Chapter Seven

 

Starsky turned over, then wished he hadn’t, as a throbbing pain rumbled through his head, giving way to a wave of nausea.  Lying perfectly still, he rode it out, then slowly opened his eyes.  He was in his own bed, fully clothed, the sun peeping through the slats of the blinds.  In the distance, he heard Hutch whistling and rattling pots in the kitchen.  As the aroma of frying bacon assailed his senses, his stomach lurched, barely giving him time to make it to the bathroom.

 

Several agonizing minutes later, Starsky, ashen faced and wild haired, appeared at the kitchen door.  Hutch looked up from his newspaper and coffee and smiled.  “God, you look awful,” he said.

 

“Thanks, for your kind words of encouragement,” Starsky answered.  Trying not to jostle his aching head, he inched his way to the table and eased into the chair across from Hutch.

 

“How about some breakfast?” Hutch asked cheerfully.

 

“You gotta be kiddin’.”

 

Hutch rose from the table and went to the counter where he poured a dark brown concoction from the blender, added a touch of Tabasco sauce, then brought it back and set it down in front of his partner.  “My Uncle Seamus’s cure for a hangover.  Works every time,” Hutch said confidently.

 

Warily, Starsky lifted the glass to his nose and sniffed.  His eyes flew open wide, then instantly watered.  “What’s in here?” he asked, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

 

“Family secret; I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Hutch said dramatically.  

 

Starsky glowered back, obviously in no mood for humor.

 

“Trust me.  I guarantee it’ll cure that headache.”

 

Desperate for relief, Starsky held his nose and chugged the nasty mixture down as fast as he could.  As the last drop of liquid slid down his throat, a fire erupted in his belly, rising all the way to the top of his head.  His eyes bulged, his mouth flew open, and he was sure that, like the cartoon character Wiley Coyote, smoke was steaming from his ears and nose.  When he tried speaking, the only sound he could elicit was a strangled croak.

 

Having used the cure himself a few times, Hutch had anticipated Starsky’s reaction and was having a laugh at his partner’s experience.  When he saw the shock in Starsky’s eyes morph to rage, he decided maybe that hadn’t been a good idea.  “Now hold on, Starsk, give it a minute,” Hutch cajoled, holding his hands in front of himself defensively.

 

But Starsky was already out of his chair, springing across the table.  Just as he snagged the front of Hutch’s shirt, a strange thing happened.  The pain in his head and the roiling in his stomach slowly began to subside.  Disbelief replaced fury, and he released Hutch’s collar.

 

Confident the remedy was beginning to work its magic, Hutch grinned.  “See?  I told you it would work.”

 

“Yeah?  Well, why didn’t you warn me how bad it was gonna taste?” Starsky asked, still a little peeved.  He was amazed that his symptoms seemed to be waning with each passing second.

 

“I knew you wouldn’t drink it if I did.  It’s really a bad dose—I know that.  That’s why I never use it except as a last resort.”

 

“Oh,” Starsky said, considering Hutch’s logic.  The nausea was almost gone now.  “You’re right,” he finally conceded.  “I wouldn’t have gulped it down if I’d known I was drinkin’ liquid fire.  But that stuff really helps.”  Starsky ran a hand through his hair and realized his scalp no longer hurt.  “I never heard you mention your Uncle Seamus,” he said as an afterthought.

 

“He was a Merchant Marine,” Hutch explained. 

 

“Oh, yeah?  Where is he now?  Still at sea?”

 

“Passed away,” Hutch said. 

 

“Did he drown?”

 

“No; died from a bleeding ulcer,” Hutch answered reluctantly.

 

Starsky grimaced.  “Just what I needed to hear.”

 

Hutch tipped his head, acknowledging Uncle Seamus’s fate wasn’t exactly comforting, but believed using “the remedy” sparingly wouldn’t hurt anything.  “The point is, we’ve got work to do, and I couldn’t afford to have you lying around here nursing a hangover all day,” Hutch said bluntly.

 

“I’d say it’s a little late to try and salvage my job.  We fought the good fight, gave it our best shot...  Whatever stale cliché you wanna use, the end result’s the same,” Starsky answered bitterly.  “My career as a cop is over.  The sooner you accept that, the better off we’ll both be.”

 

“Damn it, Starsky!  It’s not like you to just roll over and play dead!  Nothing’s over yet.  We’re going to find out why Kramer stepped in front of that bullet, and we’re going to clear your name.”  Angrily, Hutch jabbed a finger in the air toward Starsky’s face.  “Now if you want to sit here and feel sorry for yourself, that’s your prerogative, but I’ll be out there on the streets solving this!  When you come to your senses, let me know.”

 

Not waiting for a response, Hutch rose from the table and stormed out of the apartment, leaving Starsky to decide if his career and their partnership were worth fighting for.  Hutch already knew the answer.

 

˜  ™

 

In the wake of Hutch’s departure, Starsky sat in the empty kitchen considering the events of recent days, replaying the shooting in his mind, remembering each and every conversation with the witnesses.  He didn’t want to give up his badge.  And God knew he didn’t want to give up his partnership with Hutch.  But what if Kramer had died because Starsky had made a mistake?  Maybe his reflexes were too slow; maybe his aim was off.  Maybe a man was dead because he used poor judgment.  Maybe, maybe, maybe! 

 

Starsky reached up and rubbed his aching brow, wanting to clear his thoughts, sweep aside all the self-recrimination, and start over.  The one constant in all this was Hutch’s faith in him.  That had to count for something.  Hell, it counted for everything!  If Hutch hadn’t lost faith in him, why had he lost faith in himself?  He’d always trusted Hutch’s instincts, his judgment.  Why couldn’t he trust him on this?  Why couldn’t he just accept that this wasn’t his fault and work with Hutch to find out the truth behind what had caused this tragic accident?  Had he allowed this burden of guilt to overwhelm him to the point of skewing his good judgment?  

 

The phone rang, shaking Starsky from his troubled thoughts.  Snatching the receiver off the wall he answered brusquely, “Starsky.”

 

“Detective David Starsky?” asked the feminine voice on the other end. 

 

“That’s right.”

 

“I...I don’t know if you’ll remember me, but this is Megan Davis, Jim Kramer’s sister-in-law,” she started tentatively.

 

“Sure, I remember you.”  Starsky’s voice softened as he recalled the large green eyes that had first stared at him with anger, then later, with pity.  “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, remembering his offer to do whatever he could for her sister and niece.

 

“No.  No, actually, I thought perhaps I could help you,” she answered.  “I saw you on the news yesterday, coming out of the hearing.  I’m really sorry you lost your job,” she said.

 

“Yeah...  Thanks.”

 

“Detective Starsky, I can’t just sit by and watch this happen without finding out the truth about Jim,” Megan said, her voice lowered to a whisper.

 

Starsky’s heart thudded in his chest.  Trying to keep the excitement from his voice, he urged her to continue.  “If you know anything that might help explain why this happened, please tell me.”

 

She hesitated for a moment, and then went on.  “It’s just...well, my sister and I are very close.  We share most everything.  Several weeks ago, she confided in me that Jim was acting strangely.  Perhaps it’s not important, but I thought you should know that something’s been bothering him.  Laura even tried to persuade him to see a doctor.”

 

Starsky felt a kernel of hope begin to germinate.  Maybe this was the break he’d been searching for.  “Strange in what way?” he asked.

 

“I don’t know.  Probably in ways only a wife would notice.  She said he was nervous... restless...like something was troubling him.  He refused to talk to her, though, and they’ve always had an open relationship.  He was coming home very late some nights, and when Laura asked where he’d been, he’d say he was working overtime.”

 

“And that’s unusual?”

 

“Well, the problem was, when she’d try to reach him at the office, they’d tell her he’d left early—didn’t feel well.  That’s why she was insisting he see a doctor.  But Jim always got angry when she tried to discuss it with him—accused her of checking up on him.”

 

Megan was being straight with him; Starsky owed her the same consideration.  “Look, the coroner said your brother-in-law was in perfect health.  So whatever was going on with him wasn’t physical.  Could he have been in some sort of trouble?”

 

“If you’d asked me that same question a month ago, I’d have said no way.  But with all that’s happened...I just don’t know.”

 

“Could he have been embezzling from his employer?”

 

“I don’t see how.  Jim didn’t handle money.  He was a sales rep; he sold the policies.  He didn’t go out and collect money from his clients or anything like that.”

 

Stumped for the moment, Starsky was silent.  “Okay.  I’ll see what I can turn up.  You’ve been a terrific help.  I don’t know how to thank you,” he said sincerely.

 

“I just don’t want to see any more lives destroyed by this,” she answered.  “I think you were just trying to do your job, Detective, and I believe there’s a logical explanation as to what went wrong that morning.  I just hope when you find it, it’s not going to cause my sister more pain.  Good luck.”  With that, the receiver clicked and the line went dead.

 

Starsky hung up the phone, his mind racing.  For the first time in days, he felt a renewed sense of hope.  What was Kramer’s secret?  What had caused him to behave differently toward his family during the past few weeks?  Lie to his wife?  If Starsky could find the answers to those questions, perhaps he’d find an explanation to Kramer’s actions at the market.  But right now, he had to find Hutch.

 

˜  ™

 

Hutch sat at the desk trying to make some sense of the jumble of unfinished reports that lay scattered on Starsky’s portion of the big desk they’d shared.  Starsky hated paperwork, and as usual, he was at least two days behind in his.  It seemed strange to sit at the desk without Starsky.  Sure, he’d been gone before, but Hutch had always known it was temporary.  This time, there was a feeling of finality.  Hutch knew without reservation that if Starsky didn’t come back, this wasn’t something he’d do the rest of his life.

 

When the phone rang, he picked it up and answered, “Hutchinson.”

 

“Hutch, glad you’re there, man,” Huggy’s familiar voice came back.

 

“Yeah, Huggy.  What’s up?”

 

“Maybe something, maybe nothing.  But I’ll skip the pleasantries, if you dig, and get right to the point.”

 

 Hutch’s ears perked up, knowing Huggy had something important to tell him.

 

“A friend of ours, Fifth Avenue, says he may have something that could help Starsky.  I think it’s worth checking out.”

 

“Fifth Avenue?” Hutch said, more than a little surprised.  “What’s in it for him?”

 

“Let’s just say the dude’s ill-timed decision to do business with the wrong people had a bad outcome.  For the past three days, he’s been a guest at one of the city’s finer detainment facilities.”

 

“What’s that have to do with Starsky?” Hutch asked impatiently.

 

“He said the two of you have always been straight with him.  Asked me to get in touch with you.  Fifth Avenue was picked up for fencing some rocks he won in a crap game.  Turns out they were stolen.  They’re trying to tie him to the heist.  He’s in big trouble and says he’d like to make a trade—information about Kramer, for whatever influence you can use in getting the DA to reduce the charges to illegal gambling.”

 

Grasping at straws, Hutch figured any lead worth pursuing.  “Thanks, Huggy.  Where do I meet him?”

 

“Same as always—at the stadium.  He made bail a couple hours ago and asked me to set this up.”

 

Hutch hung up the phone and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.

 

“Hutchinson, I need to see you.”  Dobey stood in the open doorway to his office, a dour expression marring the features of his big face.

 

“Can it wait, Cap’n?  I just got a lead that could help Starsky.  I think it’s a pretty strong one.”

 

“I’m afraid it can’t.  There’s something you need to know.  It won’t take a minute.”

 

Expecting more bad news about Starsky, Hutch reluctantly went into Dobey’s office.  Once inside, he was face to face with Simonetti.  The man’s smug expression didn’t bode well, and Hutch felt his temper begin to rise before a single word was spoken. 

 

“Hutch,” Dobey began, clearing his throat.  “Simonetti here tells me the Department is going to recommend the DA charge Starsky with involuntary manslaughter.  I wanted to you to know first and give you a chance to tell him yourself.”

 

Despite having considered this possibility, Hutch realized he’d never believed it would actually come to pass.  “This is your doing, isn’t it?” he accused Simonetti.

 

A sneer curled Simonetti’s lips.  “It’s about time someone got that hothead off the streets,” he said.  “Your partner has no one to blame but himself for where he is right now.”

 

Before Dobey or Simonetti knew what was happening, Hutch lunged for the IA man.  A right cross caught the man straight on the jaw, sending him sprawling against the wall, Hutch grabbing the lapels of his dark suit before he could slide to the floor.

 

“Hutch!  Stand down!” Dobey shouted.

 

Stunned and surprised, Simonetti didn’t have time to react before he found himself jerked up to within inches from Hutchinson’s face, a face contorted with rage and self-righteous indignation.  “Now you listen to me and you listen good, Simonetti.”  His voice was even and calm as he spoke.  “You’ve had it out for Starsky and me for years.  You don’t give a damn about whether he’s innocent or guilty.  For you, this is just a chance to railroad him off the force.  I’m going to prove this was a righteous shooting and get Starsky reinstated.  Neither you, nor any of your lackeys are going to stop me.  So consider this your last warning.  Just back off and let me do my job!”  With one final yank on Simonetti’s lapels, Hutch released the man and let him fall back against the wall.

 

“Captain Dobey, you saw that!” Simonetti said, struggling to his feet.  “He assaulted and threatened me.  I want to press charges!”

 

Dobey rounded on Simonetti and bellowed, “Then get a warrant!”  He turned back to Hutch and lowered his voice for only Hutch’s ears,  “Get out of here before you do any more damage.  Check out that lead of yours, but make it fast.  I’ll stall him as long as I can.”

 

˜      ™