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ANGEL'S FLIGHT
by
Starsky's Sweet Angel
PART THREE
***CHAPTER NINE***
Angel sat by herself in the backseat of the Dodge, her knees drawn up to her chest and plenty on her mind. It was early and no one else was awake except for herself and a few birds positioning themselves in the trees outside. Dull light from the climbing sun filtered in through the wooden slats that made up the walls of the garage warming the inside of the car. The sound of skittering claws on the dirt flooring beneath it alerted her to the fact that she wasn't entirely alone there. But meeting up with some small creature indigenous to the area was the least of her concerns; she had more pressing matters on her young mind. She lowered her head onto her arms and fought off the ever-present urge to cry. After a few minutes of relative silence, she thought she heard someone calling out her name. The voice was muffled, but it sounded like it was nearby. She picked her head up and saw a face peering at hers through the car window.
"David?"
She opened the door for him and he slid into the seat beside her, the worried look slowly disappearing from his face. "Yeah, last time I looked in the mirror. What're you doin' out here?"
"I needed someplace to think."
"And your room just wasn't big enough for ya, huh?" He looked well rested, much better than he had the day before.
"Something like that," she answered. Trying to tell him how she felt about him before had been painful, and his rebuffs stung. She didn't think she would be able to handle anymore of that so she hadn't said anymore to him about it. But now with him sitting so close, her connection to him seemed so palpable and immediate that she didn't know how he couldn't know how she felt. She hoped the dispassionate smile she'd greeted him with would disguise it somewhat, yet at the same time she wanted to lay bare the extent of her emotions. She smiled at him again, this time more warmly. "What are you doing out here?"
"Looking for you. I knocked on your door to take you for a walk before breakfast, but you didn't answer."
"I'm sorry, this whole thing has been really got me down."
"It's okay, don't be sorry." He intuitively pulled her close to him so that her head was lying against his shoulder and his arms were around hers. There was a beat. "You know, I had a dream about you last night."
"You did?" She turned to face him a little. Interested.
"Yeah, I thought it was kinda strange, 'cause normally I don't remember my dreams. I mean all the little details, you know, like what I dreamed, who I dreamed about, how it ended. But this was one I couldn't seem to shake."
"What was it about?"
"You and me."
"Really?" She listened to him, choosing not to focus on his face directly, in case she was making the wrong assumptions about what he was saying. She concentrated only on the delightful rumble of his chest as he spoke. It was a comforting, soothing sound.
"Really. And you know what else?
"What?"
"The dream had a happy ending."
There was something different about his voice. He didn't sound tense or unsure like he had before in the car, he sounded relaxed and confident, like he knew exactly what he was doing. She looked up and found his eyes, which were a very intense blue right now, and just about melted into them. The next thing she knew his strong but gentle hands were cupping her cheeks and drawing her face close to his, and then their lips were touching. He planted several kisses on her lips, not those wishy-washy 'I like you' kisses, but passionate, grownup 'I love you' kisses, the kind that made you turn all warm and squishy inside. As his kisses intensified and grew more urgent, she closed her eyes, the sexual tension between them increasing tenfold, until neither he nor she felt they'd be able to contain themselves.
The cramped confines of the car made the decision for them however, and they reluctantly parted ways, slumping down into the back seat together, their faces close, breathing heavy. A patina of perspiration glistened on her skin and upper lip and the mixture of his cologne and her perfume filled the interior of the Dodge like an aphrodisiac. She altered her position beside him ever so slightly, just enough to catch her arms around his waist and lean against him at the same time. When their breathing evened out, she blew lightly into his ear and he flinched.
"Hey. You're treading on dangerous ground doin' that."
"I'm not afraid," she said boldly, resting her left hand on his chest, watching it rise and fall as he breathed. "Tell me something. Have you ever done the deed outdoors?"
"You've gotta be kidding me. If that's not a loaded question, I don't know what is." He kissed her on her forehead. "I plead the Fifth."
She sucked her teeth. "Aw, you're just a 'fraidy cat."
"Naw, I just don't like answerin' loaded questions. If I say yes, then I'm kinky, if I say no, then I'm afraid. How's that fair?"
She laughed. "Who's trying to be fair?" She looked down at his hands holding hers and kissed the back of one of them. Then she put her forehead next to his. "Well, what are we going to do now?" That was another loaded question.
"Hmm, well, if you talkin' about what we're going to do about the investigation. I've got a theory, and my theory is...well...I got no theory. Like Hutch said, somebody's gotta make a move. It's like playin' chess. The player who makes the most right moves, wins, the player who make the most wrong, loses. I just hope whoever it is makes one before we're due to leave."
She lightly poked him on the arm and gave him a "that's not what I meant and you know it" look. He took the hint.
"Um, on the other hand, if you're talkin' about the two of us and what's gonna happen, I gotta a little theory on that, too." She poked him in his stomach again and he grunted, and then turned serious. "Okay, okay, look, all kidding aside, we both know where this is going. And I'd be a fool to sit here and tell you that I don't feel something for you. But I'd be also be kiddin' myself if I pretended that just because this is what we want to do it automatically makes it right. Life just ain't cut and dried that way."
"Is life always so difficult for you?"
"A lot of the time." He glanced at her sideways and pursed his upper lip. "But when you look at me like that you make it awfully hard, ah, difficult for me to stick to my principles, you know?"
"Uh, huh. And I like a man with principles...sometimes." She got lost in a thought for a moment. "Hey, you know what? I just thought of something, there's this great place I know of not far from here. It's really peaceful and quiet and there's a lake nearby. I used to go there when I wanted to commune with nature. Would you like to go and see it?"
"Hold on a minute. Are you trying to seduce me?"
"Without a doubt, Detective."
He grinned, opened the car door and they got out. They left the closed off space of the garage and walked out into the open air, both stealing glances in the direction of the house.
"Do you think they'll miss us?" she asked him.
"Probably. And it's safe bet that Hutch'll come lookin' for me. He has this rare talent for showin' up or callin' me at the worst times, if you know what I mean."
Angel's cheeks tinged a little red and she put her arm around his waist. "Is that so? Then we'd better hurry before he gets started looking, hadn't we?"
They laughed and he laid an arm languidly across her shoulders as they made their way down a hedged pathway that he assumed led to the spot she'd described to him. He wasn't exactly sure how all this had happened so quickly. Maybe it was the devil on his shoulder whispering in his ear urging him on, or maybe, just maybe, he was really in love. Love affected a man in strange ways, changed his thought processes, affected his decisions and made him take chances that he would never take ordinarily. It sometimes made him do things that a man not in its throes would never contemplate. He had no doubt that Hutch would try to convince him to wait it out. But David Starsky had never been a man who liked to wait.
~~~
The automatic sprinklers had switched on in front of Colchetti's residence, leaving the spacious lawn sparkling. The dark man was sitting in his jeep again, but this time in front of the estate. He was wearing a blue uniform in place of the brown one now. Working with little effort, he jerked a long handled pool net and a bottle of chlorine from the rear of the jeep. He put both next to him on the front seat and exchanged the standard brown cap he usually wore for a light blue one to match the uniform. To his chest, he applied a fabric logo that had "Sunclean Pool Cleaners," stitched in blue letters on a white background. He also applied a similar logo to the bill of the cap he was wearing. With the supplies in his arms he got out of the jeep and made his way to the front gate, announced himself and was let onto the grounds without difficulty.
He'd taken great care to note the actual schedule of the pool cleaning service and so as not to overlap with them, he came one day earlier, explaining that there had been a change in scheduling. Once inside, he looked around the interior, seemingly unaffected by its grandeur and opulence. Turning his head, he saw his subject, who was mixing his early morning drink at the bar. Not far from him were the glass doors leading out to the patio and the pool. After assuring the butler that he was fine on his own, he was left to do his job.
He started with the large pool and saved the Jacuzzi for last, mentally and visually keeping track of his man from outside. The only critical thing to do before he left was to make sure the guy intended to actually use one of the pools. When he was finished cleaning both, he put the empty bottle of cleaner into a sack and went back into the house with the pool net in his hand, leaning it against his chest and the side of his neck as he walked in. Colchetti looked up from his drink when he entered the room.
"Hey, you all finished out there?"
"Sure am. You're clean as a whistle."
"Good, I was just thinking about going in."
A slight, but barely noticeable smile crossed the dark man's lips. "Great morning for it, sir. Wouldn't mind trying it out myself, if I had one. Good for relaxing the muscles, you know?"
"Sure is. Too bad you have to work or I'd invite you in."
"Yeah, just my luck. Well, I've got to go on to my next job. See you next time."
"See you. Have a good day."
The pool man nodded goodbye and adjusted the net, then disappeared into the foyer.
Colchetti took a sip of the scotch and soda and went outside. The warm air hit him like a slap in the face as he left the air-conditioned room for the brace of heat outside. He went into the changing room and slipped into a pair of swim trunks, bringing his drink out with him. He set the glass down on the tile and sniffed at the pool water. The smell of chlorine was faint, but not overpowering. He flicked on the switch and the Jacuzzi came to life. Another sip of his drink and he stepped into the pool.
The undulating water and the liquor worked together like a depressant, lulling him into a state of drowsiness. He was not aware of the hand that slipped the deadly toxin into what remained of his drink, nor did he notice when his assassin departed, but in his last waking moments he did startle awake as the patio door slid almost quietly shut behind him. Momentarily alert, he looked around, and seeing no one, he reached for and drank the last of the scotch. Before long the toxin took hold of him, his arms and his legs getting heavy as unconsciousness enveloped him. After his heart stopped, he slipped under the surging water. His demise was quick and quiet--there had been no chance to scream.
~~~
Later that morning, about a half a dozen police units and the city coroner's wagon had arrived to take up both sides of the tree-lined street outside Colchetti's lavish mansion. Parked not far away was Frankie Brown's pale green Dodge Dart. The two out of state detectives, Starsky and Hutchinson, stood poolside with Captain Benjamin Kraft inside the estate. Mrs. Colchetti, her body convulsing and straining as she wept uncontrollably, sat not far away from them. Her stepdaughter blankly stood waiting just inside the patio entrance, watching silently as a team of policemen went about their grisly work. Kraft regarded the detectives' reappearance into his affairs with a level of amused interest.
"Didn't think I would see you two again."
Starsky winked. "Good thing we stuck around, huh?"
"Yes, well. All I can say is, things were quiet before you two showed up."
"So what happened? Who found him?" Hutch asked.
Kraft took his sunglasses off and began cleaning them with a handkerchief from his breast pocket of his jacket. "It appears to be an accidental death by drowning. He'd been drinking. According to his wife, he has one or two each morning before he goes to work. She's the one who found him." He pointed to the redhead sitting on a chaise with her head in her hands, the picture of an anguished widow.
Hutch looked over at the woman and Starsky patted him on the arm to get his attention. "Wanna go see a dead body?" he asked with childlike glee. Hutch frowned, but followed him. They went over to the stretcher, lifted a corner of the sheet, and looked under it. Colchetti's body lay there pale and wrinkled, his mouth frozen open with a fine line of white foam oozing from his nose and lips. They quickly covered the body. Both men shuddered and stepped back.
"All I can say is this is one helluva way to go."
"You're telling me."
A man wearing a white coat and carrying a black leather bag approached the two men and the body. He was a short man, a little on the heavy side and kind of balding. Judging by the permanent scowl on his face, he didn't appear to enjoy his work a great deal. Midwestern-bred Hutchinson soon left his partner's side to attend to less morbid tasks, knowing the sight of dead bodies didn't bother the city-bred Starsky as much as they did him. Indeed, Starsky watched with almost clinical coldness as the fat man opened his bag, took out a few tools of his trade and began swabbing the bottom of the dead man's drinking glass. He deposited the glass and the swabs into two small plastic bags with care, and then sealed them off and proceeded on to uncovering and examining the body.
"Hello there." Starsky took out and flashed his badge as the examiner continued to study the body. The man stepped back, took a quick look at it, and nodded a greeting to him without looking up. Starsky jammed the badge back into his jeans pocket and folded his arms. After a few minutes, he said, "Anything?"
"Nothing yet, the glass appears to have been drained of any fluid. I'm hoping to pick up more when I get it to the lab."
"Got a guess on the time of death?"
"The skin's fairly wrinkled. My guess is sometime between eight and eleven this morning. Like I said, I'll know more after I get them to the lab."
"So he was in about three hours," he said, more to himself than to the examiner. "That's good to know, thanks."
"Welcome."
Starsky put both hands in his pockets and left the examiner to resume his examination uninterrupted. On his way back to where his partner was standing, he caught sight of Angel. She was still standing in the doorway of the patio on the other side of the glass; her arms folded neatly across her chest. She looked sad, but he noticed that her eyes were curiously dry. No tears were being shed for her dead father. Maybe she thinks he deserved what had happened to him, he thought. When he got back to his partner, the blond man had just started to write down something on a notepad he was holding. He stopped writing when he got there.
"The M.E. able to tell you anything?"
"Not much. Says there might be something in the lab results when they get them back later, but the glass was clean, not a drop of liquid left in it." He thoughtfully jerked his head in Mrs. Colchetti's direction. "Anybody talk to her?"
Kraft coughed into his handkerchief, folded it and put it back in his breast pocket. "Sure have. She says she came home from a shopping trip and found him like that. Called us immediately. She was fairly calm when we got here. Didn't lose it until we fished him out of the pool."
"Delayed reaction, huh?"
"You might say that. Anyway she's clean...for now. So, you gentlemen want to wait around for us to finish up? Or you want to try talking to her yourselves?"
"If you've already got a statement from her, we'd like to take a look at that later, if that's all right. We don't want to upset her anymore than we have to, at least not today. Anybody question the butler about any unusual visitors?"
"He told us there were just a couple of delivery people, the gardener, the pool man. You know, the usual people. But they left before anything happened. The butler even saw Colchetti going out to change his clothes to get into the pool after the last service guy left."
"So, Cap'n, now do you believe there's something strange going on here?"
"Frankly, Detective Hutchinson, the whole situation serves to give me pause."
"Ah, I'm Starsky." He jerked a thumb toward his partner. "He's Hutchinson."
"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that," he said apologetically.
"That's okay," The blond man smiled, the sunlight bouncing off his fair hair. "We're used to it. Ah, we'd be grateful if you'd let us know when the lab test results come in, Captain. You know where to reach us, don't you?"
"Roger that."
"Okay, we'll see you later then."
The captain shook both their hands and left them to ponder the ramifications of the most recent developments. Starsky blinked up at the sun and then over at the body.
"So, you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"
"That depends..."
"On what?"
"On what, if anything, the PPD's lab man finds in that glass."
"You read my mind. I'm starving, let's take her home."
"Right."
***CHAPTER NINE***
Hutch woke up to what sounded like someone being sick nearby. Concerned, he sat up and looked for his partner, who was sound asleep across from him. Judging from the huge grin on his face, he was probably dreaming about making the moves on some beautiful female. He smiled and checked his pocket watch in the semi-darkness. It was two o'clock in the morning. He got up and opened the door to the room as quietly as he could, then peeked out into the dark hallway. He noticed that the bathroom light was on. Then he heard coughing and the sound of the toilet being flushed. Then the faucet was turned on and then off again. In a few seconds the chain on the door unhitched, and he watched as Angel made her way out of the bathroom. She looked drawn and pale, her hair was damp, and the neck of her gown was wet. She was blotting at her face with a white cotton towel.
"You okay?" he asked, startling her.
"What?"
"I said, are you okay?"
"Oh, yeah, I guess something I ate didn't agree with me."
He came out of the room and put his hand on her forehead. "Are you sure?"
She laughed nervously and brushed his hand away. "I'm positive."
Before she could get further away he took hold of her arm and tried studying her face, hoping he might be able to figure her out. Had she really eaten something that disagreed with her, or was she some sort of a druggie? Besides the poor pallor, he noticed something else--her appearance had changed since the first time they'd met her. Over the course of a few days, her face and figure had become fuller, more rounded.
She squirmed out of his hold and turned away from him, walking back towards her room. "I'm going back to bed. I'm sorry if I woke you."
"'S okay," he answered thoughtfully. She went into her room without another word and closed the door. Hutch slipped back into his, sat on top of the bed and stretched his body across it. Linking his hands behind his neck, he lay there in the dark, grappling with finding a reason for her transformation. After a minute or so, he freed one hand and snapped his fingers softly in the air. He turned toward his partner and considered waking him up to share his epiphany, but the guy looked so peaceful lying there that he didn't want to disturb him. Instead, he settled back onto his pillow and closed his eyes.
To his way of thinking, a person who comes wanting, is wanting--for something. Young women don't as a matter of rote collapse at your doorstep and come to with stories of murder to tell. He felt then as he did now that she was handing them her hard luck story for a reason. Not because she was running away from something bad, but because she had a hidden agenda. He'd known enough women in his lifetime to know that the possibility existed. Women like his ex-wife Vanessa, who'd tried most of their married life to plot his career to meet the needs of her own self enhancement, using methods that were often to the detriment of his own happiness.
The idea of Starsky taking up Angel's cause without questioning her motives or thoroughly checking out her background first was very disquieting. To know that this stranger had enough emotional pull on his partner to where he was willing to drop everything to help her was disheartening. Ironically, it was his partner's uncharacteristic behavior that triggered the first seeds of doubt. Starsky hardly ever got emotionally attached to someone he didn't know well, let alone allowed himself to become viscerally or emotionally moved enough to aid them in their causes. Between the two of them, it was probably more something he might do himself. It was a White Knight move. With that in mind, he felt duty bound to making sure that his partner wasn't being emotionally used for her self-aggrandizement. He hoped to be able to do that without alienating their friendship. When he closed his eyes, he was still thinking about it, and before he knew it he was asleep again.
~~~
John Colchetti hadn't become important enough yet for his death to rate the front page of the daily newspapers (a quarter of a page in the obit section sufficed), but Emerson thought it best to wait a couple of days before he ventured phoning the widow and asking her over for dinner. After working so diligently to project an aura of self-confidence and composure to Sharon, he thought it was necessary that he continue to keep up the facade, even if it did mean borrowing outrageous sums of money from seedy sources to keep the cash flowing. It was very difficult to seem to live prosperously on an insurance agent's salary, but through their assistance, he managed it, albeit tenuously. He'd even gone so far as to have his condo refurbished to further the appearance of wealth. When friends and acquaintances arrived at his home, it was on expensive Natuzzi sofa that they sat; and they rested their feet on plush Indian or Oriental rugs, setting their drinks on imported Italian coffee tables. All of these trappings were well within view of a collection of some of the most exquisitely carved ivory pieces he could acquire at auction.
He'd begun sensing a growing reluctance on Sharon's part to continue their intricate deception after the first killing, and now that the dark man was paid off and his plans were coming to fruition, it was not the time for her to begin losing faith. This was the time to bind together and be strong, and he hoped getting together with her tonight would assuage any fears she might have. He poured a glass of wine for himself and took a sip of it, then consulted his watch. It was six o' clock.
At six fifteen, the doorbell rang and he checked the peephole. It was her. She had her chin slightly tilted and turned away from him, but there was no denying whom it was. He let her in and closed the door behind her. He watched her standing in the foyer, somberly taking note of the candlelit dinner setting and the ambience of the room. She was wearing a black silk scarf over her auburn hair and a light fur stole was draped tastefully over a black crepe evening suit that fit her like a glove. The color was too reserved for the occasion, he thought, but she looked wonderful just the same. He walked over and kissed her on her cheek and she responded by moving away from him. Standing just in front of the couch. Her reaction to him was foreign. He didn't understand it and he said so.
"What's the matter with you? It's almost over. We're almost there."
She laid her purse down on the couch. "I know, but there are two people dead because of us."
"Wait a minute. Hold on just a second. What happened to the Sharon Milner who I met three years ago at my office? The one who said she'd had it with life? Had it with the nine to five? Had it with never going anyplace or doing anything? What happened to her?"
She sighed and dropped down on the couch along with her purse. "It's been a long three years, Bruce, and I'm not the same woman. You had a man's wife killed, don't you remember? I married the rich widower. Have you any idea what it feels like to know the man I love is for all intents and purposes, a murderer?" She waited for him to answer the question, but he didn't. "Well, do you?"
He went to the fireplace mantle and picked up a box of cigars, lifted the lid and pulled one out; he bit off the tip and lit it with the heavy antique lighter that set beside it. She looked up at him and watched him as he drew in and inhaled the aromatic smoke.
"No, you wouldn't. How could you?' She shook her head. "How do you sleep at night?"
"I think about the money, Sharon, it helps a lot. On those nights when I think about you in his arms, making love to him, I want to kill him. But the money helps me keep things in prospective. After all these years of struggling and practically signing away my life to get what I want, I'm finally accomplishing something. I mean, tell me the truth, it's not all sleepless nights and walking the floors for you up there on the hill, is it? It sounds like you enjoy living in the lap of luxury." He blew out some of the smoke.
"How can you say that to me? I did what you said to do because I love you and you know that. John was...John was, well, he was rich, but he had no sense of the romantic. Even so, I think I could've gotten used to him, if the circumstances had been different. I think he was really in love with me."
"That's all very cozy, but where would that have left me?" He pulled on his cigar again. "I'll tell you where. Out in the cold--you with him on the hill and me holding the bag for his wife's murder. That's where. No, my darling, we're in this for the long haul." He went over to the dining room table, refilled his wineglass and poured one for her, handing her the glass. "Sharon, toast with me, because after tonight, you won't remember a thing about being John Colchetti's wife, I promise you that."
Sharon took the glass from him, her eyes focusing blankly on the Oriental rug beneath her feet. He raised his glass and clinked it against hers. "To us, Sharon, and to the fortune that will soon be ours. May we be the happiest we've ever been in our lives."
She lifted an eyebrow along with her glass, but didn't join him in his toast. She was too sick to her stomach to be glibly toasting the situation. Her hands were trembling and bile rose to her throat at the thought. What the hell had she gotten herself into?
Mrs. Brown had once again managed to prepare cuisine for her three guests that was fit enough for royalty. Starsky tucked a napkin under his chin and dug in rapturously, while Hutch approached his repast with a bit more aplomb. Angel took a few bites of food from her plate and tried to enjoy it, but her stomach revolted. Her face contorted and she dropped her fork onto her plate, and a napkin flew to her lip, she sat there for a moment struggling to push back the urge to retch. No longer able to fight it, she shot up from the table. All three of her table companions stared after her, and Starsky wiped his mouth and started to leave the table.
Hutch stopped him with a hand on his forearm. "She's okay, Starsk. Let her go."
"She didn't look too good."
"Yeah, I noticed that."
Frankie stood up, snatched her napkin from her lap and set it on the table. "I'm beginning to think there's a good reason for that."
"Whaddya mean?"
She started clearing away the dishes. "Haven't you noticed? She can't keep anything down; she's nauseous. She sleeps a lot." They were staring at her, not knowing what she was getting at. "Well, the two of you being bachelors you might not notice things like that, but I swear that girl's either got a bad case of stomach flu or she's expecting."
Starsky's jaw dropped open. He sat back down in his chair hard and stared at his partner, cupping his hand over his mouth. "A baby?"
Hutch's eyes were wide and innocent. "Don't look at me like that, Starsk. I'm not the father."
"A baby," Starsky muttered again in disbelief, his hand coming down off his face.
"One of you had better go up and have a talk with her."
"One of us?" Starsky asked. "Wouldn't it be better...I mean, you're a woman, can't you do it?"
"Yes, well, I am that, honey. But I'm also someone she just met and hasn't gotten to know very well, and it's likely that she won't open up to me. I've seen how she responds to you, David. She likes you. You should talk to her."
"It's true, partner. She really has taken quite a liking to you."
"But, I...I wouldn't know what to say to her."
Hutch put a calming hand on Starsky's shoulder. "I hate to remind you of this old buddy, but while we sit here debating the issue of gender, the clock is ticking. And we, meaning you and I, have a very impatient captain waiting for us to get back to work in a week. But if you don't feel up to it...I'll..."
"No, no, that's okay. I'll go up."
Starsky pulled the napkin he had tucked under his chin away and tossed it on his empty plate. He could feel Hutch's eyes on him as he made his way up the stairs. No doubt his partner was wondering, as he was to himself, what he had gotten himself into. The bathroom door was closed when he got upstairs, he tried the knob, but it was locked. He knocked softly and put his lips close to the door. "Angel. It's me. Can I come in?"
He didn't get a verbal response, but he heard the chain being unhitched. He opened the door slowly and saw her sitting down on the cold pink and black linoleum floor, one arm braced over the toilet, her head down, her face pale. He came in and sat down on the side of the tub across from her. "You okay?"
"No."
Her eyes started to well up. He slid down on the floor next to her, one hand smoothing her long dark hair away from her face and the other stroking her cheek. "You wanna tell me what's wrong?"
She looked into his eyes. "I think I'm sick."
He chuckled softly at the severity of her understatement. "I can see that. Any idea why that would be?"
"I...I...don't know. Do you think it's something serious?"
"You got me. I think we should take you to see a doctor and find out for sure."
"Can we go right now?"
"Sure. Come on, get yourself cleaned up and dressed and maybe Frankie can give us the name of a place and Hutch and I can take you."
"Okay."
He stood up and helped her onto her feet. They hugged each other and he followed her out into the hallway. They split up in different directions, her into her room and him back downstairs. Frankie provided them with the information they needed and they left shortly afterwards.
~~~
Sergeant Hutchinson had parked the Dodge in front of a place called the Women's Health Clinic. A quiet indistinct office located not far from where the boarding house was. Both men waited in the car for the young woman, Hutch fixing from time to time on the odd behavior of his curly-haired partner. Starsky had something on his mind and he wasn't telling. The blond checked his watch, by his estimation; it wouldn't be long before the guy finally blew his stack. And he was right, before long a deep breath escaped his partner's lips, and Mount St. Starsky looked like it was ready to erupt. Hutch put on his Ray Bans and stared ahead of him, preparing for the fallout that would inevitably follow.
"Hutch?"
"Yeah, Starsk?"
"You think she's okay?"
"I hope so, buddy."
The darker man frowned and turned to him. "I probably should've gone in there with her."
"She didn't want you to go in with her, remember?"
"Oh, yeah. That's right. She didn't, did she? I forgot."
"There are some days when I think you'd forget your head if it wasn't attached to your shoulders. Come to think of it, you've been acting awfully strangely lately, ever since the morning you and she disappeared. Is there something you're not telling me, partner?"
Starsky face looked wan and helpless. "Hutch, what if...what if Frankie was right? What if Angel is expecting a baby?"
"Then I guess it'd be a good thing for her, wouldn't it? Unless of course you happened to be the father, then we'd have a problem." He grinned. "But you're not, are you? So there's nothing to worry about, right?"
Hutch was kidding, but Starsky was deadly serious. He turned and stared at the clinic entrance. Hutch lowered his sunglasses and peered over them. "Hey, Starsk." No response. "Hey, Starsky!" He waved his hand and snapped his fingers in front of his partner's face. "Starsky!"
"Huh?"
"Starsky, will you please tell me what's going on?" He waited, Starsky's silence speaking volumes. "Wait a minute, don't tell me you and she..." His long fingers did a back and forth motion in the air.
Starsky closed his eyes and nodded slowly. The expression on his face changed from one of shock to childish embarrassment. He looked exactly like a kid who'd gotten his hand caught hand in a cookie jar. Hutch just shook his head.
"I don't believe it. What the hell were you thinking?"
"At the time, I guess I wasn't doin' much thinkin'."
"Now, there's the understatement of the year. What do you plan to do about it if it turns out she is?"
"I dunno. The right thing, I guess, whatever that is."
"Starsky, you're a grown man. How could you let something like this happen?"
"Oh, and I suppose you never had anything like this even remotely happen to you."
"Oh, don't get me wrong, I've had some close calls. But nothing like this."
"Okay, well then, that just proves everyone's entitled to a little indiscretion or two once in a while."
"Yeah, just as long it doesn't cost them too much."
A lengthy, awkward silence ensued between them that lasted until Angel stepped out of the clinic doors and made her way over to the car. When Starsky saw her, he bounded out of his seat and opened the door for her. He made a concerted effort to deduce the results of her visit by reading her facial expression, but it produced nothing. Hutch pushed his glasses up on his face and waited for him to ask her the sixty-four thousand-dollar question, but he never did. He sat down in the car like a man in a trance, an emotional car wreck. It looked like it would be up to Hutch to find out what the story was. His blue eyes found her brown ones in the rearview mirror.
"So, young lady, what's the verdict? Will there be a baby shower in your future?"
She had a tentative look in her eyes and didn't answer him right away. Tell the truth? Tell a lie? She already knew the answer. She had to lie. Hutch turned around and leaned his elbow on the back of the seat. He needed conscious thought and verbal communication now; telepathy wasn't going to do it. He raised his voice. "Excuse me, is anybody back there?"
She blinked in immediately. "Yes?"
"Remind me to get that hearing aid of yours fixed, I think the batteries are going."
A quiet laugh escaped her lips and she smiled. "I'm sorry, Detective Hutchinson, I heard you. And the answer is yes, I am going to have a baby."
Starsky looked up and stared at her face in the rearview mirror too. "You're kiddin'."
Her eyes found his in the mirror and nodded. "No, really, I am." She was still smiling.
"How far along are you?" Hutch asked, his heart sinking, but still amazingly calm.
"The nurse says it's too early to tell. But I'm showing all the signs."
Hutch turned back toward the steering wheel and started the car, regarded his partner with a sigh. "We'd better get back to Frankie's. I'm sure she'll be just thrilled to hear the news."
"Great." Starsky stared out of his window, lost in his thoughts. Hutch started the car and pulled off, shaking his head for most of the way back.
~~~
Frankie Brown didn't need the confirmation of a doctor to know that her hunch about the young woman's condition had been right on, but to her guests, it seemed as if it was more of a shock. She poured them each of them a cup of coffee, and then set the pot down on a hotplate to keep warm. None of them made any effort to drink their coffee or converse. What appeared to be various stages of mild shock and disbelief registered on their faces. She took a careful sip of her coffee and sat down. "Now I would think this would be a joyous occasion. Isn't anyone going to say anything about it?"
Hutch spoke up. "Well, normally Frankie, it would be pretty great news. But in this case there happens to be a couple of hitches in the seam work that are cutting into our enthusiasm a bit."
"And those would be?"
Hutch looked at her, then at the girl and his partner. "Well, one hitch is, our mother-to-be isn't married. She doesn't have a direct support system, so things don't look too good there." Starsky looked up after Hutch finished his sentence, then dropped his head down. The blond man continued. "The other hitch is Starsky and I are due back in Bay City in a few days and we still haven't figured out what happened to Angel's mother yet." He left out the part about the possibility that his partner might have had something to do with putting the young lady in the family way.
"I see. Well, that does sort of put a damper on things, I agree. But, I have no doubt the tide will turn. Just have faith."
"Well, I hope so. From your mouth to God's ears."
Hutch and Frankie now took note of the two silent occupants in the room. They were holding hands and Starsky looked miserable. The darker man glanced at the young woman next to him, got up, put his hand out, and she accepted it. He acknowledged his partner and their hostess with a nod and gestured with his head that they would be leaving out the back door. His face said, 'me and Angel have gotta have a little talk.'
Hutch nodded that he understood, raised one eyebrow and blew out air from his chest as the two of them left. Frankie's eyes trained on his and she gave him a knowing smile. Without him ever mentioning it to her, he had a gut feeling from that look that she knew exactly what was going on. Exactly.
Once they were outside, it didn't take the two of them long to find a quiet place to talk. They settled for an old sycamore tree not far from the back of the house. He fiddled with her hair, letting the strands fall into her face and then directing them away. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, pressing it against his chest. "I know what you're going to say, David, and it's okay. You don't have to do anything about this."
"But I want do the right thing."
She lifted her head. "What's the right thing? Marrying me?"
"If that's what it takes."
"What do you want to do?"
"If it's mine, I want the kid to have a father. I don't want him or her growing up without one, like I had to."
She opened her eyes to look into his and wondered if he really meant what he was saying. His face was a swelling sea of emotions. She saw fear, doubt, and yes, possibly even love in his eyes. But as much as she would love to have him for a husband and a father to her unborn child, she didn't know if she was prepared to have him sacrifice himself or his peace of mind to have it happen.
"Look, I don't want you to do something that you'd be unhappy about later."
"Let me worry about that," he said bending his head down to kiss her. "I just wanna know one thing. Do you love me, Angela?"
She looked up into his eyes and smiled brightly, thrilling to the sound of her given name flowing from his lips. "I couldn't love you more."
"That's all I need to hear. Don't you worry about a thing, I'll take care of this."
She rested her head in the crook of his arm and began to cry softly into it as he held her.
***CHAPTER TEN***
"What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Starsk?"
Hutchinson's reaction was reserved, even calm, considering the fact that his partner had sprung the startling news of his tentative engagement on him while they were sitting in Captain Kraft's office. He'd delivered his response at half of what its normal decibel level would have been had they been somewhere more private. And despite all efforts to reason with his partner on the subject, Starsky refused to budge an inch.
"There's nothin' you can say that's going to change my mind. If I made a mistake I wanna fix it."
"Oh, you're gonna fix it, all right."
"What's that supposed ta mean?" Starsky folded his arms in front of him defiantly.
The blond stabbed a finger at him. "This has got to be the stupidest stunt you've ever pulled in your life."
"You know what's the matter with you? You...you're selfish, that's what it is. You been sharing space with me for so long, you can't see straight for lookin'."
"You're right about that." Hutch rolled his eyes, his voice subdued. "But I'll bet I'm seein' a whole lot straighter than you are right now. And that's sayin' a lot. I mean, how long have you known this girl? A week or so at the most?"
The darker man wrinkled his brow. "It's been nearly a week and a half, but hey, who's countin'? Anyway, who says that's not long enough for two people to get to know each other?"
"It might be long enough for a parakeet or a dog, but we're talking about two flesh and blood human beings here. Come on, Starsk, what do you really know about her? Besides the fact that she's beautiful, and that both her parents are dead?"
Starsky tried to come up with something more concrete than what he was thinking, but he finally gave up and said, "I know I love her."
"Look Starsk, you said you and she were only together once, so the odds of you being the kid's father are probably slim to none. Couldn't you at least wait until you're sure of what the situation is, before you make a major decision like this? Then if you still feel the same way, you won't hear another word from me, I'll back you up one hundred percent."
"You seem to be overlooking one important thing, Hutch.
"What's that?"
"What happens if it turns out I am?"
"Then we'll work it out together--the three of us. Just promise me you won't rush into anything, okay?"
Starsky thought about his friend's proposition for a moment and finally relaxed his stance. For the most part, Hutch usually had his best interests at heart, especially when it counted. And most of the time he was happy to have him as a sounding board for his problems, a calmer head in a storm--so to speak, even if he was a little on the pushy side a times. He put his hand on the taller man's shoulder and smiled.
"Okay, tell you what, big guy. I'm gonna do you a favor and take your advice, just this once."
"Glad to hear it."
"Oh, yeah, by the way..."
Hutch beamed at him. "What?"
He winked. "I wouldn't blame you if you're a little jealous."
They looked into each other's eyes and for that moment nothing else needed to be said. Hutch rewarded his partner with a dubious grin. Of course, Captain Kraft chose just that minute to come bursting into his office, breaking the intimacy of it. Both men looked over their shoulders at him. He stopped, wrinkled his brow at them, and then went on about his business. On his way to his desk, he opened up the white manila folder he held in his hand.
"Well, this is it, gentlemen. The results of the lab tests we've been waiting for. Hopefully the contents will tell us whether Mr. Colchetti's family is inexplicably ill fated or if he died at the hands of a party or parties unknown."
Both men straightened up in their chairs and took in a breath as they prepared to hear the results. Kraft pulled out the folder's contents and studied them for a moment or two before he spoke. He nodded his head thoughtfully. "Well, well, well. It looks like the two of you were right." He handed the folder to them. "See for yourself."
Hutch's reach was longer by an inch and he got to the folder before his partner. Starsky relegated himself to his chair and settled back to hear what was in it. He and Kraft watched and waited while the blond man slowly digested the contents. After he'd studied each entry, he divulged the results.
"Well, Colchetti did die of asphyxiation by drowning."
"Damn."
"Yeah. After he drank almost a cocktail glass full of cyanide for breakfast. That's strange because cyanide has a distinct almond order, I'm wondering why the M.E. didn't catch it at the scene."
Starsky sat back further in his chair. "He did say the glass was pretty clean when he swabbed it. Wow, cyanide." He took in a breath, and then blew it out. "That's some pretty heavy stuff."
"No kidding." Hutch handed the folder back to the captain. "What happens now?"
"Exactly what you two wanted from the start, a full-scale investigation, from the car accident to Colchetti's drowning. If your suspicious are correct, then somebody out there is after the Colchetti estate. We already know they're brazen enough to kill for it. Now we need to find out who they are, and quick. Is the source you mentioned earlier safe?"
Starsky sat up, very alert. "Yeah, she's safe."
Hutchinson looked over at him. "She is for now. But if whoever it is was willing to kill both parents, I think it's safe to say they're not going to bother thinking twice about eliminating the last remaining heir to the fortune."
Starsky eyes held a twinge of concern in them; he was still thinking about what the test results said. "What kind of a cold-hearted bastard would poison a guy and leave him to drown in his own Jacuzzi?" Uneasy, he braced both Adidas against the front of the captain's desk.
Kraft stuffed the autopsy report folder back into its envelope. "A mercenary might do it, he's not so emotionally involved in what's going on, he's just some guy who gets paid to kill folks while his gutless employer reaps the rewards, paying him only a fraction of what he himself stands to yield once it's over. The mercenary's got no major stake in the deal, so only has to do a clean kill and then he's off and gone to his next assignment."
Hutch rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger reflectively. "Well, the first thing we've got to figure out is who stands to gain the most from all this."
"How about the new wife?" Kraft offered. He sat back and stretched in his chair. "With the first wife out of the picture, she stands to make off with the whole thing. Including the insurance money. I heard from a reliable source that was pretty substantial."
"Good, good, but too obvious. Why would she take the chance? The police would suspect her first, then where would she be?"
"Right. And plus she was the one who called us. She even had the receipts from her shopping trip. Her purchases were dated and time stamped."
Starsky sucked his teeth. "So that let's her out... at least for now. Who else?"
Kraft dropped his head, and then looked up slowly. "There's the daughter, you did mention that there was some animosity about her father's remarriage."
Hutch shot a look over at his partner and he shook his head. "No way. This is way too big a deal for her to have anything to do with it. I'd bet my life on that."
Hutch glanced at the captain, then back at Starsky. "C'mon, Starsk. There's a remote possibility that Angel might be involved in this in some way. If she isn't in on it, then she knows something. As soon as she hit the door, I got this weird feeling about her, like there's more to her story then what she's been telling us. Haven't you noticed the way she latched on to you and hasn't let up since?"
"It could be my animal magnetism. But okay, for the sake of argument, let's say you're right--which you're not. What would be her motive for lyin' to us?"
Hutch shrugged. He couldn't think of anything that would make any sense. It was just one of those feelings he'd get every now and then. He'd see or hear something that didn't seem quite right, something that didn't fit logically into the pattern of things. And there it would sit, staring him in the face, plain as day, until he figured it out. Nine times out of ten, he did just that.
Kraft, sensing the tension between the two men, offered a truce. "All right, seems I've hit a sore spot with that one. Let's just drop it for now."
"No problem, Captain."
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
"It was just an idea, Starsky."
"Yeah, a bad one."
"Okay, okay, boys, that's enough, that's enough. Any other ideas before we close this one down for the afternoon?"
Starsky put up a finger. "Yeah, one more thing. Do you know the background on the current Mrs. Colchetti?"
"Sure do. Got it right here." Kraft pulled open a file drawer in his desk, rifled through it and pulled out a thin blue file folder. Opened it and read the contents carefully. "Ah yes, here it is. Mrs. Jessie Colchetti, maiden name Jessie Milner. Says here she worked as a salesgirl for a big name department store before she found herself Mr. Right."
Hutch put his hand on the captain's desk. "You said she worked as a salesgirl. You ever check out her full background?"
"Nope, had no reason to. Why?"
"Just plain curiosity. Does it give the name of the department store?"
"Warwicke's. But it went out of business about three years ago. You're thinking she has a reason to lie?"
"Don't know. But it's a possibility. I'm just curious to know how she and Colchetti happened to meet and strike up a relationship so quickly. At any rate, I think it's something we should follow up on."
"Well, all I can say is good luck in your search."
Starsky stood up and did a half-salute. "Thanks for that. See ya later, Cap."
The captain nodded and Hutch got up himself and went to the door, letting Starsky out ahead of him. The man bulldozed past him so quickly that the breeze he created rustled the blond's hair and foretold of the dressing down he was to get on the drive over. They never got that far.
Once they were on the street Starsky dropped his right hand onto Hutch's shoulder and stopping his forward momentum. "What the hell was that back there, huh?"
"What the hell was what?"
"That back there--that, Angel's got to be involved in some way and you had a feeling about it stuff. How come this is the first I'm hearin' about it?"
The blond fished the car key out of his pocket and sighed. "I don't know, maybe you're too close to see it, Starsky. It's understandable." He went around to the driver's side of the Dodge and got in. Starsky stood outside the car for a minute and then got in too.
"Yeah, I know it's understandable. But you know what really burns me?"
Hutch put the key in the ignition. "No, what?"
"You're supposed to be my best friend, how come you don't tell me about these things?"
He didn't have a quick answer for that.
***CHAPTER ELEVEN***
Penn State Mutual's personnel office was on the eighth floor of the main building and wasn't much different from the first floor except that the lighting was better and there were a few less people roaming the halls. When they got off the elevator, a counter loomed before them that was presumably set up for applicants to fill out applications. Behind that was a sliding glass window, which was now closed. Starsky went over to a bare wall, leaned against it and waited, while his partner went to work ferreting out a human being to talk to.
When he walked up to the window, he saw a woman sitting on the other side of the glass with her back to him. Her platinum blonde hair flowed past her shoulders and onto the back of the beige windowpane patterned suit she was wearing. He tapped on the glass and immediately went into his Prince Charming mode, his voice dripping with honey. "Pardon me, miss."
The woman turned round in her seat and looked at him, her face expressionless. He tried hard to mask the surprise that must have been evident on his face. She certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting to see. This woman was at least twenty years his senior, probably well past the age of succumbing to something as lightweight as the Hutchinson charm.
She got up and slid open the window. "Yes, how may I help you?
Hutch's mouth stood slightly agape. She also seemed to have some kind of a speech impediment that made the s's on her 'yes's' sound drawn out like a snake's hiss. He stole a glance at his partner, who simply shrugged and smiled, obviously amused at his partner's predicament. It took a millisecond for the blond man to regain his composure. He straightened up and smiled at the woman.
"Ah, ah, we'd like to ask you a few questions, Miss ah..."
"Casden. Jane Casden. I'm the manager here. What kind of questions? And who is this 'we' you're speaking of?"
Her personality was all ice and mothballs, not an ounce of warmth to speak of. Hutch pointed to where his partner was leaning and Starsky waved to them and smiled. "My partner and I... Um, we..." He showed her his badge. "We're detectives, and ah, well, we need some information on an employee we think might have worked here."
"And your names?"
"I'm Detective Hutchinson, that's Detective Starsky." He was still holding the badge against the glass.
"And this is official police business, you say?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She slipped on a pair of bifocals hanging from a chain around her neck and squinted the badge as she verified its authenticity. Hutch smiled uncomfortably as she took her time sizing them up, then she smiled, and that's when he noticed she was wearing dentures. That would explain the hissing, he thought.
"Okay, the two of you look legitimate enough. What's the name of the employee you're looking for?"
Hutch motioned for his partner to join him. "We're looking for anyone in your files with the last names of Milner or Colchetti." He spelled both names out for her.
Starsky was finished holding up the wall and strutted over to the counter. He nodded to the woman as he came over. She was still writing the names down on a slip of paper.
"Anything you can tell us would be great," Hutch added, watching her finish.
She looked the surnames over carefully, then pulled the glasses off her face and let it hang around her neck. The two of them didn't know if she thought better with them off and they weren't going to ask.
"Well, I've been working here a while and these names don't ring any bells. Would you like me to check the files?"
"Would you please? That'd be great," Hutch answered.
When she left both men consulted each other wordlessly; Hutch's face was a huge question mark and Starsky's didn't offer an answer. They shrugged and waited for the woman to return. After about a minute, she came back with two cards in her hand.
"Here's what I have." She handed one card to Hutch and the other to Starsky. "These are the only two people in the files with those last names."
Hutch read his aloud. "A. Colchetti. Position, temporary assistant, date of termination, August 10, 1978."
Starsky then read his. "Sharon Milner. Position, senior secretary, termination date was fall of '78."
They switched cards and studied each one. Hutch tapped the one he was holding against the surface of the counter, thinking. "Hmm, okay, the last names right, but the first name's not a match on the one. Would you happen to know who these two ladies worked for when they were here, I mean offhand?"
"Not offhand. I could look that up, though." She stood there but didn't move.
Starsky leaned over the counter and settled a fist under his chin. "Would you do that please? We'd appreciate it." She nodded and went back to the file room. He raised his eyebrows at his partner and they waited. After another few more minutes, she returned.
"That one name, A. Colchetti, she was a summer intern here under Mr. Bruce Emerson's supervision for the months June through to August."
"Is there a first name on that one?"
"No, there's only a first initial on both the card and the application."
"Okay."
"The other woman, Milner, worked for Mr. Emerson as well."
Starsky rose up off his fist. "This Emerson guy, what does he do here?"
"Why, um, Mr. Emerson is one of our best insurance agents. He writes up some of the major policies for our company."
"Hmm. Do you mind if we keep these?" Hutch motioned with the file card.
She retrieved the cards from them artfully. "I'm sorry I can't let you do that. The cards and the termination forms are company property. But I can make photostats of them for you." She pointed towards a large mimeograph machine.
"That'd be fine. Oh, and ah, one more thing, please."
She stopped in mid-turn. "Yes?"
Starsky finished out his partner's request. "Where would we find Mr. Emerson?"
"Oh, he has the corner office on the fifth floor. His secretary's name is Bea. She'll be able to help you. I'll just be making these up for you now."
Both men nodded and waited. When she was finished, she handed the still warm copies of the cards and the termination papers to the blond man and waited for more instruction.
Hutch gave her a boyish parting grin. "Thank you, Miss Casden. You've been very helpful."
Starsky reached over and impulsively tweaked her cheek. "Yeah, thanks a lot, sweetheart."
The woman reluctantly smiled as they disappeared into a waiting elevator. Hutch rolled the copies in his hand into spiral form and banged them lightly against his palm. "Ah, the Hutchinson charm and the Starsky warmth, they haven't failed us yet."
"Yep. Puts a smile on even the crankiest face," Starsky said to him as the doors closed.
"She was actually kind of cute with a smile on her face. Makes me wonder what a good dental plan could for her," Hutch replied.
Starsky smiled. "Good old Hutch, ever the romantic."
~~~
Bruce Emerson's office was exactly where the personnel manager had said it would be, on the fifth floor. The elevator opened out into a large office space and his actual office was behind a big wooden oak door. The secretary's nameplate read BEA FLORADAN, SR. SECRETARY. When they stepped off the elevator she was talking on the phone with someone. They stood out of sight for a moment and listened to her conversation.
"Oh, he's a horrible man. I've never worked for such a beast in my whole life. He's cruel and inhuman and I'm going to tell him so one day...oh, I don't know when...after I work up some courage I suppose, then...I'll..." The two of them moved forward and she looked up and stopped taking in mid-sentence. "Ah, Velma, I'll have to call you back, it looks like we have some visitors...okay, goodbye."
She scratched the back of her head as she hung up the phone and gave them a half-smile, and then looked up at them, clasping her hands in front of her. "Hello, may I help you?"
After hearing the content of her phone conversation, Miss Floradan appeared to have only a little better temperament than the manager in the Personnel office, but not much better. She was a challenge, but with a dose of the Hutchinson charm and Starsky's disarming friendliness, they hoped to win her over to their side. Starsky pulled his badge and flashed it at her. "Hi there, we're here to speak with Mr. Emerson. Is he in right now?"
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No. But it's very important that we speak to him." Starsky gave her a sly wink. "I'm Detective Starsky, and this is Detective Hutchinson."
She smiled. "Well, Mr. Emerson has stepped out for a moment, but he'll be returning shortly, if you'd like to wait."
"We would, thank you. Would you mind if we asked you a few questions about him in the meantime?"
"Why, is he in trouble?" She looked as if she wished he were.
"No, he's not. They're just some general questions. Do you mind?"
"No, go ahead. I'll tell you what I can."
"Fair enough. How long have you worked for Emerson? And how is he to work for?"
"Well, I haven't worked for him for a very long time. But if I had to describe working for him, I'd say he's the dictator-type. He likes bullying people around to get his way, and then showing off his acquisitions after he's stepped all over someone to get them. He really doesn't much care how he acquires things."
Hutch took notes. "Humph. So he likes expensive cars, clothes? Likes to wine and dine people? That kind of thing?"
"Yes. I haven't figured out how he does it yet, he really doesn't have that kind of a salary to draw from."
"So, anyone in particular he goes around with that you can recall?"
"Well," she whispered conspiratorially, as if she were sharing a tawdry secret with them. "He's been known to bed his share of women around here. It doesn't take much to turn him on. If they're pretty and shallow, they're his type. He's one of those big, brawny guys, long on muscle, short on intellect, you know? Thank God I'm not into those types. In fact, he used to go out with the woman that I replaced. I don't remember her name though, she was his secretary before I got here."
Both men looked at each other, surprised by her candor. Hutch folded his notepad closed. "Well, thank you, Miss Floradan. You've been very helpful. We'll let you know if there's anything else."
"No problem, officers. I'm glad I could help. Like I said, he should be coming back pretty soon. You can wait over there if you like." She pointed to a row of chairs to their right.
"Thank you," they said in unison.
Both took seats facing away from Emerson's office door, making sure to position themselves directly in front of the elevator where they guessed he would arrive. Starsky checked his watch and eyeballed the proximity of the elevator doors to any exits. Nothing was close by. The last thing they wanted him doing was slipping past them once he got there. The curly-haired detective slid down in his seat and closed his eyes, while Hutch drummed a tune on the wooden portion of the chair he was occupying. After about a fifteen-minute wait, Emerson emerged from the elevator, briefcase in hand, stopping at the secretary's desk to check for messages, he was oblivious to the two visitors waiting for him.
"Any messages, Bea?"
"No. But you have visitors." She pointed out the two detectives, who immediately perked up in their seats.
He turned around. "Oh, okay."
She looked down at her note pad to remind herself of their names. "Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson. They're investigating a case. They'd like to ask you some questions." She seemed to delight in filling him in on the last part.
Hutch got up first and extended his hand. "Mr. Emerson, I'm Detective Hutchinson, and this is my partner, Detective Starsky."
Emerson shook the blond's hand and then the brunet's when he offered it. "To what do I owe this pleasure, officers?" From his Armani suit to his alligator shoes, he was smooth. He took off his hat and sunglasses and waited for one of them to answer.
Starsky clasped his hands behind his back, cut a glance at the man's curious secretary and cleared his throat. "Do you mind if we take this into your office? It's kind of a private matter."
Emerson turned to his secretary and she looked at him levelly. No help there. "Ah, well, I suppose so. Will this take very long?"
"Not at all, sir. We just want to ask you some questions about a couple of former employees of yours."
"All right. Follow me."
Emerson led them to the door of his office, shifted his briefcase under his arm long enough to locate the door key from his trouser pocket and unlocked it. Starsky anticipated his need for help in getting in the door and leaned forward to open it, letting him precede them inside. The businessman set his briefcase on his desk and closed the door. He turned to them and took in a quiet, regular breath. "Okay, gentlemen. I'm all yours. Please, sit."
He waited for them to ease into the client chairs in front of his desk and then went around his desk to sit down, he leaned his back against his chair and rested his elbows on the armrests. "What's this all about?"
Hutch started first. "Mr. Emerson, my partner and I are investigating two deaths, a husband and wife named Elaine and John Colchetti. We have it on good authority that someone with the last name of Milner worked here as a secretary under your supervision, and we think there might be a connection."
"Yes, she worked for me. What of it?"
"Well, before Mr. Colchetti, er, departed this life, he married a woman named Jessie Milner. We were checking out her background and as it happens, it turns out that her maiden name and the name of your last secretary are a match."
Emerson bowed his head and steepled his fingers in front of him. "I really doubt that we're talking about the same person here. The fact that their names match is probably purely coincidental. What does this woman look like that you're looking for?"
Starsky leaned forward. "She's about five nine, red hair, nice figure, could pass for a model."
Emerson shook his head. "No, no way. Sharon Milner could never pass for a model. She was...ah...pretty in a plain way, if you know what I mean."
"Yeah, okay. So what about this student you had working for you as a temporary assistant around the same time that Miss Milner worked here? You let her go. Why?"
Emerson smiled broadly, his calm demeanor slipping a little. "I don't think that's any of your business."
Starsky glared at him. "Look, we can make it our business. We could have the local police come through here and have them go over your books, check out your financial situation and find out that way, but we'd rather not go that route. Explaining things to them won't be half as pleasant as explaining them to us now, and it won't be quite as private. So I suggest that you tell us what we want to know."
Emerson lifted his head. "Okay, okay. Since you put it that way, I guess I'll have to come clean. I was seeing her, but it was mostly platonic. I mean, we'd kiss and whatever, but it was never more serious than that. I should have known trouble was coming because it seemed like the more things got out of hand at home, the more she'd come to me for consolation. She thought I was serious about her and she went and got hysterical on me one day, told me that her mother was killed in a car accident and that she was pregnant. Swore the child was mine. I told her there was no way I could be the father because we hadn't done anything, but she didn't believe me and she was going to make it difficult, so I had to let her go."
"So you let her go for her own good, huh?"
"Yeah. I'm very big hearted that way."
"Just an all-around swell guy."
"That's me. So, is that it? Have I answered all your questions?"
"In a minute, there's one more thing." Starsky said, knowing the answer to the question but dreading it at the same time. "What was her first name? There's only a first initial in the files."
"I think it was Angelina...no...Angela."
Starsky did a subtle double take. "Angela? You're sure on that?"
"Yeah, positive. Why? You know her?"
"No-I..."
Realizing that his partner's reaction might give away the extent of his involvement with the case or worse, Hutchinson quickly stood up and dropped their calling card on the top of Emerson's desk. He hustled his partner out of his chair and tried to rush him out of the office door. "That's it for now, Mr. Emerson. If you remember anything else, please give us a call. The numbers are on the card."
Emerson nodded twice but his eyes were on the darker man, the cop who was giving him the eagle eye. Starsky was standing up, but he wasn't making any effort to leave. Hutch could see the gears turning in his partner's head, he was putting two and two together and he didn't like what they was adding up to. He put his hand on his friend's stiffened arm and pulled. "C'mon, Starsk, let's go."
He pulled his partner towards the door by his left arm and ushered him out of the office. When the elevator arrived, he waved goodbye to Emerson's secretary and they headed out of the building. When they were on the street, Starsky shook himself loose from Hutch's grasp; he was ready to go off like a Roman candle.
"What'd you do that for this time?"
"I didn't want you to make a scene back there."
"I wasn't gonna make a scene. I just wanted to ask the guy some more questions about the intern." He laughed nervously. "Must be some kinda coincidence, huh?"
"I don't think so, Starsk."
"That's what I was thought you were gonna say."
"Right now we need to concentrate on Jessie Colchetti and whether there's any connection between her and Sharon Milner. Despite what Emerson says, I think there's more going on here than just a simple coincidence. Whatever's going on with your fiancée-to-be is a private matter between you and her, let's keep it that way."
"I guess you're right."
"I know I am. Let's go."
"Where're we goin'?"
"To see the widow Colchetti."
~~~
Emerson got up and locked his office door and was on the phone to Sharon Colchetti as soon as he saw the two detectives leave the building. As usual, the butler, Charles, answered the phone on the second ring. There was a ten-seconds too long pause before she came on the line.
"Hello?"
Her voice was calm and relaxed; she sounded rested and in much better spirits than she'd been with him at his place. He liked the sound and wanted to hear it that way more often.
"Sharon, this is Bruce. Are you alone?"
She looked around the room and saw no one. "Yes, I'm alone. What is it? If it's about the estate, it's going to be a little while before all the paper work's finalized."
"I know, but this is something else. I wanted to warn you about the two cops who came to see me today. One's a brunet, the other's blond. They were asking about Sharon Milner's employment history, the good thing is they don't' seem to have a clue who they're looking for."
"So they're probably on their way here to talk to me now."
"Probably. So this is what I need you to do. Don't act nervous or jumpy, and don't take a drink. Just tell them you never worked here before in your life. The background trail I created for your alias should hold up. There's no way for them to prove or disprove where you worked before."
"Okay, all right. Did they ask about Angela?"
"Yes."
"Damn. What if they ask me about her? They're sure to find out something if they dig long enough and deep enough. And when they do, they're going to find out she was a minor and that you and she were sleeping together."
"That's not going to happen, Sharon. I've told them my side of the story, that she's a hysterical young woman in trouble who's just lost her mother within the span of a month and now she's grasping at straws. I think they bought it. Don't worry. Everything's going be all right."
Sharon sighed. "You keep saying that, Bruce. But so far, things haven't been. What if they start believing her story?"
"That just means instead of having my contact take care of things--like he did with her parents--I'll have to care of it." He wrung his hands. "Hell, all she had to do was get lost with the kid and things would have been all right, at least till we were settled in."
"What are you going to do now?"
"You just stay there and be calm and answer their questions and I'll call you when it's all over. What'd you say that detective's name was that came over and talked to you that day?"
"Star...Starksy, I think. I don't know. It was something like that."
"Hold on." Emerson set the receiver down and found the business card that the blond detective had left on his desk. He picked it up and read it. One of the names on it was Detective David M. Starsky, the cop who'd done the questioning, and beside his name was the other one, named Hutchinson. Written in pen was a separate phone number. He smiled and put the receiver back to his ear. "So Angie brought this detective with her the day he came to the house, right?"
"Yes, they seemed to know each other. Why?"
"Nothing. Nothing. I'll be in touch." He hung up the phone.
Sharon hung up too and headed straight for the bar. Poured herself a drink. She took vodka straight, no ice. She shook as she drunk it down, hoping that it would steady her nerves before the cops got there. The stronger the better, she thought, and poured herself one more, despite Bruce's warning.
***CHAPTER TWELVE***
Emerson dialed the number on the business card then sat and listened to the phone ring. In a few seconds the ringing stopped and a female voice came on the line. He heard her say hello, and paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, then he spoke. "Hello, this is Bruce Emerson. I'd like to speak to detectives Starsky and Hutchinson."
"I'm sorry, they aren't here right now. Would you like to leave a message?"
"Um, well, ah, they came by to see me today to ask me some questions today, and I just got hold of some more information that I think might be of interest to them. They said to call, so I did. I really think it might be important. Do you think they'd mind if I came down and waited for them?"
"Ah, well, I don't know about that."
"I wouldn't ask, except that I'm leaving town for two weeks on business and..."
"Oh." The woman checked at her watch. "I guess it won't hurt to give you the address and get your phone number. I'll have them give you a call when they get back and you can come on down then. Do you have a pen handy?"
"One second." Emerson picked up a pen, found a slip of paper to write on and said, "Ready." When she had given him the address; he thanked her and hung up. He felt in the breast pocket of his suit coat and found a key, using it to open the top drawer of his desk. The only one he kept locked. He pulled a small caliber pistol from inside; looked it over and wiped it clean with a cloth that had lain in the drawer with it. After hefting it and checking the chamber, he loaded it, and put it in his coat. After letting his secretary know that he'd be out for a while, he left the building.