For One Brief Moment

by Pat L.

Chapter 1

Detective David Starsky pushed his way through the crowd of curious spectators and bounded up the steps of the dilapidated hotel. On Skid Row, the sight of police cars and an occasional coroner’s wagon wasn’t that unusual. Still, at two in the morning, there wasn’t much else to see.

Though it wasn’t necessary, he flashed his badge at the uniformed officers guarding the door. Charlie Armstrong met him at a door, which bore the almost illegible number 302.

“You got here fast, Starsky. We weren’t sure where you were.”

“I wasn’t far. Where is he?”

“He’s in here. It’s not pretty,” Armstrong warned.

Starsky had been a policeman for a long time. For seven years, his beat had been the inner city. He’d seen a lot of “not very pretty” sights in that time, but this one hit close to home.

Charlie opened the door and allowed Starsky to go in first. After he stepped through and let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, Starsky looked around the room.

The hotel room itself looked like a hundred others he’d seen. At least, it did until he looked at the bed. The cover was rumpled, the sheets covered in blood. Lying on the bed beneath another blood-soaked sheet was the body of a woman. Women’s clothes hung over the foot of the bed and lay on the floor. A man’s tee shirt, shirt and jacket were hung on the tarnished brass post on the other side. An empty shoulder holster lay forgotten on the floor beside the bed. Someone had picked up the gun and laid it on the table. It only took a few seconds to figure out what had happened.

“Oh, my God,” Starsky breathed. He walked over to the body and lifted a corner of the sheet. She had been shot at close range in the chest, and he didn’t need a doctor to tell him that she had died instantly. Starsky felt sick as he looked at her face. He had hoped that he wouldn’t know her, but he did.

Sitting in the corner, huddled in a chair, was a man. Clad in nothing but his trousers, a blanket across his shoulders, the man sat forward with his face buried in his hands.

Starsky turned back to Charlie. “Has he said anything?”

“No. It was the desk clerk that made the call. He said they checked in about seven or so. Everything was quiet, then all of a sudden he heard a loud crash. He said he heard a woman scream, but before he could move, he heard three shots. He was afraid to go investigate after that, so he called us. When we got here, we found this. As soon as I saw him, I called you.”

“Did you ask him anything?”

“Starsk, he’s not in any condition to answer questions. I’m not even sure he knows we’re here.”

“Terrific.” Starsky drew a deep breath and walked over to the figure in the chair. He pulled the other chair around so he was eye level with him.

“Hutch, it’s me, Starsky. Hutch?”

Detective Ken Hutchinson gave no indication that he heard his partner. He sat statue-still, oblivious to Starsky’s voice.

Starsky could feel his stomach tightening with fear. He reached up and pulled Hutch’s hands away from his face. His blue eyes were staring straight ahead and all the color had drained from his face.

Starsky’s tone sharpened. “Hutch! Look at me. It’s Starsk. Look at me!” After a few seconds, the blonde detective blinked. Slowly, his eyes focused and for the first time, he seemed aware of his surroundings.

As he waited for some response, Starsky looked closely at Hutch. He noticed the blood that spattered his chest.

“Hutch, talk to me. Are you hurt? Were you hit? Answer me!”

Dully, he shook his head. Starsky breathed a sigh of relief; the blood was hers, then. Charlie was right, though. Hutch wasn’t going to tell them anything tonight. He motioned for Charlie to come forward.

“Come on; let’s get him out of here. We’ll get him down to the station and have Doc take a look at him.”

Together, he and Charlie managed to get Hutch on his feet.

Starsky grunted, “Damn, partner, have you been working out again?”

His half-hearted attempt at humor went unnoticed. Hutch only stood there, waiting patiently to be moved. As they started to walk him out of the room, he tried to turn toward the bed. Starsky stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hutch, no. Come on; let’s get you out of here. OK?”

Hutch stared at Starsky for a moment, then nodded. He let Charlie and Starsky take him downstairs and put him in Starsky’s Torino. Starsky drove in silence to the station. He watched Hutch out of the corner of his eyes as he tried to drag a response from him. Nothing he said penetrated the fog that gripped his best friend.

When they arrived at the station, the doctor in charge of Psychological Services met them. Dr. Stewart Massey had been with the department for fifteen years, helping cops deal with the more violent aspects of their jobs. A competent psychiatrist, Massey was a distinguished looking man in his early forties who balanced his compassion for his patients with a keen analytical mind. Starsky nodded to himself. If anyone could help Hutch, it was the Doc.

While the doctor was examining Hutch in one corner of Captain Dobey’s office, Starsky was making his report to Dobey.

“So far, that’s all we’ve got,” he concluded. “I’ve got cops bangin' on every door in that hotel and in the neighborhood. Maybe we can at least get a decent description of the killer.”

Dobey was frowning. “Doesn’t give us much to go on, does it? The desk clerk only heard the shots; he didn’t see what happened. Didn’t he see anyone run past him?”

“He said when he heard the shots he dropped behind the desk. He was afraid that if he stuck his head out, he’d get it blown off. Can’t say I blame'im.”

Dobey shrugged. "I guess you're right. Someone killed her with Hutchinson in the room, and left him alive to tell about it. Another witness probably wouldn’t have been as lucky. What about the victim? Did you know her?”

“Yeah, Cap, it was Christine Phelps. Remember? She used to work for the Dispatch. We met when she did that story about us.”

“I remember. I thought she quit the Dispatch and went freelance.”

“She did. She worked for a lotta different newspapers and magazines. She was always traveling, chasin' stories from one place to another. She and Hutch kept in touch. Whenever she was in town, she’d give him a call.”

“How serious was he about her?”

“I don't think there were weddin' bells in the future, if that's what you're askin'. They got to know each other pretty good after she wrote that story about us. She called him whenever she was in town, and they enjoyed each other's company. But, there weren't any strings attached, if you know what I mean.”

“Whose idea was that?”

That stopped him for a minute. “I think it was mutual, Cap. They’ve both been married and divorced, and it left them both a little gun-shy. Why? Does it matter?”

Dobey shook his head. “No, I guess not. I’m just trying to get a handle on this. Why were they in a dive like the Broadway? Why not Hutch’s apartment, or hers?”

“She gave her place up when she quit the Dispatch. Her home base, if she had one, was 'Frisco. At least, that’s where the paper is that bought most of her stuff.”

“So, would she pick a fleabag like the Broadway?”

“Come to think of it, no. The only reason she would check into a place like that would be if she were workin' on something. If she took time out to see Hutch, she wasn’t workin'.”

Dobey made a sound of disgust. “We’re chasing our tails! We don’t have one solid lead. Maybe the autopsy report will tell us something, or the prelim from the lab.”

“Maybe, but those won’t be in until morning. For the time being at least, we’re stuck.”

It was at that moment that Dr. Massey joined them.

“How’s he doin', Doc?” Starsky kept his voice low.

“About how you’d expect. His blood pressure’s through the roof, his pulse rate’s out of control and he’s not completely lucid. I gave him an injection to get his pressure down, and something to take the edge off, but that’s about all I can do. He’s starting to come out of it a little, though. At least, he’s talking.”

Starsky glanced over at Hutch. Minnie was with him; sitting beside him and talking softly to him. Minnie had been part of the station ever since he and Hutch had joined the force. She had a soft spot for the two young detectives, helping them with their cases whenever she could. Whenever things got tough, Minnie would ease the pressure by kidding around with them.

Now her face was serious, her voice gentle. She was trying to coax Hutch out of his shell and she was succeeding. He was answering her questions, if only in one or two words, nodding once in a while in response to something she was saying. She was holding a cup of coffee and was coaxing him into taking small sips.

“Can I talk to him, Doc?”

“If you mean interrogate him, he’s not in any condition to answer questions. He’s very close to the edge right now, and the wrong word could send him over.”

“Doc, we need somethin' to go on; a description of the suspect, the gun, anything. We’re flying blind here.”

“All right. It’s against my better judgment, but I know what you mean. Take it easy on him, and don’t push.”

Starsky nodded at the doctor, then walked over to Hutch. He sat down in front of him.

“Hey, partner, how we doin’?”

Hutch shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m all right, I guess. I’m tired, though.”

“I know buddy. Hutch, did you see what the guy looked like? Was it a man, or a woman? Anything that you could tell us would help.”

“It was a man; about five-nine; medium build.”

“Could you see his face?”

“No, he was wearing a black ski mask and black gloves. I think he was white, though. You could see a patch of skin between his glove and the sleeve of his jacket, and it was white.”

“Do you remember what he was wearing?”

“Um, dark blue windbreaker, maybe a black t-shirt, worn out jeans, and black tennis shoes. I think they were black, I’m not sure. It happened so fast.”

Starsky reached out and squeezed his arm. “It’s OK, you’re doing fine. What about the gun? Was it a pistol, or maybe a rifle?”

“A...pistol. It was an automatic, maybe a 45. I can’t remember.” He looked up at Starsky, eyes full of pain. “Oh, God, Starsk. We were--,” he stopped and swallowed, then continued.

“There was a crash, then he was there.” He reached for Starsky’s hands, almost pleading for understanding. “I tried to stop him! Oh, God, I tried!”

Unable to continue, he slumped forward, covering his face with his hands. Doctor Massey’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for protests.

“That’s enough! He can’t take anymore. What he needs right now is a good strong sedative and a hospital bed, not more questions.”

“No! No hospital. I don’t need to go to a hospital. I’m just tired, that’s all. Please, I’m just tired. I just want to go home.”

Massey knelt beside Hutch, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Ken, I don’t want you to be alone right now. That’s the last thing that you need.”

Starsky spoke up. “He won’t be alone. He can bunk with me for a while.”

Doctor Massey nodded reluctantly. “All right. I still think you need to be in a hospital, Ken, but I can’t force you to go. I’m going to give you a mild sedative, then, to help you sleep. I want to see you tomorrow, OK?”

Hutch closed his eyes, exhausted. He nodded without opening them, and replied, “Yeah, whatever you say, Doc. Can I please go home, now?”

Massey took another syringe from his bag and filled it. Rolling up Hutch’s sleeve, he injected the sedative. “There. It won’t take effect for a little while, which will give you time to get to Dave’s. I’ll see you tomorrow. If you need me before then, don’t hesitate to call me at home.”

Starsky nodded and stood up. He offered his hand to Hutch. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Chapter 2

Starsky unlocked the door of his apartment and let Hutch go in first. He walked to the middle of the room and stood, swaying slightly. “Sit down, buddy. Hutch, can you hear me?”

Hutch slowly sat down on the couch and leaned back, closing his eyes and relaxing slightly.

“Do you want something to eat? Are you hungry?”

Hutch shook his head. “No, I don’t want any food. I... I don’t want anything.”

“OK. Look, what you need is a good night’s sleep. Hey, I’ll even let you have the bed; I’ll take the couch. You know where the bathroom is. Why don’t you wash up and hit the sack? We’ll talk in the morning. OK?”

Hutch nodded and went into the bathroom. His movements were slow and painful. Numbly, he washed his face, carefully avoiding the mirror. He knew that if he looked, he would see something besides his face. He walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Hutch stood for a moment, looking at the bed. Suddenly, Starsky’s brightly colored bedspread was gone and in its place was a blood-soaked sheet with Chris’ mangled body lying on top. His stomach revolted and he bolted back into the bathroom. He vomited violently; his head pounding and his ears roaring as the nightmare threatened to swallow him.

Then Starsky was beside him, catching him as he dropped to his knees. Half-carrying him, Starsky took him back into the living room and onto the couch. Hutch was ranting, barely coherent.

“He killed her oh God he killed her I tried to stop it but it was so fast I couldn’t get to my gun fast enough and oh God! She was dead before I could stop it! I tried I swear I tried but I couldn’t do anything!... something I should have done something! I should have... I tried but oh God there was nothing I could do!!”

“Hutch!” Starsky was kneeling in front of him, gripping him tightly by his arms. “Damn it, calm down! Look at me, damn it!”

He shook him, trying to pull Hutch out of the hysteria that gripped him. “Snap out of it! If you don’t calm down, I’m going to take you to the hospital myself. Hutch, do you hear me?”

Somehow, what he had said penetrated, quieting Hutch. He sat there, eyes closed, rocking back and forth. He clutched himself tightly, arms crisscrossed against his chest. When he spoke again, his voice was slower, more coherent. Still, Starsky could hear the underlying tinge of hysteria.

“I tried to stop him. I went for my gun, but it was too late. We shouldn’t have been...I didn’t know. I should have known. I should have done something. I... should... have been able to do...something.” At last, he relaxed, leaning back against the couch.

Starsky knew that if he kept him quiet long enough, the sedative would finally take effect. He sat beside him on the couch and squeezed his shoulder gently.

“You’re beatin' yourself up over nothing. There was nothing you could do. Now, lie down and try to sleep. Things'll look better in the morning.”

Hutch lay down on the couch, not moving as Starsky took off his boots and covered him with a blanket. Starsky sat beside him as he drifted off to sleep. He nodded to himself, satisfied that Hutch would be all right.

Starsky went into the bedroom and fell onto the bed. It had been a long, exhausting night. He slept fitfully, alert for any movement from Hutch.

The next morning, he got up before Hutch and called Huggy Bear. Huggy was a close friend and their pipeline to the street. At times, he was like a silent partner, helping them solve their most difficult cases. Starsky knew he would need all the help he could get on this one. He was drinking his second cup of coffee when there was a knock at the door.

Huggy appeared, carrying a small package under his arm. Starsky silenced him with a finger to his lips. Motioning Huggy to follow, Starsky went into the kitchen where they could talk without waking Hutch.

“Want some coffee, Hug?”

“Yeah, thanks. Hey, I brought Hutch a change of rags and his shaving kit from his pad. How’s he doing?”

“How do you think he’s doing? How would you feel if you went through what he did last night?”

“Man, I can’t even imagine! That’s way beyond my worst nightmare!”

“Mine, too. Did you come up with anything?”

“Nada. There’s not a whisper about a hit, let alone one tied with Hutch. Don’t worry. I’ve called in favors all over town. Something will turn.”

“I hope so, Hug. I don’t have much to go on and I don’t know how much help Hutch is going to be.”

“What about the girl? I remember the story she did on you guys, but that’s about it. Do you have any idea why anyone would want to kill her?”

“No, but I have a feeling it had to do with a story. Maybe she was doing some research and got into something she shouldn’t have. Chris was the type that once she smelled a story she didn’t let go, no matter what. Maybe this time it got her killed.”

“Do you think she told Hutch if she was into something big?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. I hope he’s in better shape when he wakes up so he can answer some questions.”

“Let’s hope so. Look, I’ll keep digging from my end. If I get something, I’ll let you know. I’ll catch you later.”

“OK, Hug. If I’m not here, I’ll make sure Dobey knows where I am, if you need me.”

Huggy saw himself out. Starsky sat at the table, sipping coffee and thinking. If Chris did die because of something she was working on, how the Hell was he supposed to find out? In another hour he could call San Francisco and get hold of the paper where she worked. Perhaps they could put him onto something. He was so deep in thought that when the phone rang, he jumped. He grabbed it on the first ring, glancing to make sure Hutch was still asleep. Hutch stirred slightly, then was still.

“Starsky.”

“Dobey. How’s he doing this morning?”

“He’s still asleep. Did the reports come back yet?”

“The preliminary reports did; we’ll get the complete reports as soon as they’re done. The autopsy was no surprise. Chris died from two gunshot wounds point-blank to the chest. Any one of them would have been fatal. She died instantly, of course.”

“Wait a minute, Cap. There were only two shots? The desk clerk said he heard three.”

“The report says two. Who fired the other shot?”

“I don’t know, Cap. Did ballistics check Hutch’s gun? He said he went for it.”

“I would assume they did. It’s SOP in any shooting when an officer is involved. I don’t see it here, though. I’ll check with the lab.”

“What about the lab reports? What did they say?”

No surprises there, either. They didn’t even try to run prints since Hutch said the suspect wore gloves. There’s no mention of a third bullet, though. I wonder where it went.”

“So do I, Captain. Are they still there?”

“Yes, Gliden’s in charge. Why?”

“I think I’ll give them a call and see if they’ve found that third slug.”

“That’s a good idea. Are you coming to the station?”

“Not for a while. I want to let Hutch sleep as long as possible. If I decide to take off, I’ll let you know where I am. I told Huggy to call you if he needed me.”

Starsky hung up the phone and glanced again at Hutch. He was still sleeping. Starsky dialed the Broadway’s number and asked the desk clerk for room 302.

A cautious voice answered, “Hello?”

“This is Starsky. Let me speak to Gliden.”

“It’s me, Starsk. What’s up?”

“I just talked to Captain Dobey. The autopsy report on the victim said she was killed by two gunshots, not three. That means there is a slug missing. See if you can find it, Bob. Look around the doorframe, and by the window above the fire escape. Hutch wasn’t clear on how the suspect got out of the room, and the desk clerk was too busy looking after his own head to be much help.”

“Sure thing, Starsk. If that slug’s here, we’ll find it. Where will you be?”

“Try my apartment first, then the station. I’ll probably be there most of the day.”

Hutch woke up as Starsky hung up for the second time. At first, he was disoriented, not sure of where he was. He sat up slowly, looking around. Then he remembered where he was and why. The whole nightmare came rushing back at him. He lay back and closed his eyes, forcing the images to the back of his mind where he could handle them. Cautiously, he sat up again, shaking his head to dispel the after-effects of the sedative. He stood up and stretched, trying to ease the tension already building in his shoulders and neck. It was only then that he noticed Starsky sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee.

“Mornin',” Starsky said as he watched his partner carefully. “Want some coffee?”

“Sure. No, don’t get up. I know where everything is; I can get it myself.”

“How do you feel?”

Hutch shrugged in response as he fixed his coffee. He sat down in the chair opposite Starsky, not saying anything. When he spoke his voice was barely audible.

“Anything yet?”

“Not much. She was shot with a 45 caliber automatic at close range. No one saw the guy go in or out. So far our search hasn’t turned up anything. Did you remember anything else?”

“No. He was just there. I couldn’t see his face. I remember grabbing for my gun, but it was too late.”

“Did you use it?”

“Use what?”

“Your gun. Did you manage to get a shot off?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe. Why?”

“The desk clerk heard three shots. We can only account for two of them. Maybe the third shot came from your gun.”

“I can’t remember, Starsk. Why is it so important?”

“If you did get a shot off, maybe you winged him. Which way did he go?”

“Which way did he go? How the Hell do I know?”

Starsky was patient, but firm. “The only other way out of the room was the window on the left side of the bed. That’s the one that leads to the fire escape. He would’ve had to go past you to get to it. If he did, and you fired at him, maybe you hit him. That would give us something to look for, at least. Now try to remember. Which way did he go?”

Hutch closed his eyes and tried to think. He spoke slowly, “I don’t remember him going past me. I think he was standing at the foot of the bed. I pulled the trigger, but I don’t think I hit him. He must have run out the door. I don’t know. I honestly don’t remember.”

“OK, then let’s back up a little. When did Chris first get in touch with you?”

“Last night, or rather, yesterday afternoon. I hadn’t heard from her in almost three months, until then.”

“It must've been after we got off duty.”

Hutch thought back to the phone call. It seemed like eons ago. He had just arrived home, and was about to jump in the shower when the phone rang. He picked it up on the second ring.

“Hutchinson.”

“Hello, stranger.”

He was surprised to hear her voice. “Hello yourself. Are you in town?”

“Yep, I blew in today. How have you been, Ken?”

“Oh, can’t complain; you know how it is. So, how long can you stay?”

“I’m not sure, yet. How about buying a pushy broad a drink, big boy?”

He’d laughed, then. Her Mae West was lousy. “Well, I usually don’t date pushy broads, but in this case, I’ll make an exception. Where and when?”

“Do you know where the Fortress is? It’s a nightclub on the East Side.”

“I know it. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Great. It will be good to see you again, Ken.”

Starsky had been listening, trying to judge her mood. When Hutch finished, he thought for a minute. Whatever had been going on in her mind at the time, she apparently had decided not to tell Hutch, at least not over the phone.

“Did you meet her?”

“Yeah. She seemed fine. She looked good. As far as I could tell, nothing was wrong.”

“What happened next?”

Hutch thought back again. When he walked into the club, she had been sitting in a booth, sipping a glass of water. He asked her if she wanted a drink, but she declined. She had kissed him, but remained standing.

“So,” he said, “do you want to go somewhere else? We can eat out, or we can go back to my apartment. I’m sure I can put something together there.”

“You know, I’m feeling kind of restless. Would you mind if we just club-hopped for a while?”

“If that’s what you want.”

Starsky cocked his head. “Did she act edgy, or scared, maybe?”

Hutch sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. If she did, I didn’t notice it.”

“OK, go on. What happened after that?”

Hutch opened his mouth and started to speak, then stopped. He couldn’t remember what happened after they left the club. He concentrated, trying to clear his head. It was all blank. *Damn it, think! What happened after you left the Fortress? Think!*

He looked at Starsky, alarm creeping into his voice. “I can’t remember anything that happened after we left the club. It’s all gone! I don’t remember anything until..”

He flew out of the chair and paced around the kitchen.

Starsky tried to regain control of the situation. “It’s all right. Calm down. We’ll figure it out.”

Hutch slammed his fist against the wall. “It’s NOT all right, Starsky! Don’t you understand? I can’t remember what happened!”

Starsky stopped Hutch before he could hit the wall again. He spun him around and held him against the wall.

“It’s all right,” he repeated. “It’ll come back, just give it time. I’m not surprised something like this happened. You’re in shock. Give yourself a chance to get over this.”

“Starsk, we don’t HAVE any time. How are we supposed to figure out who killed Chris if I can’t remember what happened after we left the club?”

“We’ll manage. Come back and sit down.” He led Hutch back to the table and pulled his chair around so he could face him.

“Hutch, look at me. That’s better. Now listen to me. We’ll try something you do know. You knew Chris better than I did. Where did she sell most of her work? Was it still the Tribune?”

“Yes, as far as I know. She did some work for the local magazines, too.”

“Were there any in particular?”

“No, she freelanced for several. She called the magazines her bread and butter work; it paid the rent. She’d write everything from fashion to human interest, whatever they wanted. The more serious work she sold to the newspapers. She was always hunting for the one big story. She wanted to break the next Watergate. Everything else was fluff, to pay the bills.”

“You said you hadn’t seen her for about three months. Was she working on something then?”

“She had just sold a story to the Dispatch down here. They were still on good terms. When she left, they told her they’d keep buying her work. They liked her style.”

“Did she say if she was going to start on anything else? Or, if she was doing any research?”

“No. She was down here for almost a week. We saw each other quite a bit. As far as I know, she didn’t go back to work until she went back to San Francisco.”

“OK, we should be able to contact the Tribune in a little while. Maybe they can tell us if she was working on anything.”

He poured them both another cup of coffee. When he sat back down, he changed the subject slightly.

“Did she have a place in San Francisco?”

“Yes, she shared an apartment with another girl. I can’t remember her name. Chris said it was senseless to keep an apartment herself when she wasn’t home most of the time. So she chipped in her half of everything so she’d have a place to stay when she was there.”

“We can get the name of her roommate from the paper, in case we end up making a trip to ‘Frisco. What about here? Where did she stay?”

“I don’t know. I know she let her apartment go when she moved. I guess she stayed in a hotel.”

“What hotel?”

“Damn it, Starsky, I told you I don’t remember! I don’t even think she told me.”

“You don’t have to remember. Think. When she came here before, was there a particular hotel where she stayed?”

Hutch put his head in his hands, trying to think. His head was pounding again. All he wanted to do was crawl in a hole somewhere. He forced himself to consider the question rationally. Finally, he shook his head.

“I don’t think so. She liked several of them. It depended on what was available.”

“We’ll have to start calling around, then. If she booked a room somewhere in town, we’ll find it. Maybe we’ll find something that will tell us why she was here.”

“Starsk, it’ll take days to find the right hotel. Anyway, we don’t even know for sure that she checked into one before she called me. God, why can’t I remember?”

“Hutch, take it easy. Look, that’s enough for now. When’s the last time you ate anything? Do you want some breakfast? I don’t have any of that glop you drink, but I’m sure I can find something.”

Hutch’s stomach jumped. “No, I don’t want anything. Maybe later.”

“All right, but you need to eat soon. You’ve got to keep up your strength.”

“I know. I’m just not hungry right now. Besides, I don’t think it would do any good.”

“OK. Hey, Huggy brought a change of clothes for you and your shaving kit. Why don’t you get cleaned up and we’ll check in with Dobey? Maybe he’ll have something for us. Besides, Doc Massey said he wanted to see you this morning.”

“Sure, why not?” Hutch stood and stretched again. His neck and shoulders were in knots. Maybe a hot shower was what he needed. He picked up the bag and went into the bathroom.

Chapter 3

Hutch knocked on Dr. Massey’s door, and stepped inside. He stood patiently as the doctor looked him over, smiling slightly.

“I’m still here, Doc.”

“So I see. I’ve been expecting you. Come on over to the table and we’ll see how you’re doing.”

Hutch sat patiently as Massey examined him, answering the doctor’s questions truthfully. After he finished writing in Hutch’s file, Massey looked up again.

“So, did the sedative wear off all right?”

“Yes.”

“Have you eaten anything yet?”

“No. Right now food is the last thing on my mind.”

Dr. Massey sat back in his chair and gazed speculatively at Hutch. “Really. What you mean is that you don’t think you could keep it down, right?”

“Something like that.”

“I see.” He got up and walked over to a small medicine cabinet. Reaching in, he took two capsules from a bottle on the top shelf. Stopping to draw a cup of water from the cooler, he offered the capsules and the water to Hutch.

“What is it?”

“They’re vitamin supplements. Try to at least drink some fluids if you can, but don’t force any solid food until you feel you’re ready. It won’t do you any good if you can’t keep it down. How are you feeling otherwise?”

“I’ve had better days.”

“Don’t waste my time, Ken. That wasn’t a rhetorical question. How do you feel?”

Hutch sat forward in the chair. “Like I’ve stepped into a nightmare. I know any minute now I’m going to wake up, but when I did, it just got worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t remember anything, Doc. From the time I met Chris, until...it happened, I don’t remember ANYTHING.”

“That’s not surprising, Ken. I’ve seen this before in trauma cases like yours. You don’t have to sustain a severe blow to the head to suffer memory loss. In your case, however, I believe your memory will return, eventually.”

Hutch was agitated. “Doc, I can’t wait that long. Starsky and I are working in the dark here. I’m the only one who knows what happened yesterday between the time I met Chris and when she was murdered, and I can’t remember. We’re right back to square one!”

“I know this is a set back for the case, Ken, but time is the only thing that will take care of this. There’s nothing you can do to change that. Where are you headed now?”

“I’m meeting Starsky in Captain Dobey’s office. We need to go over the reports from the lab and find a place to start.”

“I’m headed that way myself. I’ll walk up with you.”

As they walked, Dr. Massey continued. “You know, your memory will come back. Trying to force it won’t make it happen any sooner. Let it come naturally. Time isn’t your enemy, Ken, it’s your friend. It’s what you need most right now.”

“Unfortunately, Doc, we don’t have much time. The longer we wait, the colder the trail gets. If we don’t get a break pretty soon, we may never know who killed Chris, or why.”

Massey followed Hutch into Dobey’s office. Instead of looking at Hutch, Dobey looked at the doctor.

Massey shook his head. “I’m taking him off duty, Captain. He’s on medical leave, starting immediately.”

Hutch glared at the doctor.

“What?!”

Massey looked back calmly. “I’m taking you off the duty roster, Ken. I’m declaring you unfit for duty.”

“Why?”

“Your blood pressure is elevated; you’re complaining of severe nausea; you’re tense; stressed out; and by your own admission, you’re still in a state of shock. You are in no condition to work. You need time to get over this, and I have the authority to see that you take that time.”

Hutch’s anger was barely controlled. “Let me tell you what you can do, DOCTOR. You can put me on sick leave if you want, you can suspend me,” his voice rose, “you can take this badge and shove it! No matter what you do, you can’t stop me from working on this case. As soon as you put me on leave, I’m going to walk out that door and I’m going back to work. There’s nothing you can do to stop me, because what I do on my own time is my own damn business.”

He threw his badge on Captain Dobey’s desk and walked out.

Dobey rose out of his chair, put his hands on his desk and roared.

“Hutchinson, get back in here!”

Hutch slowly appeared in the doorway. He came back into the room and stood silently, watching Dobey. When he didn’t say anything, Dobey spoke.

“Now you listen to me, Hutchinson. You are on leave. That does not give you the right to interfere in an on-going investigation.”

“I really don’t give a damn what it gives me or doesn’t give me, Captain. I’m going to find out who killed Chris, and why. Now, if I have to resign from the force to do that, I will. If you think I’m going to go home and bury myself under the covers, you are sadly mistaken.” He stood quietly, keeping his anger leashed.

Dobey looked at Massey, and Massey shrugged. They both knew that if they put Hutch on leave, they would lose control over him.

Massey was grim. “You have me over a barrel, Ken. You know that, don’t you? All right. You’ll stay on the roster for now, but let me tell you something, my young friend. I want to see you every day. If I get the slightest hint that you are in real trouble, I’ll yank you off that roster and slap you in a hospital so fast it will make your head spin. Do you hear me?”

“Yeah, Doc, I hear you.” Hutch stalked out of the room.

Starsky looked from the doctor to Captain Dobey and shrugged. “Now what?”

Dr. Massey answered him. “Watch him closely, Dave. If he starts to fall apart, get in touch with me immediately. I don’t like keeping him on this case, but I don’t want him going off on his own, either. That won’t do him, or this investigation, any good.”

“OK, I’ll do my best, Doc. Captain, if anything breaks, I’ll let you know.”

When Starsky walked out of Dobey’s office, Hutch was sitting at their desk, his head in his hands. *If this damned headache would go away, it would make things a whole lot easier.* Starsky’s steady gaze disconcerted him, so he got up and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“So,” he asked calmly, “where do we start?”

“Well, someone should be at the Tribune by now. We can try them first.”

“It’s worth a try.”

Starsky plowed through several secretaries and finally got through to the senior editor. What he had to say was not encouraging.

“Well?”

“He said that if Chris was working on anything, he didn’t know about it. It’s been over a month since she submitted anything. He didn’t even know she was in town.”

“Well, that’s just great! So now what? We don’t know if she was working on a story. We don’t know if she checked into a hotel when she got here. We don’t know any more now than we did when we started!”

“That’s not quite true, partner. He did give me the address and phone number of her roommate. Her name is Cindy Friedman. I’ll see if I can catch her at home.”

Starsky dialed the number he’d written down, but no one answered. “Well, she’s probably left for work already. We can try her again, later.”

“So, any more bright ideas, partner?”

“Yes. I’m going to call the Dispatch. We’ll have them send us copies of her last few stories. That should give us an idea of what she’d been doing lately. Maybe we can tell what she was planning to do next.”

“Well, at least it’s an idea. Who knows? We might get lucky.”

Starsky called the Dispatch and got through to the head of the department where Chris submitted her stories. They agreed to send her stories and the research for the past six months over to them.

“Well, they said they’d send it sometime this afternoon. I guess while we’re waiting, I could check in with Huggy.”

Huggy answered on the second ring. “Huggy’s Pits, Huggy speaking.”

“It’s me, Hug. How’s it goin’?”

“Not to worry, Starsk. The word’s out on the street. If this was a local hit, somebody’s bound to know about it. Whoever this scum is, he won’t be able to resist bragging about blowing Chris away with Hutch in the room. You guys aren’t exactly popular with some of the more dubious citizens down here. Believe me, I let everybody know that you wanted to hear about anything connected to the murder.”

“I just hope it was local, Huggy. If it wasn’t, we’re really in trouble. Well, if you hear anything, let me know. I’ll check in later.”

As Starsky hung up the phone, a messenger arrived with the final report from the crime lab. Starsky skimmed it quickly, eeping it away from Hutch. The last thing Hutch needed was a reminder of last night. He looked up and noticed Hutch watching him patiently. Starsky was relieved when Hutch didn’t reach for the report, but only asked if there was anything new.

“Not really. They did find your slug, though. It was embedded in the doorframe about midway on the left side. There was no evidence of any other blood around the door, so you didn’t hit him. Too bad. That might have given us a real break.”

“Yeah, I know. I really didn’t think I did, though. My aim wasn’t exactly true.”

Shortly after noon, the messenger from the Dispatch brought over Chris’ files. Fortunately for them, Chris went for quality rather than quantity. She had submitted only five articles in the last six months. They divided them up, and started going over them. There was still a lot of material to cover when Starsky felt his stomach growl. He suggested to Hutch that they take a break and get something to eat. Hutch agreed to the break, but when they arrived at Huggy’s, he ordered only a glass of juice.

Starsky looked at the glass. “Don’t you think you’d better try to eat something, partner? It’s probably been about twenty-four hours since you last ate.”

“I know. I just don’t have the stomach for it right now, Starsk. Doc said as long as I drink something, I could handle not eating for a little while. He gave me some vitamins take in the meantime.”

Starsky wasn’t satisfied, but let the matter drop. Hutch was acting more like himself than he had since this whole thing began, so he didn’t want to rock the boat by pushing the issue. Instead, he dived into the Huggy special in front of him, motioning for Huggy to join them.

“So, Hug, what’s new?”

“Not much. So far, I haven’t had any nibbles on the bait that I put out. You know how it goes; some sleazeball makes a big score and before long he’s running his mouth about what a big man he is. Never fear, fellas. If there is one thing Huggy knows, it’s the scum in this town. If something doesn’t turn up in the next day or two, I’ll eat the hat my favorite Aunt Maude sent me last Christmas.”

Starsky laughed, almost choking on his burger. “Huggy, I thought you said her name was Minnie. Which is it?”

“Minnie or Maude, that’s the question. I forget which. Anyway, it’s irrelevant.” Huggy smiled at his own wit, but his eyes were shrewd. He had noticed the change in Hutch. Finally, he was beginning to relax. If they could get him to unwind a little, maybe his memory would come back. They could sure use the break.

“Seriously, though,” he continued as he got up to refill their drinks, “as big as this thing seems to be, whoever did it won’t be able to keep his mouth shut for long. As soon as I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Hug. Well, we’d better get back to work. Huggy, we’ll be at the station for a while longer, then at my place. If you hear anything, call me. I don’t care what time it is. Got it?”

“Got it. I’ll keep in touch.”

The two detectives finished going through Chris’ files. Her articles were relevant and illuminating, but gave no hint as to why she’d been murdered. The only article worth a second glance was about possible corruption in the construction industry. Careful not to divulge any specifics, Chris hinted that the contracts for new government buildings were awarded to those who had political ties. Starsky and Hutch knew that the construction business was highly competitive. If someone were buying the biggest contracts, it would definitely make some ripples. If Chris had stumbled onto something, whoever was behind it wouldn’t be happy about her nosing around. Maybe they would even be willing to kill to keep it quiet.

Starsky packed up the other articles and sent them back to the Dispatch.

“It’s getting late. Why don’t we call it a day? We’ll go back to my place, get a good night’s sleep and hit it again in the morning.”

“Your place? I’m fine, Starsk. I don’t need to go back to your place. I’ll be fine at home.”

“Hutch, listen to me. You don’t need to be alone right now. I know that Doc Massey would agree with me. You’re coming home with me and that’s final.”

Realizing that it was useless to argue, Hutch agreed to go back to Starsky’s apartment. He agreed to try eating some soup to stop Starsky from nagging and settled down on the couch to sleep. Mercifully, the nightmares didn’t come and both men were able to get some sleep.

The next morning, they decided to look into the article Chris had written about the corruption in the construction industry. Both were aware of the magnitude of the research they were doing, so they concentrated on the companies she mentioned in her files. Finally, they got their first real lead. Throughout her files, the J.M. Clairmont Construction company was mentioned several times as coming out the winner on the largest contracts awarded in the past six months. Clairmont, they found, was a subsidiary of ClairCo. The principal stockholder was John Michael Clairmont, reputedly one of the wealthiest men in the country. Unfortunately, Clairmont Construction had never been implicated in any illegal practices in the twenty years it had been in business. Still, they groused, this was the first hint of a possible reason for Chris’ murder. So they decided to check into ClairCo further, hoping to uncover something shady in it’s background.

Several hours later, Starsky rubbed his tired eyes and stretched, trying to relieve his aching back. He stood up slowly, feeling as if his knees were permanently bent. He got himself and Hutch a glass of water from the cooler.

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had about all the reading I can stand for a while. I think we should get everything together that we’ve got so far, and take it downstairs to the computer wizards. That should save us some time and I know it would save my poor aching back.”

“Sounds good to me. Let’s go.”

They stuffed everything into Chris’ folder and headed for the R&I department downstairs. They had barely gotten out of the squad room when an unhappy Dr. Massey confronted them.

“I told you I wanted to see you every day, Ken. That wasn’t open for negotiation. I meant it.”

Hutch was sincere. “I know you did, Doc. I honestly wasn’t trying to skip out on you. We’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time to get down there yet.”

“All right, I’ll buy that. Now is as good a time as any. I mean it, Ken, no excuses.”

Hutch protested. “We were on our way to R&I. We’ve finally got something and were taking some information down to put into the computer.”

“Well, Dave can do that while you stop in my office for a minute. It won’t take long, but you are going to come down, now.”

Starsky and Hutch exchanged looks. Hutch shrugged.

“You’re the boss, Doc. Starsk, I’ll be down there as soon as I can.”

Hutch followed the doctor down to his office. True to his word, Dr. Massey performed a quick examination.

“Well, Ken, I’ve got to hand it to you. Your blood pressure is down and your color is much improved. Have you been able to eat anything?”

Hutch nodded. “I ate some soup last night, and a light breakfast this morning. So far, I haven’t had any problems. Are you satisfied, now?”

Massey relented with a small smile. “Yes. You definitely seem to be pulling out of it. However, I still want to see you, at least for the next day or two.”

“Whatever you say Doc. Can I go now?”

“You may. I want you to keep eating and try to get plenty of rest. I think that’s probably going to be the best advice I can offer you. Time will have to take care of the rest. Has your memory started to come back yet?”

“No, not yet. I wish the Hell it would, though.”

“I think it will, if you keep improving. As I said, take it easy for a while and make sure you take in at least some nourishment. Don’t try to force your memory to return. It will take care of itself in time.”

“I guess you’re right. I’ll see you tomorrow, Doc.”

Hutch left the doctor and went to join Starsky in R&I. He found him in a small cubicle in the back of the computer room, talking to Howard Ryan. Howard looked more like a flower child from Woodstock than a computer wizard. There had been rumors that Howard had been offered a lucrative position in the most profitable computer firm in the country, but had turned

it down. He said he preferred the excitement of working in the police department. Hal possessed an uncanny knack for ferreting out the most relevant facts in a case. Starsky had almost finished filling him in on what they had so far.

“So, Hal, what’s the word? Do you think you can sift something meaningful out of all this hooey?”

“I can try. Give me a few hours on this and I’ll see what I can do.”

“All right. We’ve got some other leads to run down, so we’ll check back later.”

Hutch waited until they were out of the office, then said, “OK, Starsk, what other leads do we have?”

“We need to find Chris’ story. So we still need to find out if she checked into a hotel before she called you. So, that means we hit the phone book.”

Hutch stopped and stared. “Starsk, you’ve got to be kidding! Do you know how many hotels there are in this city? It will take us days to call all of them!”

“We can skip the dives on Skid Row, and probably most of the inner city. We’ll concentrate on the hotels closest to the airport and branch out from there. That ought to cut it down some.”

“Well, I wish I could come up with a better idea, but I can’t. So we might as well get to it.”

They divided up the list of hotels and started calling. Although there were a lot of hotels to cover, it didn’t take long to check their registers to see if Chris had booked a room. They knew the exact date, and Chris was attractive enough to remember. Instead of giving just her name, they asked for any female that matched her description. By the end of their shift, they had gone through half the hotels.

“I think that’s enough for today, don’t you? Let’s grab a bite to eat and go home.” Starsky said.

“Sounds good to me.”

They decided to stop at The Pits to eat so they could check in with Huggy. Even though he had nothing new to report, they didn’t let it spoil their mood. Dinner was relaxed and amiable for the first time in days. By the time Huggy’s clientele began to trickle in, Starsky and Hutch had finished their meal and ordered a beer.

The three men were sitting at the table and talking when two more customers came into the bar. They sat at the bar, and for a while, all was quiet. Then, their voices rose as they started arguing among themselves. As Huggy and the two detectives watched, one man punched the other in the nose, knocking him off his stool. The man retaliated by picking up his beer and throwing it in the other’s face. Before the conflict could escalate, Starsky and Hutch jumped up and grabbed each of the men by their shirt collars.

“OK, boys,” Starsky said, “let’s settle down. Whatever’s going on between you two, take it outside. OK?”

The heavier and drunker of the two scowled at Starsky.

“Oh, yeah? Who are you to tell us what to do, friend?”

“I’m not your friend, friend. I’m a cop. So you can either take it outside, or my partner and I can take you and your buddy downtown to cool off. Now, which is it going to be?”

Neither man was so drunk that the word “cop” didn’t penetrate their sodden minds. After a few minutes grumbling and grousing, they staggered outside and down the street. Once the excitement was over, the rest of the customers went back to their own conversations. Huggy helped Diane, his senior barmaid, clean up the mess, then went back to Starsky and Hutch’s table. As he was sitting down, he noticed Starsky watching Hutch carefully.

Hutch was staring ahead, not looking at anything in particular. He looked thoughtful, as if concentrating deeply on something.

Starsky kept his voice low so he wouldn’t disturb Hutch’s concentration.

“What is it, buddy?”

Hutch shook his head briefly. “I’m not sure. When we were watching those two men fight, I got a flash of something. It was just an image and lasted only for a second or two, but there was something there.”

“OK, just relax for a minute. Don’t try to force it. Is it Chris?”

“Yes, I think so.” He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. He spoke softly, slowly at first, then with more confidence. “We were sitting at a table somewhere. It wasn’t the Fortress, but somewhere else. We were talking, not about anything in particular, just catching up. Then, I think she spotted somebody. Whoever it was, I think he scared her. I asked her what was wrong, but she wouldn’t tell me. She wouldn’t even tell me who it was that made her so afraid. That’s when she wanted to leave. I tried to get her to come back to my apartment with me, but she said no. Instead, she suggested a hotel. I thought she meant hers, but she said she didn’t want to go back there. We drove around for a while, not really headed anywhere. Somehow we ended up on Skid Row, and she said we should park the car and get a room. I tried to tell her it wasn’t safe; that I couldn’t protect her, but she insisted. So we picked the Broadway at random and checked in.” He stopped talking and looked at Starsky. “That’s all I remember.”

“Well, at least it’s something. You did great, buddy. Don’t push it. Look, it’s been a long day. Why don’t we head home and get some sleep? We’ll pick this up in the morning. Maybe by then you’ll remember something else.”

“OK. Huggy, if you hear anything...”

“You’ll be the first to know, I promise. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

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