsky's guilt, he'd need records to back him up. With what he was putting together from IA files and Starsky's old cases, he had some solid ideas. He'd need more though, and that meant more research and more time looking. If and when he was prepared to share his suspicions with Simonetti, as a detective, he still understood the importance of good documentation to back him up. Without the paperwork his suspicions would mean little.
Carlson continued reviewing records of IA's investigation, and wasn't surprised that he couldn't find anything related to the package Dobey had put in his trunk. However, evidence on a supposed break-in at Hutchinson's was new, as was the intense focus now placed on this Jake Webster character from New York. Dobey had asked Officer Minnie Kaplan to trace the man's movements since the NYPD had passed him over.
So the break-in at Hutchinson's last night seemed to coincide with Kaplan following up on Jake Webster. Did Starsky and his partner stage the break-in to throw everyone off the trail? Or to cover up whatever Dobey had removed from the scene? He frowned. Because Hutchinson's apartment was now a crime scene, the two had been forced to stay at a hotel.
He wondered if Simonetti had ordered surveillance on the two, and was disappointed to realize he had not. Why wasn't anyone assigned to keep an eye on them? If Carlson was still in charge of the investigation, he'd have a whole team working and the two detectives would be under a microscope.
Realizing he'd learned all he could from the files, he shut everything down and left his desk. It wasn't yet light out. Even though he knew that realistically, there was little to gain by staking out Starsky's hotel, he felt compelled to drive over there. Starsky and his blond partner would be trying to find some way to eliminate Starsky from being the primary suspect. They might try to make an early morning visit back to Hutchinson's. It wouldn't hurt to scope out the hotel.
Maybe he'd get lucky. And maybe Starsky would get unlucky.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
Some time after five am, Carlson pulled into a parking spot outside the small Hilton hotel where Dobey had put the two detectives. He sat back in his seat, pleased with the good vantage point he'd managed to get near the hotel's entrance. Pulling out his document folder, he started leafing through the files he had printed out.
As he kept an eye on the entrance while reviewing his notes, he continued to jot down any new thoughts that came to mind. He was dying for some caffeine and wondered if it would be safe to jog across the road to the Starbuck's for a cup of coffee. He decided against it. He couldn't risk having one of the two detectives spot him on the street from their hotel window.
Early morning rush hour traffic was starting to pick up, but there was still ample parking on the street when a big black Chrysler Jeep Grand Cherokee double-parked in front of the Starbucks.
Carlson shook his head. People are so damned lazy. Someone wanted a coffee as much as he did and couldn't be bothered parking.
He was surprised when he recognized the two men who emerged from the car. Mob enforcers, both of them. He recalled them, linking them back to cases involving one of Tony Durniak's local lieutenants. I guess even mob goons need coffee in the morning.
He tried to go back to concentrating on the hotel entrance while continuing to skim his notes. However a mounting resentment at the injustice of the system distracted him from either task properly. Here he was, a respected Lieutenant in his Department, having to resort to slinking around, to keep at least some surveillance on a likely dirty cop. He truly hated that he was made to feel like this, while types like the mob scum he had just seen were free to walk the streets.
Double-parking on a busy street to get coffee - what smug bastards.
"What the hell!" Carlson jumped, his notes spilling to the floor and forgetting all about his internal rant.
The two enforcers exited Starbucks and started walking back to their car, not with coffee, but accompanied by Starsky and the man Carlson knew was Starsky's younger brother. A New Yorker with a record of petty offenses, according to what Carlson had learned from his research. He forgot all about his dropped notes and rested against the seat to watch the scene play out.
Neither of the men were being handled as they left the Starbucks with the two thugs. He saw no gun, no evidence of force. Obviously, Starsky's brother had arranged a special meeting with some members of Tony Durniak's mob. Vanessa had gone to Starsky because of his relationship with the Durniak family. Carlson believed Starsky's connection with Tony Durniak was the linchpin to this case, but no one else was investigating that. And now he was witnessing proof that Starsky was connected with the Durniak family.
As the SUV with Starsky and his brother pulled away, Carlson hurriedly bundled up his notes and threw them on the passenger seat, then started his own car. He'd have to be cautious; experienced mobsters would spot a tail if he wasn't careful, and, no doubt, they'd change cars at some point. He'd make sure they wouldn't spot him. He could at least document Starsky's apparent cooperation as he followed this new trail.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
Hutch hadn't been at the precinct long before he knew it was a useless exercise. They had nothing new.
As Hutch entered the squad room, Dobey was coming out of his office.
Dobey nodded in his direction. "Glad you're here, Hutch. The Homicide team and Simonetti are ready to start the meeting. I'd like you to join us." Without waiting for him, Dobey returned to his office.
While Hutch resented having to shift his own attention away from the search for Starsky, he knew Dobey was right.
"Hey, Hutch? You coming to the meeting?" Hutch turned to see Minnie Kaplan, a sympathetic expression on her face.
He felt comforted by her caring, knowing she understood how he felt. However, even Minnie could do little to break through his concern. "I can think of better ways to spend my time than looking at Simonetti."
"So can I." Minnie rolled her eyes, and then showed him a manila folder. "I managed to get some details on that contact in New York that Vanessa told Starsky about – Jake Webster. I'm bringing that information to the meeting."
"Has he got a record?"
She shook her head. "No criminal record. However, he's not in New York anymore. He landed at LAX two days ago. We've even got his hotel thanks to his phone records."
"Really?" Hutch snapped out of his slump for a moment to pay attention to the piece of information from Minnie. So Starsky's theory might well be right. This Jake guy could be the one who trashed his balcony in search of the meth. "Has anyone brought him in for questioning yet?" Hutch asked. "The New York police just passed him over."
"Not yet. I only got the details about fifteen minutes ago." She gave a shrug. "That'll be up to Dobey."
Hutch nodded, walking with her into Dobey's office. As Dobey acknowledged his presence at the doorway, Hutch's cell buzzed. "Excuse me, Captain," he said, retreating a few steps and putting the phone to his ear.
"Hutch," Starsky said, "it's me. I'm fine. I'm back at the hotel."
"Thank God!" Hutch closed his eyes briefly with the surge of relief. "Was it Durniak?" He kept his question brief.
"Yes. I'll tell you more when I see you."
Hutch turned back to Dobey. "Captain! It's Starsky. They've released him. He says he's okay. He's back at the hotel."
While the other officers talked among themselves, Dobey got on his phone to inform the investigators of Starsky's safe return.
"Starsk!" Hutch said while struggling to control his voice in front of the others, "Are you okay – really?" He moved away slightly from the gathering, turning and lowering his voice.
"Yes." Starsky gave a forced laugh. "Really, I'm okay. Where are you?"
"I'm at the station," Hutch told him. Going out of my mind with worry for the past few hours. "Along with everybody else, trying to track you down."
"I'm sorry Hutch," Starsky said, as though he could hear what Hutch had left unspoken. "I would have phoned you the moment I was out of the car but - they took my cell phone. I s'pose you already know that."
"We've got your phone here. I'll bring it to you. I'm...uh...in a meeting right now."
"Can you come back?" Starsky's voice dropped, the last word catching a little in his throat. "I – I really need to see you."
Hearing the naked need in Starsky's voice, Hutch wanted to bolt, but knew he couldn't leave without clearing it with his captain. "Let me talk to Dobey - "He glanced up, saw Dobey waving at him to leave with an exasperated expression. "Okay, Dobey's releasing me. See you shortly, partner." Severing the connection, Hutch gave a nod of grateful thanks in Dobey's direction, and then left in a rush.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
Carlson eased back in his seat as he again parked near the Starbucks. He'd successfully followed Starsky without being spotted, even after they changed cars. Carlson had waited patiently outside of the upscale office building where Durniak's people brought Starsky. Eventually, Starsky emerged with the same thugs, but without his brother. There was nothing to suggest that he had been roughed up and he was walking under his own steam. Carlson could only assume Starsky had been in a meeting with Tony Durniak's people.
Looks like the whole family is deep into Durniak's organization.
Carlson wondered about Hutchinson's involvement, though. He always acts so by the book, but if his partner's dirty, how clean can he be? Carlson knew too well their reputation for being the tightest team in the department.
He then followed the mob car as it brought Starsky back to Starbucks. Starsky immediately went into the hotel after leaving the car.
Carlson assumed Hutchinson was up there waiting for him. Once again, he parked his own car to wait for the next development. It was not long after that he was startled when Hutchinson's less than classy vehicle sped past and turned into the hotel garage. He wondered if Hutch had been at the station.
Following him discretely, Carlson drove into the garage in time to see Hutchinson park his sorry excuse for a car. Managing to find a slot with an unobtrusive view, Carlson slipped the car into the bay just as Hutchinson darted from his car, slamming the door before sprinting toward the elevators. The man was definitely wound up, slamming his hand impatiently against the button. When the doors opened, Hutchinson moved inside and disappeared.
Carlson couldn't risk following Hutchinson up to the hotel room, but wasn't sure what he was hoping to gain by waiting. Still, his efforts so far had been fruitful, so he might as well.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
"Starsk!" Hutch called, as he unlocked the hotel door, shoving it open.
Starsky was there instantly, his arms already reaching for Hutch. Grabbing Hutch's shirtfront, Starsky pulled Hutch hard against him. "God, Hutch, I need to hold you so badly right now."
Hutch moved with him. He buried his face in Starsky's hair, breathing against its thick softness while he gripped the back of Starsky's neck with both hands, keeping him trapped against him. "Starsky…you're safe. Thank God you're safe," Hutch whispered before turning his face to to graze his lips over Starsky's forehead, then down his nose toward his mouth.
Hutch moved his hands from Starsky's neck down his shoulders, back, and hips cataloguing the parts he knew so well, checking for any injury. Once assured that his partner was real and whole, his hands changed their tempo from careful touching to feverish urgency. Plowing his fingers deep into Starsky's hair, Hutch tugged his head back and tilted Starsky's face toward his. But Starsky was already lifting his face, his lips already open to find Hutch's. They moaned into each other's mouths, sealing their reunion with a long, heated kiss.
"Starsk," Hutch said, stopping only long enough to draw a jagged breath, "when I saw them put you in that car – I thought - I thought they were taking you to –"
"It's okay, babe. I'm okay. I'm sorry you had to see that."
"I should have gone with you this morning – if only –" Hutch was stopped suddenly by Starsky's rough insistence as Starsky pulled him back toward his mouth, his fingers digging into Hutch's jaw as he shook his head at Hutch's guilt ridden tone.
"Don't you start that shit with me, babe. No way do I want to hear you do that to yourself." Then he gentled the move with his tone. "I was so worried that I wasn't going to get back here to this – to you. Come here, babe. Come close to me; that's all I need right now. Let me have more of you." His words were breathy as he spoke against Hutch's lips.
Then Starsky's efforts slowed, the pressure of his kiss easing. Hutch felt him move away from his mouth to place small kisses against Hutch's cheek, then his nose, then moving up to his forehead. Hutch felt Starsky's tongue as it found a few errant strands of Hutch's hair, where it fell over his forehead. Starsky's wet tongue moistened the fine hair even more, moving it off Hutch's forehead so Starsky could press his lips softly to the furrow between Hutch's eyes. It was always more pronounced when he was worried – like he had been all morning.
Hutch sighed, easier now in Starsky's arms as Starsky's kissing went from wild and desperate to soft and slow. His hands were no longer bunching Hutch's shirt in a death grip, but slipping beneath his collar to stroke soothingly along his jawline.
"I think we both needed that." Hutch laughed unsteadily. The extended kiss left him light headed and loose.
"How the hell are we going to survive being at work all day without locking lips if we nearly eat each other up after a few hours?" Starsky smiled back, lifting one hand from Hutch's waist to rub his own swollen lips.
"Ah, but these were extenuating circumstances," Hutch rationalized, still not ready to draw away from Starsky's hold. "We get bonus kissing time when one of us thinks the other is in danger."
"Well if that's the case, we'd better get a different line of work, partner, because I don't think a day goes by when one of us isn't in danger. I can't believe how much I wanted to hold you," Starsky said sincerely. "It's almost frightening how much…"
As the tension finally lifted, Hutch moved away from Starsky. "Let me look at you. I can't believe that asshole didn't leave marks on you. " Hutch scanned Starsky's body. Seeing dried blood on the front of Starsky's shirt, his heart clutched. He touched the stain. "What's this? You said you weren't –"
"And I wasn't." Starsky shook his head as he covered Hutch's hand. "It's not mine." He grimaced. "It's Nicky's."
It was then that Hutch realized he hadn't given one thought to Nick. Still, he couldn't summon an ounce of guilt.
"Is Nick -?" Hutch searched Starsky's eyes. Was Nick hurt badly or -? But all he saw in Starsky's expression was resentment and hurt.
"Nick's alive." Starsky sounded dispassionate. Detached.
"The blood?" Hutch asked. "Did Durniak's men beat him up?"
"No, Durniak didn't beat him up." Starsky sighed and walked to the small fridge as if the effort to do so was too much for him. He turned and looked Hutch "I did. Nicky sold me out. He sold his only brother out to Durniak."
Although Starsky's admission shocked him, Hutch made no comment. He waited as Starsky pulled out a can of Coke from the fridge and drank from it before speaking again. "That's one part of the story. The rest you need to hear. I wanted the chance to talk about what happened so we can decide how to handle Durniak's-" he paused, seeming to hunt for the best word, "proposal."
"And Nick? He's still with Durniak?" Hutch asked, placing his hand on Starsky's shoulder.
Now that the initial need for each other had been met, Starsky seemed drained. Hutch realized that whatever had gone on with Durniak had really shaken him up.
"Oh yeah, Nicky's with Durniak – but not in the way he imagined he'd be." Starsky's mouth twisted. "My little brother has been working with Durniak the whole time he's been here. In fact, he's probably been in Durniak's pocket for quite a while."
"I see," Hutch said. So his concerns about Nick were on the money. No real surprise for Hutch but it was a kick in the heart for Starsky to finally reach the same conclusion.
Starsky nodded. "You always have, Hutch. Seems I'm the only one who's been blinded by family loyalty."
Hutch tried to think of something to say that might possibly ease Starsky's terrible disappointment. "Well maybe Nicky was just trying to –"
"Don't." Starsky held up his hand, cutting off whatever Hutch was going to say. "Don't even try to pretend just to protect me; you've always known that Nicky was what he is. You've known it long enough – I've just refused to listen to you for too long."
Hutch nodded quietly. "Okay, I won't. So what now?"
"Now – well, now I'm truly fucked. Thanks to Nicky, Durniak's put me in a corner – one I can't see my way out of." He sounded tortured as he crushed the empty coke can, squeezing it so hard that his forearm pulsed. "A really tight corner."
Hutch took the can from Starsky's grip and placed it on the desk, his movements calm and measured. He was trying to bring his partner back from the despondency overtaking him. "I thought I lost you this morning, Starsky. Lost you." He stressed the word with all the pent-up emotion he felt. At the same time, he gently unfurled the hand that Starsky had used to crush the Coke can. "So you feel like you're in a corner? Hell, corners we can deal with, partner - as long as we're in them together."
Starsky caught Hutch's fingers in his own hand, bringing them up to his lips and kissing them hard, as though they might hold back any mounting negative emotions he couldn't contain. "I hope you're right partner, because I'm not feelin' too good about my prospects right now."
"Tell me what happened," Hutch said, not letting his fingers leave Starsky's face, "and we'll take it from there."
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
Carlson had just begun to settle back in his car seat after seeing Hutchinson enter the elevator when movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He had been aware another car had driven into the garage not long after Hutchinson's but had paid it little attention. He heard a car door slam.
He noted a person moving across the garage. Only vaguely aware of the figure, he didn't focus on the man until he approached Hutchinson's car. Carlson narrowed his gaze and shifted lower in his seat to minimize being seen.
Why would anyone be interested in Hutchinson's car? It wasn't exactly a prize, nondescript, middle of the road, and far from flashy. Not even powerful.
The man was Caucasian, seemed to be around thirty, maybe five ten, and wearing a good quality grey suit without a tie, a baseball cap pulled down low, and dark glasses. Carlson couldn't get a good look at his face. But he was definitely zeroing in on Hutchinson's car.
Glancing around, the man circled the vehicle, checking it out. He spent some time looking in through each window, holding his hands against the glass to help him see the interior better.
He can't really want that car? Carlson thought again as he watched the man first try the door handles on the driver side.
Next, the man moved to the trunk, testing it quickly before pulling a short crowbar from under his jacket. Wedging the bar beneath the lip of the trunk, he began working to pop the lock with short quick motions.
Carlson now had a problem. This wasn't just a civilian's car this idiot was breaking into. It was a police officer's car. Police officers often carried extra weapons secured in their vehicles, especially their trunks, and with Hutchinson being a Homicide detective, Carlson thought the odds would be high that he would carry one.
But if Carlson was forced to bust this guy, he'd have to explain to his superiors what he was doing here in the first damn place- and there was only one possible explanation. The admission would be enough to get him reprimanded or even disciplined. And it would destroy any chance of him investigating this case further. For the time being, Carlson decided to stay put. Maybe the jerk would move on to another car; maybe Hutchinson would materialize again and deal with him in his own way.
The man paused for just a moment and looked around the garage again, making sure no one else was in the vicinity. Seemingly reassured, he slipped off the dark glasses that were probably limiting his vision in the dim garage. That allowed Carlson to get a better look at his face.
Carlson blinked, staring at the man. What were the chances? Carlson realized that he was watching Jake Webster, the man Minnie Kaplan had traced from New York to LA. He'd only first seen that face less than two hours ago at the station. So, this wasn't a random car theft. Webster had to have tailed Hutchinson from the precinct, waiting for an opportunity to get to his car. Otherwise how could he have shown up so quickly and known where Hutchinson's car was at this particular point in time?
And why?
What was he hoping to find in the car – or at least in the trunk?
The way Webster was going at the trunk of the car he must surely know or, at least, think that there was something important in Hutchinson's car. Could he actually think Hutchinson was stupid enough to store the meth in his car?
Carlson continued to watch Webster while trying to decide what to do.
He felt the dilemma of his situation. He was a cop, driven by well-honed instincts and reactions. He couldn't ignore a crime being committed right in front of him. And he knew Dobey wanted a crack at talking to Webster, just as much as Carlson was starting to want the same opportunity. This guy might turn out to be an important link between Starsky and Vanessa Hutchinson. But apprehending Webster would reveal that Carlson had been watching both Starsky and Hutch.
Christ, did he really need this right now? Or – should he look at it, despite all of the problems it would cause him, as yet another opportunity that was falling into his lap? No, not luck but the pay off for good solid police work, keeping suspects under surveillance. He was the one doing what Simonetti wasn't – following Starsky and Hutch. So, he was the one getting the leads that IA were missing.
Hutchinson's trunk gave way and opened. Carlson leaned closer to get a better view of Webster's actions.
Webster leaned into the trunk and started ransacking the contents. He pulled out the cover on the spare tire, leaning it against the edge of the trunk. Then he checked out the spare and whatever must have been around it. Even if the meth was in the trunk, it would have to be in a sizeable package, and so far, there was no sign that Webster had found anything like that.
Carlson let him continue.
Webster seemed agitated. Suddenly, something in the trunk grabbed his attention. He picked up the crowbar and started working hard on an object that seemed to be secured to the bed of the trunk.
Dammit! Now Carlson had no choice. That could mean that he had found the assault weapon case for sure, as it would be welded or bolted to the floor of Hutchinson's trunk. If he didn't act now he would be allowing a criminal to steal a dangerous weapon.
Carlson took out his gun and exited his car quietly, advancing on Webster, who was too preoccupied to notice.
Carlson shoved Webster hard against the open trunk, knocking him off balance. At the same time, he grabbed the hand with the crowbar and yanked it roughly behind Webster's back.
Taken by surprise, Webster yelled in pain as he lost his grip on the crowbar and it clattered to the concrete floor. Carlson shoved Webster's face against the exposed spare tire, and held his body down, restraining him.
"Police. Freeze!" Carlson shouted, handcuffing the arm he'd secured behind Webster's back, then grabbing Webster's other flailing hand and cuffing that as well. "You're under arrest, moron." He grabbed Webster by the collar of his jacket and jerked him roughly to his feet.
Then Carlson spotted what had captured Jake's attention. He was right - Webster had been trying to pry open the metal locked gun case in Hutchinson's trunk. It no doubt held an assault weapon Hutchinson could be called on to use in special circumstances. If Jake had had more time, he could have eventually pried it open. Did he think the meth could be in there?
Carlson patted the man down quickly, before removing a wallet from Webster's back pocket. "Okay, on your knees, then on the ground." He didn't give Webster a chance to argue, forcing him to lie down on the garage floor. Carlson pulled plastic ties from his pocket and used them to secure Webster's ankles. Webster cried out as the hard plastic bit into his bared ankles.
With his suspect secured, Carlson flipped the wallet open to confirm Webster's identity "You, Mr. Webster, are under arrest -"
"Just for jimmying a trunk on this heap?" Webster protested feebly.
Carlson rolled his eyes. "You have the right to remain silent," he started before Webster could say anything else. He wasn't about to blow this arrest on a technicality, and finished Mirandizing the man. "You're under arrest for breaking into a police officer's vehicle and for attempting to break into his locked gun box to steal his weapons - which makes this a felony burglary, genius."
Webster jerked his head up from the ground, his face turning to Carlson, white with shock. His eyes flickered over Carlson's badge. "But I wasn't –" he began haltingly before stopping suddenly, no doubt realizing he was better off saying nothing.
Carlson needed to call this in and get a black-and-white to take the suspect to the precinct. But before he did that, he took the opportunity to inspect Hutchinson's trunk. The contents were in disarray, overturned, or pushed aside. Hutchinson had typical police paraphernalia - blankets, a first aid kit, some flares, some literature - and the locked gun box that was pretty beat up. Nothing else out of the ordinary. No concealed package that could contain the amount of meth in question – in fact, no packages at all.
"You want to tell me what you were looking for in here, Jake?" Carlson asked him, tossing his head toward the interior of the trunk. "That is, besides a police officer's weapons?"
Webster faltered at the mention of weapons but didn't answer. Apparently, he'd actually listened to the Miranda warning.
"Obviously, you weren't out to steal the car because you only tore up the trunk."
Webster still said nothing.
"Do you know who owns this vehicle?"
Again, Webster offered no response.
"I think you do, Jake," Carlson said as he continued to look through Jake's wallet. "I don't think it's an accident that you broke into this specific car. I think you came all the way from New York to do it. I think you were watching for this car's owner at the Metro police station where he works. Since it was impossible to break into the car in the police parking lot, I think you followed the car from the precinct just now, and waited for the driver to leave. It'll be easy enough to prove. Lots of cameras around the police station and along the streets where we can track your rental car." He waved the receipt from the rental company from Jake's wallet at him. Information on the receipt would help them find the car to ID it on the precinct's cameras.
Webster attempted to look indifferent. He failed miserably.
"Okay, if I'm wrong about that then, the only other assumption I can make is you wanted to get your hands on a high powered police weapon. That works, too. It's a serious enough charge to keep you in jail for quite a while. Congratulations."
Webster looked nervous all over again. "I want a lawyer."
"You'll have plenty of time for that after you're booked." Carlson tried not to think of what this arrest could cost him professionally. Somehow, he had to find the way to turn it around.. He thought about Jake staking out the precinct lot, waiting for Hutch...
Considering his next move, Carlson pulled out his phone and called for a black-and-white to collect his suspect. With that taken care of, he made his next move.
"This is Lieutenant Carlson," he said to the dispatcher. "I need to speak to Captain Dobey. It's urgent."
After a moment, he heard the Captain's voice. "Dobey here."
"Captain, this is Lieutenant Carlson. I'm in the parking garage at the Hilton Hotel near the Ninth Precinct. I've apprehended a suspect who broke into Detective Hutchinson's car while it was parked in the garage of the hotel."
"I don't understand," Dobey said.
"When I was on my way to work this morning, I spotted a man acting suspicious in the Metro parking lot. He seemed to be staking out Detective Hutchinson's car where it was parked in the precinct garage. When Detective Hutchinson left the precinct, the man followed him. So, I followed the suspect, who continued to tailed Hutchinson to the hotel."
"Is Hutchinson there with you and the suspect?"
"No. After Hutchinson parked and left his vehicle, this man attempted to break into his car and succeeding in jimmying the trunk open. He seemed to be searching for something. I apprehended him before he broke into the locked gun box in Hutchinson's trunk. His identification says he's Jake Webster from New York." Carlson let this piece of information register with Dobey.
"Jake Webster?" Dobey suddenly shouted into the phone. "You've arrested Jake Webster at Hutchinson's hotel? He's an associate of Vanessa Hutchinson. We'd very much like to question him." Dobey paused, and Carlson suspected Dobey's surprise was masking any doubts he had about the validity of Carlson's story.
"Have you spoken to Hutchinson since you've secured Webster?" Dobey asked.
"Not yet. I thought it might be best if you contacted him about this. I'm still on the scene," Carlson said. "I've called a black and white unit to take him to the station and I'll stay here with Hutchinson's car until –"
"No." Dobey said it with some finality. "Bring the suspect in yourself and have a uniform stay with Hutchinson's vehicle. I'll talk to Hutchinson myself and arrange for the car to be dealt with after we talk."
Carlson kept his tone deferential, even though it irked him. He was in for a hard enough time without questioning Dobey's decisions. "Yes Captain, I'll do that."
Carlson ended the call and waited for the squad car. He had a bad feeling busting Webster was going to work against him. He wondered if he had just set himself up for further discipline, or worse, aided Starsky and Hutchinson by apprehending Webster.
Wouldn't that be just his luck?
Next to Chapter 14