Voodoo Dolls

(Based on the episode Murder on Voodoo Island)

By TLR

Plot: The accidental deaths of Bay City's uniformed cops leave more questions than answers for Starsky and Hutch.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Midnight.

Bay City's streets were glossy with the nocturnal luminescence of neighborhood street lights when Starsky and Hutch got out of the Torino and went inside the little white house cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape.

The third young officer from their precinct dead in a month's time. No obvious murder weapon, no apparent cause of death, but an autopsy would reveal that this twenty-five-year-old died from heart failure. The second victim died in a head-on crash in a high-speed chase. The first, a water skiing accident resulting in a drowning. At first, the tragic deaths looked accidental, but now it seemed like something else was at play.

As Starsky and Hutch entered the uniform's bedroom, they saw the police photographer snapping pictures of the body from varying angles as the crime lab techs did their jobs.

"His boyfriend woke up to get a drink of water and found him."

This spoken by newly promoted detective Denise Cambry, a petite multiethnic woman, as she approached Starsky and Hutch. Her blonde partner, Liz Hart, was with the decedent's paramour in the next room, offering condolences and asking questions.

Denise held up a clear evidence baggie that contained what looked like a miniature doll in a crude but recognizable uniform of a cop.

"What's that?" Hutch asked with feigned naiveté, fishing to see what she would say.

"Kept out of the media," Denise explained. "With the first cop victim, Jay Peters, we didn't know exactly what we were dealing with. Looked like a water skiing accident. The second, Lars Kenrick, car crash, also looked like an accident but raised our suspicion. This third cop in the bed, Jamison Lykins, looks like natural causes, maybe a massive stroke or heart attack, but the doll proves our theory: Some weirdo out to kill cops based on some kind of weird fantasy."

"Well, um," Starsky said with a small smile, "that's a voodoo doll."

"We know," Liz said as she approached, having questioned the young boyfriend in the living room. "One of these was found on or near each body. We've been researching. Captain Dobey said you guys have experience with this sort of thing. We thought we'd get some insight."

"Oh yeah," Hutch said with strong sarcasm. "We moonlight as voodoo consultants. Right, Starsk?"

Starsky accepted the bag from Liz, his fingers brushing over the plastic with unease. The doll brought with it not just the urgency of the case but a dark reminder.

"Like a bad rerun," Hutch murmured to himself as he gazed at the doll, his fingers absently going to his throat.

"What was that?" Denise asked him.

"Uh, nothing," he answered. "I said I hate these bad midnight runs."

Though the memories of the specific act were lost to Starsky, and Hutch had dismissed its impact to spare his partner's feelings, Starsky hadn't forgotten that Hutch said he'd tried to kill him on top of the island cliff. Starsky couldn't recall the details of the incident. Not that he wanted to. Maybe it was a blessing that he couldn't. He only wished that Hutch could have shared in that blessing.

(I'm all right. You didn't hurt me)

That was enough for both of them at the time. All they needed to put it out of their mind.

Denise and Liz saw a look pass between them, but weren't sure what it meant, unaware that their fellow detectives were now involved in mysterious deaths entwined with past events that refused to stay buried.

::

Just before dawn.

Starsky's apartment was bathed in the silver hue of the moonlight that glowed through the gaps in the curtains. Sprawled out on his bed, this morning he was in the throes of a restless dream. Sweat beads formed on his brow, his breath came in rapid pants, and his fingers clutched the sheets tightly, unaware that he was gasping "Hutch, Hutch," in his sleep.

In the confines of his living color nightmare, he and Hutch were back on the island cliff, the sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the rocky shore below. The eyes of the bokor burned into him, willing him forward, blurring reality, willing him to obey. And then, there was Hutch, confusion and concern evident in his eyes just before Starsky charged him, hands grabbing his throat, crushing.

"Starsk," Hutch choked, one hand on his throat, the other out to ward off his advancing, possessed partner.

With an agonized cry, Starsky woke, still panting, staring at his hands. Overwhelmed by the weight and shock of the brilliant imagery, the surreal sensation of his hands around Hutch's throat, he turned his face into his pillow and sobbed. His own mind had betrayed him, unearthing the very memory he hoped would never surface.

::

Morning light arrived, bringing with it the pastel colors of a Bay City sunrise. The knock on Starsky's door was soft, almost hesitant. When Starsky opened it, his puffy, red eyes met the concerned gaze of Hutch.

"You look like hell," Hutch said gently, trying to mask his concern with lightness. "Bad burrito?"

"I had a dream..." Starsky's voice cracked. He was too weak and too wrecked to pretend. Defenses down. Hurting inside. "The island. The cliff. I...nearly killed you."

A look of pain and empathy softened Hutch's features. "I'm sorry, Starsk."

Starsky stared at him. "What are you sorry for? I damn near choked you to death." He looked at his hands again. They were shaking.

"I don't know..." Hutch never wanted his friend to remember it, or feel it, or even be aware of it. It was something Hutch had all but forgotten about, minimized, denied. He was okay, Starsky was okay, he had dismissed the voodoo religion, and that was that. "I'm sorry to see you hurting like this. You didn't mean it. You weren't yourself."

"Oh right," Starsky growled as he paced from the living room to the kitchen and back. "It was the voodoo doll. After that...you still...trust me?"

Hutch couldn't help the laugh that escaped. "Of course I trust you! What the hell kind of question is that? I told you it wasn't you. I don't hold that against you. Why would I?"

"Hutch..." His voice broke, trembled. "I'd eat glass for you. I'd lay my life down right here and now if necessary. How could I do that to you? And now, knowing what I did, how can I trust myself?"

Hutch took his arm and stopped his pacing. "Starsk..."

Starsky stepped away; Hutch pulled him back. "Starsky!"

Starsky gave him his full attention.

"It's okay," Hutch said close to a whisper. "I know you. I know you'd take a bullet right here right now if you had to. That's why I don't hold it against you. I know you."

Starsky's head went down, and Hutch pulled him close with a whisper, "I know you."

Starsky held tight to him, and released his anguish in aching sobs.

"That's it," Hutch said patting his back. "Don't hold it in."

When Starsky was more settled, Hutch went to the kitchen. "Here. I'll make us a cup of coffee before we head out. Dobey wants to talk to us about the case. Liz called. Fourth victim went down about five this morning. Brad Granger. Hit and run while he had someone pulled over and writing a traffic ticket. Uniform."

"And doll?"

"And doll."

Now drained from his emotional, adrenaline morning, Starsky shuffled wearily into the kitchen and took the cup of coffee Hutch offered him. Without drinking yet, he said, "Why the dream? Why four dead uniforms? Why now?"

"I don't know," Hutch said. "But I'm glad you had your dream, boyo. Now it's all out in the open, and we can help Denise and Liz with full-on clarity."

::

They drank their coffee with a croissant, then stepped out into the burgeoning light of day. Now that they had overcome a demon, they braced themselves for the balance.

::

The squad room was a somber place this morning, as the officers mourned the loss of their fourth man. Captain Dobey asked Starsky and Hutch to assist Denise and Liz with their case in an advisory capacity, since Cambry and Hart had been working the investigation since the first victim.

From the desk Denise and Liz shared, Hutch observed with a watchful eye as Starsky carried over their second coffee of the morning and handed one to him. The female detectives already had their iced coffees.

"Okay, let's see what you got," Hutch said as he surveyed the case files, crime scene photos, and four bagged voodoo dolls splayed across their desk. "Four uniforms, four dolls. You said you've done your research. Anything? Any leads?"

"No," Denise said. "No prints, hairs, fibers, fluids. We've talked to the families. No connection to voodoo practices for any of them. None of them have any enemies out of the ordinary. No more than any other officer has. Someone has it in for cops."

"Nope," Starsky corrected. "Not just any cops. These cops. What do you know about these victims? What do they have in common?"

Hutch smiled and relaxed a little, glad to see that the case was giving his partner something concrete to focus his attention on.

"Well," Liz said, "we don't really know, yet."

"Maybe you better find out quick," Starsky said. "To prevent number five."

"Hey," Denise said, "we're doing the best we can. If you two think you can do any better, then by all means-"

Liz steered her partner toward the coffee machine and spoke privately to her, then after exchanging a brief hug, both returned with small smiles.

"What she means is," Liz said, "we appreciate your help, and we hope to catch this guy before number five."

There was a file on each of the four victims. Hutch opened all four at the same time and looked them over. "Peters. Kenrick. Lykins. Granger. Their killer had to have seen them somewhere, maybe in person, maybe in photos, on the street, who knows, in order to make a doll in their likeness. The killer is either into voodoo for real, or wants us to think that he is, to misdirect us."

"So let's think," Starsky added, "about why someone would want these four particular cops dead. What is it about them? Did the killer know them personally? Was there some kind of grudge? A cause or a message? What was the reason? Were these cops clean? Had they been in any trouble? Owe anyone money? Favors?"

"Not that we know of," Denise said, then looked at Liz. "But maybe we should go back to the two widows, one girlfriend, and one boyfriend. Ask more questions."

"Yes," Hutch said, "and ask yourselves more thorough ones, like how does he get close enough to the bodies to leave a doll without being noticed? He's obviously one of the first ones on the scene, somehow. He blends in, doesn't rouse suspicion. Is he a cop? Ambulance driver? Bystander? Question the professionals at each crime scene. And if you need more information on the voodoo angle, I know a professor of anthropology and religious studies at Bay City University. Dr. Jean Dubois. You should talk to her."

The female detectives nodded, then closed the files and left the room chatting with each other, off to follow up on the suggestions.

"Take notes!" Starsky called after them as he watched them leave, then turned back to Hutch. "Think we should ask Dobey to reassign the case to us?"

"I'm sure the thought has crossed his mind," Hutch said. "But given what Huggy must've told him about...the island... when we came back last year..."

Starsky nodded.

::

Bay City University.

Within the hour, Denise and Liz found themselves in the quiet, book-laden office of Dr. Jean Dubois. Surrounded by artifacts and the scent of aged paper, the room seemed worlds away from the unruly streets of Bay City.

Dr. Dubois, a middle-aged woman wearing bifocals and a large silk scarf draped loosely around her shoulders, closely inspected the police photos of the voodoo dolls Denise displayed in her hands. "Detectives, voodoo has its roots in Haiti, and was brought to Louisiana during the 1792 Haitian revolution. The dolls aren't widely accepted or used in the traditional religion, just certain pockets. Legend takes them seriously, but most do not subscribe to their legitimacy or potency. I for one do not believe in them, but I know some who do. The myth lives on, especially in Hollywood."

"What about bokors?" Denise asked as Liz took notes.

The professor seemed surprised that Denise asked the question, but said, "Bokors seem to have a little more legitimacy within the Voodoo, or Voudou religion. It is said that there are stories of bokors who can manipulate minds, bend wills. But it requires belief from both the caster and the subject. Folklore says bokors know your fears, your past, and will use them against you. They supposedly can bring either white magic or bad magic; healing or death."

"Do you know of any so-called bokors?" Denise asked.

"No."

Liz looked around at all of the books. "Know any high priests or anyone who uses or collects the dolls?"

"No. My knowledge is purely academic, not personal. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm very busy. I have a class to teach."

::

"Hey," Starsky said looking at his watch in the squad room. "I need to run to the bank and get that new set of World Coins, one from each nation. Cool, huh?"

Starsky and Hutch stood up from Denise and Liz's desk, ready to go to their own, when Hutch slowly froze in place, gazing out into space toward the wall.

"Wanna go with me?" Starsky asked him. "Hm?"

"Uh..." Hutch turned his attention back to the files on the desk.

Starsky looked from Hutch to the files. He'd seen that look on Hutch a hundred times, usually when he had a eureka moment with a case.

"What?" Starsky asked, now intrigued. His partner's flashes of insight normally bore useful fruit.

"Remember the First Branch Bank robbery last year, Starsk?"

"Hard to forget. Police killed an innocent customer along with the bank robber in the standoff. He-" Starsky had the same realization Hutch had, and both detectives headed for Dobey's office at the same time.

::

Dobey was on his feet and pacing as he listened to Starsky and Hutch lay it out.

"Our four uniforms were there at the standoff," Hutch said. "Nolan was the robber, but Wes Curtis the innocent customer pulled his own piece trying to stop him, and so the cops gunned down both guys, thinking they were both robbers. There was an inquest, but the uniforms were cleared."

"If that isn't a reason for revenge in someone's mind," Starsky added, "I don't know what is."

"Revenge by..." Dobey looked from one to the other. "voodoo doll? The uniforms' deaths were accidental."

"Were they?" Starsky asked.

"You know how crazy that sounds?"

"This whole case is crazy," Hutch admitted.

"Radio Liz and Denise, have them look into the Curtis family. Odds are one of them is holding a grudge against the cops. And if you want us to have this case, just say the word. We-"

The ring of Dobey's phone interrupted him.

::

As Denise and Liz walked across the Bay City University campus from Professor Dubois' office to Denise's pastel psychedelic VW van, Denise stopped short at the driver's side door, head down.

"Hey," Liz said coming back to touch her shoulder. "What's up?"

"Nothing, I'm...beginning to feel responsible for what that damn psycho is doing. We should have caught him by now, Lizzie, but we don't even have a suspect. He should be in custody awaiting trial. Instead, we're running around like it's an Easter egg hunt looking for the prize egg. If number five happens, I swear I don't know what I'll do-"

"Baby," Liz said putting an arm around her and pulling her close, "we're doing all we can. We aren't the perp out their doing the killing. We'll get him. Just...here. Let me drive. We'll go get a milkshake and a protein bar and calm down, then we'll go back over each and every crime scene and question each person there, from cop to coroner and-"

But as Liz opened the driver's side door to get in, the van exploded in a fireball that engulfed both detectives.

There would be no voodoo doll this time. The only thing left behind was Liz's singed notebook.

::

After listening on the phone for several minutes, Dobey slammed the receiver down, pressing a fist to his mustache.

"Denise and Liz were just killed in a car bomb on the BCU campus." He looked at them again. "The case is yours."

As Starsky and Hutch hurried from the office, Starsky said in his own moment of inspiration, "Curtis is the name of one of our police photographers. He's been at each and every death scene. He was at Jamison Lykins' this morning. Has HE been leaving the dolls?"

"Is he into voodoo?"

"He doesn't have to be into it to leave the dolls."

As they ran out into the hall, they were met by Detectives Simmons and Babcock, who looked a little shaken, having come directly from the scene of Denise and Liz's van explosion.

Simmons handed Liz's slightly charred notebook to Hutch. "Thought you guys would need this."

Without even slowing, Hutch snatched the book from him and began to skim as he and Starsky made their way down to the department's photo lab.

::

"He split this morning," the officer in charge of the photo lab said as Starsky and Hutch walked around the room looking for clues and signs. Specifically, anything related to the practice of voodoo or the dolls, which admittedly was a longshot. They would need search warrants for Royce Curtis' home and vehicle.

"Do you know where he went?" Starsky asked. "Or when he's expected back?"

"No. It isn't like him. He's usually very punctual and professional."

"Is he into voodoo?"

"Huh?"

"How well do you know him?"

"Not very well. He keeps to himself."

"Did he ever talk about the death of his father? Wes Curtis? Killed in a botched bank standoff last year."

"Never."

"We have his address," Starsky said to Hutch. "Let's just go there."

As they made their way from the photo lab, Hutch kept reading Liz's notebook. "The ladies really did their homework. Our answer may be in these notes."

"This sucks," Starsky said as they went outside to the Torino. "Denise and Liz were nowhere near that bank standoff last year. Why were they targeted?"

"Same reason we're always targeted," Hutch said. "They were getting too close."

When they reached the Torino, they stopped short, both examining all around and under the car, and looking through its windows.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Starsky asked.

"Probably. Let's get Huggy here and bend his ear while the bomb techs give your pinball machine a once-over."

::

Huggy showed up in the police parking garage about fifteen minutes later. While waiting for the bomb techs to give the Torino a clean bill of health, Huggy sat under his steering wheel, Starsky in the front passenger seat next to him asking him about Curtis, while Hutch sat in the back looking over Liz and Denise's notebook.

The pages were filled with one-line notes, glossary, sketches-of dolls, symbols, even a face—a woman's face, beautiful. The name "Marie Laveau" was written beside it, along with a caption explaining that she was a renowned voodoo priestess in New Orleans who, according to voodoo practitioners, wielded immense power and had lived during the 1800's.

"Now that you mention it," Huggy said, "I did hear some things about the Curtis name."

"Oh yeah?" Starsky asked. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't know the name was that important then. I called my Aunt Minnie on the island, and she's the one who told me about Marie Laveau's long line of apprentices."

"Marie Laveau?" Hutch echoed as he jabbed his finger into the notebook. "I'm reading about her right this second."

"Word is Marie was a caplata," Huggy explained, "which is a female bokor, carrying the power of death, just like Papa Theodore. But she's long dead, and who knows the real story anymore? She has passed her legacy on down the line to worthy devotees. One of them being Curtis."

"Royce Curtis?" Hutch asked.

Huggy looked at him in the rearview mirror. "Not Royce Curtis. His mother, Eileen Curtis. Wes Curtis' widow. She's become a Voudou priestess. A female bokor."

Starsky nodded grimly. "Priestess or not, she's making us pay."

"No," Hutch said just as grimly. "We're going to make HER pay. Denise and Liz didn't realize how close they were getting to the truth."

"You won't find Mama Eileen home, though," Huggy said. "Aunt Minnie says she hasn't been in contact with her the last few days."

"Oh, that's great," Starsky said. "Mommy casts the curses, and her baby boy stages the dolls. Guess he got the uniform material, buttons, bits of cloth or leather, from the police station locker room. Great teamwork."

"Now that they're on the run together," Hutch reasoned, "the killing of our officers may well be over."

"Hug," Starsky said, "you think your Aunt Minnie could be discreet about giving us a heads up if she hears of this lovely mother and son duo on any of those islands?"

"You know Aunt Minnie and her tollbooth of life."

"Um," Hutch said. "Sure. We'll pay the toll, no worry."

When the bomb techs gave them a thumbs-up on the Torino, Huggy said, "Almost lunchtime. You gents in the mood for delicious gumbo?"

"Maybe later," Hutch said as he and Starsky got out of the car. "We have to get those APB's out on Mother Eileen and Royce, plus the search warrants."

::

During lunch hour, Captain Dobey took care of getting the APB out and getting the search warrants, while Starsky and Hutch combed through the botched bank standoff case one more time, just to make sure no other uniformed officers' lives were at risk. They even viewed a copy of the bank's indoor security footage of the attempted robbery and standoff, which of course had captured the shooting deaths of Nolan and Curtis.

Seeing Denise and Liz's empty chairs suddenly hit home for them. Starsky and Hutch had been in such a rush to work through the case, they hadn't given themselves time to process their colleagues' deaths, until now. Which was often the case when dealing with life and death on a daily basis. It was truly an act of amalgamation and compartmentalization. A survival tactic that often preserved sanity and humanity and allowed them to do their job and do it well, but could leave latent effects.

"Still can't believe it," Starsky whispered as he touched the hood of Denise's striped sweater draped over the back of her chair.

Hutch gripped his shoulder. "I know. Drinking coffee together this morning. Gone a few hours later."

They looked at each other, finishing the next thought in their heads: It could happen to any of us.

After gathering and organizing the files from the women's desk, they deposited them on their own, adding Liz's notebook to them, then took the Torino and drove to the families of Liz and Denise to offer condolences and assurances that they would bring justice to them. Starsky was mindful to give Denise's mother her sweater.

::

As they half-suspected, the search warrant was useless, as the rental apartment Eileen Curtis and Royce Curtis' shared was now bare, not one dish or piece of furniture left behind. They left no forwarding address, and the neighbors and acquaintances had no idea where they were.

Hopefully, the APB would turn something.

::

They were just about to head back to the squad room when the police dispatcher told them over the radio to "See the man named Huggy Bear", so they ditched their plans for a vending machine meal in favor of the gumbo Huggy had mentioned earlier.

"Dinner isn't all that's on the menu," Huggy said as he watched them partaking of a little soup, dishing out his information slowly because he knew for a fact they had eaten very little that day and needed to keep their strength up. "Word is the Curtis family ran a boarding house back in the day. Now it's a rundown, abandoned shack by the woods. May be where they're holed up." Handing them a napkin with an address on it he said, "Good luck."

::

Twilight.

The big shack was badly paint-chipped, boards rotting, windows broken or missing, the roof caving in.

"Here's our fixer-upper," Hutch said dryly.

"Don't even," Starsky told him as he cut the engine.

They got out of the Torino, Starsky going to the front door, Hutch looking around the sides and back, looking through windows and cracks.

"Looks truly abandoned," the blond said as he made his way back to the front porch and climbed up.

"Watch that loose board."

Hutch said "What loose board" just as he stepped on it and his foot broke through.

Starsky shook his head as he helped Hutch pull his foot from the hole.

"Police!" Starsky called as he knocked on the door.

Both pulled their guns, and Starsky kicked the door in.

There was no power to the building, so there was only waning natural light.

Stepping inside and panning their weapons around, they were met by unpleasant smells of decay that came mostly from the kitchen, which looked like a graphic and gruesome scene from a horror movie: The dirty white porcelain sink was stained with darkened dried blood. The drain was clogged with clumps of what looked like hair, fur, or feathers, bits of flesh-whether human or animal was hard to say without analysis-and a serrated knife lay on the cutting board, its blade smeared rust-red. A row of Mason jars contained what appeared to be bits of bone and sinew, some more intact than others. The door-less refrigerator showed a few red handprints. The floor had several dark streaks and smudges, presumably blood.

But in addition to all of that, the bodies of Eileen and her son Royce were sprawled on the floor near the stove, an apparent murder-suicide. A pistol lay inches from the young man's right hand.

Both knelt down to feel for a pulse-Starsky in the woman's throat, Hutch in the son's-but found none.

"I'll call it in," Starsky said heading toward the front door to use the police radio.

But Hutch's "Starsk", took him back to the kitchen, where he saw what Hutch was looking at, in the faded bamboo dish drainer: Two small dolls fashioned in their likeness, wearing scraps of denim, leather, and cotton, the hands bound together with a single red-tip stickpin thrust through.

"Good grief," Hutch said as he picked the pair of dolls up to toss them into the trash can.

"Wait," Starsky said.

Hutch looked at him. "What."

"Aren't you supposed to burn it to break the spell, or drown it or something?"

"I don't believe in this stuff."

"Well, something happened on top of that cliff, and you know it."

"It was just a post-hypnotic suggestion or something, or-"

"You don't believe that. You believe Joe Collins but you don't believe what went on with this case?"

"These officers' deaths were accidental."

"You really believe that?"

"What else am I supposed to believe?"

"You may not believe in this stuff, but it believes in you."

"Don't go Twilight Zone on me."

"Well, how else you gonna explain it? We got the dolls on the island, look what happened."

"Well, it isn't happening now."

Hutch went ahead and dropped the dolls into the trash can.

"Good riddance."

The End