Chapter Five

 

Starsky took a deep breath, summoning the courage to ring the doorbell.  It would’ve been easier to wait for Hutch, to have his moral support, but this was something Starsky felt he should do alone.  Sooner or later, he had to face Laura Kramer, and in his estimation, the sooner it was over with, the better.  Hutch wouldn’t be off duty for another hour and fifteen minutes, so Starsky figured he had just enough time to pay his respects. 

 

He rang the bell a second time and was just about to leave when the door opened a crack.  The face staring back at him was beautiful.  Wide, expressive, green eyes perused him.  Starsky was struck by the way her dark chestnut bangs feathered back, softly framing her perfectly oval face, drawing attention to those spectacular eyes.  “Yes, may I help you?”

 

“I...uh...that is, I’m Dave Starsky,” he began.

 

She looked back, apparently unfazed by the introduction.  “Do I know you?  Are you here to see my sister?”

 

Regaining his tongue, Starsky tried again.  “I’m here to see Laura Kramer.  I’m Detective David Starsky,” he said, stressing his official titled, “of the Bay City Police.”

 

Anger flared in the green eyes, darkening them as realization of his identity came to her in a flash.

 

“What do you want here?  My sister doesn’t want to see you.  Haven’t you already done enough?”

 

“Who is it, Megan?”

 

Before the woman could slam the door in Starsky’s face, an older version of her, shorter and more rounded in stature, appeared behind her.

 

“It’s no one, Sis,” Megan lied, starting again to close the door. 

 

“Mrs. Kramer, please,” Starsky said, smoothly sliding the toe of his sneaker into the doorway to keep Megan from shutting it before he could speak.  “I’m Detective Starsky.  I’d really like to speak with you.”

 

Laura Kramer went rigid, her expression changing from curiosity to anger.  “You have a lot of nerve coming here.  I can’t imagine what you’d have to say to me, Detective.”

 

“I want to extend my condolences and talk to you about what happened yesterday,” he said quickly, trying to gain her interest in one short sentence.  “Please.  Please give me just ten minutes of your time.”

 

Megan turned and looked at her sister, waiting for a signal to turn him away.  Instead, Laura hesitated, then stepped back.  “Let him in, Meg.  I’d really like to hear what he has to say.”

 

The two women stepped aside and allowed Starsky to enter then showed him to the modest family room where a little girl sat on the floor dressing a Barbie doll.  She looked up at Starsky, her green eyes, so much like her mother’s and aunt’s, alight with friendliness.  “Who are you?” she asked with open curiosity.

 

Starsky squatted down next to her and smiled tenderly.  “I’m Dave.  Who are you?”

 

“I’m Angie, and this is Barbie.  Are you here to play with us?”

 

“No, I’m here to talk to your mommy,” he answered.  “That sure is a pretty outfit you’re putting on Barbie.”

 

She smiled at him, not the least self-conscious that her two front teeth were missing.  He thought it might be the prettiest smile he’d ever seen.

 

“You must be a friend of my daddy’s,” she said innocently.  “Did he come home with you?”

 

Starsky felt a hard lump rise in his throat, slowly choking off is oxygen supply.

 

“Enough questions for now, Angie,” Megan said gently, scooping up the little girl and her doll.  “What have I told you about being nosy, huh?  Grown-ups don’t like little girls who ask too many questions.”

 

“But—”

 

“Come on, pumpkin.  We’ll make ice creme sundaes while mommy talks to Mr. Starsky, okay?”

 

“Okay!” the five-year-old shouted gleefully, summarily forgetting the stranger and all her questions.

 

Starsky rose to his feet, struggling to regain his composure.  He turned toward Laura, who motioned for him to sit down.  “She doesn’t know yet that Jim isn’t coming home.  I know I have to tell her, but I haven’t quite found the words yet.”

 

“I...I can’t imagine what that must be like,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes.  When she didn’t respond, he looked up and met her frosty stare head-on.  “Mrs. Kramer, I wish I could tell you what happened yesterday.  I’m still tryin’ to figure it out myself.  Your husband was not a hostage; he wasn’t being used as a shield.  I swear to you, if that had been the case, I would never have fired.”

 

He paused and took a deep breath before continuing.  “When I took aim, Mr. Kramer was standing to the side.  Then before I knew it, he was in the line of fire.  Just all of a sudden, he was there.”

 

The silence hung uneasily between them.  Laura Kramer bit down hard on her bottom lip as moisture began to glisten in her eyes.  Starsky hurried on, afraid he’d lose his own composure if he didn’t tell his story quickly.  “I don’t know why he moved in front of Hodgins, I just know he wasn’t there a split second earlier.”

 

“According to the detectives who came here yesterday, you shot him by mistake.  They said you missed the robber and shot Jim instead.  Aren’t you policemen supposed to know how to handle a gun?”  Her voice began to rise as her emotions surged.  “Why would they allow you to have a weapon on the street if you can’t hit your target?”

 

Starsky’s elbows rested on his knees as he leaned forward, hands clasped tightly before him.  “That’s just it, Mrs. Kramer.  I didn’t just miss Hodgins and accidentally hit your husband.  It almost seemed like he ran in front of the gunman.”

 

Her eyes widened with disbelief.  “What are you saying?”

 

“Well, I wondered if Mr. Kramer—Jim—had ever done anything like that before.  I mean, was he in the military, or had he ever been involved with any sort of rescue organization?  You know, had he ever done anything to save another person’s life?”

 

She was quiet for a moment, considering his question carefully.  “No...not that I’m aware of.  I mean, I know he wasn’t in the military.  Jim was a very quiet man, not at all a risk-taker.”

 

Megan, who had discreetly re-entered the room, sat down next to her sister and took her hand.

 

Taking another tact, Starsky asked, “Was he depressed or in any kind of trouble?”

 

“Just what are you insinuating?” Laura demanded defensively.  “If you mean had he tried to commit suicide, the answer is absolutely not, Detective!  My husband was a happily married man with a beautiful little girl.  He had a good job and a good life until he had the misfortune of being in the path of your gun!”

 

“Laura,” Megan said quietly, tightening the grip on her sister’s hand.  “I don’t think Detective Starsky meant to insult Jim.  He’s just looking for answers.”

 

“He’s looking for absolution,” the grieving woman accused.  She stood abruptly and looked down at Starsky with fiery eyes, now overflowing with tears.  “Well, you’ve come to the wrong place.  I’d like you to leave now, please.”

 

“Mrs. Kramer,” Starsky stood up.  “I can’t begin to tell you how bad I feel about this.”

 

“Well, one thing is certain, Detective Starsky.  No matter how badly you feel, it is nothing compared to what I’m going through.”

 

Starsky wanted to say more, but knew it would only make things worse.  “Thank you for seeing me.”  He headed toward the front door, shown the way by Megan.  He turned and looked at Laura Kramer before stepping through the door.  “If there’s anything you need—anything at all...”

 

Laura did not turn around. 

 

Starsky stepped outside, followed by Megan, who quietly closed the door behind them.  “Detective Starsky, I…I want apologize for the way I acted earlier.”  She hesitated when Starsky looked up and met her eyes.  “My sister and I are very close, and when she’s hurt, I’m hurt.  But I realize it took a great deal of courage for you to come here today.”

 

Starsky smiled self-consciously.  “Thanks.  That means a lot to me.”  He reached into his wallet and took out a card and handed it to her.  “If your sister needs anything, please call me at this number.  You can leave a message if I’m not there.  I’m...I’m so sorry this happened.”

 

She smiled at him sadly.  “I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.”

 

˜  ™

 

Starsky pulled up in front of Venice Place just as Hutch was getting out of the beat-up old Ford.  “Get in,” Starsky told him.  “I’ll drive.”

 

Hutch got in on the passenger side.  “Good timing.  Kirk said he’d have the autopsy report for me this afternoon.  I was going to pick you up and go over there.  I’m not sure what it’s going to tell us we don’t already know, but at this point, we need to check everything.”

 

Glancing sideways at his partner, Starsky confessed, “I went to visit the widow and her daughter.”

 

Surprised, Hutch turned to Starsky and asked,  “You went over there by yourself?  I thought you were going to wait for me.”

 

“I needed to do it—as much for my peace of mind as for the case.  I’ll admit, it was rough.  Especially meeting his little girl.  She’s a little doll, Hutch, and doesn’t even know yet that her dad’s dead.”

 

Hutch heard the sorrow in Starsky’s voice and knew what it must have taken for him to face the family alone.  He was well aware that Starsky, having lost his own father at an early age, would empathize with the little girl.  Not wanting him to dwell on the child’s loss, Hutch changed the subject.  “What did you find out?”

 

“Nothing helpful.  Mrs. Kramer’s pretty bitter.  But who can blame her?  Her sister was there with her.  I’m glad of that.  Nice lady, but she didn’t seem to know of any reason her brother-in-law would pull such a stunt.”

 

“I’ve been thinking, Starsk.  Maybe there was something physically wrong with Kramer.  You know, like Jack Mitchell.  Jack did all sorts of things that were out of character.  I’m hoping Kirk will find evidence of something organic, like a brain tumor.

 

“I suppose it’s possible,” Starsky agreed.  “But that’s kind of a long shot.  You’d think his wife would’ve told me if that was the case.”

 

“Maybe.  But maybe she didn’t know,” Hutch speculated.  Both men grew quiet, privately theorizing the dead man’s motives.

 

˜  ™

 

 “Sorry, guys, but this man was in tip-top health.  I did check the brain for anomalies, but found no lesions, no tumors.  If there was anything wrong there, it was psychological, not physical.”  Clarence Kirk, a stout graying man in his fifties, walked around the table where James Kramer’s corpse lay covered by a white sheet.  “The bullet severed the artery leading to the heart.  That’s why he died instantly.  A clean shot, Starsky.  Quick and painless.”  The coroner looked up at Starsky’s stark white face and realized he should have kept the comment to himself.  Obviously, that bit of information hadn’t comforted the detective.

 

“You’re absolutely certain there was no medical reason for this man’s behavior to have altered?” Hutch questioned.

 

“Sure enough to testify to it if I had to,” he answered.  Turning to Starsky he added, “I’m sorry.  I wish I could be more help to you.  I know you’re on the hot seat right now, Starsky.  If I come up with anything at all, I’ll call you.”

 

Starsky nodded and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder.  “Thanks, Kirk.  I appreciate that.”

 

As they left the building, they walked past a newspaper stand where the headlines read: “BCPD Detective Kills Innocent Bystander in Supermarket Holdup.”  Starsky stopped and picked up a copy of the newspaper and stared at it.  “Mayor Vows to Rid Department of Rogue Cops.”

 

“Hey, you gonna buy that, buddy, or just memorize it?” the vendor groused sarcastically.

 

“Starsk, don’t pay any attention to that garbage,” Hutch said, gently taking the paper from Starsky’s hand and laying it back on the stack.  He noticed the muscle in Starsky’s jaw tighten and felt his own anger rising in response to the unfair accusations.  “This isn’t over yet.  That’s just some more of Silverstone’s grandstanding.  Kramer may not have been physically ill, but there are a lot of things that could have affected his behavior.  I think we’re on to something here.”  Even to his own ears, the words rang hollow.

 

Starsky swallowed hard then turned to meet Hutch’s eyes.  “Yeah, well, I hope we find an answer soon. ’Cause if we don’t, I think Silverstone and Simonetti plan to make an example of me.”

 

˜  ™

 

The afternoon raced by, leaving time to visit only one more of the witnesses, Denise Guthrie¾a young single mother of four, who had been in the store spending her weekly supply of food stamps when the shooting took place.  Tomorrow morning was the hearing, and so far, they had zilch.  Starsky silently prayed this woman would be able to give them something useful.

 

“I didn’t see much of anything,” she told Hutch as they followed her into the living room and sat down.  “Mikey!  You stop hittin’ your brother right now, you hear me?  I’ve had just about enough out of you for one day!”

 

The two detectives sat in the dingy one-bedroom apartment, surrounded by running, screaming children and an atmosphere of hopelessness that both cops could barely comprehend.  They saw it every day, but they never got used to it.  The twenty-two-year-old woman sitting before them looked much older than her tender years, and the spark of youth had long since fled from her large pale blue eyes.  The dark rings beneath both eyes and the haggard condition of her body suggested she was no stranger to the use of drugs as a reprieve from life’s daily hardships.  Denise nervously puffed on a cigarette, oblivious to the mess surrounding them.

 

“Mandy, stop that whinnin’, and quit climbing on me like a little monkey,” she said, peeling the two-year-old from her waist and setting the child back on the floor.  Nearby, in a raggedy bassinet, an infant slept through the confusion and noise created by her siblings.

 

“Like I said, I had these kids with me, and it’s all I can do to keep ’em together, much less pay attention to every little detail goin’ on around me.  I was scared he’d shoot one of ’em, so I was tryin’ to keep ’em quiet.”  She took another drag on her cigarette.

 

“You were standing closest to Mr. Kramer,” Hutch pointed out.  “We wondered if maybe one of the children broke loose from you, and he was trying to protect them.”  Hutch realized he was grasping at straws, but since Kramer wasn’t sick, perhaps he was noble, acting selflessly to save the life of a child.

 

“Naw, they was scared, too.  They may be kids, but they know when somebody means business.  I told ’em to stay quiet.  And for once, they was mindin’ me.  All I know is that man seemed kinda crazy to me.  He was standing right beside me one minute, and gone the next.”

 

Suddenly distracted by one of the boys busy antagonizing a smaller one in the far corner of the room, she shouted, “I ain’t tellin’ you again, Mikey, you quit botherin’ your brother, or I’ll take my belt to you!”  She stood up to emphasize she meant business, spilling the two-year-old who’d once again climbed onto her lap.  The child hit the floor with a thud and howled with surprise, tears instantly springing to her eyes.  The woman scooped her up and gingerly rubbed the back of the baby’s head.  “You okay, honey?  Hmmm?  Mama gonna make it okay,” she crooned.

 

“Are you willing to testify to that at a hearing, Ms. Guthrie?” Starsky asked anxiously.

 

She eyed the two handsome detectives suspiciously.  “What’s in it for me?” she asked.  The two-year-old’s crying had subsided, and she sucked on her thumb contentedly as she was bounced up and down on her mother’s hip.

 

“An opportunity to tell the truth and maybe save a man’s career,” Hutch answered honestly.

 

“Cops never done nothin’ for me,” she said bitterly.

 

“Maybe it seems that way,” Starsky told her.  “But we’re out there every day busting our humps trying keep the streets safer for your kids.  All I’m askin’ is that you come forward and tell them the truth.” 

 

She was quiet a moment, studying his face, but his entreaty was met with cold silence.

 

Finally breaking eye contact with the woman, Starsky looked over at Hutch, signaling with the raise of his brow that he believed this was going nowhere.  They stood to leave. 

 

“I’ll think about it,” she finally muttered.

 

Both men paused at the door, hoping she’d say more, but the only sound in the apartment was that of the two bickering children, now moved to the other room.

 

Denise Guthrie watched in silence as the door closed behind them.  Her mind was already made up.  She wasn’t going to get involved.  The cops had busted Benny seven months ago, leaving her with nobody to help her support all these kids.  Sure, he had beat up on her once in a while and occasionally loaned her to his friends when he got drunk, but he’d also given her money for rent and groceries.  Having been a runaway at fifteen, she’d never felt like she could count on anybody until Benny came along.  Now, she had to resort to turning a few tricks and living on welfare while he rotted in jail just for selling coke and a few uppers.  Why should I care what happens to a cop?  she thought.  It would be a cold day in Hell before she helped him or any other pig.

 

˜  ™

 

Darkness moved over the city like a heavy glove, bringing the day to a close.  Starsky pulled into the only vacant parking space a block south of Hutch’s Venice Place apartment and left the engine idling.  Neither man spoke immediately, each lost in his thoughts, replaying the day’s events in his mind.

 

“It doesn’t look good, Hutch,” Starsky said, barely above a whisper.  “In a few hours, I guess they’ll be deciding whether or not I can be a cop.”

 

Hutch reached over and squeezed his shoulder.  “Starsk, you know it won’t come to that,” he said reassuringly.  “IA has canvassed all the witnesses.  I’m sure they’ve found plenty of people who’ll vouch that this was an unavoidable accident.”

 

Without warning, Starsky slammed his fist against the steering wheel.  “Damn it, Hutch!  What if they didn’t?  What if the people were scared out their wits, or confused about what they saw, or...or just plain hate cops?”

 

The frustration and uncertainty in his voice wrenched at Hutch’s heart.  “I’ll tell them what I saw, Starsk.  And maybe Mr. Luponi and the Guthrie woman will come through.”

 

“But Luponi is old and confused.  I don’t think he’ll convince anyone of anything.  As for Guthrie, there was something there.  She hates cops.  She won’t tell them anything they don’t force her to tell.”

 

“Your record speaks for itself,” Hutch said.

 

“Yeah?  Well, something tells me that Simonetti will find a way to use that against me,” Starsky snorted.

 

“He hasn’t gotten the best of either of us yet, has he?”  Hutch grinned at him.  “Now, come on in and I’ll make dinner.”

 

“Nah,” Starsky declined.  “I don’t think I could handle one of your health-freak dinners tonight, partner.”

 

“Who said anything about health food?  We’ll order two giant pizzas with everything on them.  And I’ve got two cold six-packs in the fridge.  That should meet your junk food quota for the day.”

 

Starsky smiled back, cutting off the engine.  The thought of being alone for the night was unbearable.  “What is this?  The condemned man’s last meal?” he asked with a smirk.

 

“Not at all.  Call it a pre-victory dinner,” Hutch answered, bounding out of the car and up the walk ahead of Starsky.

 

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to count your chicks before they hatch?”

 

“Nope,” Hutch countered.  “But she did tell me in the long run, the good guys always win.”

 

˜      ™