Demetrius reached down and roughly shook Starsky, who was handcuffed to the headboard of a heavy brass bed. Opening his eyes, Starsky tried to focus his blurry vision on the over-sized man who'd terrorized him the last two days. Expecting more abuse, he tried unsuccessfully to pull free of the bedpost. To his surprise, Demetrius stepped aside, revealing Angela, waiting in the wings with a food tray.

Demetrius unlocked one of the handcuffs and jerked Starsky into a sitting position. "Time to eat, Policeman."

"Terrific. Make a guy eat so you can keep him around as a punching bag."

"Exactly," Angela said, setting the tray on the bedside table. "We aren't finished yet, darling. Detective Hutchinson has only just begun to understand."

"Wait a minute...wait a minute...let me get this straight. You're punishing my partner by beatin' the hell out’a me? What? Are you nuts?" Starsky slowly shook his head. "Don't even bother answering. I KNOW you're nuts. You're one whacked-out lady."

"I don't owe you any explanations, David. You're merely a means to an end. When I've accomplished what I've set out to do, I'll kill you. It's as simple as that. Unfortunately for you, that won't happen immediately." The same sadistic little smile he'd seen the night he was abducted curved the corners of her mouth. "Now, eat your dinner. You must keep up your strength."

"Just tell me one thing." Starsky used his free hand to swipe away the trickle of dried blood crusting his lower lip. "What did Hutch do to make you hate him so much? He never even met you before the other night at Huggy's."

"He's responsible for the murder of my fiancé. That's all you need to know."

"And I guess you plan go try and lure Hutch here so you can kill him too."

"To the contrary, I have absolutely no desire to kill him. He'll suffer a great deal more knowing he's responsible for the death of his best friend. You see, I've done my homework, David. Your loyalty to one another is legendary among the members of the LAPD. This will destroy him. It's the perfect retribution."

With the nod of her head, Angela signaled Demetrius to follow, as she left Starsky to eat the first meal he'd had since lunch on Friday.

"You can go straight to hell!" he shouted as the door closed behind them.

Despite having been without food for so long, he had no appetite. The insane woman's words had left him numb. He knew she was right about one thing—Hutch would never recover from his death. Not like this. Even though he wasn't responsible, Hutch would blame himself, and be consumed by guilt. Starsky knew, because if the tables were turned, he'd feel the same way.

He realized his chances were slim to none, but he had to try to escape. Hutch would be looking, but it was doubtful he'd figure it all out in time. If Starsky wanted to survive, he'd have to do it on his own. Reluctantly, he picked up the sandwich and forced it down.

Hutch hurriedly flipped through the sixth case folder, searching for some clue to Angela’s identity. He’d already eliminated the recent cases he and Starsky had worked on, where the perpetrator had been wounded, or died during the arrest. Their involvement had been limited to being on-site when other officers had been forced to stop a fleeing felon.

Minnie plopped another, smaller stack on the desk in front of him. "Here are a few more," she said. "These go back more than two years, so I don’t know if they’re fresh enough to be possibilities."

"Thanks, Minnie," Hutch answered, stopping to rub his tired eyes. His restless night was beginning to catch up with him and his lids felt like they had sandpaper behind them.

"Here—" She reached around him and picked up his empty mug. "I made some

fresh coffee. Let me get you a cup."

Hutch looked up and smiled in appreciation before reaching for the next folder. "This is hopeless," he mumbled. "By the time we find anything, it may be too late."

"Hey, don’t say that." Minnie laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You can bet your bippy Starsky’s hanging on. He knows we aren’t going to abandon him. Something will turn up." She squeezed the tight muscle beneath her hand. "I’ll be back in a minute with that coffee."

"Hutch?"

Hutch turned at the recognition of a familiar voice. "Huggy, what’re you doing here?"

"Hey, HHlllll

Hutch. Uh…this big dude…he stopped Diane on her way in this morning and told her to deliver this envelope to you. I thought it may be important, so I brought it over myself."

Hutch reluctantly took the envelope from Huggy. "Thanks." Despite knowing of what he’d find inside, Hutch’s fingers paused on the sealed flap. His heart raced. With unsteady hands, he pulled the offending pictures from the envelope. A lump rose in his throat as he looked at his partner’s damaged face. He was barely recognizable now, his eyes swollen shut, his nose—obviously broken; bruises and lacerations so numerous they ran together, transforming the much loved, familiar features into a mass of ravaged flesh. Hutch felt a sob catch in his throat. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Oh man," Huggy whispered as he looked over Hutch’s shoulder. "That can’t be…?"

"Yeah," Hutch answered, blinking back unshed tears as he stuffed the photographs back into the envelope. This time there was no note. No clues. Nothing. Nothing but the hideous pictures. He hoped these ghastly images wouldn’t be his final memory of Starsky.

"Who? And why? I don’t get it, Hutch."

"It’s Angela—or whoever the hell she is," Hutch spat angrily. "Why? In the first package there was a note saying she wants revenge. She claims that we’re responsible for her fiancé’s death. I don’t even know who he was!" Disgusted, he slammed the envelope down on the desk.

Huggy shook his head, at a loss for words.

"I’ve searched through every case we’ve worked on over the past two years where the assailant died during the arrest. Nothing!" Some of his anger melting into desperation, he looked up at the black man’s sympathetic face. "I don’t know what to do, Huggy."

The two men were quiet for a moment, each racking his brain for another approach to the puzzle.

"Can I see the note?"

"Sure. But it doesn’t give us anything to go on." Hutch retrieved the note, now encased in a clear plastic envelope. "We ran a check on the prints. They weren’t on file with any law enforcement agency—even ran them through Interpol."

The two were silent again. Huggy’s eyes narrowed, then opened wide. "Hutch, this note says you are responsible. Not you and Starsky."

"What’s your point?"

"Maybe it’s a case you worked on without Starsky…"

It took only a moment for Huggy’s words to register. "Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?"

Hutch yanked open the desk drawer and retrieved a small black notebook where he kept his case notes. He flipped open the book and searched back to ten months earlier, when Starsky had made an emergency trip to New York to be with his mother while she’d undergone open-heart surgery. He’d been gone for three weeks, and in his absence, Hutch had rotated in the department, helping out with cases needing a little extra manpower.

"You may be on to something, Hug. I worked two cases while he was gone." Hutch felt his first glimmer of hope since the nightmare had begun this morning.

"Jackson…Jackson…Matthew Jackson…armed robbery. Arresting officer, Officer Carl Jones. No incident. Came along peacefully. Yeah, that was a liquor store hold-up. I remember, the guy threw down his weapon and surrendered."

"Keep looking," Huggy encouraged. "Maybe it wasn’t one of your major cases."

"Collins. Drug bust. That was the other one. Right—I remember this one. Nothing outstanding about it either. I got a tip this guy was doing drugs. He was selling on a small scale though." Hutch looked up and saw Minnie heading out the door.

"I’m on it, Hutch. I’ll get the files right away."

"Anybody else?" Huggy asked.

"Just penny-ante stuff. You know...shoplifting, vandalism, and one attempted B & E." Hutch flipped through the pages of the notebook, hoping something would jump out—something memorable.

"It was a pretty quiet time," he said. "I remember Starsk joking about how the criminals all went on vacation while he was gone so he’d have something to do when he got back." A sad smile played across Hutch’s lips as he recalled Starsky’s lop-sided grin when he’d made the jest.

Minnie scurried back into the room carrying the two files, almost colliding with Captain Dobey as he entered the squad room. "What’s going on?" he asked, as Hutch snatched the folders from Minnie. "Huggy, what are you doing here?"

"Playin’ delivery man, Captain. I brought Hutch the latest set of centerfolds."

Harold Dobey’s mouth turned down grimly, silently expressing his displeasure as Hutch passed him the photos. He flipped through them quickly, then dropped them onto the desk. For a couple of moments, he watched as Hutch haphazardly searched the two file folders, speed-reading through the papers then tossing them aside. Anxious to help uncover the key to Starsky’s disappearance, he and Huggy joined in.

Huggy picked up a newspaper clipping showing a handsome young man coming down the steps of the LA courthouse. On his arm was a beautiful, petite, raven-haired woman, dressed in a stylish, suede suit. She wore designer sunglasses and her long, dark hair partially shielded her face from the camera, as it cascaded over her shoulders.

"Hutch…who is this?"

Distractedly Hutch replied, "Huh? Who’s who?"

"Who is this?" He held the clipping out where Hutch could get a better look.

"Uh…oh, that’s the guy I busted for dealing drugs—William Collins. He was a rich kid. Convicted and sentenced to ten years. His father’s probably bought his way out by now."

"No, I mean the chick. Who’s the chick?"

"His fiancee, I believe. She was at the trial. She mostly kept a low profile until the sentencing. I remember she was pretty outraged and told the press he’d been framed."

"Doesn’t she remind you of anyone? She does me. I just can’t lay my finger on it."

Both men stared at the photo. The silence lay heavy between them until Hutch looked up, his eyes wide with recognition. In a moment of enlightenment, he whispered one word.

"Angela."

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