"David! David! Open your eyes and listen to me!"

Starsky’s head lolled back as he tried to focus on the faraway voice. Where was he? Why did his head hurt so? Slowly reality crept back, with it consciousness, and the pain washed over him like a wave of hot water.

Once again bound to the wooden, ladder-back chair, he couldn’t escape as Angelique snarled her hand in the tangled, dark mat of hair and jerked his face toward hers.

"Now, I have one more thing you must do before we bring this to an end. If you cooperate, I promise I won’t let Demetrius hurt you anymore. It can all be over quickly with a painless injection. If you don’t cooperate—well, let’s just say I’ll encourage him to use his imagination."

Through swollen, bruised eyelids, he squinted up at the voice defiantly. "Go…to…hell!" he gritted out between clinched teeth.

"I probably will, darling. But not until I’m damn well ready."

Unimpressed by his show of false bravado, Angelique leaned down close to his face. "It’s not such a big thing, David. I simply want you to record a message for Hutchinson. Sort of a farewell speech, if you will."

Starsky’s lip curled back in disgust. "Lady, if you believe for one second I’m gonna do anything to make it worse for Hutch, you’re crazier than I thought."

"Nothing elaborate, mind you," she went on. "I’ve already written it out for you. You’ll just tell him you died because of what he did to William, and that you suffered a great deal, and you can never forgive him for not saving you."

The midnight blue eyes never wavered from hers. "I don’t even know who you are or what it is you believe Hutch and I did to your boyfriend. So what makes you think I’ll go along with your sick little game?"

Without warning, Angelique drew back and gave his face a resounding slap. Her breathing rapid, she stood dead still, glaring at him with pure hatred, before turning and striding across the room. Her back to Starsky, she stared out the window.

"Very well—I'll tell you. You’re going to die anyway, so it won’t make a difference." She spoke softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "My whole life was changed by your partner’s actions, all my dreams, and my hopes—gone. Do you know what it’s like to have everything you ever wanted within your grasp, only to be snatched away in the blink of an eye?"

Starsky listened quietly, hoping to learn something that would help him out of this mess. Find her weakness, appeal to whatever shred of humanity that may reside in this, cruel, unfeeling, excuse for a woman. How could I have thought I was in love with her? God, Hutch, why didn’t I listen to ya, buddy?

"I’m from a very old, titled family in Europe, David," she continued. "There is royalty in my bloodline. In years past, our family has been revered, commanding the best, and always having it. My grandfather was a perpetual adventurer—both in his personal life, and in business. Unfortunately for us, the greater the risk, the more appealing to him. Fortunes are made by men like Grandfather, daring and willing to gamble. Of course, there is always the risk of losing everything."

She turned and faced him. Starsky saw anger suddenly flame to life in her ice-blue eyes.

"Without telling my grandmother, or his son and daughter, Grandfather made a series of bad investments and squandered the already dwindling family assets. Before we knew it, we were all paupers."

She glared at Starsky, as though he was personally responsible for their ruin. "You can’t possibly imagine the humiliation of having our ancestral home—which had been in our family for over two hundred and years—taken from us and sold at auction, leaving us virtually, out on the street. We had nothing left but the clothes on our backs."

"There’re worse things than bein’ poor. Being a cop-killer for instance," Starsky reminded her.

Ignoring him, Angelique began pacing and talking, as if reciting a well-rehearsed script. It soon became evident to Starsky that she’d thought of little else in recent times.

"Grandfather was destroyed by this, and lost his will to live. Within the year, he had a fatal heart attack. Never having worked before, my mother and her brother didn’t know what to do. Father died when I was very small, so we had depended on my grandparents for everything. If it hadn't been for Grandmother’s friends, we would most likely have starved to death."

Resolutely, her chin rose. "I soon realized it was up to me to restore our good name and the family wealth. I decided to come to America and find a rich husband. After all, I am a beautiful woman of fine breeding. What man would not want me?"

"Yeah, and so humble," Starsky added with undisguised sarcasm.

"Humble gets you nothing, David, except a boot in the face!" she snapped back. Just as quickly, her calm demeanor dropped back into place and she continued. "So I borrowed enough money for airfare for me, and for my servant, Demetrius. I used the family name to wheedle invitations to stay with some ‘old money’ families here in the States." She smiled smugly. "This gave me an opportunity to meet rich men, and look for the ideal husband. And at the same time, I was living in the manner to which I was accustomed. Everything was working out marvelously."

Angelique stopped before the dressing table, reached down and picked up a photograph of the same young man featured in the snapshots in the family room. "Then I met William. He was so…so…perfect. He was charming and good looking, and he had the wealth I needed to reclaim my birthright." She held the picture frame close to her breast.

"I loved him too. That was a bonus I hadn’t expected. I was prepared to marry for money, but I never dreamed I’d be fortunate enough to be in love with him as well. I believe he loved me too. We had just announced our engagement."

For a fleeting moment, Starsky felt a twinge of sympathy for Angelique’s loss. Then her eyes narrowed and flashed as she scowled at him. "But Detective Hutchinson ruined it all! And now, you’re going to die for his mistake."

Struggling to concentrate on her words, Starsky began drifting in and out of a dreamlike state. Too many blows to the head, too little rest, and very little nourishment were all taking a toll on his body. Still, he wanted to understand, so he focused all his energy on comprehending on what she was telling him.

"Angela…or Angelique…whatever your name is…What did Hutch do? We always work our cases together, and I don’t remember the man in that picture. You must be confusing Hutch with some other cop."

"No!" Instantly her face grew red and contorted with rage. "He is the one! He’s responsible for William being sent to prison. William couldn’t help himself. He should never have gone to prison. He didn’t belong there!"

Growing more confused by the moment, Starsky tried again to sort out her convoluted words. "How could Hutch kill him, if he was in prison? I mean it doesn’t make sense…"

"He arrested William on drug charges. William didn’t want to use drugs. He couldn’t help himself. Don’t you see? If your partner hadn’t arrested him, he would never have gone to prison." The unadulterated madness in her eyes was enough to tell Starsky the lady wasn’t playing with a full deck. He tried to clear his thoughts and come up with some way of convincing her of the absurdity in her reasoning.

"They killed him. One of the bastards made a knife and killed him!"

"You mean one of the inmates? One of the other prisoners killed him in prison?"

Tears welled in the ice blue eyes, threatening to overflow. "Yes. We don’t even know why…stabbed him like it was an everyday event. Now I have nothing."

"How can that be Hutch’s fault? I mean, he was just doin’ his job. Your boyfriend broke the law, so he had to pay the price."

"No!" she screamed. "Not with his life!"

Starsky stared at Angelique, her chin trembling, eyes bright with unshed tears. She looked so vulnerable, so fragile. For a moment, it seemed impossible she had masterminded this elaborate scheme for revenge against his partner. He acknowledged, in that instant, she wasn't altogether sane. And most likely, barring a miracle, he’d be dead before Hutch, or Dobey, or anyone else could figure out where he was.

"Surely by now you know that I’ve left nothing to chance." She walked back over to Starsky, and with one finger, tilted his face up toward hers. "I have airline tickets, passports, and arrangements to stay in Switzerland with a family friend until they give up looking for me here." She smiled sweetly. "What a fool you are, David. You disgusted me with your romantic overtures, fawning over me as if I could actually care for you. You made it so easy."

The smile faded as her features became almost brittle. "I’ll never have my idyllic life with William…but at least I’ll be alive. That’s more than I can say for you, darling. And your beloved Hutch…well, I’m convinced he’ll be a broken shell of a man. The guilt will be so overwhelming he’ll most likely end up as a drunk in some alley; or if he’s got the nerve, maybe he’ll kill himself."

Starsky jerked his chin away from her touch, overcome by revulsion at the likelihood that all she said was true.

"So, are you ready to record the message, David? It’s getting late, and I must move things along. As you Americans would say, ‘The ball is in your court.’"

Starsky willed his eye lids open so he could meet her gaze head-on. His stubborn jaw set, he spoke plainly. "When hell freezes over."

"Mmmm…" she sighed. "I thought as much. Pity. You were so very handsome. I’d hoped to remember you that way."

She turned and walked to the door, Starsky’s eyes following her all the way. She paused before opening it, giving him one last chance to relent. When he was silent, she quietly turned the knob and swung the door open. "Demetrius, I’m afraid David doesn’t want to cooperate. Perhaps you can be more convincing…."

Before leaving the room, she turned back to Starsky. "Let me know if you change your mind. Don’t forget, this doesn’t have to be so difficult for you."

As Demetrius’s hulking shape filled the doorway, Starsky steeled himself for what was to come. He swallowed back his fear. He knew, without a doubt, there was no way he’d make that tape. It would destroy Hutch.

Sorry, buddy. I wish we could have said goodbye.

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