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Slice and Dice
 

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Author's Notes: This story is based on the Torso or Kingsbury Run Murders that took place in Cleveland in the 1930s, and that have always fascinated me. It's the story of one of the U.S.'s first serial killers and the one case that literally 'broke' Elliot Ness. To read more about the Torso killings (or Elliot Ness for that matter), I recommend reading Steven Nickles' book Elliott Ness and the Search for a Psychopathic Killer, which is the most thorough book/article on the subject.

Also, I don't know the LA area, so all street or location names are imaginary. Several characters are based on real individuals involved in or connected to the actual case. Their names have been changed. (ex. My character of Detective Peter Hart is based loosely on Detective Peter Merylo, prime investigator of the Cleveland murders; but his partner Orlando Emerson is entirely my creation.)

Slice and Dice

PROLOGUE

September, 1980

The early September morning showed no hint of the damp weather forecasted for later that day. Thomas Eschelman walked his dog Max along the beach in the early morning sun, enjoying this time alone. The serenity of the water washing over the sand was his distraction from life. As he looked further down the sandy beige beach, he saw an mass of... something, something that didn't belong. The closer they approached, the more Max pulled toward the item. Curiously, Thomas picked up a slim stick from the beach and began to poke at the pale maroon colored mound. The smell was atrocious. A combination of fish, oil, and something burnt. As the object shifted due to Thomas' poking, Max yelped and jumped back, trying to avoid contact with it. With shock Thomas found he could make out a female breast and realized he had found the mangled torso of a woman. It couldn't be a broken mannequin, not with the give from the stick.

Backing away in horror and no longer in the mood to further his constitutional, Thomas stumbled to a nearby pay phone in a parking lot off the beach. He called the police and sat down at a picnic table to await their arrival.

Once the police arrived, a set of detectives and a black &white unit, they took Mr. Eschelman back down to the water side where he found the unfortunate woman. Mr. Eschelman made his statement; the coroner's office was called; the area taped off, and swept over by the detectives. The first thing the detectives noted was the coloration of the skin, precise singular cuts used to remove the four limbs from the torso, and the even slices used to severe the head.

A week later, the two waterfront detectives set the file aside unless something else came up, like the victim's name. All they knew was that she was between the ages of 25-30; was white with light brown hair; had been pregnant at least once, but unable to determine if fetus was brought to term, her height was determined at 5'4; weighed between 130-150 pounds; no alcohol or drug usage evident; no birth or other identifying marks. Forced sexual relations did not appear to have taken place.

The coroner determined that her skin had been treated with some kind of an oil substance, probably soaked in it for several days, in an attempt to burn the body; much like acid. The remains hadn't been in the water more than two days, but because of the chemical treatment, time of death was undeterminable. The best the coroner could come up with was six months to one week ago. The matching legs turned up several days later farther down the beach, tied in twine.

The cause of death was decapitation. The head and arms were never found.

Her body was buried in an unmarked grave, unmourned by all; her burial attended by only the grave digger and the two detectives. The corner detailed precisely all details of her death on record in the event a missing persons report ever showed up on the woman. But he doubted it, there were too many missing people these days, and no one cared about an unknown woman.

The quiet case never got much publicity, but what little there was, was meticulously cut out of each newspaper and handled with infinite care by one man. Down in the basement of his suburban colonial he set up a room devoted to this woman and her death. The room was 8'x11' with blonde paneling, tan looped carpeting, a single drop light, and a sliding door. The room itself was innocent enough except for one thing -- posted on the walls amongst the newspaper articles were pictures of the same victim, before and after her death.

Who she was the man would never know, but he called her 'Alice'. He held a picture of the woman kneeling with her arms and ankles tied behind her back. A gag fixed tightly around her face cut into her cheeks and her cornflower blue eyes were wide with panic. As he gently rubbed the picture with his left thumb, he began to think of the power this one act had over him. So easy this was getting to be, why not try more?

ONE

December 10, 1980

The Linnett stream is a tributary that begins from the Pacific Ocean and finds it way down to Bay City, shrinking in size as it approaches the large community. It ends somewhere underground, covered over by developers needing space for their concrete creations.

Before it disappears near Bay City's projects, the banks accompanying its meandering become a wasteland. A weeded refuge for yellowed newspapers, rusting cans, and old improperly disposed of tires.

This warm early December afternoon provided a perfect day for playing hooky and two boys from this neighborhood decided to take Mother Nature up on her offer. As pre-teen boys are wont to do, James Robinson and Manny Deetz, both 12, decided to explore the empty lots that stood next to the small gorge where the Linnett lay stagnant.

As the two boys raced down the incline, James came across the hideous site of a young white, naked male lying face down on the ground -- with no head. Screaming to Manny "there's a man down there with no head!", they both raced back up the hill to James' home where they hid in a closet until his mother came home.

The first detectives to arrive on the scene, after James' mother called the Police, were Detectives David Starsky and Ken Hutchinson, two longtime partners with the ninth district. Ken, known as Hutch for short, was tall and thin with bright blonde hair, aged 35. David, better known by his last name, was shorter, built sturdy, and had a head fully of curly black hair. He was slightly older than his partner at 36. Both had keen, sharp blue eyes. Hutch's were bright sky blue; Starsky's midnight blue.

What they found in the desolate banks assailed even their street-hardened sensibilities.

Not one, but the bodies of two white men, both beheaded, lying amongst the weeds. Both bodies were naked, and were lying face down. Det. Hutchinson pulled a pair of gloves from inside his jacket, and knelt on his haunches to turn the first body over.

"Man, oh man. Starsky, take a look at this."

Det. Starsky was flagging the coroner's team down and had yet to inspect the scene. "What we got Hutch?"

Hutch waved his right hand towards the victim's torso without saying anything. The man had been emasculated.

Starsky winced visibly. "Ouch. What about the other?"

They both walked 12 feet through dirt colored weeds to where the other victim lay face up. Sure enough, this man too, had been mutilated much in the same way.

Just then the coroner's rep approached the two detectives. "Carlson, sir." He said identifying himself to Starsky. "What do we have?"

"Two males, both emasculated and decapitated." Starsky put his gloves on while giving the man the short run down so far. "First one appears to be younger, totally nude except black socks." They knelt down by the second victim. "The second could be an older man, but his skin has been treated with some kind of chemical." He lifts one of the arms to look at the hands. "Possibly to erase identification."

They stood up and Starsky looked around the desolate area. The sunlight necessitated dark glasses, behind which, his keen midnight blue eyes inventoried the scene. "Hey partner! Over there!" Starsky pointed to a patch of dark in the midst of the brown and walked toward it. Dark brown strands stuck up through the dirt, camouflaged to resemble weeds. Starsky and Carlson began to gently dig around the patch and within moments came across the top of a head, buried in a shallow cavity. Starsky immediately stopped to wait for an evidence kit.

Detective Hutchinson walked over to his partner. "Starsky, now's not the time for mud pies." He joked to lighten the atmosphere.

"Hey dumbo, I just found us a head."

His blonde partner lifted one of his golden eyebrows. "Yeah? Can we switch? I found the genitals."

Starsky pulled his glasses down to the tip of his nose and gave Hutch a 'don't even think about it' look.

The coroner's office had gathered up the various body parts (the second head being found in the same cavity as the other head). A preliminary report was promised to the detectives by the following morning. The two detectives, their captain, and several uniforms stayed to jot and compare notes.

"What can you tell me?" Asked Dobey, who arrived at the request of their detectives after the bodies had been tagged and photographed.

Starsky flipped open his notepad. "Two males, found about 12 yards apart, lying face down. Both decapitated and emasculated. Heads were buried carefully, but the, ahem, genitals appear to just have been tossed aside." Dobey shuddered, along with every other male listening.

Hutch looked up to the top of the embankment. "It looks like the bodies were carefully placed where they were found: the arms set at the side and the torso's laid out straight. No way they were rolled or tossed down here. The victims weren't killed here due to lack of blood in the surrounding area."

"Which means they were killed somewhere else, and the murderer had to have driven the bodies here." Dobey concluded. "Any estimate on time of death?"

"Victim #2 was treated with some kind of preservative or chemical, so we can't even guess Cap'n, but Victim #1 looks pretty fresh."

Dobey turned to the uniforms. "Okay, I want you guys to canvass the neighborhood. Maybe we can find someone who saw suspicious activity in this area within the few days. Probably late night or early morning. Report to me on this one."

"Good Luck" Mumbled Starsky under his breath. "What isn't suspicious in this neighborhood?"

Dobey pointed his finger at his smart-aleck detective. "No lip from you Starsky. I can feel in my bones that this is gonna be a tough case to track."

After spending another hour at the stream looking for any clues, the two detectives went back to the precinct to review their notes and put together some theories.

"This is going to be a long night, I can tell." Hutch sighed, tossing his notepad on his desk.

"Well, since it's going to be long, how about getting dinner first?"

"After seeing that, how on earth can you possibly be hungry?! Oh, wait, never mind. I forgot who I was talking to."

Hutch tapped the eraser of his pencil on the notepad, while Starsky chewed his. They were hard pressed to conjecture a motive for such a vicious murder.

"Okay so we got two men minus their jewels and heads. Don't take a psychologist to figure this might be a crime against gays."

"We need to know more about the victims. What if they were happily married?" Hutch asked, more to himself than his partner.

Hutch got off the desk to walk around while thinking. "What if," he turned around and pointed the pencil towards Starsky. "What if these guys were cheating with someone else's woman? And our perp is someone whose wife or girl was screwing around on him?"

"You mean some kind of twisted pay back?"

Hutch shrugged his shoulders. "Well it's another line to work on."

Starsky looked down at his notes. "So we got two males, probably killed at different times, one the murderer kept, possibly in a freezer or cooler. Ages roughly 50 and 25. One victim treated with some kind of preservation chemical. The bodies were placed meticulously, so we assume the murderer drove there after he killed them elsewhere. Then he takes the time to bury the heads, so he must not have worried about anyone seeing him."

Starsky summed the only information they knew was certain: "So our murderer is probably male and he deposited the bodies late night or early morning." He dropped his hands after reading his meager notes. "Well, I guess we'll just have to wait for the M.E.'s report."

"I'm still hungry, what say we stop off at Huggy's a burger and fries and have him put his ears to the ground?"

"As long as I can get a beer, I don't care. I'm not in the mood to eat anything."

"Hutch you can't afford to lose anymore weight. You dropped too much with that damn diet of yours and hardly eat anything as it is."

"At least I won't explode with all the junk you put in your stomach. And I eat enough to keep my beautiful machine running smoothly."

"Yeah, I admit that bod does look good." Starsky snickered, swatting Hutch's rear lightly as the two walked from the squad room, closing the door behind them.

It was Starsky's morning to pick up Hutch, and surprisingly he was only 10 minutes late. The effects of last evening at Huggy's obvious in the sunglasses he wore to shield his eyes from the morning brightness.

"Well, I can see you had a good evening." Greeted Hutch, who had left the bar early.

"Yeah. Me and Georgia and Lisa didn't leave 'till almost 1:00. Nice girls. Should'a stayed Hutch."

"Georgia and Lisa, huh? And who was the lucky lady?" ventured Hutch.

"What do ya think I am? A hormone on wheels?"

"If the car fits." Responded Hutch.

"Well, we just talked and danced. They don't drink."

"I can't see Detective David Starsky playing the perfect gentleman when two lovely ladies come on to him like that." Hutch shook his head.

Starsky gave a Hutch a telling stare. "I can count my one-nighters on the fingers of my hand, you're the one who can't keep track of all the ladies you bring home." Starsky paused to bring up the subject of a double date. "Georgia and Lisa want to meet with us tomorrow night at Huggy's after work. I told them okay."

Hutch grimaced. "Starsky, I'm not in the mood to meet anyone right now."

"Hey it's just for one evening and it'll relieve some pressure from this case." He softened his voice. "I got a feeling it's gonna be a bad one."

Hutch sighed and rested his head on his hand, which was propped against the passenger window. "Me too. Something not right."

"Let's see what the M.E.'s report says. It should be done when we get to the precinct."

The rest of the ride to the precinct was relatively quiet as the two detectives pondered their unusual new homicide case.

They had no idea the impact this case would have on their lives for the next year.

Before he sat down, Hutch called the M.E. to check on the status of the Linnett double murder (as they had come to call it). The clerk responded that the report was being delivered as they spoke, in the early morning mail run.

While waiting for the mail clerk, Hutch poured himself and Starsky a cup of coffee, while Starsky munched on his usual breakfast -- a powered jelly donut.

As Hutch turned away from the coffee pot, the mail clerk walked in holding a tan tyvek envelope, with the case number on it which she handed to Hutch along with several other pieces of mail. Hutch threw everything else on Minnie's desk, and walked to his desk, pulling the paperwork out as he sat down. Starsky leaned over the desks to grab some of the report from Hutch's hand, his fingers sticky from licking the powered donut off them.

"Geez Starsky! I'll make you a damn copy so the original doesn't get all mucked up with your finger foods!" Hutch stood up disgustedly and ran a quick copy for his food encrusted partner.

The two sat down across from each other to read the medical examiner's report. Briefly it stated:

Victim 1, identified as Theodore -- Ted -- Crockett, white male, age 28. Brown hair, brown eyes, 6'1", approx. weight 180 lbs. Address: 4662 Meredith Drive, Los Angeles. No identifying marks. Incomplete right upper radius broken approximately four years ago. Teeth in good condition -- 3 root canals, 3 silver fillings. Penis detached above left testicle. Stomach contents show undigested vegetables. Rope burns and twill on both wrists suggesting victim was restrained with seaman's rope for unspecified period. Absence of blood, and bristles marks embedded into top layer of dermis indicate body was drained and washed elsewhere. Member found approximately 10ft from body. Head severed between 3rd & 4th cervical bones, front to back, with sharp instrument.

Time of Death: 24-48 hours prior to discovery.

Cause of Death: Decapitation.

Both Starsky and Hutch read this last line at the same time and blanched. They turned to the next page of the report, which was a police report on Victim 1:

Ted Crockett, aka Teddy Crocker, address: 4662 Meredith Drive. Four arrests: 3 assault, one possession. One conviction for possession May, 1973 -- Sentence: probation. One conviction of assault -- Sentenced 3 years. Time served -- Sept. 1975 - Nov 1978. Victim of assault March 1980; suspects arrested, no conviction. Next of Kin: Edward & Anne Crockett: 4662 Meredith Drive.

Case numbers were listed next to the five incidents mentioned. Starsky and Hutch knew that would be the next turn in their investigation -- after speaking with Ted's parents.

They turned to the next Victim:

Victim 2, unknown, white male, approx. age 55. Gray-brown hair, gray-blue eyes, 5'8", approx. weight 185 lbs. Large non-cancerous mole on top left back shoulder. Scar on outer left calf; size and figure indicate barbed wire injury; healed completely. No broken bones. Teeth in poor condition. Stomach contents consist of undigested fruit mix. Skin, minus head and penis, yellow-brownish in color with consistency of leather. Traces of oil and acids found in dermis layers indicate attempt to burn remains. Softened skin of inner arms, thighs, feet indicate body lay in cold conditions for some length of time. Further analysis to be completed. Absence of blood, and bristles marks embedded into top layer of dermis indicate body was drained and washed elsewhere. Penis detached from torso just below shaft. Member found approximately 22 feet from body. Head severed between 3rd & 4th cervical bones, front to back, with sharp instrument.

Time of Death: 10 -- 14 days prior to discovery.

Cause of Death: Decapitation

The next page was their report. Detailing the surroundings and any pieces of evidence they had found, including a dark blue wool or melton short jacket, size 44 short. If it belonged to either of the victims, it would've fit Victim #2.

The two sat quietly at their desks, disgusted at what man could do. Hutch tipped his coffee cup and looked into it, showing absolutely no desire for any substance after reading the medical examiner's report.

Starsky jumped up "Well, I guess we should get over to Crockett's parents. See what they can tell us."

Hutch glances back at the first page. "God I hate this part." He ran his hand through his bangs and back off the top of his head.

The drive over to 4662 Meredith in Los Angeles, took 40 minutes. It was on the near side of L.A., closest to Bay City. It was a relatively calm drive, Starsky for once taking his time and not pushing the Torino's limits. They found the street with relative ease, as it was off one of the main thoroughfares of Los Angeles.

Starsky parked the car in the street opposite the house and got out. He turned as he walked across the street and noticed his partner was still sitting in the passenger's seat, staring at the Crockett house. Starsky walked back over to him and knocked on Hutch's window. "Hey, you coming out?"

Hutch mentally shook himself and stretched his long limbs. "Yeah, let's get this over with." Despite his words, his face still looked distant.

"You sure you're okay, Hutch? You look... I don't know, kinda off." Starsky puts his hand on Hutch's forearm; Hutch still looking in the distance.

Hutch finally turned to look at his partner. "No I'm fine. Let's go."

The two were met at the front door by a surly young man in his early 20s. "Yeah?" When the detectives asked to speak to Edward or Anne Crockett, the young man explained that he was Ted's brother John. "You from the media?" He asked eagerly. This guy's ready to profit on his brother's death. They silently voiced to each other.

They flashed their badges and the young man tensed up. "Oh. You find anything out yet?"

Hutch got tired of the games. "Look, are your parents home? We really need to speak with them first."

The young man sighed, knowing his chance to generate some brownie points with the cops may have passed, and opened the screen door to let them in. "Ma! Some cops are here to talk with you about Ted!"

The doorway led directly to a living room. The room was darkened due to the heavy brocade curtains drawn across dirty windows. A glimmer of light shown through the slit where the curtains didn't quite meet, reflecting the dust on the well used oak furniture. The room was warm and stifling; whether that was due to the emotions of the people in the house or not, the detectives were unable to tell.

The young man left the two standing in the living room, calling out for his mother several more times as he walked towards the back of the house. Within a few moments a tiny elderly woman, perhaps age 60, walked out to meet them. Out of respect for the grieving mother, the two remained standing until she invited them to sit down on the couch.

"I understand you're with the police department? Are you investigating what happened to my son?" The tiny woman spoke in a surprisingly strong voice with just a hint of a Polish accent. "The police who came last night wouldn't tell us much, other than" her voice hitched "he was found dead with his... head cut off."

Hutch put his large hand on her shoulder. "We're sorry ma'am. We know this is hard. But we're hoping that by researching his friends, the places he hung out, his employment, things like that, we can find his killer."

Just then a tall thin older man walked into the room, whining "Why do you care? You never got the punk that killed my oldest son!"

"Edward! These policemen just have a few questions. It's not their fault that Carl and Ted were, were killed."

"Your oldest son was killed sir?" Starsky addressed the man, hoping to draw him to their side.

He ran his hand through the bangs that lay sideway across his forehead. "Yeah. Carl was screwing..."

"Edward!"

"Sorry, messing around with some Italian's wife. He killed Carl you know? But the case was thrown away, is that what you call it? This happened maybe three, four years ago."

The older man looked defeated. "And now we got another son dead."

Starsky & Hutch look at each other, asking a silent, a break?, then Starsky asks Mr. and Mrs. Crockett how their eldest son died.

Mrs. Crockett looked directly at Starsky. "He was stabbed. But if you're thinking maybe Carl & Ted were killed by the same man, I don't think so. Carl was a nice boy. Good job, good to us, met a nice girl. But she was married to an evil man. He hit her; she left him and met Carl. But the husband, he went after them and killed Carl. Louisa finally got away from her husband. She write us to tell us she okay." She paused before speaking again.

"Ted, was not a good boy." She turned to Hutch and put her hand on his. "It's not easy, for a mother to admit her boy was bad. But he got in trouble in school, doing drugs. Wrong crowd. I was hoping Carl could help straighten him out and it worked for awhile. Carl got him job as a cleaner in his office building. They spent time together, doing things like brothers should. But then Carl died and one night Ted got drunk and beat up several people. They put him in jail for that you know."

Starsky nodded. "We know."

"He never recovered from his brother's death. And now, my youngest... my only son left... John, he's not a bad boy you understand." She looked up at Hutch almost pleadingly. "He works, he help his parents. But he's unhappy, he smokes, he drinks. I'm afraid for him."

Gently Hutch turned the conversation back to Ted. "Perhaps we can get him some help dealing with both his brother's deaths. Maybe if we can catch the guy who killed Ted, that will help John. Can you provide us with names, phone numbers, or addresses of any of Ted's friends. Where did he hang out? Anything that may have happened that might stand out in either of your minds; like phone calls or letters; threats of any kind."

After spending several hours at the Crockett's house, and even getting the sullen John to provide some information his parents didn't know, the detectives left to begin the tedious process of weeding out suspects and interviewing acquaintances of the victim. They made an appointment to stop by in a week to give the Crockett's an update and to go through Ted's belongings.

One week later, Starsky and Hutch had run to the end of their leads on the Crockett double homicide without much progress. They interviewed the few friends Crockett had; the former co- workers; the bars in the 10th district where he hung out; they were even able to track down the dealers who occasionally sold him drugs. Nothing of any use came out. A composite sketch of Victim #2 was made, but no one associated with Ted Crockett recognized him. The detectives and officers on the cases in Ted's police files were also interviewed. They offered more negative insight into the character of Theodore George Crockett, but little else. The Italian who had killed his brother Carl was living in St. George Utah and working at a casino the night Crockett and his 'companion in death' were deposited in the gully.

The detectives now had to meet back with Mr. and Mrs. Crockett to tell them not much progress had been made on the investigation into the murder of their son. Hopefully they could get into his room to view his belongings. At the time of the first visit, Mrs. Crockett wasn't ready for his room to be turned out. Now that the funeral was over, hopefully enough time had passed. Being able to view the victim's personal property was a major part of any investigation.

The room search yielded less than the interviews had. Some pornographic materials -- nothing unusual for a single male; some minor drug paraphernalia; dirty clothing. No notes, letters, pictures. Nothing to indicate that the person who inhabited this room was a candidate for a sadistic death.

After spending a week in the newspapers, it died away from the media attention. The case eventually made its way back to the file drawer with little hope of being solved without some sort of break; the detectives and officers having to turn to other evils plaguing their city.

The few theories the department could come up with unless there was a break were summed up as follows:

1) no definitive motive can be established; possibly drug or sexual related; 2) the victims were taken to Linnett Stream after their death; 3) the victims were killed by the same person; 4) Victim #2 was killed first and his body deposited in some chemical until the murder/s could get to Crockett; 5) each victim was tied with some sort of sailor's rope around their wrists; 6) the bodies were washed and drained elsewhere; 7) both victims were alive when decapitated; 8) their bodies had to be carried down the embankment and placed in the position they were found; 9) the murder/s were probably male due to the strength needed to overwhelm the victims and to carry the bodies down the embankment; 10) the murder/s were probably right handed.

No one ever connected the murders to the discovery of the young woman's body found on the beach in September.

Victim #2 was never identified and was buried in a non-religious affiliated pauper's plot; the county taking up the expense.

Meanwhile in a basement room of a suburban colonial, a madman rearranged his walls and the gruesome pictures on them, to include "George" (as he called the unknown man), and Theodore.

They were being rearranged to make room for more....

TWO

January 5, 1981

It was a bitterly cold morning for Bay City. The area had been struck with a cold snap for several days with no sign of letting up. Anton Messier was trying to sleep in the apartment above his butcher shop, but from somewhere nearby a neighbor's dog wouldn't let him. After1/2 an hour of listening to the howling, he decided that the cold was more bearable, and he would let the animal in his shop to keep warm. Noticing the time was just after 5:00 a.m., he threw a jacket over his pajamas and grabbed his hat. Without lacing up his boots, Anton stumbled outside to the alley behind his store; listening for the direction of the dog's barking in the dark, murky alleyway.

The streetlight had been either shot out or busted with rocks by some local punks weeks ago, and the city hadn't gotten around to fixing it. There was no illumination from the moon, because the cold front had brought thick heavy clouds along with it. Consequently Anton couldn't see much as he slid from a thin layer of ice on the step off the door. He tripped on one of his untied shoelaces, landing face first on the dirty pavement. He lifted his head and found himself staring at a burlap bag. Getting up on his knees, he peered into the bag, unable to see much. Due to the cold, no smell wafted up from the bag as he opened it. He reached in a hand, felt something soft and pliable, and lifted it out. It was a human arm, severed at both the shoulder and elbow, blood and slowly dripping from the exit wounds.

Dropping the arm in horror, he stumbled to his feet and ran towards the now louder sound of the barking dog. It was his neighbor Julius' dobey mix, straining at his leash towards a pile of rags resting against the fence of a small parking lot where he was tied up. Carefully, Anton pulled back the top layer of bloody rags to reveal the torso of a female. Resting his hand against the wire fencing Anton could no longer hold his stomach back, even though there were few contents in it. His entire body shaking, he headed back to his shop to call the police.

"Hutchinson" responded the blonde detective as he picked up the ringing phone on his desk.

"Detective Hutchinson this is Officer Weisel over at the 10th. I have a 'situation' that I was told to bring to your attention. Something related to a double homicide you and your partner are working on."

Hutch knew what case Officer Weisel was talking about. "Okay, let me grab my partner and we'll be there in, say, 20 minutes." He said looking at his watch.

"No, no. Meet Detective Hart over at E 65th Place. It's a small alleyway off E 65th and Viceroy."

Hutch had a feeling he knew what this was about. "Another murder, same m.o.?"

"Not sure. That's why Detective Hart wants to speak with you."

Hutch looked at the ceiling and sighed. "Okay. Tell 'em we'll be there in say 15 minutes or so."

Starsky walked into the squad room just in time to catch this last part of the conversation. "Hey blondie, what was that about?" He pointed to the phone receiver that Hutch was just hanging up.

"Apparently there's been a murder in the 10th that some detective wants us to check out."

"Us? They can't investigate their own murders? Like we don't have enough murders to handle. We've got three open cases, including that double dose from several months ago we're still checking on."

"I think that's why they want our input. To see if their case matches our double. There must be something to make them think it's the same perp."

Starsky looked thunderstruck. "Just great. Let's hope not."

"Better let Dobey know where we're headed, since it's out of our jurisdiction."

Hutch knocked on the Captain's door, getting no answer he opened it to see the large black man was not in residence. The detectives decided to leave a message with Minnie in case Dobey asked for them.

The vicinity of E. 66th to E. 64th and Viceroy had been cordoned off already with police tape by the time Starsky and Hutch arrived 15 minutes later.

Starsky went over to the pile of rags next to the fence and lifted the purple cloth. The first thing he noticed was the bright red and recent clotting of the blood along the neckline. This victim had also been decapitated. He shuddered, not knowing if it was the scene in front of him or the cold air chilling him. Using his already gloved hands, he gently removed the gruesome finding to the body bag that had been placed by the coroner's team. He lifted the purple rags and saw that it was a dress, bloodied and dirty, but not appearing to be torn. That was put into an evidence bag. Then he went to the burlap bag.

The sun began to shine into the dingy alley and it caught the wire fence (and Hutch's hair) just enough to lighten the area to need sunglasses. Starsky automatically put his Ray Bans on, as much to hide the sickened expression in his eyes as to combat the sun.

"Did you itemize the objects?" He asked the policeman standing guard before he began removing the body parts.

"Yeah, the other detective did that. But after writing the crime scene report we placed everything back in the order we removed them. He wanted you guys to take a look first."

"Yeah, well I would've liked to do without this look." Starsky muttered under his breath, even though he knew that the condition and placement of a body could very well be the most important clue in a case.

The first thing Starsky pulled out from the burlap bag was the arm that Anton had first come across. It appeared to be the left. Once everything was removed, Starsky found there were a matched set of arms and legs belonging to a white victim, possibly female. Whether these parts belonged to the torso wrapped in the purple dress would be determined by the medical examiner. The limbs had been cut into two separate pieces each; the arms severed at the elbows and shoulders, the legs severed at the pelvis and knees. The legs were wrapped in a Bay City Examiner newspaper dated January 3, 1981. The limbs were placed in a second body bag; the newspaper and burlap bag placed in a second evidence bag.

Meanwhile, Hutch talked to Detective Hart from the 10th district and Anton Messier. He also asked to speak with Julius Horowitz, the owner of the dog that first attracted Anton's attention.

"Mr. Messier, what time did the dog's barking first attract you?"

"Maybe 3:30, 4:00 this morning. Finally I got up around 5:00 because it was bothering me."

"Mr. Horowitz, did you hear your dog barking at all this morning?"

"Yah. Paulus his name. He bark lotsa time. He guard my store and lot."

"You didn't think to bring the dog inside with the cold spell we've been having?"

"Paulus big dog. Cold no bother."

Hutch asked them several more questions regarding the bags, the dress, the missing head, or if they saw any suspicious or unusual activity in the last day. He advised them to stay available for several days in case one of them or Detective Hart wanted to speak with them again. Then Hutch spoke with Detective Hart.

"What do you think Hutchinson? Anything like your double?"

"Let me talk with my partner first."

"Starsk." Hutch motioned to Starsky with his finger, asking him to join him in the shadows of the alley for a private discussion.

Starsky puts his left hand on the brick building next to him and leaned into it, studying his shoes.

"See anything that might tie into the Crockett murder?" Hutch asked.

"Other than the fact that we've got either another sicko or the same one, out cutting people up?"

Starsky looked up and past his friend, staring through his sunglasses into the distance. "I don't know Hutch. The knife wounds sure look pretty professional. Not much or no hacking from what I could tell. That would give us the same m.o. The pieces don't appear to have been washed though, like the others. But other than that, I don't know."

"Hart's gonna want us to tell him something."

"Hell Hutch, just tell him to wait for the M.E.'s report like the rest of us!"

"Calm down Starsky. There's no reason to yell at me."

Starsky took a deep sigh and looked back down at his trademark blue Addidas. "I'm sorry Hutch, there's just something about all this that's got me."

Hutch, never one to underestimate his partner's gut instinct, looked intently at him. "Tell me."

"I can't explain it. It's not like we've never seen unpleasant things before..." His voice trailed off and he shook his head. He turned and walked toward Detective Hart, where he was giving instructions to the officers about disbursing the gathering crowd. Hutch watched his partner, then followed him.

"Hey Pete." Starsky greeted Detective Hart. "I don't know what you want to hear." He planted his hands on his hips and looked down from the top of his sunglasses.

"Nothing you could tell me would make this any better, so lay it on me."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Starsky looked around the alley. "The way I see it -- it could be the same perp or not."

Hutch interrupted, explaining further for his partner. "The gashes are similar, but the murderer in our case didn't remove the limbs -- just the, uh, heads. The body here wasn't washed, but your victim wasn't killed here either -- just like ours. While the placement of the limbs show care taken to wrap and place them in an organized manner -- like our case, the torso was just wrapped in an old dress. The packages could've been haphazardly dropped here, unlike ours in which the torsos were carefully carried down an embankment and laid out."

"What we're saying Pete, is we're gonna have to wait for the M.E.'s report." Starsky added.

"Why don't we treat these as two separate cases and killers until something definitive comes up. Since this is the 10th's district, Hart, you and Emerson take this one, and Starsky and I will continue with ours. If there's something we can share with each other, to solve these -- let's do it." Suggested Hutch.

Pete agreed. "Orly, he's out for a couple more weeks until his broken leg heals. I'll have another team hit the streets in the meantime."

After a fairly slow couple of days in which the detectives got some paperwork completed, Hutch received a phone call Thursday afternoon from Peter Hart asking to meet with him and Starsky after work. Hutch verified that Starsky had no plans for the evening and set up a meet at 'The Pits' for 6:30.

The Pits and its proprietor were very busy for a Thursday evening. Starsky and Hutch arrived shortly before 6:30 and did not see their 10th district equivalent yet. They sat down at one of the few remaining tables and waited for Detective Hart. Huggy Bear walked over to greet them; he usually served them himself.

"Ain't got no time to chew the fat my buddies in blue. What can 'ol Huggy do for you?"

Starsky put his hand up to his face to ostensibly cover a yawn, and smirked at Huggy's colorful language. "We're waiting for someone Hug. Just a couple of beers will be fine for now."

"You got it my dark pal."

By the time Huggy got back with their bottled beer and some iced glasses, Detective Hart had arrived and was setting his overcoat on the back of his chair.

"Ahh, another fly for the spider." Huggy said catching sight of a new customer. "How did you get caught in their web?"

"Huggy, this is Detective Peter Hart. Huggy runs this fine establishment, and is a good friend."

Detective Hart took in the slender black man. Huggy was sharp all around -- nose, facial shape, body, eyes, and, of course his brain. He knew of Huggy by reputation, both on the streets and as an upstanding small businessman.

"Any acquaintance of these two bozos is definitely welcome in my humble abode, long as you're slapping some green down of course and not strippin' poor 'ol Huggy of some serious cash flow. What can I get to satisfy the detective's oral cavity?"

Huggy's street speech stupefied Detective Hart. He was not used to it, dealing mostly with Hispanics and Orientals in his precinct.

Starsky took a sip of beer and grinned at the detective. "He wants to know if you're paying or running a tab."

"Jack Daniels on the rocks, please. Oh, and they're paying." Hart said the last with a grin, pointing at the other two.

"You been hanging 'round these cats too long already. I think I like you."

Hart chuckled watching Huggy take his leave. "Just kidding guys. This rounds on me."

"Huggy's, well he's Huggy. You gotta take him with a grain of salt, unless you're a female. Then he'll try to take you... home."

Hutch turned the conversation toward the serious. "So what you got Detective Hart?

"Peter, please."

"What can you tell us about the woman in the alley."

Peter pulled a notepad from his briefcase.

A detective with a briefcase!? thought Hutch and Starsky as they looked at each other. Peter caught the look that transpired between them and immediately knew the cause. "Can't bring the case files home, so I copy them by hand or typewriter and sometimes things come to me when I'm not at work. Then I can jot them down in my temporary files. I also keep any freebies I get from local proprietors in here in case I have need of a little information. Sometimes a card for a free meal, drink, or dry cleaning works better than cash."

Hutch is impressed. "Not a bad idea. Why didn't we think of that."

"No dummy. Why didn't you? You're supposed to be the brains." States his partner.

"You guys remind me of Orly and myself. How long have you been together?"

"About eight long years -- you?" Came the sarcastic response from Hutch as he looked at his partner.

Starsky pretended to be wounded and frowned. "I'm hurt Blondie."

Peter shook his head. "Me 'n Orly been together five years. A little over a year and 1/2 as detectives. We worked on the streets in the 5th prior to coming to the 10th. I think you'll like Orly when you meet, Starsky, he's a lot like you."

Hutch rolled his eyes. "God help us!"

Diane dropped off Peter's drink and he saluted Hutch across the table with it. "I know what you mean." He said he with a wink and a grin.

Shaking his head to clear it from the rush of the pure alcohol, Peter picked up the manila folder in front of him and recited all the details, similar or not, relevant to either of their cases. "The three of us might be able to decide by going over these files if our murders were committed by the same perpetrator or not."

"Victim was Patricia O'Neill, age 36. Brown hair, brown eyes, 165lbs, 5'4". Residence 3406 E. 64th, Apt. 2. Bay City."

"So more than likely the guy who found her, knew her." Interrupted Starsky.

"Anton Messier, a butcher. Yeah he did, we talked to him again. He didn't realize it was her at the time though." Peter added.

"Anyway, the victim had a history of prostitution and public drunkenness. But she never spent more than a week in the county lock-up. Divorced, no children, no known relatives. A friend said her mother died recently in Southern Ohio, but Patricia couldn't afford to go back for the funeral.

The coroner's report indicated that the arms and legs were cut off from the torso exactly at the joint juncture with a large cleaver-like object. Very neat and clean, like he knew exactly where to make the cuts. Same with the lower arms, they were cut at the elbow juncture. The lower legs were cut from the knees more sloppily, like the murderer couldn't quite get the right groove and slipped a few times. Not a hack job, but not as cleanly as the other ones. The murderer was probably right handed. Liver showed signs of severe cirrhosis, probably from acute alcoholism. Stomach had contents of undigested baked beans. No signs of struggle or sexual relations.

Get this... the neck muscles and arteries were retracted. That indicates the cause of death was decapitation."

Starsky and Hutch just look at each other, not saying anything. The cause of death of Ted Crockett and his 'companion' weren't known throughout the force.

"I asked the coroner if he could take a look at your double to determine if possibly we're looking at a serial killer. He was unable to tell from his notes or the pictures if that was the case or not."

"So we could be looking at the real thing or a copy cat."

"Can you share any evidence?" asked Hutch.

"Not really. There's nothing relevant that I think would pertain to your case or that can identify anything about the killer. I'm following up on a few leads left on the scene, but unless they pan out, I can't really share that. You guys know procedure."

"The hell with the procedure! We may have a serial killer out there chopping off heads for entertainment! If this department's gonna hoard evidence like it's a sport to prove who's the best, than there's gonna be a lot more headless bodies lying around soon."

Hutch apologized for his partner's outburst. "My partner hates the word 'procedure'. I understand your reluctance, but if we can get our Captains to agree, we can share information then. Okay?"

Peter hesitated, but agreed to Hutch's more diplomatic approach. "Two heads are always better than one, so I'm sure three, or four when Orly comes back, would work just as well."

"I'll talk to Captain Dobey tomorrow and give you a call once we hear anything. Deal?"

They agreed to meet again if their respective Captains gave them the go ahead to pool resources. In the meantime, Hutch was going to take up Peter's idea and copy all of the files on their case in the event the four detectives ended up working together.

While Starsky gave it his best to pull more information from Hart, he had to admit that no matter how subtle he was, he wasn't putting one over on the other detective. After Hart left, Starsky grudgingly admitted his intelligence. "He knew I was trying to pull more out of him, but either he doesn't know how the game's played or he's too smooth to say anything."

"First, Gordo, you weren't that subtle. I knew what you were up to."

"Yeah, but Hutch, you always know what I'm up to." Starsky elbows him in the side.

The following afternoon when the two were returning from lunch, Dobey was standing outside his doorway waiting for him.

"Starsky, Hutchinson. My office." Dobey directed the two into his office by pointing with the file in his hand. He closed the door behind them and motioned with the same hand held file to sit, as he did so behind his massive desk.

"I got a call a little while ago from Captain Bannion of 10th division Homicide. I understand you" he points to Hutch, "and your partner here are trying to make a deal to share information across precincts without informing your superiors. Now I have no problem with sharing resources. Hell, anything to catch this creep, but" Dobey slammed the flat of his hand on his desk, "I want to know what the hell is going on! You know how I looked to Bannion? It's bad enough this place thinks I can't control my detectives, but now the whole damn force is going to think that."

"Cap'n don't get your briefs in a bind. We were just discussing our two similar cases and Hutch here suggested we pool together as the perp might be the same guy."

"My britches are just fine Starsky!" Dobey took a breath and calmed down. "I know what you're suggesting and it makes sense. Bannion and I agree that the four of you should work together to solve these. I can't seem to keep from going off the deep end concerning this case. I just wish you would've suggested it to me first rather than the four of you discussing it amongst yourselves."

"Uh Cap'n. Three. The three of us." Starsky interjected.

Dobey looked questioningly at Starsky.

"Hart's partner, uh Orly something he calls him, he's out with a broke leg for a few more weeks."

Dobey waved his hand at them directing them to get out of his office and back to work. "Fine, whatever, just keep me informed. And if you want to go tramping on some other district's toes, let me know about it first, or I'll have you working stakeouts for the next year."

A week later, on Friday night Starsky and Hutch were sitting at their usual table at The Pits with their current ladies, Lisa and Georgia, when Hart walked in with another person. He held the door open for a tall black man wearing an orthopedic boot and walking with a cane.

Peter and the other man walked over to the foursome. Hutch stood up and grabbed another two chairs and pulled them up to their table. It made the table crowded, but a friendly crowded. He introduced the man with him as his partner, Orlando "Orly" Emerson.

The two were a study in contrast, much like Starsky & Hutch.

Peter was thin and short; approximately 5'll", 157 lbs. He had light brown hair and hazel eyes. His skin was very pale with a tendency to freckle. Orly was a rich medium brown with a bald head and unusual amber eyes. He was 6'3, maybe 220 lbs. Very muscular and with an imposing appearance.

After introductions, Starsky explained to the ladies that the four of them were working on a case together.

Huggy came over and was introduced to the new patron. "Slip me some skin my brother, and lay on Huggy Bear your specialty."

Orly grinned at the reed-thin man's verbage. "Draft will do bro and some hot wings, if you got 'em."

"Do we got hot wings?" Huggy acted affronted. "Do the bees make honey?"

Lisa couldn't take her eyes off the handsome Orly, much to Starsky's chagrin. "You have such unusual eyes Orly, kind of like cat eyes."

Orly chuckled, only a woman would notice such things. "My mother was part Venezuelan, part German. I find these 'cat eyes' as you put it, to be most helpful when interrogating a suspect."

After an hour of small talk, dancing, and relaxation, Hutch got the hint from Hart that he wanted to talk about something away from the ladies. He persuaded Starsky to join him to the men's room with him to explain that Hart wanted to speak with them. As they were leaving the table the other four made a joke about 'ladies & restrooms'.

When they came back, they both took their respective ladies out on the dance floor, letting them down gently that they would have to leave for the evening -- being work related. When the boys walked their dates back to the table to gather their things, both girls gave Peter and Orly a decidedly unhappy look.

Deciding to go to one of their apartments to talk, all six walked out together. Huggy met them at the door after seeing that the ladies left in an unhappy mood. "No date and mate tonight my boys?"

With an annoyed look, Hutch, widened his eyes at Huggy signaling a reminder that the ladies were in front of them.

The ladies unfortunately overheard that remark, and looked pointedly at their dates. "No, and there won't be for awhile, boys, until you make up for this evening and all the other evenings you've managed to dump us lately."

There goes another set of ladies who can't handle our jobs. The two said to each other in their eyes.

The foursome decided to head over to Peter's condominium because it was larger than the other three and they could spread out; picking up some beer on the way for fortification.

Peter's condo was situated on the ocean, but the view from his balcony on the sixth floor was towards the outdoor menagerie. The condo was well lit with in-laid lights throughout. The walls were basic beige hung with abstract pictures. The furniture was clean, crisp, and very modern. It was the ultimate yuppie bachelor pad and spoke of someone with money.

Peter took off his long overcoat and hung it in the closet, offering to take everyone's jackets at the same time. Hutch handed him his baseball jersey, and Orly his leather coat, but Starsky opted to retain his short worn brown jacket. "Have a seat anywhere." Peter told them while he went down a long hall to retrieve his papers. Starsky and Hutch sat on one of the couches, while Orly sat down at the island separating the kitchenette from the living room. After Peter returns the foursome exchanged their case files for review.

After 1/2 hour of near silence, except the sound of the occasional drawn in breath and pens jotting on paper, Hutch got up to stretch his back. Peter noted the movement and figured everyone needed a short break, so he passed out the beers.

"Unreal." Breathed Starsky as he set down the last of the report he was reading.

"What's so unreal about it?" asked Hutch. "Murder is never unreal, just incredibly sad that some people have no qualms about committing it."

"Just the entire idea of someone having the composure to cut off another person's head while they're still alive."

"I think it's obvious here that whoever we're dealing with, whether it be the same person or not, wasn't in the midst of a drug or alcohol induced frenzy. Everything's too neat. Especially here." Orly pointed to the reports on case that Starsky and Hutch were working.

Peter and Orly brought their beers and reports over to the couch opposite the one Starsky & Hutch were sitting on. "What do we know? There were no fingerprints at either scene. No blood at crime scene 1, only Patricia O'Neill's blood at crime scene 2. The burlap bag led us to a dead-end. The dress found with O'Neill wasn't hers -- the size being too small.

Orly broke in. "We got no witnesses. No one saw anything or heard anything out of the ordinary, which isn't surprising by the Linnett, but back in the alley, I think someone had to hear something. That dog didn't bark all night long for nothing."

"Only thing that didn't match the victims were a wool coat, size 42, well-used found at crime scene; and a strand of blond hair found on the dress in which O'Neill's torso was found."

Hutch put his arm across the back of the couch and crossed his right ankle over his knee to settle back for a long discussion. "First, let's determine if we think we're looking at one or more killers working together, or one and a copy cat, or just two different coincidental murders.

"I think we're looking at two completely different murders, maybe a copy cat. Let me tell you why. The m.o. was the same, as was the cause of death, but basically that's the only things connecting these cases."

Peter took another swig of beer to finish his off and agreed with Hutch. "The victim's apparently didn't know each other. So far nobody recognizes Victim #2. Without fingerprints, physical evidence, or witnesses, there's nothing."

"That's something they have in common." Starsky tossed his file onto the low table separating the two couches.

After more discussion the four decided to pursue their cases separately from one another, but to keep in touch in the event information on the other case developed. Starsky and Hutch hung around Peter's condo for some time enjoying the company of the two other detectives who were so much like themselves. It was obvious the Peter and Orly got along famously and had great affection for one another as friends and partners, by the way they talked to one other. Soon, they were teasing their 9th district counterparts as well.

April 18, 1981

The mouth of the Linnett where it branches from the Pacific Ocean is not a pretty sight. It was once held a warehousing facility for incoming water freight and mineral storage. Now in the process of being re-developed for office use, a guard is assigned every night to watch over equipment left behind by contractors.

As Ben, the guard, made his initial round before the fading sunlight, he saw one of the local homeless men, known only as Joe, standing amongst some discarded blocks of cement near the river bank, looking forlornly towards the water. Joe made the empty warehouses his home during the colder months, but as the new developers took over, it became Ben's job to move the homeless man on. Joe always returned however, never understanding that his 'home' now belonged to someone else, so Ben treated the older man with kindness and usually called the police or a homeless organization to remove the man and give him a warm place for at least one night.

Thinking that perhaps Joe was at the end of his rope and obviously distressed at something, Ben headed over to direct Joe away from the edge of the bank. "Joe" He called, trying to get the older man's attention. "What are you doing? Come away from the edge. You don't want to go there."

Joe looked up to see his good friend Ben. Ben is nice to me. He'll know what to do. Joe pointed down to the edge of the water with his right forefinger and waved to his friend to come join him. "See Ben. Lookee here, what Joe found."

Weaving his way through the crumbling blocks, while trying to keep an eye on Joe in case he jumped into the water, Ben found his way next to the homeless man. He placed a hand on the worn jacket to pull him closer to safety. "Come on Joe. Come with me. We'll get you a nice warm place for tonight and see if we can find someone to help you."

The old man became restless. "No, you don't understand. I found a man here."

Following the direction of Joe's pointed finger, Ben looked.

There was a headless man lying half in the water, half out.

THREE

"Starsky, Hutchinson. My office." Greeted Captain Dobey as he walked into the squad room on Monday morning.

"It's the first thing in the morning? You haven't had time to get us in trouble yet." Hutch looked perplexed as his superior walked into his office.

"Well he can't yell at us for being late." Responded Starsky as he watched Dobey leave the door open behind him.

"Dummy, we weren't late."

"I know, I'm just saying -- he walked in late -- so that would be like the pot calling the kettle black."

"Anyways it's a moot point."

"Moot. What kind of word is moot? I tell ya Blintz you come up with the strangest words sometimes."

Dobey stuck his head out the office doorway and bellowed for the two who were still sitting at their desks. "You two -- didn't I just request your presence?!"

They walked into Dobey's office, closing the door behind them. "As you requested, your Excellency, our presence has arrived." Retorted Starsky.

"No shenanigans Starsky. There's been another decapitation."

Hutch slowly sat in one of the chairs opposite Dobey's desk.

"Damn." Starsky dropped into the other. "Where, when?"

"Found yesterday evening about 7:00 by a homeless man at the mouth of the Linnett."

"Do we know if it's the same killer?"

"Looks it." Dobey read from the file on his desk. "Victim: Male, mid-20s, decapitation cause of death. Here's the file." He shoved it across his desk towards Hutch. "The department wants you to head these murders up."

"What about the O'Neill case?" Asked Hutch as he grabbed up the file.

"Hart and Emerson from the 10th will continue to head up that one."

"The media's gonna be all over this one. The victim's a foreigner who was working a perfectly legitimate job as a merchant marine and on shore leave when he bought it.

Now get moving and catch this asshole." This was an indicator to leave Dobey's office.

Hutch made a duplicate copy of the discovery officer's, and medical examiner's reports and gave one to Starsky.

Victim identified as Paul Hendrickson, Norwegian nationality, white male, age 24. Dark blonde hair, blue eyes, 6'1", approx. weight 182 lbs. Address: 'The Meria', a Norwegian merchant ship, currently docked on the Los Angeles River. Teeth in good condition -- back molars missing, one root canal, no other fillings. Stomach contents show undissolved vegetables and burger. Several tattoos: Norwegian flag on back, heart with sword though it and the initials PH & AL. Bird on upper left shoulder. Body cleaned of blood and trace evidence prior to deposit of torso. Head found 7ft from body, wrapped in white golf shirt and tan blazer, size 38. Head severed between 3rd & 4th cervical bones, front to back, with sharp instrument by right-handed person.

Time of Death: Approximately 4 days prior to discovery of body.

Cause of Death: Decapitation

The two detectives decided their next course of action would be to go to the scene where the body was found and talk to the guard, and if possible, the homeless man. Hutch would talk with the guard and Starsky would try to track down the homeless man, named Joe in the police report.

After he found the guard at his apartment and explained who he was, Hutch asked him to repeat what he told the reporting officer about the previous evening's events. He then asked a few other questions.

"How long have you worked for Alexander Privacy?"

"About two years."

"How long have you been assigned to work at the Linnett docks and what are your hours?"

"Maybe three, three and a half months. I work from 6:00 p.m. to midnight. Someone else takes over till morning."

"Describe your duties."

"Well, first thing I do is check the inventory list to see if any equipment's been added or removed, in case I notice any differences. I do an initial walk through of the outside grounds before it gets dark. After that I just alternate between walking around the warehouses and the grounds outside."

"You know the guy who found the body, right?"

"Yeah, that's Joe. He doesn't have nowhere else to go. He used to use the place as his pad. We, the guards, have been told to keep the vagrants out, but Joe, he's kinda slow." Ben pointed to his temple with his forefinger.

"What was Joe doing when you first saw him?"

"Just kinda standing at the edge of the water. I thought he was gonna jump because he was depressed that he didn't have nowhere else to go. He looked sad."

"Did you notice anything unusual during your initial round?"

"No. Joe's really the first thing I noticed. He doesn't normally go down by the water, that's why when I saw him down there, I was worried about him."

"Did anything look like it didn't belong or out of place?"

"Not really."

"How about other people? Do you know the construction workers or renovators?"

"Pretty much. I don't think I saw anybody I didn't know."

"When saw the body, did you see the head?"

Ben put his head down, either trying to remember, or trying to forget what he saw. "No."

"Had you ever seen the victim before?"

"How would I know if I didn't see his face?!"

Hutch showed Ben a picture of Paul Hendrickssen. "How about now? Does he look familiar to you?"

Ben took more than a look, but he didn't really need to. "Nope. Never seen him before."

"Did you touch anything?"

"Well, I moved some of the concrete blocks so the firemen could move the body. But other than that, no."

"Not even Mr. Hendrickssen's body? You didn't touch it?"

Ben looked disgusted. "No way man was I touching that! Besides I didn't want my fingerprints all over the place."

"Do you know if Joe did?"

"I don't think so. He never moved from the time I spotted him, other than to point out the body."

"This next question is just a precaution for your benefit. Where were you on April 14th?"

"Huh? Let's see that was what, Wednesday? Here in the morning, school in the afternoon, and work at night. That's pretty much my life."

Dobey was right regarding the media. This latest murder not only made the front page section of the Bay City Leader, but also the television news reports. The random murder of a foreigner working while on U.S. soil was unusual in itself, not to mention the mode of the crime -- death by decapitation. The fact that the victim was extremely handsome wouldn't hurt paper sales either.

Some of the media suggested that an earlier double murder in December was possibly connected to the murder of Paul Hendrickssen, but no one yet considered the possibility that the same person also killed Patricia O'Neill.

The police chief asked Dobey to handle the media since his detectives were working the case. Dobey was not happy with this direction, and conveyed that discontent in his dealings with Starsky and Hutch.

"You two," he pointed to the detectives who were sitting at their respective desks late Tuesday morning, reading. "My office. Yesterday!"

What did we do now?

"Close the door behind you."

"Cap'n what? We didn't do nuthin'." Sputtered Starsky.

"That's the problem Starsky. You've made little progress on this torso case.

"I just got off the phone with the editor of the front page of the Leader who tells me that they're going to do a transatlantic interview with Hendrickssen's parents and want to know if I have anything to add. The Chief wants me to keep the media at bay and downplay any connection between these cases."

Dobey pointed his finger back and forth between the two. "I want something to tell the media and Hendrickssen's family tomorrow."

"But Cap'n..."

"Don't 'but' me Starsky! The police chief is making me the department's front man with the media. And you know how I like to deal with the media! So that means I'll be riding your asses until you catch this monster."

The two detectives sighed and left Dobey's office to get back on the streets to find something or someone that would help bring about a break in this case.

The well-dressed man made his way down to the shrine he had set up in his basement. After unlocking the padlock, he began to re-arrange the pictures of his new 'friends' from their places on the walls. He played with them like they were moveable dolls. He hummed to himself while sorting the pictures.

Wonder why they haven't found Billy? He thought to himself. The cops and the media must be really dumb. "Billy" would throw them off. He wasn't planned; just a fluke.

He picked up the latest issue of the Bay City Leader and looked at the photo of the place he had left Paul's body. In the background of the photo was a picture of two men standing face to face. One was obviously a security guard. Probably the guy they mention in the article. The other was a tall blonde man holding a notepad or file. They wouldn't let the media in that close, so that's got to be a cop. Putting down the paper, the man went to a small credenza in the room and began to rummage for another paper from several months ago. He knew what he was looking for. "There you are." He breathed to himself as he tapped the picture in the paper. It was a picture of the alley where Patricia O'Neill had been found. In the background was the same blonde headed man. "You are a cop. Maybe I can have a little fun with you."

Now to find out who the cop was, the man thought, as he added a new phase to his master plan.

"Dammit Hutch! There's got to be something here. Decapitation isn't all that common a method of murder. I mean how many have we seen in all our years on the force?" Starsky paced the floor of Hutch's apartment.

Hutch was calmer than his partner, sitting on the couch reviewing their notes. "Um, one I think."

"Right. And now we've got four, maybe connected, maybe not, in a year! That should tell us something right there."

"What? That we've got a serial killer on the loose? Starsk, we knew that the moment they found the first two bodies."

"And this guy chops off heads from front to back. I mean it's hard enough to cut off someone's head while they're still alive, but to do it while they're looking right at you? We're dealing with a killer that can handle that; what else could he be capable of? I don't like it."

Hutch leaned back into the couch and put his arm over the back in a relaxing pose. "I think we're dealing with an extremely intelligent person or persons. Will you please sit down? You're making me dizzy. I want to solve this one as much as you do Starsk, and pacing isn't gonna solve it."

"I think better when I'm moving, you know that." He ran his hand through his curls thinking it was time for a cut. "Dobey's gonna have our hide if we can't figure this one."

"No he's not. Let's go over the files again. There's something there, I just can't figure out what it is yet."

June 27, 1981

The pre-dawn morning held very little light as the dark green car slowly made its way down Canal Street. The man behind the wheel turned off his headlights as he drove down the quiet street, leaving only the driving lights to break the dim grayness. But that was enough. The man knew where he was going. He had staked this area out several weeks ago once he found out who the blond cop in the news pictures was. He sniggered to himself as he played back in his mind how he found his latest 'friend'. Boy are those cops going to be surprised.

The only drawback in his plan was the weather. It had rained for several days and the ground was wet. Not muddy wet; the ground had soaked up just enough water to make indentations in the ground noticeable. That was what concerned him. He wore galoshes to make sure no imprints of his shoes would prove traceable. Unfortunately for him, he forgot about the tire tracks. But he couldn't take any chances. He needed to dispose of the body before the neighbors began to notice the smell. He had no time to develop the chemicals used to preserve "George" & "Alice's" bodies.

He carried the first bundle over to the edge of the canal, stooped down and slowly slid it into the water with just a slight ripple. Listening carefully for any sounds, he slunk back to the car for the second bundle. Following in the same footsteps he placed before, the man made his way back to the canal and pushed the second one in; again making sure no water splashed or lapped loudly against the muddy sides of the canal.

Once he got back into his car, he checked the time on digital clock in his dashboard. It read 3:37 a.m. The entire process had taken less than ten minutes.

"Zebra 3; Zebra 3" came the call over the radio dispatch in the cherry red Torino.

Hutch grabbed the mike and acknowledged the transmission.

"Meet Captain Dobey at 3623 Canal Street, cross street Water."

"Roger control. Zebra 3 out."

The two exchanged brief glances. "That's down the street from my former cottage."

Within 10 minutes Starsky pulled the Torino up to the empty lot next to a small cottage facing the canal. Dobey and three black and whites were already on site, which was being taped off by several uniformed officers.

Starsky and Hutch looked at their Captain and then one another.

"Don't tell me there's another." Remarked Starsky.

"Okay, so I won't say it." Retorted Dobey back to his stunned detectives.

"Damn."

"The victim's a female -- same m.o. as Patricia O'Neill."

"So why are we here?" Asked Hutch. "Why didn't you call Hart and Emerson?"

"I don't have to explain my actions to you to!" Barked Dobey. "I just want this monster caught, I don't care who gets him."

"Where was the body found?"

Dobey pointed directly in front of where they stood towards the edge of the canal. "Here, tangled in the reeds. The owner of this cottage" he pointed to the cottage next to the empty lot "went to feed the ducks this morning, like he usually does; and found her."

Hutch leaned down to get a look at the murky water. "No head, though, huh?"

"Not yet, but we're looking."

Starsky stared at the body, there was something about her -- she had obviously been a young woman -- that got to him. He couldn't stop the rolling in his stomach, even though he hadn't had breakfast yet. The next thing Hutch noticed was his partner turned away from the woman's torso, vomiting that morning's root beer in the grass.

Hutch moved over to his partner, putting a soothing hand on his back. "Starsk? You okay buddy?"

Bent over on one knee, Starsky held up his left hand to indicate he'd need a few minutes. Soon he lifted his ruffled curls and nodded to his partner, while he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah. I'm okay now."

Hutch took in the pale gray shimmer of his partner's face. "You sure?"

"I said I'm fine dammit!"

Starsky backed down, as he stood up weakly. "I'm sorry Hutch. I didn't have any breakfast and the sight of that first thing in the morning, well it didn't sit right."

Just then one of the officers up stream about 1,500 feet waved his arms above his head to get the attention of the three men.

The three senior officers headed upstream where the uniform was waiting. Starsky took one look back at the remains of the unfortunate woman while the coroner's team was loading her into body bags and on a gurney. What is it about her that got to me so bad?

In order to get to the area where the motioning officer was, they had to pass by the cottage Hutch used to live in. In fact, the officer was in the lot next to said cottage.

"Samuelson, sir." The officer identified himself to the two detectives. "Found footprints leading back and forth from the edge of the canal to this lot. When I followed 'em, I found these tire tracks." He pointed where the tracks stopped and the footprints began.

"I want plaster casts of these. Let's get them done right away and to the lab." Ordered the Captain.

Hutch turned to Dobey while still in a squatting position next to the tracks. "Looks like it could be our first break."

"About time you came up with something." Dobey looked around the surroundings. "If these tracks can be traced, I'm surprised our murderer left them. He's been too smart so far." He said to no one in particular.

A hiss from Dobey's pocket indicated that dispatch was trying to reach him through his walkie-talkie. He turned away from the scene to take the call. "Dobey here."

"Damn! You've got to be kidding me!" Dobey turned to his detectives, his eyes scrunched in his face, his lips pursed tightly. "Fine, I'm sending Starsky & Hutchinson down now." He turned the knob on the talkie to the off position and placed it back in his suit pocket.

"Some city workers found another body. Just outside of Westlake in some woods. This one's out of our jurisdiction, but because the m.o. looks the same, they called Metro. Get your asses down there and find out what's going on. We'll finish up here and get you the report when you get back."

The two detectives hopped into the Torino and contacted base to update them on their position.

"Control this is Zebra 3. We're leaving the district for Westlake per Captain Dobey's instructions. Log us out."

Hutch ran his right hand through his fine blonde hair as his elbow rested against the window frame of the passenger's seat. "This is two in two days, now. He's been pretty regular at three months apart. Wonder if he's going psychotic?"

Starsky grimaced through the entire ride. "He's already psychotic."

"But he's a smart psychotic Starsk. And that means he's dangerous and elusive."

Hutch tried to make small talk during the 1/2 hour drive to the Westlake Police Headquarters, but his partner paid no heed to him. He continued to face forward, hands tightly gripped on the wheel, mouth set in grim determination.

When they pulled in the parking lot of the police station, Hutch put his hand on Starsky's right shoulder and gently pushed him verbally. "Starsk? You okay?"

"WHAT?!" Shouted the other man; his mood matching his hair -- taught and dark.

He realized that he snapped at his partner without cause. "Sorry, Hutch. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"You've been lost somewhere the entire ride down. You feeling okay? I mean, you did get sick earlier."

"Well, I guess that last body really got to me and I just can't get the image out of my head. You know how you said that you feel there's something we're missing?" The blonde head nodded once. "Well, there's something about that young woman that I'm missing. I just don't know what."

"Maybe once we see the medical examiner's report, something will trigger our brains." He opened the passenger door. "Let's go look at the latest casualty."

One of the desk clerks was told to be expecting the two detectives from Bay City and promptly sent them out to a waiting patrol car in which another officer would drive them to the crime scene.

The area wasn't extremely wooded, but it was off a rarely used county road. Because of the high weeds, the body wasn't visible from the road. It was only due to the road crew making their monthly grass cutting rounds that the body was found.

After introductions, the two began to review the scene. The body was intact, and unlike all the previous ones, it was not nude. In fact, several items made this killing unlike the previous murders. Immediately the detectives were unsure if they were dealing with the same perpetrator or a copycat.

"Look Starsk. The head's right here, the clothes are still on the body, and by the amount of blood in the ground, he was killed right here."

"This is so damn frustrating. How can we tell if we're dealing with the same perp or not if they don't leave us any damn clues!"

No one answered Starsky's outburst, a quick glance at the agitated detective and they turned back toward their work. He calmed himself down and walked to partner, standing next to the body. Hutch lifted the orange-yellow blanket so his partner could take a look. "From the clothes, worn carry all bag the officers found nearby, and the left over fire pit" he nodded toward the feet of the victim, "I think we're looking at a homeless person. The officers say there was no id on him, and it's obvious from the surrounding area and the condition of the body that this one's been here awhile. It might be difficult to identify him."

Hutch was a little concerned what his partner's reaction would be to this body, after this morning, but other than a slight tremor to his hand, and a soundless gulp, Starsky held his own. He then went to talk to some of the Westlake officers about any evidence on the scene.

The senior Westlake Officer listed the small amount of evidence found so far. "We've got an empty can of beans -- burned on the bottom, like he placed the can right on the fire. A size 9 male footprint, leather or dress shoe of some sort probably. Not the victim's as he was not a large man and is wearing sneakers.

Starsky handed the officer his card and asked him to forward the finished report to them via overnight mail. "If you find or hear anything else, let us know." He turned back to his partner who was waiting by the covered body. "Got what you want?"

"Yeah, let's get out of here for now. These guys are going to finish the report and forward it on to us tomorrow."

The ride back to Bay City was just as quiet as the one on the way down.

"You know Starsk, the sight of these bodies makes me a little sick too. You wouldn't be human not have that kind of reaction." Hutch said to his silent partner, hoping to break the tense silence in the car.

"Just shut up Hutch. I don't want to talk about it." Starsky's mood got darker the more he thought about the victims and how little progress had been made to find their killer or killers. He couldn't seem to let go of the images in his mind since seeing the woman's body this morning.

"Fine, so we won't talk." Hutch turned forward and picked up the mike, logging them back in as they approached Bay City. Starsky's mood was slowly beginning to rub onto Hutch. As they rode back to Metro the silence between them and the crackle of the radio frayed on their nerves.

When they arrived back at the police garage, Hutch got out of the car before the Torino's engine was turned off. The slam of the door echoed in the hollowness of the garage basement.

"Hey! Be careful. That's my car you're banging up there." Starsky called after the angry blonde.

At the mention of the hated car, Hutch looked at his partner with narrowed eyes. "Oh, so you can talk to me when you're worried about your repulsive-red baby." He turned toward the elevator, not bothering to see if the other man was following him or not.

The door to Captain Dobey's office was closed when the two pushed the door open to the squad room. Good, maybe we can cool down before reporting to him.

Speak for yourself Blondie.

They sat at their opposing desks, Starsky avoiding the blonde's looks by rummaging through the mess of papers on his desk. His counterpart sat watching him, wondering if he should try to break the strain. Just as the blonde opened his delectable mouth, the phone on Starsky's desk rang.

He picked it up and answered without raising his head to meet his partner's sky blue eyes. "Yeah? Starsky."

"Be right there Captain." He hung up the phone and got up from his chair, still avoiding the blonde's gaze. "Dobey wants us."

As the two opened the door to the Captain's office, the first thing they saw was Detectives Hart and Emerson sitting in the two chairs opposite Dobey's dark mahogany desk.

"Hey guys. Cap'n, we just got back from Westlake. We haven't had time to file anything yet."

Dobey waved his hand. "Whatever, I didn't call you in here about that. Close the door."

Hutch did as he asked and the two leaned against the wall, since there was nowhere to sit.

"Detectives Hart and Emerson have been re-assigned. I asked Captain Bannion of the 10th to spare them to work with you on this case. I'm cutting back all your other cases, and re-assigning most of them. You'll still work the streets, but with Hart & Emerson to back you up." He pushed a manila folder on his desk with his fingertips. "We, uh, we got the medical examiner's preliminary report back on the woman from this morning."

Peter stood up and exchanged glances with the man behind the desk. "Uh Starsky, why don't you guys sit down. We've been sitting here for awhile."

Starsky waved his hand and refused the offer. "No problem."

"Starsky, I really think you should."

Hutch immediately suspected something was up and leaned forward away from the wall. "Why?

"Why what?" Dobey asked without looking at the suspicious sky blue eyes.

"Why are Peter & Orly being reassigned to work with us? Why are you so adamant we sit down?" He waved his arms in front of him for emphasis.

"We have reason to believe the killer knows who you two are."

The two looked at each other's blue eyes. I didn't tell anyone what we were working on, did you?

No. Came the simultaneous response.

"Hey -- you two! Stop doing that for the sake of the rest of us." Dobey is used to their silent communication, but Peter and Orly aren't.

Peter explained. "We think the killer is toying with us with this latest victim. Her body was placed into the canal in the lot next to the cottage that Hutch used to own. And the victim is known to both of you."

"Who?"

The three put their heads down briefly before Dobey looked up, his deep brown eyes sorrow filled as he looked at his curly-haired, tense detective.

"Your former girlfriend Dave, Lisa Poling."

FOUR

The curly, brown haired man wavered at his superior's words as his legs went numb; his blue eyes darkened with anguish. Before he could fall to the floor, the tall blonde man standing against the wall took two rushed steps and grabbed the falling one under his arms to support him.

Detective Dave Starsky had just been told that the latest victim of the decapitation murders he and his partner, Ken Hutchinson, have been following for the better part of a year, was a recent girlfriend.

Detective Peter Hart stood up from the chair he was sitting in and helped Hutchinson guide his partner into it.

"How... why... are you sure?" Starsky tried to mentally grab hold, but fell silent, unable to think or communicate.

"I'm sorry Dave." Dobey replied as an affirmation.

"That must be why seeing the body this morning got you so... upset." Hutch rubbed the other man's shoulders, assuring him that the blonde was by his side.

The dark haired detective just sat stunned, not hearing his partner's words.

"I'm giving you the rest of the day off Starsky. I want you to see the staff psychiatrist before you go home." Dobey turned to the other half of his dynamic duo. "Hutchinson, take him home after he sees Dr. Moore. Also, I don't want either of you talking to her roommate, Georgia Lynn. You're too close. Detectives Hart and Emerson will take care of that."

The tall blonde protested. "But this is ours Cap."

"I know you don't want to hear this now, but I want the four of you to work on this together. I've already spoken to Captain Bannion at the 10th. He's going to loan us Emerson and Hart."

"Well, Starsky can't stay alone. Log me out too, I'm staying with him. If you need me, you can reach me at his place." Hutch grabbed his partner's hand and directed him out of the chair and toward the hallway door.

Dobey waved his pen at the exiting detectives. "Just make sure he sees Moore before you take him home."

Hutch drove Starsky directly home after stopping to see Dr. Moore. Captain Dobey had made an appointment for his detective with the psychiatrist as soon as the identity of the young woman in the canal was made, so they were in and out of his office in an hour.

The drive home was quiet, with neither detective making any overtures to speak. Each coming to grips with Lisa's gruesome death. Hutch was more worried about his partner's reaction. Would he think this was another death that he was responsible for because he was a cop? I hope Dr. Moore talked to him about that. He doesn't need to go through that again.

After they arrived at Starsky's, Hutch sat his worn partner down on his couch, while he went into the kitchen to look for something to feed his best friend. Hutch knew his partner hadn't eaten all day and what little he had eaten in the morning was vomited up at this first morning's crime scene. Ah, chicken soup. Starsky's aunt's 'comfort food'.

Once the curly-headed man was fed, given a sedative prescribed by Moore, and tucked into bed with his favorite royal blue blanket placed firmly around him, Hutch quietly went to the telephone to contact the precinct in the hope of reaching Peter and Orly.

The two were in Orly's car on the way back to the precinct, a 1970 cornflower blue Ford Mustang Boss, when they get the call over the radio.

"Did you talk to Georgia?" Asked Hutch quietly, not wanting to disturb his sleeping partner.

Peter handled the conversation while Orly drove. "Yeah. She didn't take it well. She thought Lisa was on a date that, well, became an overnight visit."

"Did she know who Lisa was out with?"

"No. Apparently it was a new guy she just met. Georgia didn't know where or when she first met him, but it was recently according to Georgia. She doesn't know his phone number or address, and said Lisa mentioned only his first name once, but Georgia couldn't remember it."

"Maybe there's something in her personal items telling us who this guy is." Hutch said, more to himself. "How'd she get to this date?"

"The guy was going to meet her at Morton's for dinner and a drink. And before you ask, we've already been there. Unfortunately, no one who worked yesterday evening remembers seeing Lisa. And her car is in her apartment garage; with Morton's being nearby, she probably walked."

"He probably picked her up in the parking lot and convinced her to go elsewhere." Hutch surmised.

"Morton's is well lit and guarded by security. We checked with the guard and valet. Whomever she was going on a date with, must've met her on the way. Or, her date stood her up and someone else picked her up on the way over to Morton's."

Taking a look toward Starsky's bedroom to make sure all was well, Hutch finished the conversation with Peter, told him Starsky would probably need another day off, but that he would try to meet with them sometime tomorrow.

Wakened slowly from a dreamless sleep, Starsky was his usual hesitant self about getting out of bed. Maybe I can get Dobey to give me another day off and stay in bed all day.

But sleep would not return for the dark haired detective, and after awhile his body was restless. He looked over at the clock on the nightstand and saw it read 7:13 am. With a groan, he pushed himself out of bed, noticing he was still in yesterday's clothes.

Hutch was just getting out of the bathroom as Starsky approached to take his shower. Starsky knew his partner wouldn't have left him alone last night.

"How're you feeling?" The tall blonde asked as he watched the shorter man lumber into the bathroom with a fresh towel.

"Lousy."

"I'll cover for you today if you don't feel like going in."

Starsky stopped and nodded his head once before closing the door. "Yeah, okay."

After showering and shaving, Starsky felt much better. He came out of the bathroom wrapped in a white towel -- water dripping off his dark curls, glistening the tan shoulders beneath them.

"I decided I'm going in today."

"You sure you feel up to it." Asked Hutch while he was putting the finishing touches on breakfast for the two of them.

"Yeah. I need to get this asshole." He went into the bedroom and threw on a pair of jeans; using the towel to dry his wet hair. Unlike his blonde partner, Starsky's hair could be air dried, the curls falling right into place.

He tossed the towel in the bathroom clothes basket and went into the kitchen, sitting quietly at the table as he watched his partner make breakfast. Hutch placed eggs over easy, toast, and a glass of juice in front of him.

"I'm sorry about yesterday. I was kinda spaced out."

A comforting hand lay his arm. "Hey it's understandable."

While fiddling around with the eggs, Starsky tried to explain what he was feeling. "It wasn't like when Terry was... shot, ya know. I didn't love Lisa, but I knew her. Unlike when those two cops bought it 'cause of me."

"Starsky. We've been over this. It wasn't your fault that Terry died or Jack died, or the other officer. And it certainly isn't your fault that Lisa was killed."

Dark blue eyes filled with anguish met gentle light blue ones. "You heard what Hart said -- the murderer knows who we are. He killed my former girl and dumped her body next to your former home."

"He's taunting us Starsk. We can't let him get to us."

Since Hutch spent last night at Starsky's apartment, they drove to the precinct in the Torino. Hutch drove as Starsky still had a tendency to drift off occasionally. Whether this was due to any lingering effects of the Valium, or shock from the recent events, the blonde couldn't tell. He just watched from the corner of his eye, as the curly head stared silently out the side window. Eventually turning forward to look straight ahead, the dark haired man blurted: "I need a new car."

WHAT! Where the hell did that come from?! But Hutch didn't speak that sentence. If his partner was on the edge, he didn't want to send him over. "Oh, so you're finally seeing the light?" He tried to keep a light tone to his voice.

"Huh? No. It's just... the Torino is 7 yrs old now and it's starting to cost me more in repairs."

Hutch almost bit his tongue to keep from saying 'I told you so'. "Whatever you want buddy. I'll help you look."

That drew rolled eyes and groans from the man sitting in the passenger seat. "No thanks partner. I think I can manage on my own to find another car. After all, I did purchase the last two without you holding my hand."

"That's what I'm worried about. I don't know what concoction you're going to come up with next."

The teasing lightened Starsky's mood considerably as they continued the short drive to the precinct.

Dobey had reserved a small conference room where the four detectives could work and spread out their papers.

Rather than sort the files by dates, Peter suggested sorting them by how the bodies were dismembered.

Orly watched his partner while he went through the files. "Looking for anything in particular, Pete?"

"Maybe looking at them in a different way will tell us something."

When they were all sorted, the piles looked like this:

*Decapitated and emasculated: Victim 1, Ted Crockett; and Victim 2, unknown Decapitated and quartered: Victim 3, Patricia O'Neill; and Victim 6 Lori Poling Decapitated with no mutilation: Victim 4, Paul Hendrikssen; and Victim 6, unknown

The wall phone rang and Starsky went to get it. His face went pale and his eyes blank listening to the person on the other end. "Uh, yeah, sure." Hutch went over and put his hand on Starsky's shoulder to make sure that his friend was okay. "Starsky?"

The brown curls shook when as he cleared his head. "I'm okay. Lisa's, uh, the final m.e. report is ready."

Orly volunteered to go down to R&I to pick up the file.

Hutch led his partner over to his chair and helped sit him down, he then got a cup of water for the dazed man. "Remember Starsk what we talked about this morning. How this is not your fault. Don't let it eat you up." The dark blue eyes closed tightly, and the head nodded. After a few minutes, the tension in the seated man's body began to release and he opened his eyes and nodded once again to assure the rest that he was okay.

Orly walked softly back into the conference room and sat down with the report. "Are you ready to hear this now Dave?" He asked gently.

"Yes. If I want to catch this guy, I have to know everything."

Victim identified as Lisa Poling, white female, age 29. Shoulder length curly brown hair, hazel eyes, 5'2", weight 115 lbs. Address: 3072 Warren Rd., Apt. 2-B Bay City. Mole, approximately 1/8" in diameter on lower left side of neck; 2nd mole approximately 1/4" in diameter on left hip. Complete fracture of left ulna and radius approximately 10+ years ago. Teeth in good condition, 3 silver fillings, 1 porcelain filling. Legs removed at pelvis juncture with one, maybe two cuts apiece; arms removed at shoulder blades with one cut apiece. Stomach contents show partially dissolved pasta and vegetables. Red marks and twill embedded into 1st dermis layer on wrists and ankles suggest victim was restrained with seaman's rope for several hours. Absence of blood from body indicates it was drained prior to deposit of remains. Head severed between 3rd & 4th cervical bones, front to back, with sharp instrument. Bruising of neck, windpipe, and esophageal passage.

Cause of death: Suffocation caused by strangulation

Starsky had no reaction to the report, but Hutch continued to keep his hand on the denim clad arm in case his partner needed him.

"Also, here's the updated report from the crime scene. It needs your signature." He adds sliding it over the table to Hutch.

"Hmm. Looks like we got something here." Read Hutch. "Tire track impression indicate vehicle was a 1979 Mercedes Benz 450SL. The footprint impressions only tell us that the shoe was a men's size 9. It appears the wearer walked in the same tracks twice, so it was not possible to determine the weight of the guy by the impression."

"Why don't we take a few minute break guys?" Peter suggested after watching the curly-haired detective rub his face while listening to the reports.

The four took ten minutes to walk around, stretch, get coffee, or take a restroom break.

After arriving back in the conference room, Hutch went to the chalkboard and asked the others to throw ideas at him. Everyone else grabbed a pile and began reviewing. Orly grabbed Lisa's file before Starsky could get to it.

"Okay what do we know so far?"

Hutch placed the chalk back on its tray, stepping back to read the list of 'knowns' about the killer and his victims:

1) white male, probably working alone
2) blonde
3) size 9 shoes, probably less than 6' tall
4) comfortably off
5) medical training of some sort
6) meticulous, possibly obsessive
7) likes to play games
8) motive -- undetermined, drug induced?
9) Right-handed

1) 4 of the victims were seen at least once in 10th district bars
2) 2 are unidentified
3) all except victim 5 died as a result of decapitation
4) bodies were washed clean except victims 3 and 6
5) all were killed elsewhere except victim 6
6) apparently none of the victims knew each other

"Hey Hutch? Check this out." Orly was looking at some pictures he found of crime scene 4 (the renovated warehouses at the mouth of the Linnett). In the two pictures he was holding, the police photographer was logging the scene and in the background was Hutch interviewing the guard. One showed a figure with a camera just cut from the left side of the frame. The other showed the same figure from a front angle in which person was definitely photographing directly towards Hutch. "I think we found how our killer knows who's in charge of the investigation." Orly said looking up at the blonde.

"Get Dobey in here."

Starsky called their Captain from the wall phone and the four contemplated the importance of the pictures.

The large man came barreling in the conference room a few minutes later. "You better have some information for me!"

Peter reviewed all the pertinent information about the case; pointing to the chalk board at various times with his hands. He drew a breath. "We need you to stop the media coverage."

"Why?"

Orly handed him the pictures from crime scene 4. "We think that's how the murderer tracked down Dave and Ken, and therefore Lisa Poling -- through the media."

"If the murderer already knows about you two" he pointed to Starsky and Hutch, "what stops him from trailing you or staying one step ahead?"

Hutch and Starsky exchange looks. "Uh, Captain we think Peter and Orly should become the lead investigators for this case."

"I always knew one day it would come down to this -- you two giving me directives!" Dobey barked. "I assigned this to you two in order to get results. If this is your way of saying you can't crack this case -- I can give it to Simmons & Babcock and assign you two to ticket duty!"

Starsky was exasperated. "Look Cap'n. Peter & Orly know just as much as we do about this case. The killer doesn't know who they are. They aren't even associated with the 9th precinct."

Dobey thought for a few minutes while Starsky laid his puppy dog look on the dark man. He sighed, knowing he wasn't immune when Starsky used that expression. "Okay, media will be barred from all current and any future crime scenes. I'll talk to the Editor of the Leader and all the local news channels." He pounds his fist into the table. "I still want the two of you to head this up. Let Hart and Emerson front the investigation. I want all of you to be careful. This guy's smart and methodical. Don't set yourselves up for a fall." Dobey's thick lips were set in thin line and his visage was grim.

September 14, 1981

The century old barn was cold in the pre-dawn hours. The owner didn't keep it heated since there were no longer any livestock on the farm. She didn't know about the 19-yr old currently residing in the barn. But he wasn't going to be alive much longer to continue worrying about the cold.

The dark green Mercedes was parked in the driveway, indicating the son of the owner was in residence for his bi-monthly visit. He made a point to stay several days every other week with his elderly mother and aunt to make sure their comforts were being taken care of. He wasn't worried that they would go into the barn and find the boy. Neither one made it out of the house much, nor was there a reason for them venture into the old barn.

As the son moved about the kitchen this early morning, the smell of coffee brewing and the sounds of someone moving about woke the elderly woman. Having been the daughter and then wife of livestock farmers, she was used to rising early. "Frederick? Is that you?" she called in a thin, tinny voice from the top of the back stairwell.

"Yes mother. I'm just getting ready to finish up and go into town. Didn't want to wake you." He approached his mother as she descended the stairs, and gave her a kiss on the cheek with his cold, thin lips.

"You're leaving so soon in the morning?"

"Yes mother, I'm sorry. I need to get back to my practice. I got up early to do some tinkering in the barn and then I have to drive into town for a meeting this evening." He dropped his eyes into the steaming cup of coffee as he took a sip; hoping that his mother didn't see the gleam from the puddle green eyes as he mentioned his 'tinkering'. He finished his coffee and placed the cup in the sink. "Tell Aunt Mavis good-bye. I'll leave directly when I'm done in the barn and stop by the neighbors to tell them I've gone. I'll be back in a couple of weeks -- call me."

"You're hard to reach Frederick and I don't like those machines. You can call me when you have a free moment."

"Yes mother." He walked out the back door, down the porch steps and 100 feet to the barn, passing his dark green Mercedes parked in the driveway behind the house.

The barn was initially built in 1859, but had been added on to and reinforced several times throughout the past century. The main floor of the building was divided into two sections. One section was split into eight stalls for the horses that used to reside there. The right side of the barn was wide open, except for a small corner shed built into the frame that now held rusty tools. There was a well against the back wall of the barn on the outside and a small opening in the back wall to place a hose for cleaning purposes. The top floor was sturdy enough to hold several pieces of old furniture as well as other long discarded household items. In the far left corner under some dusty canvas, Frederick kept his tools: A 12" machete, a few iron buckets stacked in one another, three iron & twill bristle horse brushes, a 100' hose, a Polaroid camera, a clear thick glass bottle half filled with PC3, and a full-length double sided vinyl apron. Usually there were several coils of 2" sailing rope under the canvas also -- but those were currently in use.

Frederick placed everything in the buckets and hooked the hose around in left arm. Softly going down the sturdy stairs to the main floor of the barn, he made his way over to the last stall.

The young man's brown eyes grew wide as he saw his captor approach the makeshift table he lay tied to. As Frederick began to remove his clothes and place the apron on his nude body, the boy shivered. Whether from cold or fear, or both, only he knew. He couldn't make a sound due to the rag in his mouth. Even without the rag, the boy was so weak and dehydrated from lack of food and water, that he would be able to make very little sound anyways.

He flinched as his captor reached down and loosened, then removed the rope from his neck, and then the rag from his mouth. The young man licked his lips; his swollen tongue doing little to lessen the parched dryness. "You must be thirsty." The man said to him using a soft tone to placate his prisoner. The gentleness did not reach the eyes however. Not waiting for the young man to answer, Frederick brought over a bottle of Gatorade and held the tussled brown head up for better access to the drink.

After his thirst was sated, he opened his mouth to speak, but his mind was still too numb. "How about some food?" Frederick had brought a plate of scrambled eggs from the kitchen, telling his mother he would eat breakfast in the barn. He turned away from his prisoner and opened the jar of PC3; mixing a little in the eggs.

"Let me go. I can feed myself." The boy finally rasped.

"No, You need to stay where you are. You are my newest friend, Kevin."

Confusion appeared in the young man's eyes. "Kevin? That's not me. My name is...."

Pushing a fork full of eggs into the opened mouth, Frederick shushed him. "Names don't matter, really. I like the name Kevin. You look like a Kevin, so you'll be Kevin forever to me."

FIVE

September 17, 1981

Wayne, homeless several years, sat resting at the edge of a stagnant pool in Bay City's industrial area. The pool was a run-off of liquids gorged from companies that resided in the nearby industrial park. He had walked many miles this day, and was thinking, like most homeless do this time of year, about finding some shelter to use for the upcoming winter months as the nights could become very cold. The industrial park looked as good a place as any to find an alcove or, even better an open, empty room within one of the buildings.

There was a light breeze in the air and Wayne watched it make ripples on top of the dirty water. All of a sudden, something in the water caught his attention. It bobbed up and down like a piece of balsa wood. As it turned slowly with the wind, Wayne could see a red stump on the top. Hesitatingly, he backed away from the pool, fear beginning to course through him; even though it was obvious the item couldn't hurt him. It's probably just a dead animal, he kept telling himself; though subconsciously he was sure it wasn't.

The Torino cruised the 9th District neighborhood, its visibility deterring some from criminal activity and comforting others by its presence.

"Zebra 3, Zebra 3" came the voice of Mildred over the radio.

Hutch grabbed the mike. "Dispatch, this is Zebra 3, go ahead."

"Patching through Captain Dobey."

"Roger."

"Where the hell are you two?! And where the hell are your partners?!"

"We're making our rounds Captain. We don't know where Peter and Orly are at this moment. They were following up on some interviews in the 10th."

"I told you four to work on this case together -- that means checking in with each other. I can't raise them on the radio and no one's heard from them since this morning."

"We'll try and locate them Captain."

"Forget it. Get your butts down to the Creekside Industrial Park. We've got another one."

The two grimaced. "Roger Captain."

Starsky turned the Torino into a parking lot to turn around as the Creekside Industrial Park was in the other direction.

At the crime scene Starsky and Hutch found much the same as they had at previous ones -- little evidence besides a decapitated torso.

The other two detectives finally arrived while the situation was being reviewed with the officer who reported to the scene based on an anonymous call.

"Where've you guys been? Dobey was on a rampage earlier looking for you."

"Yeah we know; see the piece missing from my ass?" Orly looked down behind him.

Peter rolled his eyes at his partner. "We were tracking down some characters in the 10th who might've known some of the victims. Still looking for a connection. What's the situation here?"

"Same old, same old." Starsky waved his hand toward the taped off scene.

Hutch read from his clipboard what he had written down. "Torso found in run off. Male, youngish, no head, arms, or legs. Judging by condition of the body, it was in the water 2-3 days at least. No evidence of blood, footprints, or anything else for that matter."

"No other pieces have surfaced?" Peter asked while looking down into the pooled water.

"Nada." Shook a curly brown head.

Orly walked over to his partner. He looked down and frowned. "Doesn't look very inviting, does it?"

"Be thankful we don't have to jump in there."

"Huh?" Asked Starsky.

Orly explained their line of thinking. "The rest of the pieces might be down there somewhere. We should get the city diver to check it out. Otherwise it will have to be drained."

"Ewww."

"My thoughts exactly."

Peter went to call in a request for the city diver.

Orly walked back from the edge of the pool and looked around in the afternoon sunlight. "You guys should get outta here in case the media shows up before Dobey can stop 'em. Looks like a crowd is starting to form."

Orly was right. By the time the city diver arrived an hour later, the workers from the industrial park had found out what happened and called their friends and relatives. The morbid began to trickle around the stagnant pool to get a glimpse of the activity, or better yet -- a body part.

Two hours later, the city diver rose from the water with success. In a culvert about 35' from his initial dive point, the diver came across the limbs -- bound together and stuck at the entrance of the run-off. The head, feet, and hands were not to be found.

Shortly thereafter, the four detectives were back in their temporary office reading various reports. The silence in the room was neither tension filled, nor comforting. It just was. The fading sunlight came through the tall windows on the west side of the room and reflected the dust as it settled to the floor every time one of the occupants moved ever so slightly.

Orly sat on the top of the frame chair in the conference room; his feet flat on its seat. In his hand he held a slim report detailing the latest crime scene in what the department was now calling 'the torso murders'.

"One of these days Orly, you're going to fall backward and crack that beautiful bald black head of yours wide open."

"Yes momma." Orly grinned, as he looked up at his partner.

Hutch grinned and chuckled at the play between the two 10th district detectives. "You sound like me. I'm always telling that one the same thing." As he nodded his head toward his partner, whose feet were up on the table and his body leaning back in his chair on its hind legs. "Of course Starsky has that full head of tangled bird's nest to protect what little brains he has. Poor Orly's likely to crack open that bald head of his."

Starsky looked up from the interviews he was reading. "Huh?"

The other three laughed, and the silence was broken as all four began to converse about the status of the case and their next steps.

"Hey since we've got tomorrow off, why don't we grab a bite at The Pits and knock around some balls?" Asked Starsky.

Peter nodded and looked around at the others. "Sounds good. We haven't had much time off since this all started. A nice relaxing evening might be just what we need to start fresh the next day."

Orly sat down in his chair and twirled the pen in his hands. "Sorry guys, but my plans are to relax in a different way tonight."

"Denise?"

Orly grinned wickedly at his well-dressed partner. "And a bucket of wine."

Hutch pushed back from the table. "Well I guess it's just the three of us then. Why don't we call it day and meet at The Pits at say, 7:00?"

Everyone else agreed and began to stack up the papers on the table in a neat fashion before leaving the room and locking the door behind them.

Starsky clicked his tongue at Orly. "Have fun tonight. Get some for me, 'kay?"

"Not likely. She's all mine."

The Pits was quiet for a Thursday evening, well, quiet for The Pits anyways. The lights weren't as dim for the dinner hour and the noise was down to a hum. Within a few hours, the lights would be lowered a notch and the noise level raised a notch as the drinks began to flow. Right now mostly the white-collar dinner crowd occupied the few booths and tables that were filled. In a booth along the back wall of the dining area, sat the three detectives. Peter and Hutch were sitting next to each other; both men dressed in business casual. Across the table from them Starsky lounged with his back against the wall and his legs lying on the seat. He was dressed in the same jeans and blue cotton shirt he had worn to work that day.

Starsky played with his nearly empty beer, looking at the liquid sloshing at the bottom of the glass bottle. "So... Who's Denise?"

"She's Orly's steady. They've been seeing each other for... maybe a year."

"Is it serious?"

"I hope so. He deserves someone. His only family is his mother and his younger sister, Savannah, but they live in Chicago. He had an older brother, Diego, but he was killed during a drug deal gone bad when Orly was a teenager. Denise is good to him. She's a social worker so she understands his job. So when they have some time off together, they take advantage of it."

Starsky took a sip of his beer as Peter fell quiet. "It's nice to have someone supportive in this live of work." His thoughts filled with memories of Terry, who knew that the job was part of who David was and loved him even more for it.

"Wish I could find a woman as understanding as Denise." Mussed Peter.

"Never found one?"

"Nah. They see only my money."

"You got money?"

"Well, my parents died in a car accident when I was young and I was their only child. The money from the settlement was put in a trust and invested wisely by my uncle, who raised me."

"Hutchie here, comes from money too." The brown haired man nodded his head at his blonde friend.

"Starsky." Hutch warned him, not wanting to talk about his family.

"His parents are loaded. But he doesn't like to talk about it." Starsky took his warning to heart and closed his mouth.

Peter noted the tension in the man sitting next to him and decided to change the subject. "What about you guys? Ever come close to meeting the right woman?"

"Sort of, but not really." Hutch answered, as he lifted his glass up, not wanting to get into the complexities of his relationship with Gillian.

Starsky looked down towards his napkin, fidgeting with anything he could put his fingers on. He adjusted his legs off the bench and faced forward toward the other two. "I had the perfect woman, I was gonna marry her."

Peter can see the pain in both men's eyes. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened. "She died?"

"Yeah, some murdering bastard killed her, trying to get back at me. Tried to kill Hutch too."

Hutch thumped his empty glass on the table. "This is getting depressing, let's go shoot some pool. Bets anyone?"

September 21, 1981

James Alexander wandered underneath the Tremont Street Bridge on the edge of the Los Angeles River. He had a 3' stick in his little hand and was poking around the garbage-strewn pillars. Only 7, he was already in the habit of missing school. His young, single, unemployed mother never bothered to check up on her son to make sure he was attending regularly.

James spent a lot of days under the bridges in the old industrial section of town; hiding from the policeman who would take him back to either his mother's place or to the school where all the other kids made fun of his holey shoes and jeans. He liked the solitude of the bridges. Even the loud rumble of the cars above and the sound of the nearby tugs on the river, couldn't break the comforting feeling the tall bridges brought to James. The feeling of being protected by something stronger and bigger than he. A replacement, though he didn't realize it at such a young age, for the missing strong adult figure in his life.

Sometimes James met a few of the bums that lived under the bridges. They used to scare him, and vice versa, but now they were used to each other. One of the older ladies would always give him a hug and shared any food she had so he didn't go hungry during the day. Even though she kinda smelled like fish, he liked her. She spoke in a sing-song voice, and she talked a lot to her imaginary friend Grace, but James didn't mind -- he had an imaginary friend too.

As James brought his stick up from a pile of wood and old papers, the end of it hooked onto something. It was light enough that James could lift it through the rubble -- he was looking into a grinning skull.

James dropped the stick and began to run. He ran smack into a police officer that was patrolling the area for delinquent teens. Forgetting his fears of the police, James tried to explain what he found in between catching his breath.

The officer, Green, saw a scared young boy in front of him. He grabbed his arms to focus him and calm him down. "Hey son, deep breath, okay? Now, you want to tell me why you're running like a bat outta hell?"

James loosened his right arm and threw it over his shoulder, pointing behind him. "Over there." He pants. "I saw a dead man -- his skull."

"Can you show me where you found it son?" Asked Officer Green, thinking maybe it was only an old Halloween prop, but wanting to check it out.

James shook his head violently, "No, no. I'm not going back there." His light brown eyes began to tear and showed the fright he felt at seeing the item.

The officer gently took the young man's face in his hands and looked into his eyes. "I'll be right here with you. I need your help okay?"

James took a deep breath and nodded. Officer Green grabbed his hand and James slowly walked to the Tremont Street Bridge. The stick James was using was still protruding through the eye socket of the skull, where James had dropped it. Amongst some newspapers, Officer Green spotted other bones. Whether they were human or animal would be up to the coroner to determine. He pushed James back and called dispatch for a crime scene team, a coroner's team, and more uniforms to secure the area and take James home.

Dobey walked into the conference room the next day, Tuesday, and gently closed the door. His four special project detectives were either jotting down notes or on the phone. Surprisingly, the large man walked with a gentle gate; no one had noticed he was standing by the door, until he coughed lightly. "Excuse me." He tapped the edge of a manila folder in his other hand.

"What'cha got there Cap'n." Asked Starsky with his mouth full of a chocolate bar.

Dobey didn't answer, but continued to tap the folder while looking back and forth at the four men.

Hutch immediately caught on and rolled his head. "Damn."

"Well, you might get lucky on this one. Female, black, 33-38, decapitated between 3rd & 4th cervical bones, like all the others. Limbs removed, but found in the vicinity. Unusual dental work, which the coroner is hoping will provide a means to identification. The crime scene report and preliminary coroner's report are all here. She's more than a year dead, which puts us long before our serial killer started his spree. Let me know what you come up with." With that Dobey handed the file over to the nearest detective, who happened to be Starsky, and left the room without further remark.

"What does the report say, Starsky? Anything jump out at you?" Asked Orly after giving him a few minutes to peruse the file.

"Nah. Just some old bones found in a pile of junk. No fingerprints or old blood stains, looks like the body was dumped there after some time."

"Does it estimate how long she could've lain there?"

"I'm sure the coroner's final report will have more detail on that. Just says that the bones appear to be dirty." Starsky flipped pictures of the scene across the table to Orly to pass around.

"No evidence, just some old cans and newspapers, probably from some homeless people who live under the building."

Peter looked at the pictures and kept going back to one; tapping his pen unconsciously. It was a picture of some leg bones lying on yellowed newspaper. Hutch noticed his irritation and questioned him. "What is it?"

"Huh? Just something I want to confirm first. I'm going to take this picture to the lab to get blown up; I'll be right back." Peter got up and walked out of the room without further explanation.

Both Starsky and Hutch looked at the door and then back at Orly, who wasn't bothered by his partner's abrupt departure. "Pay him no mind. He does this all the time, I'm used to it. It usually means he's come up with something."

It took Peter 1/2 hour to get back. "Where'd you go?" The others asked.

"I stopped off at R&I and ordered a file. I want to check on a similar case that I remember from last year."

Hutch walked over and stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. "Do you see something?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe. I want to wait until we get the enlarged picture back."

The next morning, Peter came in 1/2 hour late. It turned out he stopped at the lab to get the blow up of the crime scene picture from yesterday.

"I was right guys." He threw the brown wrapped picture on the center of the table. "When I saw the newspaper wrapped around the latest victim's bones, I thought the date rung a bell, but I wanted to make sure I was seeing it right." He took the enlarged photo from the wrapping and pointed to the upper left hand corner. "August 4, 1980. When does the coroner's report say she died?"

Orly opened up the official report, which had come in that morning. "Grace Johnson, age 38, says here she was identified by gold fillings and bridgework. Cause of death: Unknown. Date of death: Late June, early July, 1980. Probably laid there more than a year by the looks of the newspaper and the dirt embedded in the grooves of the bones. And you think she's part of our killer's group of victims?"

"What stuck out Pete? Other than the fact that her head was cut off in the same place and same style as the others?" The darker man wanted to know where his partner was headed with this.

Peter thrust the file in his hand towards the other detectives. "Because of this." Hutch grabbed the file and read the case number on the top, which had a murder designation.

"This is the case of one unidentified lady found on the beach in September of '80."

Victim, white female, unidentified, approximate age 27. Light brown hair, 5'4", approximate weight 140 lbs. No identifying marks. Stomach contents show undigested vegetables. Absence of blood, and bristles marks embedded into top layer of dermis indicate body was drained and washed elsewhere. Head severed between 3rd & 4th cervical bones, front to back, with sharp instrument. Upper dermis layer yellow-brownish in color with consistency of leather indicates attempt to burn by oil or acid.

Starsky stood next to his partner and glanced at the file that Hutch was perusing and had to ask the question. "So why would you think it's the same murderer?"

"All the heads were removed between the 3rd and 4th cervical bones, front to back. This one appears to be the same. There's a pattern here. He's giving us a new victim every three months. That's what struck me about this latest set of bones. We may not find the victim right away, but he's setting some kind of timetable."

"Victim #6 doesn't fit that profile."

"No, he's the only one that doesn't fit, other than the m.o."

"Technically Lisa doesn't fit the m.o. She was strangled first."

Starsky blanched and looked down at the table, seeming to find an interesting pattern in the wood grain.

Hutch stood up and walked around the table tapping his pencil in his hand. "So either #6 isn't a part of the killings, or he's trying to throw us off." His brow is furrowed. "There's something else that ties these victim's together, but I can't figure out what it is. Damn. It's just out of reach." He began to rub his temples.

Starsky put his hand on his partner's back to pacify him. "Hey Blondie it's okay. What ever it is, you'll come up with it eventually. Don't wrack those brains, they might fall out." He joked.

"Well, let's start by talking to Grace's friends. Do we have an address on her?"

Orly opened the file back up. "Yeah, 1213 Venture, Apt. 6, Bay City. Apparently she, uh, spent quite a bit of time at the Travelodge on Rte. 68 also."

Starsky grimaced, "Great, another 10th district hooker getting sliced and diced."

"Since the 10th's our district, why don't we question her neighbors and you guys check out the Travelodge?" Peter suggested.

"We'll also talk to some of the people that live under the bridges down by the river. Who knows, maybe someone saw something."

After several days of searching amongst the pitiful human beings that were forced either by fate or mental illness to live in sub par conditions, Starsky and Hutch were no closer to locating anyone who may have seen anything out of the ordinary. That was to be expected since the body was more than a year old, but what was unexpected was that Grace Johnson was known to many of the homeless. Neither Peter nor Orly had any luck either locating a person or persons who might've wanted to hurt Grace. She had an ill-fated job, but she was by all accounts a very giving and pleasant person. She spent little of her earnings on frills for herself; most of her extra money was spent buying food and clothing for those who had less than she.

Driving home in the Torino Friday evening after signing off, Starsky and Hutch were debating the merits of going out to get dinner, rather than eating in. "Hutch, I'm really hungry for Italian. We haven't gone out to an Italian restaurant in ages."

"Need I remind you why we haven't gone to any of your little Italian restaurants?"

"Ah, but Hutch. That was years ago."

"Uh, uh. Eggs buddy -- remember?"

"Eggs! You expect me to eat breakfast for dinner?"

"Yep. There's nothing wrong with eggs for dinner. Besides you can get yourself a filling omelet topped with some of your disgusting Tobasco sauce.... shit -- eggs, that's it!"

The blonde's loud exclamation startled Starsky and he jerked the wheel of the Torino slightly, pulling it into the next lane, before gaining control back. "Jeez Hutch warn a guy before you go off like that."

"Starsky I just figured the one thing in common with all the victims. And I think I know the connection."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense. Out with it."

"Starsk, what one piece of material in the m.e.'s reports was the same on all the victim's except Grace, because her body was too decomposed to determine?"

The dark blue eyes glanced briefly over at his partner's light blue ones, before settling back on the road; a confused expression reflecting from them. "Got me."

"Stomach contents Gordo. All of them had undigested food of some sort in their stomachs. All except Lisa, who had just eaten. And she was the only one whose cause of death was not decapitation."

The fingers on the steering wheel began to pale as their owner tightened his grip on the thick leather. A gesture not unnoticed by his friend. "Sorry Starsk. I know this hurts." Hutch said gently to his friend, as he placed his hand on his right shoulder.

The fingers slowly relaxed and the shoulders released some of their tension. "I know, but sometimes it just too hard to sit there and listen to..... all this about Lisa with indifference.

"Get a hold of Peter & Orly and have them meet us back at the station. And then go ahead and tell me the rest of your theory."

"Well, it's not really a theory, but I think..."

"Stop thinking and talking and get on the horn ya Blintz."

20 minutes later the other pair of detectives came grumbling into the makeshift office. They were none too pleased to have their shift expanded on a Friday night. Especially since they'd had a relaxing evening off planned.

"Okay Hutchinson, what've you got? It better be important to have interrupted my great plans with Denise. You're lucky she's an understanding woman, 'cause I ain't so understanding."

Starsky was sitting on the edge of the table, and pointed his finger at the tall blonde man pacing the floor. "Blondie here made a connection between the victims."

Orly and Peter each grabbed a chair and sat down without taking off their jackets. Hutch grabbed a piece of chalk and went to the chalkboard.

"The one thing all the victims had in common, except Lisa Poling, was that they had undisolved food in their stomach. Think about it, killing someone by cutting off their head while they're still alive takes an awfully strong stomach. I think this guy drugs them somehow first, so that they're not aware or maybe they're even asleep when he does his work. The toxicological reports all came up negative except for an explained alcohol or drug problem that the victim had. Don't you see -- the murderer is putting stuff in their food. Something that's hard to trace. Lisa, on the other hand, was meant to taunt us. He strangled her first, probably meant to strangle her into unconsciousness and then kill her, but he overestimated his strength that the strangulation actually killed her."

Hutch took a breath and looked at his partner who was still sitting on the edge of the table with his head bent down looking at his folded hands. Hutch began to write the victim numbers, as they had been assigned; starting with 0 for the woman found at the edge of the ocean.

0) Unknown
1) Ted - part-time drug dealer & hoodlum
2) Unknown - homeless (?)
3) Patricia - prostitute
4) Paul - sailor
5) Lisa
6) Unknown - homeless (?)
7) Grace - prostitute

"Victims 1, 2, 3, 4 had all been seen at one time or another in the 10th district. No one could identify Victim 2, but a couple of bar tenders recognized his composite sketch. Victim 4 was a sailor and where do sailors go when they reach a port?"

"Drinks and company" Spoke Hart quietly. He got up from his chair, unable to sit still as the adrenaline began to course through him.

"Both Patricia and Grace were prostitutes who both worked and lived in the 10th. Ted was an all around punk who hung around the 10th." Hutch's exited bright blue eyes watched the three men make the connection.

Orly stood up and said with awe. "He's getting his victims from our digs."

"Exactly!" Exclaimed Hutch as he put down the chalk in its tray. "That's got to be the connection. There's nothing else that puts the six victims together."

Peter and Orly looked at each other. "We think we found a connection too. The purple dress that Patricia was found in? It matches the description of the only outfit missing from Grace's closet when her nieces cleaned her apartment out after she disappeared."

Starsky pumps his fist. "We're getting closer. I can feel it."

"Okay, so where do we go from here? Bannion should be notified."

Starsky raised his dark blue eyes; still reflecting sadness over what happened to Lisa because of him and this case. "I go undercover to trap this bastard."

SIX

The charged energy that had run through the conference room only moments before was now replaced by tension.

"No." The single word sliced into that tension.

There was a glint of dark determination in Starsky's eyes. "I'm doing it Hutch. Besides, you don't know what my idea..."

"I know what you're thinking. Nine years, Gordo. Remember? Anyways, Dobey'll never go for it. You're too close." The blonde said with assurance.

"Well, I'll just have to convince him, won't I?" The darker one challenged.

The bald headed and brown haired detectives watched the volley of words play back and forth.

"Let Starsky tell us what his plan is first."

Hutch whipped his head around to Peter. "I'll tell you what his plan is. He wants to go undercover as a possible target. And there's no way I'm gonna let that happen."

Starsky was defiant as he folded his arms across his chest. "I'm a big boy, Hutchinson. I can handle this."

The blonde tried to soothe the gathering anger in his friend. "Starsk, you can't live on those streets indefinitely. It'll probably be a few more months before our killer picks another victim."

"You don't know that. For all you know, he picks his victims and befriends them for several weeks or months before turning on them."

"You're right, I don't know that. But there's no way you can live like that for a couple of months, even weeks."

"I don't plan on it Hutch. I planned on getting a seedy apartment where I'll stay most of the time when I'm not hanging around the bars or with you guys."

"Let me finish. This guy knows us buddy. There's no way he'll fall for it. Not to mention you aren't familiar with the 10th as much as Peter and Orlando."

Peter interjected. "Hutch is right about one thing Starsky. Orly & I can't go undercover in the 10th, since we're known there." Starsky's eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth, but Peter's raised hand stopped him as he continued. "But, if you go in disguise it might work. We know that the killer knows Hutch. But does he really know what Starsky looks like or does he just know about him? I think if Starsky disguises himself and has back up, then it might work. Heck, nothing else is getting us closer to this guy."

"Then I'm gonna be his back-up." Hutch gave in easily, knowing Dobey would never go for the idea.

"No way babe. That blonde head of yours will give away any hiding places you might find. I need someone a little less conspicuous."

"Like me." Interjected Orly.

"Yeah." Starsky walked over to Orly and put his hand on his shoulder. "No one can say he'd be easy to find in the dark. No offense buddy."

"None taken. My color is the reason why I suggested myself as your back-up."

"And what does that make me? I'm supposed to be his back up. I'm his partner." Hutch whined.

"Not for this assignment babe." Starsky laid it on the line with that simple, firm sentence. He was not going to let his partner get hurt because of him. Nor was he willing to take a chance that the killer might recognize Hutch and have the whole operation blown.

Hutch folded his arms in front of him. "Well you still have to get Captain Dobey's permission, and I'm pretty sure he's not going to go for it."

As it turned out Hutch was wrong, Dobey would consider Starsky going under cover with certain restrictions.

The police captain did not want any of his detectives moving into the 10th precinct without sufficient back up. Starsky could spend time with the locals, make contacts, and keep his ear open while posing as an itinerant. The savvy Captain agreed with Orly's request to be Starsky's back up. He suggested subtlety that the dark haired detective spend no more than 3 evenings a week hanging around the 10th district. A sudden noticeable appearance might seem suspicious, especially if the killer hung around the 10th befriending his victims first. And this killer was intelligent.

Hutch tried to intercede, fearing for his partner's safety, but Dobey stopped him in mid-tirade with a single hand. "You haven't produced anything else Hutchinson. You don't have any other ideas, except tracking down the car. This way Starsky and Orly might be able to get some results.

The next few weeks Starsky spent several evenings and late nights hanging around the diners and bars in the 10th district. Orly would sit in his blue Ford Mustang Boss outside the various establishments watching people going in and out. He recognized a lot of the regulars from his beat work, but there were always new faces in the neighborhood. There wasn't a moratorium on those who became downtrodden by life; whether it was by choice or fate.

Meanwhile, Peter and Hutch began tracking down those individuals whom the California DMV showed owned a 1979 Mercedes LS 450 and lived in the Los Angeles/Bay City area. Background checks needed to be done to see if any owner was blonde and had any medical training.

The four would get together during their shift to review notes and to see if any of the patrons Starsky encountered matched the owners of the Mercedes.

Since the operation began Starsky was spending more time with Orly and Hutch began to feel left out and lonely. One Thursday evening, just before Thursday evening while Starsky & Orly were on a stakeout, Hutch found himself at Peter's apartment. He knocked on Peter's door hoping that he was home. Leaning forward with his right arm to support the weight of his body, he rested against the doorframe.

Peter looked through the peephole of the door and saw a bent, blonde head. Knowing only one tall male with hair that bright, the cop opened the door and asked his co-worker to come in.

"What brings you by this evening? Don't get enough of me during the work day?" Peter joked. He sensed his friend was uncomfortable and wanted to put the man at ease.

"I just, um, well, are you busy? I can leave if you have plans." Hutch had a habit of stuttering when nervous.

"No, please don't worry about it. I'm just lounging around watching the hockey game. Why don't you come in and join me." Was Peter's response in an effort to assure the other man. He left the door open for Hutch to close behind him. The brunette walked over to the kitchenette and opened the refrigerator door while Hutch stood in the living room, at a loss of what to do. "Do you want a beer?" Peter asked, responding to the question with the action of taking two out and removing the caps.

"Take your jacket off, sit down." Peter motioned with the beers in his hand as he handed one to the blonde.

Almost twenty minutes passed in which the two detectives drank their beer and watched the game in silence. Occasionally the brunette would sneak a glance at the blonde, but the latter's gaze never moved from the television screen.

Peter tilted his bottle up draining the remnants of the amber liquid inside. He sat it down on a coaster on the glass table in front of the couch and turned to Hutch. "Okay, you want to tell me what's going on?

Hutch finally turned his eyes away from the television set. They were wide open and questioning? "Huh?"

"Come on Hutch. I've spent enough time around you to know that something's bothering you."

Hutch looked down toward his beer, "I figured with Orly covering Starsky's back tonight that you might want some company."

"You miss him, huh?"

Bright blue eyes shot up, looking wary. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it seems like you spend a lot of time together. And it must be frustrating to you that he's undercover without you."

A large hand brushed through fine blonde hair. "Yeah, we do. Unless we're out on a date we spend almost all our free time together. And a lot of those are double dates. We even take most of our vacations together. I feel at a loss not being out there, even though I know Orly will watch out for him." He paused "What about you guys, you and Orly? Are you two close?"

The brunette nodded. "We are. Wouldn't want anyone else for a partner. But he has Denise. And most of his spare time is spent fixing up their house or with her. We try to do something outside work at least once a week."

Peter changed the subject to make Hutch feel more comfortable. "Hey, do you like Chess? Or Backgammon?"

Hutch shrugs his shoulders in acknowledgment. "Sure. I'm not really into hockey anyway."

As Peter went to the hall closet to gather the Chess set, he brought up the torso case. "I think we can safely narrow down our Mercedes owner to five possibles. Now all we have to do is see if any of their descriptions match someone who Starsky runs across."

"I don't really want to talk business tonight Peter. I'm really tired of it all. Can it wait until tomorrow? At least then Orly and Starsk will be around."

Peter shrugged his shoulders, knowing that he had moments in cases that made him moody "Sure, no problem. We'll talk shop tomorrow."

The next afternoon while exiting the elevator door to go to lunch, Hutch ran into Starsky waiting to take the same ride up; his left arm leaning into the wall, holding up his body.

The taller man looked bewildered at his partner as he stepped out into the precinct lobby. "Hey buddy, what're you doing here this early? You guys don't have to be on until 1:00 when you're on under the night before."

Starsky removed his arm from the wall and stood straight up. "Yeah, well Dobey called for an update, remember? At 12:30 today?"

Hutch lifted his wrist to look at his watch, pushing back the long sleeve orange satin shirt. "It's noon. Since when're you early for work? Especially when you have a meeting first thing?"

"Well, I came early to see if you wanted to have some lunch. I tried calling you several times last night. Where were you?"

"Over at Peter's shooting the breeze."

The bushy dark eyebrows above the right eye rose. "Oh yeah? Probably some discussion about something from your stupid National Geographic magazine? Borrring!"

Hutch put his hands deep in the pockets of his white corduroys and ignored that remark. "I thought you wanted to have lunch? You know... food. If you want to continue this conversation, you can either come to the cafeteria with me or finish it on your own. We only have 1/2 an hour before our meeting with Dobey."

Four men sat around the conference table in the makeshift office while Hutch stood at the head of the table. He alternated walking back and forth from between the table and the blackboard.

"So after tracing down the type of vehicle through the tire tracks, locating any owners in the L.A./B.C. area, checking backgrounds for medical training, and matching that against the blonde hair found, we've got our current list of possible suspects narrowed down to five -- all blonde, all male, all right-handed. Three doctors, one nurse administrator, and one real estate agent with medical training."

Peter turned to Captain Dobey and took over the rest of their report. "We're now going to do more extensive background searches and perhaps interview the subjects if the searches warrant." Dobey looked at the two tall detectives -- one sitting, one leaning over a chair -- and nodded, taking a pencil out from behind his ear. "Good work you two, continue working this connection."

"Starsky, Orly" Dobey barked and turned toward them. Orlando sat up abruptly, not used to the bark from the deep voiced man. For the flash of a second, he felt like he was in school again. What's the status of your undercover observation?"

"I've been lying low, visiting various 'establishments' looking for any peculiar activity. Now that we know what our possible suspects look like, I can be more visible, making contacts with the bartenders, waitresses, and working girls. Orly's gonna take the DMV pictures to his snitches to see if somebody recognizes them." Starsky responded, answering for both.

"When are you going to start this segment of your little undercover operation?"

"Tomorrow. Tonight we've got to finish up some other reports." Orly said, flashing a smile. By now he knew his undercover partner's penchant for putting off reports; and like most detectives, he also knew that to get on the good side of his superior, all he needed to do was promise to finish the back-log.

Friday evening produced no results for the two men prowling the 10th district bars and restaurants, and their occupants. Some of the bartenders recognized a few of the victims, especially Crockett and O'Neill. From previous interviews, it appeared that the two may have known each other, but how well, neither Starsky nor Orly could determine. So they decided Starsky would consort with the customers and employees of the two victims' common hangouts. The names of the hangouts that the two victims seemed to frequent most were The Wager, Den of Inequity, and The Cellar Bar. None of the three were the worst dives Starsky had ever been in, but neither were they the classiest. They were just saloons, with pool tables, dartboards, and cardsharks. All with bad food and cheap liquor. The usual haunts that someone with a low opinion of life and self worth would wander into.

The Cellar Bar, where Starsky sat on Saturday evening watching his reflection, was typical of most of the small saloons in this area. A large mirror stood behind the bar, with lots of dusty half-full bottles of cheap rum and gin. The bar ran the length of the room, leaving the other half for tables with mismatched unfinished chairs. There was no extra curricular activity going on in this bar -- there wasn't room for the secrecy of it. No prostitutes plying their trade, nor addicts trying to get a line on the best drugs on the street. This wasn't a place to make connections, but rather to drown your sorrows. The two detectives figured if the murderer was preying on the dregs of society, perhaps he was getting his victims from places like this; where a little conversation for a lonely depressed person might make them less alert.

So far, Starsky had seen no one who even slightly resembled the DMV pictures they had. But of course, the killer could be disguised. Then again, maybe not. This guy was pretty bold.

While Orly was dressed in casual, everyday wear while sitting in his Boss (since the inhabitants knew him), Starsky was in semi-disguise. He came across the ugly blue knit cap he had worn when he and Hutch first became undercover detectives. Being dusty he thought it would fit in well and flatten his shocking set of dark curls. He also wore one of his older pair of jeans, frayed at the bottom and the buttocks; one of Hutch's plaid flannel shirts; and replacing his favorite standout blue Adidas he wore an old pair of leather slips on he bought at a Salvation Army shop. A few days with no shaving gave him a thick five o'clock shadow.

He tried to draw the bartender into some conversation, but bartenders were notoriously silent in this neighborhood. After a few well-placed questions were answered with single syllable responses, Starsky turned to the man next to him. The old man in the lined flannel shirt was startled at the greeting from the younger man, and huddled close to his drink, as if the capped man was going to snatch it from under his nose. "Sorry, buddy." Starsky said to the old man. "Just wanted some conversation." The thick worn shoulders relaxed and after watching his seat mate through the sides of his eyes for several minutes, the man asked Starsky if he was, "new around here? Haven't seen you before."

"Just come up from San Francisco. Looking for a new place to settle. This town'll do me fine for awhile, I guess." That was the same story he'd told at the other places, it was easier to stick to one pre-made, simple narrative. He also knew names weren't bandied around in places like this, so he didn't offer one, nor did he ask.

"Yeah, well I'm a regular here. I knows everyone who walked into that door for the past, oh ten years." The man nodded toward the outer door and a large piece of sticky gray hair fell onto his forehead.

Slowly, with short questions, Starsky drew the man out without him realizing it. Eventually he came around to Patricia O'Neill. "Know a woman called Patricia O'Neill?"

The old man was suddenly wary. "How you know Slappy Patty? I just thought you got here?"

Starsky had that covered as well. He lifted his mug to his lips and watched the old man's reaction through the opposite mirror. "Knew a guy named Ed in San Francisco that gave me her name to look up when I got here. Said they were good buddies, and to give her a message. He said she liked to party and this was where she hung out a lot." Ed was real enough. He was Patricia O'Neill's ex-husband who now lived in D.C.

That answer served to satisfy the old man who nodded again. "Must be her ex. Yeah, I knew of him. She said he beat her up one too many times."

It wasn't the contents of the sentence that perked Starsky's ears, but the meaning behind them, that this man knew Patty fairly well, maybe he could tell him a few other things. "So you know her? Know if she's gonna be here tonight?"

The small drink glass shook in the trembling, age spotted hands as they rose towards the old man's lips. "Dead. She's dead, man. Been gone almost a year now." He mumbled and then stared into the bar, lost in the sorrow of the news of her death.

"Well, I guess I don't have to give her the message from Ed then." He acted nonchalant, even though Starsky could see Patty's death was still affecting this man. He cleared his throat before asking more questions. "So, uh, you two were close then, huh? You and Patty?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say we were good friends. She was so nice to me. Always buyin' me drinks and takin' care of me when I wasn't feelin' well. No matter what she did to earn her livin', she was a nice woman. Good to her friends. Loved animals. She collected dolls too, ya know?"

Starsky did know from Peter & Orly's report, but he didn't let on to this man. "Why'd you call her 'Slappy' Patty?"

A smile lit the older man's face, even to his blue-green eyes, and he sub-consciously rubbed his upper arm. "Man, when she was drinking, did she like to punch people's arms. So some of the regulars got to calling her 'Slappy' as a joke, 'cause it sure wasn't no ladies slap she was layin' one on ya." He chuckled at the memory.

Starsky grinned. From her mug shots, she did appear to be a large boned, strong woman.

"Hey Mike! Gimme a beer!" The gray haired man called to the bartender, who immediately obliged his long-standing customer, Starsky indicated with his empty mug that he wanted a re-fill also. Both amber filled mugs came off the bar raised in salute. "To Patty!" Garbled the older man. Starsky flashed a thousand watt grin and paid the bartender for both drinks, not realizing that the loud salute had garnered the attention of several other patrons.

The liquor was starting to loosen his new friend's tongue. "Hey if you want to know more about Patty, that guy was a good friend 'a hers too. In fact, I think the two of them got together shortly before she was killed. Probably was the last piece she got. Good for her."

Starsky looked down with interest at the end of the bar where the older man had nodded with his head. A middle-aged man, maybe 50, sat huddled in a worn overcoat. He had a felt hat perched on top of his gray-blonde hair and a thin gray mustache. His skin looked sallow, which could've been the dim lighting, but his face was definitely pockmarked. Starsky couldn't tell what color his eyes were, but he looked like none of their suspects. He would be a good one to talk to another time.

Rather than risk blowing his cover asking too many questions and appearing too eager, Starsky decided to make his exit from The Cellar Bar and hit one of their other targets. He slapped a couple of bucks on the bar and offered a good-bye to the old man. Orly watched him leave the saloon and walk two blocks down and cross the street to the 'Den of Inequity'. He stayed put in his car outside The Cellar Bar for five more minutes before he slowly pulled away and pretended to turn down the next major intersection. Instead he turned around down an alleyway to get to the small side street next to the 'Den of Inequity'. He sat on the corner, back in the shadows watching for Starsky or any suspects.

Shortly before midnight, Starsky left that pub and walked around to the side street one block away from Orly. He walked around the block and to the back of Orly's Boss still parked next to the bar and knocked twice on the trunk, their pre-arranged signal, so that Orly wouldn't be startled when Starsky climbed into the backseat of the car. He ducked down so that no one would see him as Orly slowly pulled out onto Prospect. The pair blended in with the night traffic, on their way home.

The two were silent until they cleared the seedier part of the city and hit the highways; Starsky sat up in the back seat and removed the stocking cap from his head, running his fingers through the dark curls to plump them out. "That feel's good. This hat was starting to strangle my head and give me a headache."

Orly glanced in the rearview mirror. "Get anything?"

"Yeah, I got a few good leads. Including one individual who might've been the last one seen publicly with Patricia O'Neill -- or 'Slappy Patty', as she was also known. Woman apparently had one hell of a mean right hook." He grinned broadly and his teeth caught a streetlight, flashing in the interior of the blue car.

Orly returned the grin, his teeth also flashing briefly. "Is that so? I always had a thing for a woman with a some spark in her."

"Don't matter none to me. Sometimes the pliant one's what you need."

"Yeah, your and Hutch's reps as players precede you even down at the 10th district."

Starsky crawled over the seat into the front passengers side. "Ain't ya afraid I'll be putting the moves on you all alone here?" He lifted his eyebrows excessively in mock seduction.

"Can the moves Starsky, you're not getting anywhere with me. Remember, I'm taken."

"Well, you'll never know what you're missing." The two dissolved into chuckles and Starsky relaxed. "So what did you do while checking out the populace?" He asked his darker partner.

"I broke up a fight between a hooker and her man. Caught a drug deal going down, called in a patrol to take them down. Another report that's going to be sitting on my desk waiting to be completed." Orly rolled his eyes and Starsky clicked his tongue in sympathy.

Orly sighed deeply, indicating his weariness. "Well, at least we have tomorrow off and then Monday we don't need to go under. By then Peter and Hutch should have more information on our prime suspects."

"I think we're getting closer. And it's still another few weeks until December. That's when the next body would appear. Maybe we can get this guy by then." The two continued on home, hoping that they were coming close to an end of this case, and hopeful that there would be no further victims.

In his simplistic home on Los Ramos, Frederick sat in his special basement room. He pulled a copy of a May, 1979 newspaper from his briefcase. He had gone to the library to get copies once he found out names and information on the Detectives looking into the torso killings. A picture of a smiling Detective David Starsky loomed out at him from the front page, when he was shot during an assassination attempt.

I saw you tonight Detective Starsky. Looking for me perhaps? Not a bad disguise, I must say; I didn't recognize you at first. But that smile I'd know anywhere. That gave you away you know. Let's see how far you can play the game before you realize how deep you're in. The last thought said with an evil smile on a cold face.

He gave no thought to the fact that perhaps he was spending too much time in only a few saloons looking for victims. Somewhere he was bound to make a mistake.

The following Monday when Hutch picked up Starsky at 7:30 in the morning it felt like old times. Most of the time the two had been driving separately for the past three weeks. Of course, some things never change, and Hutch had to park the car and go looking for his sleepy partner.

Knocking on the door brought no response, so Hutch used his key to unlock the door and enter himself. The warm aroma of fresh-brewed coffee wafted in from the kitchen, but his partner had apparently gone back to bed to catch a few more winks. Hutch walked into the bedroom and lifted the bottom sheets, rolling his sluggish partner and quilt onto the floor with a heavy thump.

"Hey, what... what'cha doin'?" Mumbled the now wakened Starsky.

"Gotta be at work in half an hour bucko. Let's get moving. Regular work day today."

"Aw Hutch, be a sport. Lemme sleep another half hour. Please." Came the muffled whine from underneath the lump of blanket and sheets on the floor.

Hutch went over to the picture window and opened the blinds, letting the morning sun shine into the room. He then went over to the pile of Starsky and bedding and began to separate the two. "Up and at 'em Gordo. We got calls to make, people to see. We need to gather as much info on the five suspects before meeting with Dobey this afternoon. Besides you're not going undercover tonight, right? So you can go to bed early tonight."

Slowly making his way out of his warm cocoon, Starsky got dressed, grumbling the entire time. Hutch went into the kitchen to pour Starsky a warm cup of coffee so they could get moving and down to the station, knowing that they would have to make a stop at the donut shop on the way in.

"We have further details on our five suspects to help us pinpoint which ones should be brought in for questioning." Peter told Dobey later that afternoon.

"1) Matt Carlson, age 54, 846 Fairfield Blvd., Chino Hills. Pathologist with Orange County Coroner's office. Married with two adult children; spends most of his free time playing golf.

"2) Don Brills, age 34, 18426 Ball, Carson. Family Doctor in private practice. Married with three young children; from what we could find out he spends most of his time with this family.

"3) Frederick Michaels, age 43, 2072 Olympic Blvd., Bay City. Plastic Surgeon in private practice. Unmarried with two elderly relatives in Temecula where he spends a majority of time taking care of them.

"4) Dave Escher, age 36, 1064 Western Ave. Apt. 217, Los Angeles. Nurse Administrator for Veterans Unit, LAC/USC Medical Center. Unmarried. Frequents bars and prostitutes.

"5) Fred Reese, age 41, 1 Harbor Row #3B, Ventura Harbor. Real Estate Agent with medical training of three years before career change. Married, no children. Spends free time hunting.

"At the top of our list we'd put Fred Reese and Dave Escher. We'd like to start by questioning them first," Peter finished.

"Okay, but do it at their offices. Don't bring them down here just yet. If the media gets wind of the five suspects, they could blow our case. I don't want them doing their own investigative reporting and then we get egg on our face for something they printed first. We need to make sure this case is airtight, no matter who the suspect is."

Dobey then asked Starsky how his undercover investigation was going.

"There's three bars we're focusing on that some of the victim's spent time at. I'm starting to make contacts with some of the local patrons. None of the regulars resemble any of our suspects, but that doesn't mean anything. I figure another couple of weeks and he should come out from whatever rocks he's hiding under. Some of the guys at 'The Cellar Bar' knew Patricia O'Neill real well. I'm hoping one of them will lead me to either the killer or his house of horrors."

"Any progress with your snitches?" The Captain asked Detective Emerson.

"I put the word out. So far, they've all come up empty. A Mercedes would stand out in that neighborhood, so we're guessing that he uses another vehicle in town. The DMV ran all of the suspects and showed that only Drs. Carlson and Dukes have more than one car registered to either them or their wives."

"So what's your next step? While your counterparts are doing a good job making progress to narrow down our list of suspects, it sounds like you're taking your time chatting up the 10th district without getting any information. I'm half tempted to pull you out of this." Dobey's deep brown eyes flashed with frustration. "It's been almost a year since the first bodies were found and we've made minimal progress, and that's only because the killer made a mistake at Crime Scene 4!"

Starsky pleaded with this Captain to continue. "If anything Cap'n, we could at least inform the people we run across to be careful and what to look out for. If there is a next time, maybe we won't have an unidentified body on our hands." His dark blue eyes begged much like a dog's does when his owner catches him misbehaving.

Dobey sighed, it was always hard to turn down that look from his curly-haired vibrant detective. "Okay, I'll give you another week." He made his voice stern again. "But you had better get some results by then or I'm putting you on background checks!"

Tuesday night was a repeat of the previous four evenings that Starsky went undercover. First stop was The Wager, next The Cellar Bar, and finishing up at the Den of Inequity around midnight.

Like the last few times, the people at The Wager offered no information that would be helpful to the identifying or finding the suspect. Most customers were there for betting on all kinds of games and drinking. If Starsky wanted, he could've made a couple of busts for illegal gambling, but he was after bigger game and he didn't want his cover blown. After two beers he made his way down the street to The Cellar Bar -- Orly trailing behind him in his Boss.

The old man he met on Saturday wasn't there, but the one he had pointed out as another friend of Patricia O'Neill's was -- in the same seat he had occupied Saturday evening. He looked to be in his late 40s. Starsky sat down near him at the bar, leaving one stool in between. Remembering the bartender's name Starsky asked Mike to bring him a draft. While not the most refreshing ale he could get, Starsky thought it would be better to stick with the most inexpensive brew to better fit in with the clientele.

Looking through the side of the mirror, the detective noted several times that the pockmark-faced man kept watching him. Finally he turned to face him, intending to give him a warning glare. Instead the man surprised him by leaning over the space in between them and asked Starsky if he was interested in hearing about how 'Slappy Patty' was killed. The question startled the detective, not expecting someone to come right out and talk about the murder or murders.

He covered his surprise quickly with the same story he had told Saturday. "Um, I had information for her from Ed. Didn't know she was a goner."

The man leaned in closer, as if the information he was going to impart was secretive. "I saw you with Jack the other night. Can't trust that old drunk. He thinks he was Patty's best friend. Man, she made fun of him behind his back, mostly when she was drunk. How he couldn't make it with a woman anymore."

Starsky looked away, hoping to give the impression that he really didn't want to get into Jack's personal problems.

The man didn't seem fazed. He stuck out his yellowed fingers and introduced himself. "Name's Henry. Patty was a good friend of mine. We, uh, we had some fun times together. She could drink most men under the table, including me." He looked around at the few patrons in the bar. "Not many women who could handle their liquor like that." He sighed and whispered, "I miss her."

Starsky tried to smoothly bring him back to original question. "So, uh, how'd she die?"

Henry's dulled green eyes seemed to gleam ferociously, like it was a subject dear to his heart. "She was cut up. Chopped into pieces. Her head and everything was cut off. It was gross."

"How do you know all this? Did you see her?" Starsky was getting very interested in the course this conversation was taking.

"Nah, the police wouldn't let no one get close to where they found her in the alley. But I found the head. Never told the cops either."

Whoa! Starsky was aware that the authorities had never recovered Patricia's head. But that knowledge was not available to the media. The only way this guy would know that was 1) if he actually found the head; 2) was making it up; 3) was the killer.

Starsky hesitatingly asked "Wasn't that disgusting? I mean to see it?" He didn't want to seem too eager.

"I didn't know it was Patty at first. Not until I heard the news."

The detective focused on his beer "Where did you find it?"

The sallow face leaned in a little closer. "Not too far from where her body was found. They had the whole place taped off. It was in a brown cloth bag, like you buy potatoes in."

"What did you do with it? Did you touch it or anything?"

"No way! I went to the Riverside Harbor and threw it in the bay." A thought occurred to the man. "Hey, you wanna see where they found her?"

Starsky was hesitant, he didn't want to go off with anyone alone, there was no guarantee Orly would be able to back him up. "I don't know. It's not like I knew the woman. Besides, it's dark out."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. It's kinda weird, to know someone who got hacked, especially like that. She didn't deserve that."

"No one does." Starsky said into his beer. "Maybe tomorrow or something you can show me." This way I can inform Orly ahead of time and he'll be prepared.

Henry nodded and leaned even closer, if that was possible, so that the sour smell of Old Grandad wafted in Starsky's face. "Sure. You know word on the street is that the guy who hacked her, also got a couple of other people. But the cops are keeping it real quiet.

While Starsky was making contacts in the 10th district, Peter and Hutch were spending Wednesday interviewing their top two suspects from the list of five.

They started with Dave Escher since his working hours made him available for questioning during the late morning, before heading off to his 11-7 shift as LAC/USC.

Wanting to know how a nurse administrator ended up with such an extravagant car was the one the questions the detectives had for the man. But first they had to ease into the discussion. Laying the ground work, asking if he was aware that a car similar to his was spotted at the scene of a murder. (technically no one saw the car, but the tire tracks had been casted and would act as evidence)

The two detectives found Dave had just woken up and was not happy to find cops outside his doorway. The nurse let them in reluctantly after they explained they were conducting a murder investigation and that if he didn't want to answer their questions now, in the privacy of his apartment, he could come down to the police station and answer them there. The apartment was a typical single male's apartment. Sparsely furnished with simple lines and masculine colors.

Peter let Hutch take over the questioning as the case was still his and Starsky's to lead.

Taking a seat on the living room couch opposite Escher, Hutch slowly weaved through the line of questions they had prepared.

"I understand you own a 1979 Mercedes 450 SL?" Escher nodded.

"We have reason to believe that a vehicle similar to your was used in a violent crime." Peter explained to the defensive man.

Hutch continued. "If I may ask, how is it that someone of your, ahem, financial means, was able to purchase such an extravagant vehicle?"

"It was my uncle's. He died after owning it only a few months and my Aunt let me buy it from her real cheap."

"And your Aunt's name is?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"We're trying to eliminate your vehicle from the scene of the crime."

"Mildred. Mildred Escher. You want her number too?" He asked sarcastically.

Hutch ignored the emotion. "Yes, if you don't mind."

"I'll get it in a minute, don't exactly have it memorized. Anything else?"

"Yes, can you tell me if your schedule has ever changed over the course of the last year? Have you always worked the 11-7 shift?"

"For the past few months anyway. Before that I was usually working 3-11, but filling in occasionally on the night shift."

"What are your work days? Are they set or do they vary from week to week or month to month?"

"They vary. I fill in the schedule for my unit."

"You work in the Veteran's Unit, correct? What are the patients like? Hard to deal with? Aggressive?"

Escher lit up a cigarette. "Sometimes. You just have to know how to handle them. I'm good at what I do. You need to be understanding, but you can't let them walk all over you or you'll never get the upper hand."

"Do you feel out of control at any time with unused anger toward your patients?"

Escher laughed harshly. "That's what alcohol and weed are for. Mellowing out." He looked around abruptly. "Hey you're not going to bust me are you?"

The blonde turned to the brunette. "You don't see any illegal substance do you?" Peter shook his head trying to suppress a grin.

Hutch brought Escher back to the line of questioning. "Have you felt the need to harm any of your patients due to frustration?"

"Hell yes! Some of 'em can be real bastards. So I punch a wall or a bed or something. I may not always like them, but I would never harm them physically."

Peter pulled out an envelope with some pictures of the victims -- not telling Escher that they were the victims of a serial murder. "Do you recognize any of these people?"

Escher glanced at the black & white photos, shaking his head. "Nope, never seen any of them before."

"Have you ever frequented any bars in the 10th district? That's the area just south of Downtown."

"I don't know, possibly. The med center's in that area so I probably stopped at one or two sometime. Occasionally I need a drink to calm myself."

Peter handed him a few more photos. "Do you recognize any of these people?" They are pictures of the suspects, minus Dave.

"Um, this one looks familiar." He holds up Dr. Brills' photo. I know, I think I've seen him at the hospital. He's a doctor, right?" He hands all the photos back to Peter.

The two nodded and Peter put the photos back into the envelope and placed them it inside his jacket.

"Have you loaned your car to anyone in the past year?"

"Never. That's my baby. No one's allowed to touch it. I'm very possessive of anything that's mine, especially that car. I want to keep it running nice and smooth for a number of years."

Sounds like Starsky and his tomato. "Is it possible it could've been taken from the garage and used and you were unaware of it?"

"I doubt it. I have a very sophisticated lock on that car. And no one else knows the combination."

"We'd like to have our crime team go over the car. It's for your benefit to rule it out as having been used in a crime."

Hazel eyes stared at the two detectives in front of him as he took another drag from his cigarette. Loosely flicking an ash into an ashtray he coolly asked if they had a warrant.

The ice blue eyes gazed back at him forcefully. "Yes. Detective Hart would you do the honors?" Peter whipped out one of the five warrants they had gotten late Tuesday.

"Now, as I was saying; our crime team will be over to examine your car. They shouldn't take more than an hour and they will clean up the car when they're done."

"Well I'm sticking around to make sure they don't do any damage to my car."

"Fine. Can we borrow your phone please?" Hutch called the crime team to get them to go over the nurse's car as soon as possible. They wanted to get back and type their report and then head over to Fred Reese's real estate office by the end of the day.

It didn't take long for the crime team to arrive and the five men went down to the apartment garage. Dave hovered around the two men going over the car, pointing out things they were messing up and whining about the mess. Hutch and Peter stood back without interfering to waited for the men to finish.

Four hours later, at the end of their shift, the two detectives were finishing up their second report of the day, on Fred Reese, the real estate agent with a penchant for hunting. The same questions that the detectives had asked Dave Escher were also asked of Fred Reese, with some modifications due to their different job schedules and Fred's hobby. Unlike Dave Escher, Fred Reese was almost happy to talk with the cops. His Mercedes was also examined by the same crime team that had examined the nurse administrator's.

It was Wednesday night and since their other halves were going under again this evening, Hutch and Peter decided to go over to Venice Place to review their reports and see if they could either eliminate Reese and Escher or find a reason to talk further with them.

"Beer?" Offered Hutch as they walked into his apartment. He tossed his keys onto his kitchen table as he walked to the refrigerator to get the bottles. He took his brown leather coat off and laid it over one of the kitchen chairs. He handed a beer to Peter as he collapsed on the couch.

Peter leaned forward on the couch, "So what do you think? Are either Dave or Fred our killer?"

"Gut opinion, without the results from the cars? Definitely not Escher. His schedule doesn't allow it. And he reminds me of Starsky in how he treats his car. There's no way he'd take the chance of getting blood or fluid in that car."

Peter agreed. "Also, unless he has another piece of property, which we couldn't find, where is he taking the victims to be killed and dismembered?" He gulped his beer. "What about Reese?"

Hutch pondered before answering. "I'd rather hold out for the crime team report on his car first. He was our top suspect, but he doesn't fit the personality profile. He has the medical background and he's a hunter, he has the time, he has no one to answer to, plus access to different properties, Victim 6 was found in the woods. It's too convenient."

"My feeling is that he's hiding something. He acted too cheerful; almost going out of his way to be helpful. He reminds me of a used car salesman." Peter shivered slightly at the reminder of how Fred acted.

"Well, tomorrow let's check out the doctors and go over the lab reports on the Escher & Reese's vehicles. I'm sure we'll have to make appointments first, with their schedules. Starsky should be checking in with me later tonight around 12:30, so maybe they'll have come up with something."

"I'm sure I'll hear from Orly too, he usually calls at various times during the evening to let me know what's gone down. A couple of times he's made busts on some of our regular customers while watching for Starsky."

"Why don't we just hang out here then until we hear from them?" Suggested Hutch.

Meanwhile, Starsky had a sense that something was going to go down this evening. It was the night before Thanksgiving, and usually the streets were quiet on the holidays, which made his instinct more pronounced. He and Orly had worked out a signal in the event Starsky found himself in trouble. He would light up a cigarette, putting the flame on high to attract Orly's attention, and flick the cigarette at the dark man's car. They decided to forgo 'The Wager' this evening, as not much in the way of information had been offered there. Starsky also brought along 5x7 black and white DMV photos of their five suspects, hoping to somehow be able to show them to either Jack or Henry, or one of the barmaids he'd been talking with at 'The Den of Inequity'. He figured the DMV photos made the suspects, especially the doctors, appear a little less affluent and more likely to fit in this neighborhood.

At 9:00 Starsky got off the bus and walked into 'The Cellar Bar', glancing around for his back-up. It was still light enough out for him to notice the bright blue Ford Mustang Boss; and while he couldn't make out a driver, Starsky was assured that the darker skinned man was nearby.

Inside the bar, Henry was already sitting at the bar at his usual end stool. Starsky said a brief hello to the bar tender and asked for a draft. He walked down with his beer to Henry, nodded his head and proceeded to slowly drink. He didn't want to appear anxious, so Starksy waited for Henry to make the first move. It didn't take long for the inebriated, garrulous middle-aged man to move to the stool next to Starsky.

After some small talk, Starsky decided to take a chance and show Henry the pictures; he needed to make some progress to show Dobey. He had a story ready to cover him.

"Hey I've been trying to find a line on some jobs, and someone told me to look up a couple of guys that frequent 'round here. I've never seen 'em though. Maybe you could help me?"

Henry looked warily at the curly haired man next to him. "What kind of 'jobs'? I don't want to get into nothin' illegal."

"No, no, nothing like drugs or hurting people. Just some odds and ends."

"What're their names? I know most everyone 'round here, especially the big names." Henry nodded knowingly.

"Uh, I only know first names, but I got me a couple of photos."

"This is Fred, and this is Dave, and this guy's name is also Fred." Starsky showed Henry the pictures of their three prime suspects out of the five. He didn't know that Hutch and Peter had already eliminated Dave Escher as the killer. "I heard that sometimes they use some extra guys for things."

Henry took a good look at each of them, seeing only about as much as a drunk man could see. "Nope, names ain't familiar and neither are their faces. If they carry weight, it ain't around here."

Starsky didn't have to pretend very hard to be disappointed. "Damn. I was hoping to earn some extra funds." He decided to change the subject before Henry or any of the other nosy patrons got too suspicious. Around 10:15 he said good-bye to drop in at his next stop. He gave a slight signal to Orly to indicate no luck, and made his way down to the 'Den of Inequity'.

Back at 'The Cellar Bar', Henry continued to nurse his drink of straight Old Grandad when a quiet, thin man wearing a dark, expensive London Fog approached him and sat down at the stool where Starsky had just vacated. Without looking up, the man asked Henry if he wanted to earn a few bucks. The drunk accepted without asking first what was involved.

"You know that guy you were just talking with, Dave? The one that just left?"

"Is that his name? What about him?" Henry was leery, he didn't want to do anything to hurt a new friend of his.

"Well, he was looking for me I think. I know where he went, can you get him a message?"

"If you know where he went, why don't you go get him yourself?" Asked the inebriated man.

With much patience, the thin man responded back "Because I'm not welcome in the bar he just went to, so I need to meet with him in the alley behind the bar." He looked again at the nearly empty glass in front of Henry, and slid another ten underneath it. "It's real important, I got a job for him. Nothing illegal, just want him to make a delivery for me." With this excuse, Frederick figured when the curly haired man's body didn't appear after several months, the drunk in front of him wouldn't remember this conversation.

"You can find him at the 'Den of Inequity' down the street. Just tell him that you saw me go down the alley behind the bar and recognized the picture he showed you. And tell him I'm with someone. Leave in ten minutes. And if you screw this up, I'll cut your fingers off, one by one." With that the man retreated to the hallway at the back of the bar that led to the dingy restrooms.

Waiting the required ten minutes Henry walked down the street to the specified bar and took a deep breath before going in. He wanted to appear breathless, like he had just run after Starsky, trying to track him down. He opened the door, looking around for dark curls beneath a blue stocking cap and saw him sitting at a table near the front talking with one of the local call girls. "Hey man! I've been looking for you. That guy, you know the one who you were looking for to connect with a job? I saw him. In the alley back here, he was with some guy. Maybe giving away your job, huh?" Henry wanted to make the story seem real, so he added the last part.

Starsky grabbed his wrist and pulled out the pictures. "Which guy?! Show me!"

Henry pulled backward to get away from the intense dark blue eyes and nervously looked down at the pictures. He pointed to the plastic surgeon, Frederick Michaels. "That guy. Hey Dave, you're hurting my arm, lemme go."

Letting the first name slide by, Starsky jumped out of his chair, almost knocking it over. He turned to the startled girl sitting next to him. "Sorry Honey, gotta go meet a man about a job." With typical Starsky impetuosity, the detective gave no thought to his back-up, believing he was not in danger. He only wanted to identify the man, without being seen. Once they made a positive id, not a drunken one, they could track Dr. Michaels down through his practice or address.

Unfortunately, Detective David Starsky forgot for that brief moment how intelligent their adversary was. Just as he stepped outside the bar into the alley, he remembered that Henry had called him "Dave" -- when he'd never identified himself in their previous conversations. Shit -- it's a set up! Came the thought just before the explosion of pain and heavy blackness settled down on his mind.

SEVEN

Even though he already had his next victims, Dr. Frederick Michaels figured cutting up a cop would be the ultimate prize. And I thought getting his girlfriend would be a high! This'll be the best one yet! Maybe I'll leave what's left in front of Parker Center. Or better yet, on his partner's doorstep!

As soon as the dark haired detective crossed through the doorway, he slid with his back against the heavy concrete wall of the building. Dr. Michaels stepped from behind the large garbage bin and slammed the handle of his heavy machete at the base of the cop's head. The cop fell without a sound.

Unfortunately, Frederick didn't bother to find out anything about the man he paid to lure the cop into the alley. He didn't know that Henry was the kind of man who survived on the streets by selling information.

Orly sat in his Boss, unsure why he felt so uneasy tonight. The days before a holiday were generally very quiet on his beat. Even the scum dealing in illegal activities took a break for the holidays. But there was something different about tonight. The air was almost oppressive for a late November evening. The smell of something sinister nearby hung in the atmosphere. He impatiently tapped his fingers on the dashboard, on edge over this case. He kept trying to reassure himself. If anything happens to Starsky while I'm supposed to be his cover, Hutch'll kill me. STOP! Starsky's okay, he's in the bar next door. You'll see Orlando, as soon as he comes out, everything will be okay. He nervously checked his watch again; it showed 10:37. He looked again to the street corner; the light from the streetlamp seemed to put off a smoke signal from the incandescent bulb. Orly followed the stream of smoke briefly as it wafted through the air, dissipating slowly. He was transfixed by the sinister appearance it gave off and that only served to add to his nervousness.

Just then one of his snitches, Henry Cushing, came out the front door of the bar and slunk around the corner to Orly's car. Looking furtively down the side street, the older man walked over to the driver's side window and whispered to him.

"Psst, Detective Emerson? It's me, Henry."

Orlando rolled the window down the rest of the way. "Yeah Henry, you need something?"

"No. But I got some info for you. You remember those pictures you were flashing around the other day? You wanted to know if I'd seen them guys around anywhere?"

Orly's ears perked up, he forgot about his nervousness. "Yeah, you seen any of them?"

"Yeah. And you know what? There's this guy I met a few days ago. He's looking for a couple of 'em too."

Damn! I forgot to tell Starsky who our snitches were, so he could avoid them.

Henry continued. "Well anyways, one of those guys you had a picture of just went behind the bar with this guy I just met. I think he said he name was 'Dave'."

Shit! Shit! Shit! The dark detective flung open the door, giving no warning to Henry. Being inebriated, the older man lost his balance and fell flat on his ass. "Henry, stay right here! Do not move. Do not go anywhere. This guy is a killer." He didn't bother to ask the snitch which man he had identified, his temporary partner was in trouble and he could get an id from Henry later if necessary.

He rushed to the end of the block, flattening himself on the concrete wall, as he looked down the dim alleyway. In the shadows, he could see a form on the ground and a thin man wearing a long coat bending down over that form. Just in front of the two was a pick up truck, the killer's get away vehicle. Orlando knew that the person on the ground was Starsky, who else could it be?

"POLICE! DON'T MOVE!" He warned the upright person.

The man jumped up and into the open driver's side of the pick-up, charging down the alley. It was too dark for Orly to make out a plate number or the color of the truck. He just knew it was a Ford Ranger, early-1970s. He fired two shots at the fleeing truck, hitting it once in the rear panel. Then he ran to the fallen figure, heart thumping wildly; guilt thrown over his shoulders like a down blanket.

Starsky lay on his right side, a large contusion forming at the base of his head. Orly checked his pulse, breathing, and pupils. Everything seemed normal, but that contusion looked pretty bad. He didn't want to take any chances of leaving Starsky while he went for help, so he picked up the solidly built man and carried him down the alley and to his waiting car. Henry was still standing there. "Henry I have to take you in for your own protection."

The snitch didn't understand anything except the line "I'm taking you in" and he started to whine. "I didn't do nothin'!"

Orly placed Starsky in the back seat of the Mustang. "Henry look at me. You didn't do anything." He forced the hazy eyes to look into his amber ones. "I need you to help me. I'll take care of you." He didn't want to scare the man further by telling him while he was in this state that the snitch was the only one who could identify their killer. "Sit back here with Dave, okay? He's a friend of mine too." Orlando then climbed into the front seat and called for an ambulance and asked to be put through to Captains Bannion and Dobey.

Frederick couldn't believe this cop, this piece of shit cop, had found him out. Who the hell is he? Where'd he come from? His brain roared with the idea the drunk must've given him away. Never trust a man who's under the influence! Even if he managed to kill this black cop, the drunk he talked to tonight knew too much. It would be asking too much for the police not to put it together.

He gunned the old Ranger as fast as it would go without raising too much attention. There was an all night parking lot off Main that took cash, (no credit cards or drivers licenses to track) where he left the Ranger most of the time. This time, he wouldn't be back to get it. He flagged down a cab several blocks away to take him home. After that, a stop in Temecula to stop and see his mother and aunt. Thank Goodness his practice was in good shape, it should be real easy for another doctor to pick up his caseload. Damn it -- I didn't plan for this now. I hoped to continue my 'experiments' for awhile yet, before being forced to move on. He slammed his fist on the back seat of the cab, causing the driver to peer through the rearview mirror at his agitated customer.

Around 11:00 the phone rang at Hutch's apartment. The two men were on their third or fourth beer apiece, discussing their favorite literature. Hutch wondered who would call this late at night, realizing that Starsky & Orly probably weren't done for the evening yet.

"Yeah?" He answered, annoyed at being called so late.

"Hutchinson? This is Dobey." Came the booming voice from the other end, so loud that even Peter could here it.

"What's up Captain?" Please don't make us go in tonight.

"Orly just called in a little bit ago." The voice at the other end paused just a bit. "Apparently they've found an informant who can identify our killer."

"GREAT!" Hutch's excited face caused Peter to become antsy as he gestured with his hands asking what was going on.

"So why didn't one of them call us?" Asked Hutch.

"Um, Hutch, the guy -- it's Dr. Michaels by the way -- apparently had your partner tagged as the next victim. He's okay." He assured the stunned blonde quickly. "But he's at LAC/USC emergency being checked out for a bump on the head."

"Damn! Where the hell was Orly?!" The change in Hutch's demeanor was frightening to the brunette, who'd never seen the darker side of Hutch.

"Hutchinson calm down. Orly was exactly where he was supposed to be. Starsky admitted that he impulsively rushed into a set-up, forgetting his back-up. Luckily, there was an informant at the bar who recognized Dr. Michaels from the pictures Emerson had been flashing around and he told Emerson where Starsky went. It could've been a lot worse, and I think you know that."

Hutch brushed a large hand through his blonde hair, "Yeah, I guess you're right. You want us to meet you down at the hospital?"

"No. I want you two to get into the office. Have Peter secure a statement from the informant, who's in protective custody. You try to get a lead on where Michaels may be headed. I've already put in for search warrants for his primary residence, his mother's residence, and his practice. We should have those first thing in the morning."

"What about Starsky?" Asked the concerned blonde for his partner.

"They don't think they're going to keep him. Orlando will take him home and then meet you them back at the station."

"Do you think he should really be alone tonight? What if he has a concussion?"

"Hutchinson will you stop being a mother hen?! He'll be fine. There's no concussion."

Reluctantly Hutch agreed with their Captain and hung up the phone to tell Peter everything that had gone down tonight. Both detectives were relieved to have their killer identified, but proving he was the killer was a totally different story. There was still much work ahead.

By 11:00 the next morning, Thanksgiving, the two Captains and their four detectives had four search warrants in their hands. One for which Captain Bannion and two black & whites would take to Dr. Michaels' private practice. Captain Dobey, Detective Hutchinson, and several uniforms would search the house in Bay City and the Mercedes, and Detectives Hart and Emerson would go into Temecula, along with the local sheriff, to talk with Michaels' elderly relatives and search the grounds there. Starsky was ordered by the doctor to take the next couple days off as his neck was severely bruised and he had quite a headache. The curly-haired detective was not happy with that decision and kept bugging his partner to let him go along for the ride.

Bannion and his crew found nothing of note at the doctor's office except two scared and worried female staff members, his nurse and administrative assistant. He called into dispatch informing them he was headed over to Dr. Michaels' residence to assist Captain Dobey.

Meanwhile, Peter and Orly met with the sheriff and two of his deputies at the Michaels farm in Temecula. Getting no answer at the door, and being assured by the sheriff that the two ladies never went anywhere, the deputies broke into the kitchen. Searching the house, they found both ladies, dead in their beds, bodies just cooled. By the bruising on their faces, they appeared to have been suffocated.

"Shit, he must've come here last night and killed them." Peter said.

The sheriff was stunned because he knew this family. His father and Frederick Michael's father had been good friends. "Why, why would he do this?"

The darker detective from Bay City turned to the upset man. "Possibly because he didn't want them hurt when they realized he's a suspect in a serial murder case. He killed the women to protect them."

Peter asked the sheriff if he had known Frederick Michael's very well.

"No he was several years older than me. We never had anything in common in school. I'd see him in town though, buying food or medicine for his mother and aunt. We usually made small talk. He was aloof, but I always thought that was because he was a homeboy that made it good in the big city; like he got too big for the likes of us. It never bothered me much, 'cause we were never close."

The sheriff sent his deputies out to investigate the barn, while he called the county coroner and Peter and Orly checked out the rest of the house. They found the bedroom that Dr. Michaels obviously used when he stayed with the women. The sheriff taped off all the rooms in anticipation of the crime team's arrival. The basement and attic held nothing but dusty boxes and old household items. It was obvious no one had been in those areas for quite some time.

Peter went to the kitchen refrigerator and poured some juice for the pasty faced sheriff and forced him to sit down at the kitchen table. "We're going to go out and see if your deputies need any help."

Inside the barn, the deputies had already found the rope, bloody buckets, messy aprons, and a lot of gore. Without touching anything, they held up their arms to prevent the detectives from coming in any further; until a second crime team could arrive.

"I guess we found our killer's laboratory." Orly said quietly.

Peter went to his car to call into dispatch and get in touch with Captain Dobey. "Captain, we found the elderly women dead, probably at Michaels' hands. And, we found where he did his bloody work. We've called in for two crime teams. How are things going over there?"

"Stay where you are and finish up. Bannion's joined me here and we've got a heavy situation. When you're done go back to Metro and wait there until you hear from us. It may be awhile."

At 2072 Olympic in Bay City, Captain Bannion of the 10th District and the two uniforms with him, found the doctor's residence engulfed in flames. Parking behind the fire and police lines, the three men flashed their badges and went to find Captain Dobey or Hutch.

Dobey saw his counterpart and walked halfway to meet him. The two greeted each other by nodding. "What happened?" Asked Bannion.

"The place is on fire, that's what."

"I can see that. How, arson?"

Dobey rubbed the top of his head in frustration. "We arrived to serve the good doctor with the warrants to search his property. Just as we pulled up the place just blew. Fire department thinks he had several incendiary devices planted along the perimeter since there were several explosions seemingly in sequential order."

"Was anyone in there?" Bannion asked, skirting around the obvious question.

"Don't you mean 'was Michaels in there'? We don't know. It's possible, but he could've also set those devices to go off from anywhere." Dobey sighed. "We'll just have to wait until the Fire Department gives us clearance to go inside. I don't think there's going to be anything left though for us to investigate."

The morning slowly turned into afternoon. The fire had spread to the house next door due to shifting winds; luckily, due to the presence of the Fire Department, the damage was held to a minimum. Eventually, as the afternoon sun faded, the Fire Chief gave Dobey's team permission to go through the garage and the Mercedes -- which wasn't badly damaged -- as long as one of the fire investigators accompanied him. By this time, the house structure, however, collapsed in on itself. It would remain off limits to the police and others until the investigators could sift through its ashes.

Dobey sent the black and whites back to their stations and told Hutch to go over to Metro to update Orly and Peter on the situation. It was after 7:00 p.m. by the time the blonde arrived at the station. Waiting for him was an upset curly-headed partner.

"Where have you been all day!?" Starsky demanded. "I thought you were gonna call when you guys apprehended Michaels?"

Hutch looked incredulously at Starsky. "Do you see him here?" The dark curls shook.

"Well, then I guess we didn't get him did we?"

Starsky pulled up a seat next to Peter & Orly. "What happened?"

Hutch sighed and grabbed the end of his chair, flopping his long body into it. "Michaels blew his place up. There's nothing left of it. Probably won't get much, if any, evidence out of the cinders."

"Was he there?" Asked Peter.

"If he was, he's toast now. The fire chief wouldn't let us go through the ashes. They'll write up their reports and give us a copy." Hutch sat on the top of the chair, feet flat against the seat. "What about you guys? Come up with anything in Temecula?"

"Oh yeah. Did we ever. Turns out our killer took his victims to his mother's barn where he performed his 'operations'. Found lots of evidence, including a dead aunt and mother."

"He killed his mother and aunt!" Shouted the stunned Starsky.

"Looks like it. They were smothered in their beds. Probably last night after the fiasco in the alley. He probably knew he couldn't take the chance that he was found out, and we figure he killed them so they never discovered what he was doing.

The next day, two more decapitated and mutilated torsos were found lying next to the Linnet Stream. One female, one male. Starsky and Hutch were dispatched to the scene, and the facts fit the m.o. of all Dr. Michaels' other victims. The bodies had been placed there recently -- possibly three days ago, perhaps as a final farewell to the authorities from their tormentor. The victims were never identified and were buried in the county pauper's plot.

A week later, Dobey threw the finished fire investigation report on Hutch's desk. "Read it, disassemble it, give me your thoughts -- in report form! Then I want you guys to develop a motive so we can give something to assure the media vultures that this case is over." He said to the puzzled detective who looked up at him.

Hutch stood up and made three copies of the report. He left one on Starsky's chair (because he'd never find it on his desk) with a note to join him in the conference room. Then he took the remaining copies, as well as his own and headed down the hall into the same said room.

Hart and Emerson were in the makeshift office reviewing files and reports in order to put them in some semblance of order. "Hey Hutch what's this?" Asked Peter, as Hutch quietly placed a copy in front of both men.

"Fire inspector's report."

Starsky joined them, and the four sat down to read the report.

Once everyone had completed it, there was a troublesome silence in the room. No one wanted to be the first to speak.

The report indicated that a partially destroyed body, that of a man, had been found in the ruins of Dr. Michaels' residence. Unfortunately the upper part of the body, including the skull was burnt to a crisp, almost as if it had combusted. There fore, there was no way to positively identify the body, a man's, as being that of Dr. Frederick Michaels.

Is it over? Thought each man to himself.

December 30, 1981
7:00 a.m.

David Starsky bounded up the stairs of Venice Place to pick up his partner for work. Usually he waited downstairs and honked his horn and the blonde was ready. But today he had arrived at his partner's place early. He had a surprise for him.

Without bothering to knock on the door, the energetic detective walked right into his partner's open aired apartment. "Hey Blintz! Time to get moving!"

A wet blonde head appeared from around the bathroom doorway. "What the heck? Starsky! What are you doing here this early? Is there a new donut shop opening up I don't know about?"

A grinning David Starsky just stood looking at his partner, bouncing in his new blue Addidas. "Come on, get ready! I got a surprise I wanna show you."

The dripping wet blonde groaned and flung a towel over his shoulder. "Not another new toy store. Please!"

The grin continued to be plastered on the darker face as he grasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. "Nope. Hurry up will ya? I have to show you something and I don't wanna be late today."

"What's so different about today?" Came the sarcastic reply from the bathroom.

"You'll see." Starsky sung out cheerfully, as he went into the kitchen to pour his partner a cup of coffee.

"Drink your coffee Blintz, but not too fast. You're gonna be so happy when you see what I got that you might get an upset stomach. Don't want'cha getting sick on my, er um, me."

Sipping the coffee carefully and watching his hyperactive partner over the top of his mug, Hutch wondered what kind of scheme his partner had gotten into now.

"Okay, okay, let's go. Here's an apple." Said the impatient man, as he slapped the fruit into his disbelieving partner's right hand. Then Starsky went over to pick up Hutch's baseball jacket and opened it for the blonde.

Shaking his head slightly, Hutch stepped into his coat and grabbed his partners arm. "Since when do you want to be early for work?"

"One more thing. You need to close your eyes. I'll help you down the steps."

Hutch's light blue eyes narrowed. "I seem to remember another time you blindfolded me and helped me down some stairs."

"Nothing like that babe. I swear. I'll watch you." Pleaded large indigo eyes.

Carefully, the two walked down the steps of Hutch's apartment building and onto the street.

"Okay, remember when I said I needed a new car? Ah, ah... keep those peepers closed."

"That was months ago Starsky, when you were upset about Lisa. You'd never get rid of the tomato."

"Well, I did it! This weekend, I went over to Suburban Chevrolet and got a new car. Well it's not exactly new, it's a 1979. And you'll love this part, it's not red! Merle's already checked her out and she's in great shape. He says he can put in some new leather seating and a cassette player. The wheels need to be replaced of course..."

"Starsky!" Hutch interrupted his partner's rambling. "Can I open my eyes yet?"

"What? Oh yeah, sure." He beamed at his partner, arms spread before him. "What do you think? Ain't she great!"

"Oh no, not another one!" Hutch groaned. Before him stood a bright yellow 1979 Camaro S with several rows of black pinstriping down her sides. "From a tomato to a lemon!"

"Lemon? What are you talking about? She's no lemon. She's only a few years old and with minimal mileage. Actually she reminds me of you with all that yellow."

"Starsky do you always have to get something so... so... bright?!"

Sgt. Detective First Class David Starsky flashed his million dollar smile. "I'd prefer if you use the word 'banana' rather than lemon. Hey that reminds me. I'm hungry. Get in Blintz and I'll take you for a ride before we head on in."

EPILOGUE

May 30, 1982
Tempe, Arizona

Three wild vultures hovered over the desolate train yard. Several freight cars, uncoupled to each other, were lying on dormant tracks. The smell of death hung in the warm, heavy air. This was a place where old cars went to rot before they were broken down for recycling.

For safety purposes, the owners of the place had two part-time security officers patrol the grounds. Mostly the guards were there to keep out teenagers looking for a place to have sex or get high; and young children in search of adventure.

The morning was already a warm one filled with arid desert heat and the smell of evil that came with the vultures. The security officer just going off duty had heard enough of the screeching birds the last few hours and decided to investigate what had gotten them all worked up. He approached a line of rusting cars and lifted the lock on the second one down. As soon as he raised the door open the smell of death came wafting out. Enough to make him drop the handle on the door so that it slammed back onto its track with a resounding crash and startled the birds enough that they flew away.

Taking a kerchief from his pocket and placing it over his nose, the guard again opened the door. After his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, he saw a ghastly sight. Lying in a pool of rust color liquid, were two bodies. Both had been expertly decapitated. One, a female, had both hands and feet removed. The other, a male, was intact but badly burned with an acidic-like chemical.

Eventually the police would discover a third body in another freight car down the line. This one was not only decapitated, but also emasculated and the word PIG was cut into his upper torso, possibly by a right-handed person using his left hand. The county coroner determined that the cause of death on all three was decapitation and the word cut into the third victim was done while he was still alive. Only one of the victims was ever identified.

The only piece of evidence found was a strand of dark blonde hair.

The End

Author's Notes: Many, many, many thanks to Tonya for being my beta reader and for her encouraging comments and observations. Starsky's 1979 canary yellow Camaro was my first car. Man, I loved that car almost as much as Starsky loved his Torino. I felt that by 1981 the tomato was getting old, hence the need for a flashy, new car -- and what better car to use than my beloved 'cammy'.

The case officially remains open in the files of the Cleveland Police Department.

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