Hutch pulled up in front of the two story, wood-framed house, and checked the number on the box to make certain he had the right place. Not exactly what he'd expected. Angela seemed more like the kind of woman who would’ve opted for a high-rise, not an old Victorian house with and ferns swinging elegantly from under the eaves and a wrap-around porch complete with rocking chairs. A plain white sign welcoming boarders, stood to the left of the sidewalk. Hutch figured the house couldn't accommodate more than four or five guests at a time; not big enough for more.

Hutch checked his watch. Only 6:45 a.m. He knew it was pretty early to knock on anyone’s door, but he’d lain awake the last three hours, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that something was seriously wrong. And he'd learned long ago that a good cop should always trust his instincts, so he decided to at least check and see if anyone was stirring. Hutch hopped out of the car and went up the sidewalk to the front door. As he approached, he noticed the wooden door was open, and through the screen he could see an elderly lady sitting at a rolled-top desk, writing something in a large ledger book. He rapped lightly on the door jam, but she didn't seem to hear.

"Excuse me," he called.

"Oh, dear!" The elderly lady closed the book, as she stood up and came around the desk. "I beg your pardon; I didn't see you there. I’m not used to such early visitors. May I help you, young man?" She pushed open the screen and invited him in.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm looking for Angela Parson. I understand she's one of your boarders."

"Oh, yes, she's staying here—for the time being, at least. You must be Mr. Hutchinson."

The look of surprise on Hutch's face was obvious. "Uh...well, yes ma'am, that's right. But how...?"

"She told me about you. She said you're her agent and that you'd be taking care of her bill. You know, I wasn’t going to be able to let her and that uncle of hers stay here any longer without paying her bill. Such a cultured young lady, to always be so short on funds."

The little lady fidgeted, worried by the shocked look on Hutch's face. Perhaps Angela's agent wasn't prepared to settle the account after all. "Just can't imagine her in show business. But I always say, ‘to each his own’..."

Hutch rubbed the brow between his tired, bloodshot eyes. "I'm afraid I don't know anything about that." Reaching into his back pocket, the detective pulled out his ID and shield. "I'm Detective Ken Hutchinson, with the LAPD. Actually, I’m looking for my partner, Detective David Starsky. He’s a little shorter than me, dark curly hair, and he drives a red Torino with a white stripe down the side."

"Yes, I have seen that young man here. In fact, last night his car was parked around back in the alley. They all left early this morning."

Hutch turned his eyes skyward. This got more bizarre by the moment. "May I check their rooms?"

"Yes, of course. Follow me." The landlady led Hutch upstairs and unlocked the doors to both efficiencies for him. She seemed completely surprised that all their personal items had been removed. It appeared they’d cleared out everything during the night.

"I just don’t understand this," she lamented. "They owe me three weeks rent. And if you aren’t her agent, why did Miss Parson’s uncle leave that envelope for you?"

"What envelope?" Hutch turned anxious eyes to her. Maybe it would contain the answers he was seeking.

"Downstairs," she told him. "Come along. Said you were expecting these photographs. I assumed they were her publicity pictures." She toddled back to the desk and retrieved a large, sealed manila envelope and turned it over to Hutch.

He quickly tore the flap off the envelope, curious about the contents. What he saw made his blood run cold.

"Are you all right, Detective Hutchinson? You look positively pale. Please, come sit down... "

Unable to tear his eyes away from the gruesome photographs, Hutch shook his head. His hands trembled as he sorted through the Polaroids of Starsky, beaten, and bloody, his face a mass of swollen flesh and bruises.

Believing the policeman was about to be ill, the tiny woman insisted a bit more forcefully, "Young man...please. Are you okay? Should I call someone?" Gently, she took Hutch's elbow and guided him to the brocade sofa in the sitting room. Being the lady she was, she did so without trying to sneak a peek at the photographs.

Slowly, Hutch lowered himself onto the edge of the sofa. He continued staring at the photos, seeing that they were arranged meticulously in chronological order, each worse than the one before. The final photograph showed his partner, shirt torn open, barely able to hold his head up. A sign propped against his chest displayed the message, "AN EYE FOR AN EYE".

Hutch felt the bile rise in his throat. What kind of sick animal was responsible for this? Was Starsky still alive? Suddenly he needed fresh air. He bolted from the sofa and ran for the door without explanation.

"Are you sure I can't call someone for you?" Hutch heard the concern in the landlady's voice, but didn't take time to respond. He just shook his head and ran into the back alley, toward the Torino, covering the distance in half the time it should have taken.

Afraid of what he might find, Hutch hesitated before approaching the car. When he finally gathered the courage to look, he found the car locked, probably just as Starsky had left it the night before. No sign of Starsky nor evidence of bloodshed. Hutch fished out the spare key Starsky had made for him, cranked up the Torino, and sped away from the boarding house.

Harold Dobey struggled into his robe as he hurried down the stairs to his front door. He felt sure the loud banging had by now woken the entire neighborhood. It was seven-thirty, Sunday morning, hardly a decent hour for anyone to pay a visit. Cautiously, he peeked through the glass pane in the door before sliding the deadbolt open. He could see by the back of the blond head that it was Hutch.

"What's the meaning of this, Hutchinson?" he blustered, as he opened the door. But one look at the other’s face told him it was bad—whatever had brought Hutch to his door at 7:30 a.m. was very serious.

"Cap’n, can I come in?"

Dobey quickly opened the door and let him enter. "What's happened?" he asked, lowering his voice in case one of the kids was lurking on the stairs.

Silently, Hutch handed him the envelope. The hard set of his mouth told Dobey the explanation lay within. Dobey pulled the grisly photos from the envelope, his eyes going wide at first glance. Quietly, the air rushed from him, as he tried to control his reaction and remain calm and objective.

Hutch paced restlessly, tension and distress evident in every movement.

"Where'd you get these?"

"It's a long story, Cap'n. All I know is, Starsky’s going to die, or maybe is already dead, and I don't have a single damn clue where he is!" Hutch's voice had escalated with each word.

"Try to get a hold of yourself, Hutch," Dobey urged. "If we're going to find Starsky, we've got to keep a cool head. Now, was there any note with these photographs?"

"In the envelope. I haven't touched it. I didn't want to ruin the fingerprints. I'd already handled the photos." His decision not to remove the note before reaching Dobey's house had been difficult, at best. But Hutch knew the importance of preserving any tiny bit of evidence.

Dobey plucked a tissue from a box on the bookcase behind them and carefully slipped the single sheet of paper out of the envelope, holding it by one tiny corner. Hutch looked over his shoulder as they both read silently.

"Detective Hutchinson,

Dobey looked up at Hutch. "Who is this woman? And how are you and Starsky connected with the death of her fiancé?"

"I...I don't know, Cap'n. She's a woman Starsky's been dating. He's only known her a couple of weeks." This was one time Hutch felt no satisfaction knowing he'd been right—only remorse, for failing to convince Starsky that Angela may not be what she appeared to be.

"I became a little suspicious of her and tried to run a background check yesterday. It turned up nothing. It's as if she doesn't exist."

"How can that be? If she knows you well enough to know how close you two are, she must’ve had some prior contact with you."

Hutch began pacing again. "She must be using an alias. There's no Angela Parson fitting her description listed anywhere. I tried to check out her uncle, too—another dead end. Maybe she's changed her appearance as well. I swear, I don't know who her fiancé was, or what our connection is to his death. Maybe he’s someone we busted. Someone who tried to escape and was killed in the attempt."

Frustrated, Hutch ran a hand over his face. "Hell, I don’t know! Half of LA’s criminal population has some sort of beef against Starsky and me."

Dobey sat down, propping his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. It was just too early to be blind-sided with this kind of bad news. He needed to organize his thoughts. Right now, he knew it was up to him to keep Hutch from losing it.

"Did you check out her apartment?"

"Yeah...that's where the photos were dropped. She seems to have anticipated my every move—left no tracks. The last time I spoke with Starsky was on the phone when he called me from her place Friday night. I looked for him on and off all day yesterday—but it seems they’ve all disappeared into thin air. Cap’n, we've got to do something!" Hutch's face was a stark, desperate visage when he whirled and faced Dobey.

"We will, son. We'll find him. Now," Dobey stood up, taking charge of the situation, "I want you to go to the station and start pulling your most recent cases. See if you can connect this woman to any of them. Maybe you’re right. He may’ve been someone you killed when attempting to arrest him. If we can figure who she is, it may give a clue as to where she’s keeping Starsky."

"Yeah...all right...it's a start," Hutch agreed. "I'll, uh, meet you down there."

Hutch headed for the door, then paused and added, "Cap’n, what if Demetrius shows up at the boarding house again? The note did say she’d be sending more photos."

"Good point," Dobey conceded. "I’ll get a stakeout set up, just in case. Now go on. I’ll call you if anything happens."

Dobey picked up the telephone receiver and began dialing as Hutch let himself out the door.

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