When two teenagers are found dead in shallow graves, evidence points to a Satanic ritual and a link to a popular heavy metal band. Starsky and Hutch must uncover the real motive behind the killings before the body count rises.
Artwork by Shar.
The Aspen Bed & Breakfast was very old-fashioned and charming, a large three-floor Victorian house with numerous guest rooms on the second and third floors. Starsky and Hutch were relieved to secure the last of the second floor rooms for themselves, as the idea of ducking for a portion of one of the third floor rooms that was beneath the slant of the roof didn’t hold much lure.
Their room was decorated in shades of peach and white, with light green accents. It was a bit on the frilly and feminine side for their tastes, but the queen-sized bed with its abundance of pillows and soft down comforter looked very comfortable. The stout older woman who checked them in had apologized profusely for not having a room with twin beds available, but her guests had graciously assured her they would be able to manage sharing, since they’d only be there one night anyway. The room did have its own bath, so that more than made up for the peachy decor and preponderance of ruffles.
“I’ll start the shower,” Hutch offered.
“Sounds good. Must be gettin’ old,” Starsky complained, tossing his jacket on an ornate chair in the corner of the room.
“Tired?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure why. Not like we did anything strenuous.”
“I’ve been a little worn out, too. I think we were pretty keyed up waiting for those test results, and when we finally got them, it was a giant relief. You tend to let down after something like that.”
“Maybe that’s it. You think we oughtta call Jake and update him on what we found out?”
“What for? We don’t know anything for sure yet. I think dredging it up is just rubbing salt in the wound until we know something. Besides, it’s getting late.” Hutch went into the bathroom and started the water. The pipes banged, annoyed at the disturbance. “All the comforts of home,” he quipped, unbuttoning his shirt as he rejoined Starsky in the bedroom.
“I think we should’ve brought Jake up here to meet Tanner. Get him off that track of suspecting he was involved.”
“From a strictly objective standpoint, he could be. The note we’re all calling a forgery has yet to be proven as such by an expert, and his band is into some pretty bizarre things. His ulcer could be acting up because the investigation is stressing him out, and he could be a damn good actor. Don’t tell me you haven’t gone through that whole thought process.” Hutch shed the last of his clothes and went back into the bathroom as Starsky did the same.
“I saw what he looked like when we told him, and how he looked at her in the morgue. If he could’ve traded places with her, he would have without a second thought. It never crossed my mind he could be involved. Guess that means I’m getting soft.”
“You’re firm in all the right places, babe,” Hutch quipped as they stepped into the old-fashioned claw-foot tub and closed the shower curtain around it. “This is a nice curtain rod. We’ll have to ask her where she got it. It’d look good in the upstairs bathroom at home.”
“Hutch.”
“What?” Hutch pushed some wet hair off his forehead, looking confused.
“We’re standing here naked and wet and you’re checking out the shower curtain rod?”
“Why? Do you have another rod I should be checking out?”
“Let’s give that big bed out there a try,” Starsky suggested.
They finished their shower and then turned back the big bed and climbed in it, settling comfortably amidst the cushiony bedding. Starsky slid his hand into Hutch’s hair, moving so they were nose-to-nose on a single pillow.
“Every time I look at you, I’m just so glad you’re okay.”
“So am I, because I’ve got way too much in my life not to enjoy it to the fullest.” He kissed Starsky then, long and slow, their tongues tasting each other as the kiss deepened.
The friction between their bodies was building a nice, slow burn, and neither man seemed inclined to give up the closeness to pursue more acrobatic activities. It had been a while since they had just relaxed and indulged in holding each other and rubbing their bodies together, enjoying the frustration at the same time they sought release.
Starsky came first, the slickness between them making the motion faster and more urgent as Hutch reached his own climax. They lay there together, wrapped around each other, hearts beating in unison as their bodies cooled.
“Damn shame they didn’t have any of those rooms with twin beds left,” Hutch joked, nuzzling Starsky’s neck.
“Hey, I had a couple positions I wanted to try out in a twin bed,” Starsky responded.
“Let me think on that a minute,” Hutch replied, nonplused. “What could you do in a twin bed that you can’t do here?”
“It’s the sexual adventure of the thing.”
“Oh. I’m open to any sort of sexual adventures with you, buddy.”
“Maybe in the morning we’ll try out the chair over there.” Starsky flexed his eyebrows. “Imagine the possibilities if we moved it in front of the full-length mirror,” he added, kissing Hutch before snuggling against him, preparing for sleep.
Hutch lay awake a while longer, contemplating the images that brought to mind.
Tony climbed the long staircase, not really wanting to disturb Jake if he was finally sleeping, but concerned when he’d shown up at the estate after 11:00 a.m. and Ida told him Jake still hadn’t come downstairs. The elderly woman had decided to let her grandson rest, but was becoming worried, and was relieved when Tony arrived for a visit.
“Jake?” Tony knocked on the door lightly. There was no response. He pushed the door open a crack and saw that the bed was in pristine condition, the bedspread only slightly wrinkled, as if someone had sat on it. Puzzled, he opened the door and walked into the room. “Oh, shit,” he muttered, spotting Jake on the floor, apparently unconscious. “Jake? Come on, man, talk to me.”
He pulled the unresisting body up into a sitting position, Jake’s head lolling onto Tony’s shoulder. He sighed with relief when he felt his friend’s breath against his neck.
“Yeah, I guess your body finally decided on some sleep, pal,” he said, rising and pulling Jake up, managing to half-carry, half-drag him as far as the bed, though it was an awkward process.
“Jessica,” Jake muttered, his face twisting into a troubled expression.
“Go back to sleep, Jake. You’re okay, buddy.” He covered Jake with a comforter, but the other man stirred now and sat bolt upright. “Take it easy, man. You passed out on the floor. Time to plant your ass in bed for a few hours and get some sleep.”
“She was here,” he said, his eyes darting around the room. “The papers and the star–you saw them, right?”
“Jake, come on, just lie back and–”
“Damn it, don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking mental patient! Did you see the goddamned papers or didn’t you?”
“What papers?” Tony retorted, annoyed.
“On the floor, with the five-pointed star on them! Right over–” Jake slid to the edge of the bed and pointed to where the papers had been. There was nothing on the floor this morning but a richly textured rug. “Oh, God.”
“What are you talking about? What happened with the papers?” Tony asked, spotting the only “papers” he figured Jake could mean. “Those papers?” Jake nodded, and Tony went to the dresser, picking up the folder and flipping through them. “They’re papers from the funeral home.”
“Last night, they…I heard Jessica…” Jake ran his hand back into his hair, lodging it there, grasping a handful of the dark locks. “I saw it. I wasn’t asleep. I wasn’t dreaming.”
“What did you see?” Tony laid the papers on the dresser and sat next to Jake on the edge of the bed.
“I heard her voice, and then the papers swirled in the air, and when they landed, this five-pointed star appeared on them. It looked as if it was being drawn in blood. Right there, on the floor, right in front of me.”
“You collapsed, pal. You pushed yourself too hard and your mind and your body shut down, that’s all. It was like a waking nightmare.” Tony put his arm around Jake’s shoulders, pulling him closer.
“I feel like I’m losing my mind, Tony,” Jake said quietly, resting his head on his friend’s shoulder. “Nothing’s real anymore. Last night, I thought that was real, but it wasn’t…or…it couldn’t have been, but I saw it, and I think it’s real. When I go to sleep, I hear Jessie screaming. I never heard her scream, but in my nightmares, I can hear it. And I keep thinking about what they did to her…and I can’t….”
“Try to stay calm, huh? You’re not doing your ulcer any favors, man.”
“What if I’m really going crazy?”
“You’re not going crazy. Everything’s going to be okay.” Tony knew it was a stupid thing to say as soon as he’d said it, but the need to give Jake some solace when he seemed to feel so hopeless and miserable was too overpowering not to say something.
“No, it can’t be okay. I can’t bring her back and I can’t undo what happened. How can anything be okay again? Now, I don’t know the difference between nightmares and reality.”
“You will when you’ve gotten a few hours’ sleep. We just got off the road, then this happened… Give yourself a break.”
“I lied to her, man. I lied to Jessie,” he said miserably, giving in to his grief and letting the tears go.
“About what?” Tony prodded, patting Jake’s back lightly. “You never lied to her about anything important.”
“When Dad died, I promised her I’d always take care of her. That she’d never have to be afraid because I’d be there for her! Where the hell was I when she was being raped and murdered by some lunatic? At a backstage party? Feeling up some groupie in a dressing room?”
“So that’s what this is all about. You’re still blaming yourself for this, when you had absolutely no part in it, and you’ve found a way to punish yourself by inventing a ghost and some Satanic symbols to scare the shit out of yourself. The only way you’re going to lose your mind is if you don’t face the reality that there was nothing you could have done about this. This would have happened even if you weren’t on the road.”
“I would have been watching out for her.”
“From here? While she was there, in Aspen Hollow? You did your best to put her somewhere safe, somewhere she wouldn’t be at risk as much as she would be here, with you on the road and Ida getting too old to chase after her.”
“If I hadn’t taken her to that school–”
“And a whole lot of things wouldn’t have happened if one little element of the chain of events was different. That doesn’t make it your fault. Otherwise, let’s make it Jessie’s fault for sneaking away from school with her boyfriend. Or for meeting him in the first place. Or for talking to some creep in town who got some sick ideas about her. Or it’s her boyfriend’s fault for taking her out of school. There was so much that had to all fall into place to make this happen that you can’t take it all on yourself. Everybody played a part, but nobody except the son-of-a-bitch who killed her is to blame.” Tony was quiet a few seconds, just holding his friend and letting him cry it out. “You need sleep,” he said gently.
“The nightmares are too awful. At least if I’m awake, most of the time, it’s easier. Unless I’m seeing things and hearing voices.”
“Come on, lie down. You’re wiped out, pal.” Tony urged him to lie down and brought the comforter up to his chest, even though Jake was still protesting the idea of sleep. Finally, it seemed his resolve was weakening. “Stomach feeling okay?” Tony asked, resting a hand on Jake’s arm.
“I don’t feel too good, but it’s not serious.”
“You probably didn’t take these this morning,” Tony said, picking up Jake’s prescription medication from the nightstand.
“I was passed out on the floor, remember?” he quipped a little lifelessly.
“Take ’em now,” he said, handing Jake the bottle while he went to the bathroom for a glass of water. When he returned, Jake took the pills with a few gulps of water. Tony kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the empty side of the bed. “Come on, close your eyes. It’s okay, pal. I’m staying right here. I’ll wake you up if it looks like you’re dreaming.”
“I wonder if they know which one was first?”
“What do you mean?” Tony asked, frowning.
“Stab wounds. Which one do you think was first?” Jake was silent a moment, fidgeting with the comforter. “I hope the first one killed her. That she didn’t have to suffer so much. I think about that all the time. All that pain, how scared she must have been. She was just a kid, Tony. I know she was growing up, but she was still a kid.”
“I know. I think about it, too. Jessie was like my own little sister, man. We’re family, after all these years. I want to kill the bastard who hurt her as much as you do. I want to kill him as much for what he’s doing to you now, as for what he’s already done to her.”
“Thanks,” Jake said, smiling a little, extending his hand, palm up, toward Tony, who twined his fingers with Jake’s and held on tightly.
“Remember when we swore that blood brother oath in what, third grade?”
“Took us an hour to get up the nerve to cut our fingers,” Jake recalled, laughing. It was the first time Tony had seen a real smile or laugh from him in days.
“I’m still your blood brother, Jake. I’m always gonna be here for you. You’re not going through this alone.”
“I know. I think I’ll try to sleep for a while.”
Tony squeezed his hand. “You do that, pal. I’m not going anywhere.”
Starsky and Hutch met Tanner at Aspen Hollow High School the next morning, armed with the sketch Jessica had made of the young man who had harassed her and her friends. Their first stop was the office, where a middle-aged woman with red hair and glasses, dressed in a ruffled blouse and blue blazer, greeted them from behind the reception desk.
“Good Morning, Scott!” she said cheerily. “I just saw Ryan a few minutes ago. He brought down the attendance slip.”
“‘Morning, Rose. Glad to hear that’s all he was here for.”
“So far, anyway,” she said, with a slightly knowing smile.
“This is Detective Starsky and Detective Hutchinson from down in Bay City. They’re investigating Matt’s murder. Guys, this is Rose Whitman. She probably knows everybody who lives around here, so if you need information, she’s your girl.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Rose demurred, smiling. “Nice to meet you both.”
“Likewise, Mrs. Whitman,” Hutch replied, and Starsky nodded in agreement.
“You want to see Estelle?”
“If she’s in, yeah,” Tanner replied.
“Go right on in. She’s just doing some paperwork.”
“Thanks,” Tanner said, leading the way back to the small office where a slightly older woman with well-coiffed gray hair and large-rimmed glasses worked behind a desk bearing a name plate with the name Estelle Raymond. She looked up and smiled at her visitors.
“Good morning, Detective Tanner,” she said, rising to shake hands with her visitors. Tanner went through the brief introductions, and the three men were seated in visitors’ chairs opposite the desk. “You’re here about Matthew Proctor?”
“And Jessica Miller,” Starsky added, handing her the photograph of Jessica they’d borrowed from the Miller estate.
“Lovely girl. What a sad thing this is,” she said, handing back the photograph. “How can we be of help?”
“A few weeks before she died, Jessica and some of her friends from the Chadwick School were approached by a young man and propositioned. The encounter made Jessica uncomfortable, and she drew this sketch of him.” Hutch carefully unrolled the small roll of sketch paper he’d brought along, laying it on Ms. Raymond’s desk.
“Miles Sallinger,” she said, looking disdained. “I must say, Miss Miller was quite an artist. She’s captured his usual expression perfectly.”
“Is he here today?” Starsky asked.
“Just a moment.” She buzzed Rose, who answered promptly. “Is Miles Sallinger in school today?”
“No, I just made a note for you. He’s been absent all week, and I haven’t been able to reach his parents.”
“Well, that’s nothing new, now is it? Thank you, Rose.” She turned away from the intercom. “Miles is one of our worst truant problems, and his parents are not at all solicitous about seeing that he goes to school. I can rarely reach them, and when I have, they claim they’ve done all they can, and if he won’t go, they can’t force him.”
“Do you have a home address for him?” Tanner asked. “We can throw a little scare into him about the truancy thing at the same time we question him about this.”
“Of course. Rose will have all that information for you.”
“What can you tell us about Miles? Did he know Matt Proctor very well?” Hutch asked.
“Miles has been a discipline problem for years. He was problematic in grade school–poor grades and attendance, bad attitude–and things haven’t improved since he came here. His mother is an alcoholic, his father works for a trucking company and is almost never home. He’s obsessed with rock music, and since he’s been in high school–he’s a senior now–he’s taken to wearing all black and had some disturbing tattoos done on his arms. Some of the students are actually frightened of him.” She paused. “Matt was a good kid, but he was very imbued with all this heavy metal and rock band worship. He skipped school to go to concerts out of town, his grades slipped, and he began dressing more like Miles. To my knowledge, the two of them weren’t close friends, but they did know each other.”
“Some of the bands now are using symbols and themes from devil worship as part of their music and their concerts,” Tanner said. “Have there been any problems at the school that might suggest any of the students are into devil worship?”
“Miles is a very strange boy. He’s been wearing jewelry with goat heads and stars on it, but nothing that outright violates the student dress code to the point we can send him home for it. I could make an issue of it and make him take it off, but I suppose I’ve been guilty of considering it something of an accomplishment just to get him in the doors and into a classroom. The fact he wore a strange ring or pendant didn’t seem that important. As for the other students, I’ve noticed an upswing in behavior problems and falling grades with a few of the boys, but I haven’t attributed that to any specific cause.”
“We think the murders were ritualistic killings, and it’s not unheard of for teenagers to dabble in devil worship and cult activity,” Hutch said. “Could you have your secretary put together a list of names and addresses on the boys you think have been acting differently lately? Especially any who appear to have formed friendships with Miles?”
“That would be an awfully short list. Miles is a loner. If he has a contingent of friends, I’ve never seen an indication of it on school grounds, and any time I see him in town, after hours, he’s always alone. I’ll be happy to have Rose put a list together for you, though.”
“Thanks,” Starsky said. “I think we should take a ride out to Miles’ place.”
“Excuse me, Estelle,” Rose said from the doorway. “I think you should see this.” She handed her a sheet of paper.
“Six boys are absent today from the senior class?” Estelle said, frowning.
“Yes. You remember that happened once before,” Rose said.
“Miles and five other boys; yes, I remember.” A horrified expression clouded her features. “Get that file for me, Rose. I need to see the date and compare the names.”
“Six kids out of one class here must really stand out,” Hutch said. “How many students do you have, total?”
“Slightly more than 150,” she said. Rose brought the file back and Estelle compared them. “What was the date Jessica Miller died?”
“October twenty-third,” Hutch replied, then added, “Actually, the time of death was placed in the early morning hours, between midnight and four a.m.”
“I think you should take a look at this,” she said, handing the file to Hutch. Starsky and Tanner looked on with him.
“Same group of six boys, including Miles Sallinger, absent all day the twenty-third. Did you question this then?” Tanner asked.
“No. We thought it might just be coincidence. Rose said their mothers all called in for them in the morning. Rose, did their mothers call in this morning?”
“No, none of them. They’re unexcused absences.”
“I think they may be a lot more than that,” Tanner said. “They could probably fake out their mothers once, but not twice this close together.”
“Who were the kids Matt Proctor hung around with?” Starsky asked. “We’d like to talk to his friends, see if they can give us any insights.”
“The only one I know is Mark Schultz. They were close friends. Mark has had some problems dealing with Matt’s death. But Detective Tanner already spoke with him.”
“He wasn’t very forthcoming. All he told us was that Matt was going to sneak off to spend some time alone with Jessica, but he didn’t even seem to know about the concert in LA,” Tanner said.
“Let’s have a talk with him, see if he knows more than he’s telling,” Hutch suggested.
Mark Schultz was a tall, slender boy with sandy hair and glasses. He wore a dark blue t-shirt and jeans. His posture was slouched and his gait sluggish. After introductions, they sat in the principal’s office to begin their discussion.
“Mark, I understand Matt Proctor was a good friend of yours,” Hutch began. Mark shrugged.
“Yeah.”
“Detective Tanner already spoke with you regarding his death, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Since then, we’ve learned a couple things, and we thought you might be able to help us fill in some blanks–find Matt’s killer,” Hutch said. The boy looked at him, feigning disinterest. “You told Detective Tanner that Matt was sneaking off to spend some time with Jessica, right?”
“Yeah.” The reply caused Hutch to glance at Starsky, who stifled a smile. Mark played the part of the belligerent cop-hating teenager to perfection.
“Did you know he had backstage passes and tickets to a Judas Priest concert in LA?” Hutch asked.
“Who told you that?”
“Other witnesses in the case who knew Matt and Jessica,” Starsky replied. “Look, Mark, at this point, we’re not looking to get anybody in trouble. Murder is a bigger issue than anything else that might have been going on, so stonewalling us isn’t solving anything. We don’t want to make a big deal out of whether or not Matt was sneaking around with Jessica or sneaking her out of Chadwick, or find ways to get you in trouble for something you might have known or covered up for Matt. We just want to know who killed them.”
“Matt got the tickets and passes from Miles Sallinger. His cousin has some kind of big job in the music business. He’s always getting Miles into concerts for free, or sending him passes to get in and meet the bands. He got him into at least two 666 shows, Motley Crue, KISS–you name it. Miles gets in to all the good shows, and he’s always trying to wave tickets around to see if he could impress the girls. He’s such a loser. It never works.”
“If he was trying to impress the girls with the tickets, isn’t it odd he’d give them to Matt?” Hutch asked.
“I don’t know why he did it, but when he was making a big deal out of what he had tickets to, he said he couldn’t go, that something came up, and asked Matt if he wanted them. Matt was psyched. He wanted to go, and he thought they’d impress Jessie, which was pretty hard to do. She was kind of snooty with Matt, like she was hot shit because her brother was a rock star, and they had all this money… She really was into Priest, so Matt thought that’d get him into her pa–uh, he figured that’d impress her,” he corrected, casting a look at the principal, who was already giving him a dirty look for his first four-letter word. “They came up with this plan to go to LA for a week. Her brother was on the road, and her grandmother wouldn’t check up on her as long as she called or sent a postcard.”
“This was the first time Sallinger gave anyone tickets besides offering them to girls if they went with him?” Hutch clarified.
“Yeah, it was weird, because he was always using them to bait the girls. I thought it was strange he gave them to Matt. Why? Do you think Miles did it?”
“We aren’t drawing any conclusions yet, Mark. But your information is really helpful,” Starsky said.
“I hope you nail whoever killed Matt. He was just trying to show Jessie a good time. He didn’t mean anything wrong by it.”
“We want to nail him, too,” Starsky said. “Thanks for your help.”
The Sallinger home was a paint-thirsty two-story house with an overgrown lawn and other obvious signs of neglect. There was a pickup truck and an older blue sedan parked in the driveway, so Tanner pulled up to the curb in front of the house.
“You know this Sallinger kid at all?” Starsky asked.
“I’ve heard the family name before, but I don’t know them. Ryan hasn’t mentioned Miles before, at least not to me.”
“Well, there’re cars in the driveway. Hopefully someone’s home,” Hutch said as they all got out of the car and started up the walk toward the front door.
“They might be home. Let’s just hope they’re conscious and sober,” Starsky said. “If Mrs. Sallinger is a drunk and her kid’s a truant, they probably aren’t fond of drop-in company.”
Tanner rang the bell and the three of them stood there, waiting for a response. There was no sound of movement from inside. Starsky wandered away from the door and looked in the front window. It appeared someone was sitting in a chair that faced away from the window, but only the top of the person’s head was visible.
“Somebody’s home,” he said, motioning to the others. “Am I the only one who smells something familiar?” he asked.
“It’s faint, but it’s there,” Hutch said, grimacing and joining Starsky at the window. The smell of death wasn’t overpowering yet, but it lingered a bit near the front of the house. Tanner banged on the door more aggressively this time, but there was still no response. All three cops drew their weapons, and Tanner tried the doorknob, not surprised it was locked. Stepping back, he kicked in the front door, bursting into the silent house with his weapon drawn, Starsky and Hutch close behind him.
“It’s not so faint in here,” Starsky said, approaching the figure in the chair, not surprised to find a corpse sitting there, its startled eyes staring up at him, a knife protruding from its heart, dried brown blood saturating and stiffening the shirt it wore. A middle-aged man they assumed was Mr. Sallinger had apparently been sitting dead in the living room for some time, his hand petrified in a final grip on his remote control.
“Looks like Miles is our guy, doesn’t it?” Hutch said, spotting a photo on a nearby shelf in the shabby room that showed a sullen-looking boy, who strongly resembled Jessica’s sketch, with the now-dead man and a woman they presumed was Mrs. Sallinger.
“Shit,” Tanner said, standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen. “We’ve got a double homicide here, boys,” he said. The corpse of Mrs. Sallinger was sprawled on the kitchen floor. It looked as if she’d been bludgeoned to death; her body was surrounded by a pool of blood, the kitchen marred with spatters.
“And we’ve got one hell of a dangerous psycho out there somewhere,” Hutch concluded.
“Or in here somewhere. We better check upstairs,” Starsky said, heading in that direction, the other two close behind him.
Miles was nowhere to be found on the second floor, but his room was a shrine to a variety of Satanic-themed heavy metal bands. Most prominent among them was 666. The bed was covered with a red and black tapestry identical to those found in Matthew Proctor’s and Jessica Miller’s shallow graves.
“Wonder what his thing is? If he’s such a huge fan, why would he go after Miller’s sister?” Tanner queried.
“Jake got a weird letter from a sicko fan threatening him because he’d ‘mocked the Master’–that’s ‘Master’ with a capital ‘M’,” Starsky clarified. “Apparently, the fact Jake said the devil worship was all just an act pissed this guy off, and he threatened him that he would have to pay for that. Targeting his sister would be a good way to do that.”
“He’s got a lot of notebooks,” Hutch said, standing near a small desk where at least twenty spiral notebooks were stacked. Flipping through one, he found a chaotic mix of song lyrics, strange words in Latin, symbols, and Sallinger’s own natterings, all recorded in a hen-scratching that looked very much like the handwriting on the letter from the crazed fan Jake had given them.
“He’s been here recently,” Tanner said, picking up a copy of the Bay City Herald lying on the foot of the bed. The lead story was the identification of the female victim as the sister of heavy metal singer Jake Miller. The paper was dated the previous day.
“What kind of sicko goes on about his business with his parents dead downstairs?” Hutch asked, shaking his head.
“If he’s sick enough to kill them in the first place, the fact he hangs around isn’t too shocking,” Starsky said, perusing one of the notebooks. “You know we’re gonna have to plow through all this shit to see if there’s anything in here that suggests his whereabouts.”
“Thanks for bringing that up,” Tanner said. “I’ll look forward to that.”
“We better call Jake and let him know that Sallinger is our guy,” Hutch said.
“Why would we do that? The last thing we need is Jake and his pals going on a manhunt.”
“Sallinger has his home address, Starsk. He’s ultimately out to get Jake. Four bodies are already piled up, and those are just the murders we know of.”
“Good point. Maybe Jake can get some security guards out at his place, give the rest of the band members a warning to watch their backs,” Starsky said.
A search of the Sallinger property turned up a car registered to Proctor’s mother parked behind the garage and covered with a tarp. It had been missing since Matt and Jessie disappeared in it.
“We don’t have much time,” Sallinger told his small group of followers as they sat in a circle on the floor in the living room of an abandoned house in the country. The sounds of rats were audible when the human squatters fell silent. Dressed in a hooded robe, Sallinger rose and paced the room, relishing the position of power he’d created for himself.
“The cops know who you are, Miles,” one of the hooded figures still seated on the floor said. “You said nobody’d figure this out.”
“And nobody will. Not until we’ve accomplished what we set out to do. Are you questioning the worth of what we’re doing?”
“No, man, but we could do life for this.”
“Then you would be offering your life in the Master’s service. And you would be rewarded.” Miles pulled the long knife he’d used to kill Jessica and Matthew from the folds of his robe. “If you flinch from the service that is asked of you, you will suffer the consequences.”
“How are we going to get on that estate? Or past that dog?” another asked.
“The dog is no problem. A little poisoned hamburger will take care of him. But we aren’t going to need to get on the estate if we do this right.” He picked up a newspaper and tossed it to the one who had most recently spoken. “Check the obituaries. The girl’s body will be at the funeral home tomorrow, and buried the next day. The funeral home is too risky. They’re bound to have somebody watching the door, and it’s too personal. Too hard to get close. We’ll have to get them coming or going, or aim for the funeral itself.”
“They’re gonna have security there, man. Just like a concert. Miles, look, it’s not that I don’t think this is a cool idea and everything, but snatching Jake Miller isn’t gonna be as easy as it was to con Matt Proctor with those backstage passes.”
“You either stand with me in the service of Satan, or you stand against us.” Miles strode to where the other high school boy sat, his face pale with fear, contrasting with the dark folds of his hood. He aimed the long knife at his follower’s face. “Which do you prefer?”
“You know I’m on your side, Miles. Take it easy, man.”
“It isn’t about my side. It’s about the Master’s side. You must always be on his side, and he will always be on yours.”
“Right, yeah, of course,” the boy hastily agreed, nodding. “I just meant it’s gonna be rough to pull off. Not that we shouldn’t do it.”
“There has to be that moment when he’s alone, when their guard’s down,” Miles said, smiling. “And we’re going to be there.”
Tony hung up the phone after talking to Detective Hutchinson about Miles Sallinger. Some little pimple-faced teenage twerp had managed to wreak this kind of havoc. It seemed hard to believe. Even harder to fathom that Hutchinson was recommending they engage security for Jessica’s funeral, on the scale they had on the road, to guard Jake. Possibly to guard all of them.
Tony rubbed a stiff spot in his neck that had developed since he’d nodded off staying with Jake, his head lolling at a bad angle. Jake was still sleeping as if he’d been drugged, and Tony was relieved the phone call hadn’t disturbed him. They’d all learned to sleep through a lot of noise and disturbance in their years on the road, especially in the early days when all five of them had packed into one hotel room. Even now, sleeping on a tour bus took some getting used to, and Jake usually slept like a corpse once he fell into his bunk. So maybe it wasn’t that surprising, after all.
Satisfied Jake wasn’t dreaming or distressed in any way, he pulled the bedroom door to the frame and walked down the hall, glancing to the other end of it, noticing the door of Jessica’s bedroom slightly ajar. Curiosity piqued, he went to the end of the hall and pushed the door open, his eyes going to the full-length mirror at the opposite side of the room.
With her long hair flying around her head as if caught in a playful wind, her flesh pale, her body draped in some filmy white garment, Jessica’s reflection looked back at him. He stood there, frozen in place.
A hand on his shoulder made him jump.
“I’m sorry, Tony,” Ida said, jumping back a bit at his startled reaction. “I thought maybe Jake was in there,” she said, gesturing toward Jessica’s room.
“N-no, he’s sleeping,” Tony stammered, looking back at the mirror. For a moment, he still thought he was seeing Jessica’s reflection, and in a sense, he was. It was eerie the way the painting of Jessica her father had done when she was a child was reflected in the mirror from this angle, and in the gathering shadows of dusk, it was absolutely haunting. Tony chuckled at himself, and told himself that it had been that childlike image of Jessica, with her long hair and big smile, that he’d seen in the mirror, and not the somber, pallid sixteen-year-old face he’d seen on the morgue slab.
“What is it?” Ida asked.
“I guess something reflected in the mirror and startled me, that’s all.”
“Who was on the phone? Was it for Jake?”
“It was Detective Hutchinson. They’re up in Aspen Hollow. They think they know who’s responsible for Jessica’s death, but they don’t have him in custody yet, so they just want us to be careful. I’ll check the security system, and I’ll call the guys. We can all stay here for a night or so until they get this guy. It’ll be safer for everybody.”
“They think he’ll come after us? But why?”
“They think it’s the guy Jessica saw in town, and it could be the same guy who wrote Jake a really sick threatening letter. You don’t need to worry, Ida. We’re not in any danger. Not with all of us here, and the security system, and Spike.”
“Maybe I’ll go sit with Jake a while.”
“He’ll probably like seeing you there when he wakes up,” Tony said, smiling.
“Thank you for looking after things, about the security system. I never could understand that thing.”
“No problem. Call if you need anything. I’ll be downstairs.”
Tony headed downstairs, still unable to shake the memory of the image in the mirror. It had to have been a reflection of the portrait and his own imagination.
Just like hearing Jessica’s voice the night before was Jake’s imagination.
He tried to ignore the draft on the stairs, resolute that was all it was as he hurried to check the security system.
Trips to the homes of the other five absent boys revealed similar stories: parents who were either at work or away from home when the boys left for school and had no idea their sons weren’t where they were supposed to be. All of the boys had been expressing an inordinate interest in devil worship and the occult in recent months, and most had suffered slipping grades and increased absenteeism. Fortunately, though, all their parents survived their sons’ bizarre behavior. Mr. and Mrs. Sallinger had not been so lucky.
“I think Miles and his little band of misfits will probably head back to the Bay City area,” Starsky said as they sat around the table in the Aspen Hollow PD’s lone interrogation room, drinking coffee and eating homemade cookies Tanner’s wife had sent to work with him to treat his colleagues, and skimming through the psychotic ramblings in Miles Sallinger’s notebooks.
“We should probably head back there. I don’t think we can do a whole lot more here,” Hutch agreed.
“Guess your instincts were right about Jake Miller. Not much indication he’s involved, other than as a target,” Tanner said, tapping the cover of one of the spiral notebooks they’d been poring over the last couple of hours. It was getting late, and Dobey wouldn’t look kindly on another overnight stay.
“We had the chance to meet him and make a judgment,” Hutch said, magnanimously. Tanner snorted a laugh.
“I just made the judgment,” Tanner said. “Maybe he was right about us not knowing how to find our own asses with both hands up here in the sticks.”
“Jake has a tendency to speak first and think later when he’s mad,” Starsky said, recalling their first encounter with him. “If anything comes up we can help with, give us a call,” he added, rising.
“The boss wants to call in the FBI.”
“You do have six missing kids from the local high school. They’d get involved for that, I’m sure,” Hutch said. “‘Course, the Feds are always a mixed blessing.”
“We’ve worked with the SFPD on other cases, and we use their lab facilities. That’s how we’re handling the Sallinger double homicide. The medical examiner from San Francisco is handling the autopsies. Our coroner is a retired doctor who prefers more low-key patients in his twilight years,” Tanner added.
“Sounds like you’ve got things under control. Keep us posted?” Hutch asked.
“If anything develops, I’ll be in touch.”
Riding down the highway that night, Hutch let his mind wander to his own sister, and how much he wanted to have time to call and visit with her when they got home. He couldn’t imagine the horror Jake Miller faced, knowing what had been done to his sister, all his protective instincts as a big brother useless against such horrible and permanent violence. He smiled, though, as he enjoyed the feeling of Starsky’s hand in his. They were on a long, straight stretch of road, and Starsky was happy sparing a hand from the wheel to hold onto his partner.
“You’re deep in thought. I was gonna offer a penny, but those have to be worth a buck, easy.”
“I was thinking about Cathy,” Hutch said. “Wondering how Jake’s ever going to move past this. If I could if I were him.”
“He’s got a lot of friends, and his grandmother. I’m sure he’ll manage.”
“Tony said he collapsed. He found him on the floor of his bedroom this morning.”
“He’s in the hospital, then?”
“No, he came around and he seemed okay,” Hutch said. “Just exhausted and confused. Tony said he was sleeping it off.”
“Wonder if he’ll go back to spewing blood and singing about Satan after all this?”
“If he doesn’t, it’ll look as if their music really was responsible–as if he’s acknowledging there was something wrong with it. If he does, he’ll have to be surrounded by all the reminders of his sister’s death every time he goes on stage.”
“You think the music was responsible, knowing what we know about Sallinger?” Starsky asked.
“I think Sallinger is a psycho looking for an outlet. Jake and his band were just the lucky ones he fixated on. He could have just as easily gone after Motley Crue, or the guy with the bats–”
“The Black Sabbath guy…Ozzy?”
“That’s him. But he didn’t. Because of his choice in music, that particular girl is dead and that family is torn apart.”
“And the evangelists have new ammunition for talking about the wrath of God coming down on Jake’s head. All’a those ‘what ifs’.” Starsky leaned back in the seat, his eyes still intent on the road. “He could’ve picked anybody who puts on that kind of stage show. Maybe Jake was just more straightforward about it all being fake and an act.”
“That’s a good one. If you’re honest about not being a devil worshiper, you bring all this down on yourself.”
“Nobody ever promised life was fair, or that it even made sense,” Starsky concluded.
“You think we should stop by the Miller place on the way home?”
“Sure. Those guys are probably night owls. We can make sure everything’s secure.”
When Starsky and Hutch arrived at the mansion, they were greeted at the gates by two muscular security guards who checked their IDs and called associates up at the house to have the gates opened. Upon parking and walking up to the front door, two more guards checked their credentials before allowing them entry. Music came from the back of the house, the sound of the piano and singing incongruous with the usual pall of grief that hung heavily over the house and its occupants.
Tony came to the foyer from the direction of the music room/library to greet them.
“I’m glad we’re not getting everybody out of bed, showing up so late,” Starsky said.
“Jake’s up and around. He felt like playing for a while, and he got Ida distracted from worrying about this nutcase you’re looking for by singing some old songs she likes.”
“He plays very well,” Hutch commented as the music wafted to where they all stood.
“His dad was a music teacher, and he liked to paint–real creative guy. Jessie and Jake both take after him a lot.”
“Any word from Jake’s mother?” Starsky asked.
“She might show up tomorrow, or at the funeral, but I doubt she’ll call here first. She and Ida aren’t exactly on good terms, and Jake’s not too interested in hearing from her either. Why do you ask?”
“Anyone connected to Jake could be a target. Miles Sallinger, the guy we’re looking for, had a whole collection of spiral notebooks he spent his time scribbling in, and most of it had to do with making Jake pay for being a ‘blasphemer’ or an ‘imposter.’ Pretty much the same crap he was spewing in the letter,” Starsky concluded.
“Jake hasn’t talked to his mother since she left. His problem with ulcers started thanks to her. She’s a real sweetheart.”
“How do you mean?” Hutch asked.
“She was never mother-of-the-year material. She had a tendency to smack the kids around even when Jake’s dad was alive, but after he died and she had the kids to handle alone, it got worse. She didn’t want to be tied down with kids at all. Jake tried to keep Jessica out of harm’s way as much as he could, and his mother used to beat the hell out of him for it. She never marked his face, so it was a while before anybody caught on. I knew something was wrong there, and I kept trying to get him to talk to me. I only found out for sure because he finally showed me the marks. I wanted to kill her. Jake’s probably the most laid back, gentle person I ever met.”
“At least she finally left. I guess that was a blessing,” Hutch said.
“Ida strongly encouraged her, as I understand it. Jake was scared to say anything because of his sister. He felt like he was in this precarious position of protecting her–you know, distracting his mother when she was mad at Jessie, getting her mad at him instead. He thought if anybody saw the marks on his back, they’d take him away, but maybe not Jessie, and then he wouldn’t be there to protect her. I couldn’t kill the bitch myself, but I did the next best thing. I told Jake’s grandmother. You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but that little lady’s got a temper, and she’d tell Satan himself to fuck off if he messed with Jake or Jessie.”
“You guys have been friends a long time then, huh?” Starsky asked.
“Since first grade. It would have been since kindergarten, but I pushed Jake off the climbing bars when we first met, and he didn’t forgive me for a year,” Tony recalled, laughing. “I wasn’t always a nice little kid. We met up with the rest of the guys in high school, so we’ve all been together a long time.” Tony paused. “You really think this psycho is going to go for Jake next?”
“His obsession is with Jake,” Starsky explained. “Most of the notebooks have something to do with 666 or Jake, but his biggest obsession is that Jake is a phony because of what he said in that interview.”
“We should have taken that letter to the cops,” Tony said, shaking his head. “We just never thought it was anything serious. You have to get kind of a thick skin about psychos and weird mail. I guess we were a little too thick on this one.”
“You’ve got some heavy-duty security set up out there,” Hutch commented.
“I called our road manager right after you called, and told him we needed the biggest bad asses he could find that carried guns. Half of these guys are ex-cops, the rest are ex-military. We use them when we play the really big venues. Nothing gets past them in one piece. Plus we’ve got the alarm system and all five of us, so we’re covered. Doug and Nick sent their wives to stay with relatives, to get them totally out of the picture. With what happened to Jessie, none of us wants to give this creep another shot at grabbing a woman.”
“We probably don’t need to talk to Jake tonight,” Starsky said. “We wanted to make sure you had good security precautions in place and that everything was all right.”
“Come on back. He’ll want to talk to you himself about what you found up at Aspen Hollow.”
When they arrived in the room with the piano, Jake was still playing. Dressed in a white silk robe, his hair loose on his shoulders, Jake’s tired eyes and heavy five o’clock shadow made him look as if he’d just crawled out of bed. Ida sat on the piano bench with him, obviously enjoying every moment of her grandson’s rendition of “Someone to Watch over Me,” joining him on the refrains. Everyone was a bit on edge, but Jake had found something to keep his grandmother calm and distracted, almost making them regret showing up to remind the elderly woman of the threat at hand.
Neither of them had the heart to interrupt the two people at the piano as they got started on another obvious favorite of Ida’s, oblivious to the arrival of more guests. It was apparent that Jake’s passion for music was hereditary, as was his talent, as his grandmother sang along with him with surprising strength and clarity for a woman in her eighties. Despite his ongoing depression and usually somber expression, Jake was actually smiling, completely wrapped up in the music, belting out the vocals for all he was worth to keep up with his equally vocal grandmother.
“Any requests?” Jake quipped when they’d finished, though now that the music was over, the humor was brittle and never quite made it to his eyes.
“Sorry to break in on the concert,” Hutch said, smiling.
“Anything new?”
“We were mainly checking out your security,” Starsky said. “Not much new since we talked to Tony earlier.”
“He told me about Sallinger. Sounds like a real psycho. But then I guess we knew that going into this. No sane person would do what he did.” Jake looked infinitely sad and desolate for a moment before he slipped his host’s facade back in place. “Are you guys still on duty? If not, grab a beer and have a seat,” Jake said.
“We’re not on duty, are we?” Starsky asked Hutch.
“It’s almost midnight. Seeing as the day started at eight, I don’t think we’re on duty right now, Starsk,” Hutch replied, accepting the bottle of beer Steve brought over from the small bar in the corner of the room. He handed another one to Starsky.
“We’ve been thinking about changing our sound,” Doug joked. “‘666 does songs of World War II’,” he added, chortling.
“That would leave your audience pretty conflicted, wouldn’t it?” Hutch replied, laughing.
“We like to shock people,” Tony said. “That’d cover it.”
“Seriously, you guys want to hear anything?” Jake asked, rubbing his hands together. “The maestro is taking requests.” Ida just smiled and shook her head, leaving her seat on the piano bench for a more comfortable chair.
“I’m more of a John Denver kinda person,” Hutch said, waving off the offer.
“Tony, grab your guitar. I’m gonna need some back-up here. That’s cop talk,” he said, ducking as Tony whacked playfully at his head on the way past the piano to pick up his guitar. “So, do you just sit on your ass and make requests, or can you put your money where your mouth is?”
“I sing and play a little,” Hutch said, the inevitable blush and uneasiness starting.
“A little? He’s got all the ladies swooning at every PD barbecue,” Starsky spoke up, earning him a slightly venomous look from his blushing partner.
“So I got a some real competition here, then?” Jake asked Starsky.
“‘Fraid so,” Starsky replied, grinning innocently at his mortified partner.
“What do you play?” Jake asked.
Hutch thought of saying “the accordion” when he saw there was indeed a spare guitar. Honesty prevailed, despite his unease about performing with a bunch of professional musicians.
“Guitar,” he admitted. “I thought I played piano, too, until I walked in and heard you playing. You’re really good.”
“Thanks. I don’t get much chance to play it on the road, but I love it. My dad was a music teacher, and he was all for me going into music, provided I was classically trained. Tony, grab the other guitar. We’re gonna put Hutchinson here to work. How about you, Starsky?”
“I sing back-up,” he joked, and Hutch shot him a look. “Unsolicited back-up,” he added, and Hutch had to laugh at that.
“You know ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’?” Jake asked Hutch.
“I sang it at the last PD barbecue, but I don’t remember anyone swooning over it,” he said, casting a sideways glance at Starsky. “I can probably manage that.”
“That was Jessie’s favorite John Denver song,” Tony said, surprised.
“We’re singing at the funeral the day after tomorrow,” Jake said. “I don’t know yet if I’m gonna make it through that one, but I want to sing something happy for her. Something she always loved to sing along with. When she was little, we used to sing that song when I’d take us on a little trip up north or to the beach on the weekend. As soon as I got my license, I took her every place I could that she wanted to go. I guess she was kind of spoiled,” he added, smiling sadly. Then, taking in a deep breath, he started playing a few notes on the piano until Tony and Hutch caught up with him.
Hutch was used to hearing the song with only guitar accompaniment, but the piano added a richness to the melody, and Jake’s touch was light enough not to overpower the guitars. Though he’d initially felt the old stage fright kick in, Hutch found himself quickly at ease singing with Jake. And he’d never expected to play and sing a John Denver song with the lead singer of one of the most controversial heavy metal bands in the business.
As they were about to launch into the final refrain, the double glass doors flew open, the panes shattering when they smashed against the wall. The lights flickered wildly, and Jake barely got his hands off the keyboard before the cover slammed down. There was a strong wind coming in the open patio doors, and the room’s occupants sat frozen, unsure how to react to the totally inexplicable burst of nature.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The lights returned to normal, and the wind died down.
“What the hell was that?” Jake said, pushing the cover off the keyboard, testing it a time or two, baffled how the wind could have slammed it shut. Just then, two of the security guards burst into the room, flattening themselves against the walls, guns drawn. “Thanks, guys. You were a big help,” he said, deadpan.
“Everything okay in here, Mr. Miller?” one of them asked.
“Yeah, we’re doing great. I thought you’d secured all the entrances? These doors wouldn’t have blown open in a hurricane if they were latched.”
“The latch isn’t broken,” Hutch reported, crouching to check the door. “The door had to be ajar, or at least unlocked.”
“That could be my fault. I was out in the studio earlier. I probably just forgot to lock it,” Tony said. “It might not have even been shut tight. I was carrying the guitars when I came in, and I think I shoved it with my foot.”
“Would you make sure all the windows and doors are locked, and go over the grounds again?” Jake asked the security guards, who nodded.
“We’re already working on securing the property, sir. Call us if there are any other disturbances.” With that, they hurried out of the room.
“Mystery solved,” Starsky said, realizing that didn’t explain the wind, the lights, or Jake’s keyboard cover.
“I’ll have to have somebody take a look at this thing,” Jake said, testing it again, sounding wholly unconvinced that there was anything wrong with it.
“Well, that was certainly startling,” Ida said, smiling uneasily. “The wind must have affected the power.”
“Must be,” Jake said, smiling back at her reassuringly.
“I think I’ll get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day,” she said, rising. She chuckled a little when all seven men who were previously seated, rose at the same time. “Goodnight, honey. Don’t stay up too late.” She kissed Jake goodnight.
“I slept all day, Grandma. I’m okay. But I’ll go to bed in an hour or so.”
After Ida took her leave, Jake straddled the piano bench, facing his guests.
“Everyone here who doesn’t think that was just the wind, raise your hands,” he said, raising his own hand. Most of the others went up as well. “What is that, cop skepticism?” he needled Hutch, who hadn’t raised his hand, though his partner had.
“No, it’s just simple logic. The door was unlocked, maybe partially open, there was a gust of wind that affected the power, and it blew the doors open. What do you think it was?”
“I saw something last night. I’d just about convinced myself it was my imagination, because I passed out. The papers from the funeral home swirled around in a whirlwind and landed on the floor, and a red pentagram appeared on top of them, like it was drawn in blood. And I heard Jessie’s voice.”
“Come on, Jake, you were wiped out. You collapsed. It was a weird dream, that’s all,” Doug said.
“I saw something, too,” Tony said, moving to stand behind Jake, resting a hand on his shoulder. “At least, I think I did. You know how that portrait in Jessie’s room reflects in her mirror if you look in the door at just the right angle?”
“Yes. She took great pains positioning that mirror. She thought it was a neat illusion.”
“I thought I saw something…more in the mirror.”
“Something more?” Jake shifted on the bench to look at Tony.
“I thought I saw Jessie, looking more like she did…” Tony stopped himself from saying ‘in the morgue,’ and instead said, “…looking older, and her hair blowing…moving…not still like in the portrait.”
“Oh, God,” Jake said, looking at first stunned, and then smiling a little. “Thank God. I thought I was losing my mind.”
“Before anybody whips out a Ouija board and starts calling on the spirits, let’s just step back a moment and acknowledge there are logical explanations for everything that’s happened,” Hutch said, noting his partner’s raised, inquisitive eyebrows. “Jake, you were in the process of collapsing when you saw what you saw and, Tony, couldn’t it have been a trick of the light and shadows in the room that made the portrait’s reflection seem alive?”
“That’s what I thought at the time, but after this–”
“After what? A big wind and a power bump? I know emotions are running high here, but let’s try to remain rational about this.”
“If it is Jessica, what does she want?” Starsky asked.
“You’re a big help,” Hutch retorted.
“Gotta keep an open mind, Hutch.”
“She was murdered. Isn’t that enough? Maybe she blames me for–”
“Jake, shut up with that. It’s not your fault, and Jessie would be the last one to blame you for it,” Tony said.
“The keyboard cover almost nailed my hands. This cover doesn’t do that. The last time that happened was when I was a kid using an upright piano in the living room. And then, it didn’t go down by itself.” Jake unconsciously rubbed his fingers. Tony sat next to him on the piano bench.
“Jessie wouldn’t slam the keyboard cover on your hands, pal. Not after the way it happened before.” There was obviously more to the story of the keyboard cover, but Jake seemed disinclined to share it.
“She didn’t slam it on my hands. I moved. But it would get my attention.”
“Maybe that Sallinger creep is nearby,” Steve suggested.
“So this would be like a warning?” Nick asked, getting enthused about the idea now.
“I think this is our cue to go home,” Hutch said, standing. Starsky joined him, but didn’t make any move to leave right away.
“If anything else strange happens, give us a call,” Starsky said. “Hutch is probably right. There are explanations for everything…” He let the sentence trail off when faced with Jake’s one upraised eyebrow. “Well, there could be logical explanations for all of this.”
“Are you guys coming to the funeral home tomorrow?” Jake asked.
“We’ll be watching from outside if we’re not inside. We’re hoping Sallinger is stupid enough to show up there,” Hutch said.
“Okay. Well, if you need anything, or you want to come in, it’s fine. I mean, I don’t want Jessie’s funeral to be about the case, but at the same time, do what you have to do to catch the bastard.”
“We will. Get some rest. Your grandmother was right about tomorrow being a long day,” Starsky said, shaking hands with Jake.
“I’ve been through the drill before with my dad. Funeral homes suck. The only thing that sucks more is the funeral itself. Thanks for stopping by,” he added, shaking hands with Hutch. “You’re not bad. You ever think about singing professionally?”
“Not very hard, no,” Hutch said, chuckling. “But thanks.”
“You have a first name? Hutchinson is a mouthful.”
“My friends call me Hutch,” he replied, smiling.
“Hutch it is, then. Maybe I’ll get you up on stage next time we play the Bay City Palladium.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Hutch said, laughing.
“I’ll talk you into it. Give me time,” Jake said, very self-assured.
Mike Ingalls looked less than thrilled to open his apartment door and see the police on the other side of it. A tall man of nineteen, with a shaggy mane of dark hair and a face that could pass for mildly handsome, he was dressed in a pair of black leather pants and a dark t-shirt bearing the logo of a heavy metal band. A dime store Jake Miller wannabe, Hutch thought, smiling inwardly.
“Mike Ingalls?” Starsky asked, as the two of them flashed their IDs.
“Yeah, what’s this about?” he asked, scowling.
“Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson, Bay City PD,” Starsky responded. “We’d like to ask you a few questions regarding Jessica Miller.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me. I haven’t seen that snooty little bitch in over a year.”
“She was murdered recently. You don’t keep up with the news?” Starsky asked.
“I know she was murdered. Doesn’t much change the fact she was a tease and her brother’s an asshole.”
“Do you want to do this in the hall or could we step inside?” Hutch asked, noticing Ingalls’ uncomfortable expression as one of his neighbors passed them in the hallway, giving them all a fish-eyed looked.
“Yeah, all right, whatever. But I got company in the other room, so unless you got a warrant…”
“We’re not here to search your apartment, unless there’s something you think we should see,” Starsky said.
“I told you, I haven’t seen her in a year. Not since her brother caught us together. I’m figuring he told you to question me.”
“We’re questioning as many of Jessica’s friends, past and present, as we can. Even the smallest piece of information can turn an investigation in the right direction,” Starsky said. “You might know something that could help us.”
“I dated Jessie in my senior year in high school, last year. She was always playing up to me, trying to get my attention. So I asked her out. She was kinda young, but she was cute.”
“Fifteen years old,” Hutch stated.
“Yeah, well, when I met her, I was seventeen, so what’s the big deal? High school kids’ stuff. We went out for a while. She wasn’t the blushing virgin her brother thought she was. That girl liked to party. She sure wasn’t shy. Taught me a couple things. Tell that to Jake Miller.”
“We would, if we believed it. Why should we believe you’re telling the truth and not just trying to send messages back to her brother to get back at him for embarrassing you?” Starsky asked.
“Look, when he walked in on us, it wasn’t the first time. She just conveniently didn’t bother to tell him we’d been doing it for a few months before he beat the shit out of me. Like I said, a snooty little bitch.”
“You also called her a tease. Why would you call her that if she was putting out for you the way you say she was?” Hutch asked.
“What has this got to do with anything now?”
“How you feel about the victim has a lot to do with your place in the investigation,” Starsky said.
“It’s ancient history. It’s over. I haven’t talked to her or seen her since that night.”
“She never tried to call or see you after her brother broke things up?” Starsky asked. “Awful abrupt ending to a hot relationship.”
“She was afraid of him. He’d’a probably smacked her around good if she’d tried to see me.”
“You think he hit her?” Hutch asked.
“She sure didn’t argue with him when he blew in there that night and started kicking my ass.”
“Where were you the night of October twenty-third?” Starsky asked.
“I was with a girl.”
“She can verify that?” Starsky persisted.
“Her name’s Linda Fields, she lives downstairs in 3B. I was at her place all night.”
“We’ll verify that with Ms. Fields. Thank you for your time,” Hutch concluded, happy to be finished with what he felt was a useless interview with a belligerent witness. “You must work second or third shift, being home at this time of day,” Hutch added.
“I’m between jobs.”
“I see. Thanks, again,” Hutch said as they left the apartment. “You want to go talk to Linda?” he asked Starsky, who shrugged.
“Gotta verify the story. Could you believe that guy?”
“Still nursing his bruised ego from getting thrown out in the shrubs.”
“Do you buy that crap about Jessica being afraid of her brother?” Starsky asked.
“I can buy she might have been afraid of him when he was beating the crap out of Ingalls in a fit of rage, and that maybe it even scared her into not seeing the guy again, but I don’t think he beat her. All of which is just based on hunches. Maybe the guy turns into Mr. Hyde after he talks to us, but he wouldn’t be someone I’d pick out as a potential violent offender.”
“We should get going to the Miller place if we’re going to give them an escort to the funeral home,” Starsky said.
“Dobey okayed that?”
“He okayed us watching the funeral home for Sallinger, so I kind of fudged about the police escort. Not gonna do us much good to watch the funeral home if Jake gets grabbed between his house and there.”
They stopped at Linda Fields’ apartment, but there was no answer to their knocks. Starsky left his card in the door and made a note to call on her again after the funeral.
Starsky and Hutch spent the remainder of their day doing surveillance on the funeral home. It was an uneventful assignment, watching a constant stream of people going in and out. Traffic was chaotic, and a couple of black-and-whites were on the scene to direct it. Jake Miller had a lot of friends in the music business, and Jessica Miller’s funeral services were obviously going to have all the crowding and traffic issues of a celebrity funeral. Visitors ranged from high school students to business-suited record company executive types, to groups of long-haired musicians in various styles of dress from suits to leather. The press were held at bay by the band’s private security guards.
Dressed in dark suits themselves to blend with the mourners, Starsky and Hutch took turns walking in and mingling, touching base with Jake on occasion to be sure he hadn’t seen anyone suspicious, and that he was, in fact, still there and in one piece. Despite all the private security, both detectives knew who would take the fall if Jake met with a bad end–it would be the police who were remiss in guarding him, not the horde of private security guards who dropped the ball. More so than that, though, they didn’t want to see Jake meet the same fate as his sister.
“I brought this along,” Starsky said, taking Jessica’s address book out of the glove compartment. “We don’t need it for anything. We could get it back from Jake if we do.”
“If you want to give it to him, go ahead. There’s nothing in there about Sallinger anyway,” Hutch said. “She didn’t say too much about Ingalls if things were as hot as he claimed they were.”
“I think he’s full of shit. He probably went too far with her and got caught, and doesn’t want to be hauled up on charges. Jessica may be dead, but Jake’s very much alive and saw enough to pin statutory rape on him.”
“Jake didn’t go into a lot of sordid details, but it makes me wonder if he’d have gone that far off the deep end if he’d thought Jessica was a totally willing participant.”
“If she wasn’t, Ingalls is lucky he got out of there with all his working parts intact.” Starsky paused, sighing. “I’m gonna check on things inside, make sure everyone’s where they’re supposed to be.”
Starsky knew he was stir-crazy when going into the funeral home was actually a diversion. Being in a car all day within reach of his partner but unable to do anything about it was more than mildly frustrating. The only down side of being lovers on this job was being shut in a car all day with someone you’d like to throw in the back seat and ravish with absolutely no chance of doing so.
He finally spotted Jake talking with a group of musicians not far from the flower-drenched casket, and heaved a sigh of relief. Dressed in a dark blue suit, with a white shirt and tie, his long hair loose on his shoulders, Jake looked like a corporate executive with the wrong head glued on top. The thought almost made Starsky smile, despite the sad surroundings and the myriad of grim faces he was passing. It was too easy to lose someone in a constantly changing crowd like this, but hopefully Miles Sallinger’s high school-level brain wouldn’t have devised a clever enough plan to do that. Of course, he had devised a plan to abduct Jessica and her boyfriend, subject them to horrible deaths, kill his own parents, and elude the police. Underestimating him would be a dangerous fallacy.
A large portrait of Jessica sat on an easel at one end of the casket; at the other end was a collage of mounted photos of Jessica with friends and family. The casket was a light rose color with insets of painted roses between its silver handles. The area around it was crammed with beautiful floral arrangements. Jake noticed him standing there and excused himself from the group he was with and approached Starsky.
“See anything out of the ordinary?” Starsky asked.
“No, I know pretty much everybody who’s been in here. I don’t know all of Jessica’s friends, but you gave me those photos of Sallinger and the other missing boys, and I haven’t recognized any of them here.”
“Good. Your security is still screening everyone who comes in, I see.”
“Yeah. Well, they’re asking everyone to sign the guest register before they come all the way inside. They stopped you, right?”
“Until the guy recognized me from being in here three times already, yeah, they did,” Starsky said, smiling. “How’re you holding up?”
“Okay.” Jake paused, looking at the casket. “You’re going to think I’m insane when I say this, but I guess you already know I’m seeing things and hearing voices, so my reputation doesn’t have a lot to lose at this point,” he added with a sad smile. “It’s like as long as I’m here, I’m with her. She’s here, too. I know it’s just…what’s left, and it’s not her anymore, but it feels like doing one last thing together as a family.”
“I can understand that. I don’t think you’re insane, by the way. About this, or what you saw the other night.”
“Really? Maybe that makes you nuts for believing me, then.” Jake smiled, shrugging.
“Maybe,” Starsky agreed. “You might have hallucinated. Or maybe you didn’t. I don’t know for sure. What do you think it meant, if it wasn’t just an hallucination?”
“The star had something to do with how she died, I would think. The funeral papers…I don’t know why she used those. I mean, why not make the star on anything in the room?” Jake asked.
“To be sure you knew it was her? Or maybe to give you a message about today,” Starsky suggested.
“I heard her voice. How could I not know it was her?”
“What did she say?”
“Just my name.” Jake frowned. “She said something else… Right before I passed out.” He paused, deep in thought. “Don’t go.”
“That’s what she said?”
“Yeah. ‘Don’t go’,” he repeated. “At least, that’s what I thought she said. It wasn’t real clear.”
“Don’t go to the funeral home, maybe? The papers, the star, and ‘don’t go’ do all sort of hang together if you look at it that way.”
“Do you seriously believe it could have been Jessie, that it wasn’t all in my head?” Jake asked, sounding hopeful. Starsky contemplated the whole situation a moment before answering.
“Hutch and I worked a case a couple years ago. I suppose you could find logical explanations for everything that happened…you usually can when you think it’s something supernatural going on. I always was the one in the partnership who liked scary movies, and I read up on real vampires the last time we had some psycho killing girls and draining their blood. I guess I just have an open mind about that stuff, especially after what happened a couple years ago.”
“What happened?” Jake asked, seeming intrigued. Starsky thought about the case that centered on the Sayer Funeral Home, and given where they were at the moment and the nature of that case, he decided against answering.
“It’s a long story. It’s just that ever since then, it seems ridiculous to just assume that anything that seems paranormal, isn’t.”
“Well, if that’s what she meant, I missed the boat, because here I am.”
“I thought you might like to have this back.” Starsky handed him the manila envelope with the address book inside it. “We don’t need it at this point in the investigation.”
Jake frowned, confused, and opened the envelope. He took out the address book and carefully turned a few pages, as if he were handling a holy relic instead of a pink vinyl, spiral-bound book with page after page of a teenager’s observations about her friends. His shoulders began to shake, and he put the book in the envelope and held it against his chest.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I probably shouldn’t have given it to you right now,” Starsky said.
“I’m glad you did,” Jake managed, his voice badly broken. “It’s so close to the surface all the time. I feel like I can’t talk to anybody without…this,” he said, gesturing in frustration at his own tears. “Thanks for the book. I’m sorry about the scene.” He wiped at his eyes, but it seemed like a losing battle.
“It gets better, Jake,” Starsky said, remembering how he’d felt that same way when Terry died–like his emotions were so raw, so close to the surface, that the slightest little thing set him off. “You’ve got good friends. They’ll get you through.”
“They always do. Grandma’s got it together better than I have. She’s like the Queen Mother, sitting there granting audiences and making the mourners who come in feel better. I’ll never be half as strong as she is. Jessie was so like her,” he added, swallowing hard. “It’s just not fair.” He laid his hand on the casket. “It’s not fair,” he repeated, struggling to rein in his emotions.
“No arguments there,” Starsky replied, resting a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Life isn’t fair, and death is even more of a screw-job.”
“Thanks again for giving me this,” he said, turning away from the casket to face Starsky again, still holding the book. “Not that you’d know it to look at me, but I’m glad to get it back. Someday when it doesn’t tear my guts out to look at it, it’s gonna mean a lot to me. Maybe I won’t read it, though. Jessie was really protective of it. She would have had a fit knowing all these people were reading what she wrote.”
“Where’s your grandmother and the rest of the band?”
“Grandma’s sitting on the couch over there with our cousins who came in last night from Seattle. Doug and his wife are right over there,” he said, pointing until Starsky located them. “Nick and Steve are over there with our manager and his wife, and Tony made a run back to the house to pick up my pills.”
“Your pills?”
“I take a prescription for my ulcer, and I forgot to take it this morning. I’m starting to feel a little crappy, so he went back to the house to get them,” Jake said, locating a box of tissues on an end table, blowing his nose and wiping his face. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nose was beginning to take on the red color of someone with a bad cold.
“Alone?”
“No, one of the security guys went with him. They took the limo.”
“We didn’t see him leave, and we’ve been watching the place.”
“Not that I’m questioning your surveillance skills or anything, but there are a lot of long-haired guys dressed in dark clothes coming in and out. You could have missed him. God, I hate this suit,” Jake added, running his finger under the collar. “We’re coming to the funeral tomorrow in full stage attire. Jessie would have gotten a kick out of that. I’m asking everybody who shows up today, who’s coming tomorrow, to dress for going on stage. She’d have loved that. The suits? She’d have been doubled over laughing at all these rock stars in suits.”
“How long ago did Tony leave?” Starsky asked.
Jake pushed back his suit sleeve to look at his watch.
“It’s been almost two hours,” he said, frowning. “I didn’t even think about watching the time….”
“He’s probably just taking a break at the house. Is Gina there?”
“Yeah, and the gardener. But he said he’d be right back.”
“We’ll take a ride out there, and get another unit to cover the funeral home.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“I’d rather you stayed here–”
“Maybe, but I’m coming with you, or I’m driving out there myself, fuck the security.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
After telling his grandmother he was leaving for a short break, and entrusting the address book to her for safekeeping, he accompanied Starsky back out to the car and climbed in the back seat before Starsky slipped into the driver’s seat.
“What’s up?” Hutch asked.
“Tony went out to the house a couple hours ago to pick something up and told Jake he’d be right back. I think we better check it out.”
“Rick Lucas just got here,” Hutch said, nodding toward the black Pontiac Firebird that was pulling up to a nearby curb. “He was in the area and offered to cover us for a dinner break, so he can take over until we get back.”
Jake squinted in the direction of the car Lucas was driving. The outline of Rick’s generous head of hair was clearly visible. “He’s a cop?”
“He’s got the best ‘find’ rate in Missing Persons, so he gets away with the hair. He has a band he moonlights with after hours,” Starsky said. Rick got out of his car and walked over to the window of the Torino.
“You taking off?” he asked.
“We need to check something at the Miller place,” Starsky said. “Can you cover here ’til we get back?”
“I’ll call in and get clearance. I was supposed to go back to the station, but the paperwork can wait.”
“Any luck on the Rush case?” Hutch asked, referring to a missing child case that was at the top of Rick’s priority list. The little girl was part of a very influential family in town, and though such a case would be a priority anyway, they made a habit of calling the police department nearly daily to demand updates and threaten complaints to the governor, if necessary.
“I’m sending another team of searchers and dogs out to the Rush property. Old man Rush’ll bitch all the way to the fucking Supreme Court and say I’m harassing him, but I’ve got a feeling that kid’s out there,” he added. “So I am harassing him and enjoying it.”
“Rick, this is Jake Miller,” Hutch said, since Jake was leaning forward now to get a better look at the cop/rock musician at the window. He reached out the window from the back seat and shook hands with Rick.
“It’s great to meet you,” Rick said. “I’m really sorry about your loss.”
“Thanks. I gotta say, I’ve seen more atypical cops in the last couple weeks than I have all my life.”
“We’ve seen a few more ‘atypical’ rock musicians, too,” Hutch quipped, and Jake smiled.
“Ouch,” Jake responded, actually chuckling. “You got me there.”
Tony really didn’t want to open his eyes, but he finally steeled himself against whatever it was he would see, and slowly raised his lids. He tried to move his hand to his face to rub the fuzziness from his vision, but found he couldn’t move either arm. His arms were stretched above his head, his wrists bound to something, but he couldn’t see what it was. He was on his back on a hard surface, his suit coat and tie gone, his white shirt torn open to leave his chest bare. His ankles were bound, as well.
“You’re awake,” a male voice said. A hooded figure moved into his line of vision.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Tony said, believing the voice to be that of a very young man, possibly not even out of high school. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“It is to you and the rest of your band, but not to us. We are true believers.”
“You’re a nut with a Halloween costume on. Now untie these fucking ropes before you get yourself into something you can’t get out of.”
“That’s actually kind of funny,” the man in the robe said, laughing softly. “You’re the one who’s tied up, man. Not me.”
“They’ll put you away for life.” Tony tried to look at his surroundings, but it was dark. Everything seemed to be in shadows except the patch of flickering gold light created by tall black candles that stood in floor-standing candelabra all around them.
“That’s the nice thing about killing more than one person. It’s really pretty liberating. I mean, they can only put you in prison for life, or execute you once. So what’ve you got to lose? You’re free. You can do anything. Anything you want, and it doesn’t matter. You don’t matter. I just want him.”
“Him who?” Tony asked, tugging at his restraints.
“Jake Miller. You know who I mean, and you know why I want him.”
“You wrote the letter, didn’t you?”
“It was a warning. The death of his sister was punishment. You will be his opportunity to recant, to make a voluntary sacrifice to the Master to atone for his blasphemy.”
“How many cheap devil worship movies did you watch to learn that lingo? What are you, about twelve? This is all a bunch of theatrical shit. Our shows, our albums, all this black candle crap–it’s B-movie garbage, man. It’s not real. You’re pissing away your whole life over something that isn’t real.”
“My whole life is already pissed away, as you put it, so killing you really won’t make any difference. Don’t try to work some kind of amateur psychology on me. Besides, you’re just a device.”
“What do you want to prove with all this? That you’re some badass devil worshiper?”
“Satan is power. He shares his power with those who believe in him.” He produced a long knife from the folds of his robe. Running the dull edge of the blade down the middle of Tony’s chest, he let the tip linger near the top button of his pants. “Right now, which one of us has the power? If you want to keep your dick, you better come up with the right answer.”
“The knife is giving you the power. You think Satan would be giving you power if you were standing there with a plastic spatula?”
“Gag him.” The man in the hooded robe paused as another robed figure emerged from the shadows and tied a cloth gag in place. “We would’ve had to do it in a few minutes anyway.” There was a smile in his voice. “He’s going to have reason to scream soon enough, and we just can’t take a chance on the plan being ruined before it starts.”
“I don’t like this,” Starsky said as they pulled up behind a black limousine parked on the shoulder of the road leading to Jake’s estate.
“Come on,” Jake hit the back of the seat in front of him, anxious to get out of the car.
“Just sit tight,” Hutch said. “I mean it. Don’t make us cuff you.”
“I’m not sitting in the car–”
“Yes, you are,” Starsky retorted. “Here.” He handed Jake the mic to the radio as he leaned forward over the front seat. “If anything goes wrong, press that button and say, ‘Zebra Three to Central, we have a 10-13.’ That’s a call that an officer needs help. If they ask who you are, tell them you’re a protected witness traveling with Starsky and Hutchinson. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it, but–”
“But nothing. You are under our protection, and you’re not a cop. Calling for back-up could save our lives,” Hutch said.
“Okay. Is there a gun in here somewhere?”
“You don’t need a gun. Just sit tight and wait, and if anyone starts shooting, keep your head down.” Starsky got out, followed by his partner, guns drawn.
They approached the limo with its dark tinted windows.
“I hate tinted glass,” Hutch said, releasing the safety on his gun. Starsky did the same.
“I hate bein’ on this side of tinted glass. Like ducks in a barrel.”
Having little choice but to approach the driver’s door, Starsky made his way slowly up the side of the car, Hutch doing the same on the passenger side. Stopping just behind the driver’s door, Starsky tapped on the glass with his gun.
“Open the door slowly and get your hands where I can see ’em!” He waited. There was no response. Exchanging knowing looks, they reached for the handles of the doors on their respective sides of the car, and on a silent count of three, yanked both doors open and pointed their weapons into the car. The interior was empty, the key still in the ignition.
“Starsk, over here!” Hutch was rushing across the weedy ground near the road to a motionless form. One of the private security guards, presumably the one who had driven the limo, lay dead, the blood from a bullet wound to his head slowly soaking the soil around him. “He’s dead.”
“No sign of Tony,” Starsky said, sighing. “I thought we told you to stay in the car,” he snapped as Jake approached them.
Jake wrinkled his nose a bit at the sight of the murdered driver. “I don’t think he’s gonna hurt me, and I don’t think I need to radio anything in for you. Nobody’s in the limo?”
“It’s empty, the key’s in the ignition,” Hutch said.
“We have to get out to the house,” Jake said.
“We’ve got skid marks here, and another set of tracks in the gravel,” Starsky said, crouching to look at them. “Looks like they really peeled out of here. We have to call this in.”
“What about the house? Maybe Tony’s out here somewhere, wounded. If so, he’d try to make it to the house. We can’t just stand here!”
“Until we call this in, and back-up arrives, that’s just what we’re going to do,” Hutch said, walking back toward the Torino.
“Suit yourselves.” Jake started walking along the shoulder of the road in the direction of his estate.
“Jake! Get back here!” Starsky called.
“I’m not under arrest,” he said, walking backwards for a moment so he faced Starsky and Hutch. “My best friend is missing, and the guy who was with him is lying there with his brains soaking into the ground. I’m not standing here while you call it in!” He turned around and his walk turned into a sort of trot as he started calling to Tony, trying to scan the surrounding terrain as he went.
“He won’t get that far, and whoever is after him probably has something to play with for a while,” Hutch said, returning from the Torino. “My guess is they’ll use Tony to get to Jake.”
“Unless they just kill him the way they killed his sister.”
“Even if they do, they like ceremony, which buys us some time.” Hutch sighed. “Besides, if I were missing, you’d be doing the same thing. Since when have we ever followed orders or procedure, or even worried if we got ourselves killed when we were looking for each other?”
“Try never,” Starsky admitted, smiling and shaking his head.
“You could follow him. I can stay here with the limo and our unfortunate friend over there.”
“Between protecting you and protecting Jake Miller, I’ll let Jake take his chances. I like the guy, but you’re my partner, Blondie.” Starsky was surprised to see a somewhat pensive, troubled expression on Hutch’s face.
“Go after him, Starsk. I mean it. I’m fine here.”
“He’s okay. Hell, I can still see him up there in the distance. What’s eating you?”
“Lionel died because we loved each other so much that even our duty to protect him didn’t matter in comparison. Go after him, Starsky. The back-up is coming. I can’t handle another Lionel on our consciences.”
“That was my decision, Hutch. I had to make a choice to go to you or stay with him. It was no choice then, and it’s no choice now. It never will be a choice.”
Sirens were heard in the distance.
“Starsk, he’s almost out of sight. Take the Torino and go.”
“Okay, babe. But only because the back-up’s coming.” Starsky paused by the door of the Torino. “Do you still think of Lionel a lot?”
“No. But Jake’s a decent guy, and we’re responsible for his safety. Just a little deja vu, I guess.”
“I’ll go catch up to him. See ya at the house?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can leave the scene.”
Starsky got in the car and drove toward the figure that had been shrinking in the distance. Pulling up alongside Jake, he hollered to him through the open passenger window.
“Get in.”
“I thought you had to guard your precious crime scene.” Jake got into the car, slamming the door.
“That’s right, we have to guard crime scenes. What if we found a key clue to where Tony was at that scene? Wouldn’t that seem worth it?” Starsky continued driving toward the house at a slow pace, Jake still looking intently out the window for any sign of his friend.
“They’re gonna kill him the way they killed Jessie,” Jake said quietly.
“We’ll find him before that happens.”
“You don’t know that.” Jake turned to stare straight ahead out the windshield. “I wish they’d gotten me. I wish this psycho had just killed me and gotten it over with.”
“We’ll find Tony.”
“Oh, yeah, you’ll find him. A week from now in a shallow grave.”
“If it’s any consolation, I know how you feel,” Starsky said.
“How could you know how I feel? Somebody rapes and kills my little sister, and now they’ve got my best friend! I couldn’t have loved Jessie more if she had been my daughter instead of my sister. I’d have died for her without even thinking about it. I didn’t think anything could rip my guts out like losing her that way. I didn’t even realize how much I was relying on Tony…how much I always rely on Tony…ever since we were kids…” Jake bit his lip and looked out the side window.
“I rely on Hutch the way you rely on Tony. We’ve been partners and best friends for years. There have been times he’s been missing, or hurt, and I felt like my whole world was teetering on the edge of exploding until I knew he was okay again. I haven’t lost a little sister, but I’ve lost plenty of other people in my life, and it’s the worst kind of pain. So I do know how you feel. I know how it feels to have someone in your life that is so much the other half of you that, God help you, you know you could survive just about anything else but losing him,” Starsky said, then realized he’d blurted out quite a bit of raw emotion that sounded like a lot more than one cop partner talking about the other.
Jake was silent a long moment.
“You’re more than cop partners, huh?” he asked, wiping at his eyes, then looking at Starsky, having obviously won the battle with his emotions, at least for the moment.
“We’re best friends,” Starsky said, hoping he could recoup this. Jake was part of a case. A civilian they were protecting who was part of an investigation. If he blew the whistle on their lifestyle, it would be a disaster.
“You said that, I guess,” he said. “You wrote your home phone number on the back of your card, and when your partner gave his to one of the other guys, he did the same. I noticed they matched.”
“We share expenses on a house. It’s a better investment than rent.”
“I think I’d like to ‘share expenses’ with Tony.”
“I meant what I said,” Starsky insisted, knowing how easily trusting the wrong person could get them into trouble. “We’re best friends, and we share expenses.”
“Whatever.” Jake was quiet a few seconds. “I try to figure out sometimes how my life got so fucked up. I don’t give a damn about all the five-pointed stars and fake stage blood. I’m a classically trained musician. My dad taught me all the basics, taught me to be a solid songwriter by the time he died when I was thirteen years old. I’ve practiced and studied on my own ever since, because it was so important to him that whatever kind of music I did, I did it right. Our music is good, and it is solid, but somehow it’s turned into more flash and spectacle than anything else, and it’s costing me everything that means anything to me–something I don’t give a damn about is destroying my life. It killed my sister. I’ve never told Tony how I really feel about him, and now I probably won’t get the chance. Innocent people I don’t even know are dead because of me. Hell, I don’t even know that security guy’s name who got his head blown open because of me. Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, man. If your partner’s more than your best friend, tell him before it’s too late.”
“It almost was,” Starsky said. “A few years ago, I was shot, multiple times. I almost died. It took me months to heal up and get back to work. It was during that time that Hutch and I figured out where we were headed. My almost dying was a wake-up call for both of us, I think.”
“Was it weird?”
“What?”
“You’re gonna make me work for this, aren’t you?” Jake said with a little smile. “Doing it with your best friend. Was it weird?” At Starsky’s uncomfortable expression, Jake added, “That’s okay. I was way out of line. This isn’t the sort of conversation I could have with just anybody. Gay heavy metal singers would be about as popular as gay cops, I imagine. The weird part is, I don’t feel gay. I don’t get a kick out of catching glimpses of the guys in the shower or anything. I’ve never done it with a guy–never wanted to.”
Starsky didn’t answer for a while, but then it occurred to him how isolated Hutch and he could feel at times, and they had each other–there was nothing they couldn’t talk about. Jake was at that hellish stage where it’s all still inside, and even the person you love most is walking around clueless.
“No, it wasn’t weird. If it’s right, it’s not weird. It’s…phenomenal. It’s like finally going home. Finally figuring out where you belong. Like finally landing home after a journey you didn’t even know you were on.”
“Must be a nice feeling.”
“We’ll find Tony, and you can test the theory yourself.”
“Unless he decks me,” Jake said, snorting.
“Yeah, there’s always that to consider. And he’s bigger than you are.”
“You mean he’s taller.” At Starsky’s surprised expression, Jake snickered. “There’s not a hell of a lot to do sitting around the back of a tour bus when you’ve been on the road a few months. You place bets on some weird shit when you’re exhausted and bored, and Nick found a tape measure, and there was a particularly potent batch of Margaritas involved.”
“I thought you didn’t drink because of your ulcer.”
“I usually don’t, so when I do, it only takes a couple to get me going. When you’re drunk and it’s four a.m. and you have no clue where you’ve just been or where you’re going, you find entertainment in strange ways.”
“I don’t think I want to know any more about that,” Starsky quipped as they approached the gates of Jake’s mansion.
“I don’t think you’re gonna find out any more about that,” he retorted, chuckling.
Hutch concluded his work at the crime scene and radioed Lizzie and Arturo to ask them to take over the surveillance at the funeral home. He wasn’t sure whether or not Jake would be going back there, or if he would stay at the house to wait for a contact from the kidnapper. It was a good bet Miles Sallinger had Tony, and if he did, it was an even better bet he’d use him to get to Jake.
One of the black-and-whites dropped him off at the Miller mansion, and an overwrought Gina let him in the front door.
“Is Ida safe?” she asked.
“Yes. We have police surveillance on the funeral home, the band’s private security are on the job, and one of our detectives will notify the rest of the band regarding Tony’s disappearance. Don’t worry, Gina. The bases are covered.”
“I didn’t mean to question you. This family has been through so much….”
“More than anybody deserves. Where’s my partner?”
“I think he’s with Mr. Jake in the library.”
“Okay, thanks, Gina.” Hutch followed the hallway back to the room that seemed to be Jake’s favorite. “Anything out of the ordinary here?” he asked as Starsky rose from the couch. Jake was slumped in a chair, staring out the window.
“No, nothing’s been disturbed. Jake’s leaning pretty heavily toward staying here in case there are any contacts or demands from Sallinger. I called headquarters, and they’re sending someone out with phone tap and tracer equipment.”
“You want us to send a car for your grandmother?” Hutch asked. Jake didn’t move his gaze from the window.
“He can’t even leave me alone to bury my sister in peace.” Jake paused. “Family should be there, and she’s safe, right?”
“I notified Rick, and he’s covering for us there and has called for back-up, plus your own security,” Hutch said.
“I’ll call there and just tell her somebody came by the house to offer condolences and I’m gonna visit with them a while. We can go get her before visitation is over. I want to go when we go to pick her up. I won’t risk letting something happen to her. Not something like that.” Jake got up and left the room to make the call.
“He’s in love with Tony,” Starsky said quietly.
“He’s what?” Hutch asked, looking surprised.
“He told me in the car.” Starsky paused, bracing himself for what could be a negative reaction. “He knows about us.”
“I hope you mean he just thinks he knows.”
“He noticed we had the same home phone number. I told him we were just sharing expenses on a house. One thing led to another…he isn’t gonna make trouble for us, Hutch.”
“This is great. We don’t come out to most of our friends, to the people we see every day, and you make the decision to tell some guy who’s part of a case we’re working? Do you have any idea how many ways that could come back and bite us on the ass?” Hutch fumed.
“No more than it would bite Jake and Tony on the ass. How long would the hordes of teenage boys who buy their albums or the hordes of teenage girls who fantasize about getting laid by one of them would still be as excited about 666 with two gay members?”
“Starsk, you can’t just trust somebody that easily. Not with this. This is our lives we’re talking about.”
“I’m sorry. It just…came out. I guess I felt sorry for him.”
The telephone rang, and both men left the library, looking for the room where Jake went to make his phone call to the funeral home. After entering several empty rooms, they finally found him in the kitchen, hanging up the phone. Gina was washing dishes, watching them out of the corner of her eye.
“It was nothing. One of the security guys calling back for instructions,” he said, sighing. “I’m gonna run upstairs and change,” he said. “Gina, can you please make these guys something? They’ve been watching us all day with no meal break. Right?” he asked.
“Yeah, we’re pretty hungry,” Starsky admitted.
“Okay. Oh, and, Gina? Better make a big batch of coffee, too. Probably get a lot of cops coming out here with the phone equipment and stuff, right?”
“A few more,” Hutch said.
“Just let Gina know what you’d like.” With that, he left the room.
“Whatever’s easiest is fine, Gina,” Starsky said. “Jake was right about the coffee. That would be great.”
“I’ll make it right now,” she said, seeming nervous. It was obvious her hands were shaking as she tried to fill the top of the coffee maker with the grounds.
“Is something wrong?” Hutch asked, approaching her.
“I am worried about Mr. Tony,” she responded, avoiding eye contact with Hutch, focusing on her task.
“Gina, if you know something you’re not telling us, it’s a mistake,” Hutch said. “We’re on Jake’s side.”
“The phone call he got was from whoever has Mr. Tony,” she blurted. “He made me promise not to tell.”
“It’s okay, Gina,” Starsky said. “What did you overhear?”
“Only what Mr. Jake said,” she responded, her voice shaking. “I heard him say, ‘I know where that is,’ and then he got very annoyed and said, ‘I said I’d be alone.’ He asked to talk to Mr. Tony, but they must have refused, because he hung up the phone right after that.”
“Thanks, Gina. We’ll take care of it, don’t worry,” Hutch said, patting her shoulder. “Which way would Jake leave the house to get to the garage?” he asked, knowing they’d lose valuable time searching for the exit.
“This way,” she said, hurrying out of the kitchen and down a hallway that led to a door at the end. “That goes to the garage,” she added. She’d no sooner said that when they heard an engine and the sound of a power garage door going up.
Both men raced to the door of the garage just in time to see Jake’s black Porsche backing out of the garage. When he spotted them, he hit the accelerator, tires squealing as he raced around the circle drive, barely missing the Torino before disappearing around the back of the house.
“Where does that driveway lead?” Hutch asked Gina.
“Out to the road behind the estate. Gable Road,” she added.
“Can you lock the gates from inside?” Starsky asked.
“Mr. Jake has the security code. If he enters that at the gate, I can’t override it and stop him.”
“Let’s go.” Hutch made a run for the Torino, Starsky close behind him. “We should have never let him out of our sight,” he said tightly, anger evident in his voice. “Slippery son-of-a-bitch.”
“If you were in his place, what would you do?” Starsky gunned the engine and took the same route around the house Jake had taken. Though the Porsche was out of sight now, they could still hear the engine in the distance. Starsky managed the curves in the winding drive expertly until they had the back of Jake’s car in their distant sight.
“If he has to stop at the gates, it might delay him long enough.”
“He must’ve opened them at the house,” Starsky said, hitting the steering wheel as they watched the black Porsche zoom through already-open gates. “Shit.” Starsky followed, pressing the pedal to the floor.
“You aren’t going to catch that car, Starsk,” Hutch said, resigned.
“Watch me.”
Hutch put the flasher on the roof and hit the siren. “He’ll have to pull over if he doesn’t want us arriving at the meet site with lights and siren,” he said.
“I hope he knows what he’s doing at this speed,” Starsky said, as Jake sped up and so did he. Fortunately, they were on a quiet road with little traffic. “The last thing we need is for him to go off the road and kill himself.”
“He’s going to get himself killed if we don’t catch him, so right now, his chances are better with us than without us.” Hutch had no sooner said that than Jake cut around a car ahead of him, barely keeping his car on the road as he passed, his speed nearing 100 miles per hour. The car in question pulled over as Starsky and Hutch came charging up the road, siren blaring. When they made the next curve in the road, there was no sign of the black Porsche.
“What’d he do, evaporate?” Starsky said, going a bit farther at top speed before slowing down. “There are no roads for him to turn off on!” He brought the Torino back to a reasonable speed as they continued down the road.
“He knows this area better than we do. There are driveways. He must be parked somewhere, hoping we’ll do what we did and drive right past him.”
“Now he’s starting to piss me off, Hutch,” Starsky said, pulling off the road and turning around to backtrack and check the driveways along the quiet country road.
“He could know any of these people. If they have a driveway that leads through to the main road out front, he’s long gone. Hey, check out the skid marks up there,” Hutch said, and Starsky slowed to a crawl, then turned to follow the tracks into another drive leading back into the trees. “There are gates back here.”
“One of the other guys in the band has a house on the same road as Jake’s. I don’t remember which one, but if this is it, he probably knows the pass code. This looks like the same security system Jake has,” Starsky said, pulling up to the gates. He rolled down his window and Hutch did the same.
“I hear the engine. Ring the house.”
“It’ll be faster to just try to catch up to him on the road. We’ll go back through his property.”
“I’ll call in the plates.” Hutch grabbed the mic and started delivering the car description and plate number to dispatch. They roared through the still-open gates, hoping they could make it through Jake’s property in time to catch up to him on the main road. “We know he was going south on Gable, so he’ll probably go south on the main road, too.”
“Yeah, probably. Or he could have led us in the wrong direction because he knew we’d chase him and he had this all mapped out.”
“He’s not James Bond, Starsk. I think you’re giving him too much credit.”
“Maybe.” Starsky was quiet a moment until they reached the main road. “South?”
“South.”
“O-kay,” Starsky responded, turning south onto the main road.
“You want to go north, go north. I just think he expected to get away, and he was going the way he wanted to go, that’s all.”
“Okay, we’re going south.” Starsky started out at a good speed, but without the siren or flasher. If Jake thought he’d lost them, there was no point in alerting him that they were on the way. “Don’t hold it against him because he knows. Telling him was my decision.”
“No, that was our decision, partner, and you just decided to make it by yourself. He’s got no clue what this means to us as cops, and if he gets pissed off or something goes wrong with this case, how long do you think it’ll be before he blows the whistle on our relationship?”
“He won’t do that.”
“Really? If he’s so fucking trustworthy, why are we chasing him down the road?”
“Because they said ‘no cops,’ and he’s more loyal to Tony than he is to us. Is that really so surprising? Either one of us would do the same thing in his place.”
“We’re cops. We might have some vague notion how to get ourselves out of a mess like this. He doesn’t. He’ll get them both killed.”
Just then, a call came over the radio. Jake’s Porsche had been spotted traveling north on the road they were currently traveling.
“You can say ‘I told you so’ now,” Hutch said, shaking his head as Starsky turned the Torino around and started speeding north.
Jake checked the rearview mirror for the tenth time in as many minutes. He’d passed a police cruiser going the other way a couple of miles back, but by then, he’d been going the speed limit, and neither he nor the cop seemed to pay each other any undue attention. Still, he felt sure Starsky and Hutchinson would have radioed in his car description and license number by now. He hoped that whatever they were doing would take them long enough for him to do what he had to do to save Tony’s life.
If he was still alive, and if Jake was clever enough to help him.
He turned off the road onto the weedy, overgrown gravel path that led back into the old cemetery. The long shadows of dusk made the drive back among the trees and the myriad of weather-beaten, aged tombstones even more unnerving. He felt the raw burning in his stomach, and remembered belatedly that he never had taken the infamous pills Tony had left the funeral home to get. It was way too late to worry about that now.
He slowed down and got out of the car, hurrying around to the passenger side, opening the door to release Spike. The dog had angled its way into the minimal space behind the front seats, and with the front passenger seat pushed forward, he’d had barely enough room to ride along.
“I don’t know if you understand me, boy, but wait until I call you. Stay outside until I call you. Got it?” Jake had to laugh at himself, wondering if he’d taken leave of his senses, actually believing that the sometimes uncanny, knowing look in the big dog’s eyes was any more than the same look he’d find in the eye of any reasonably intelligent animal. “You’re my back-up, Spike. Stay.” He hurried around the front of the car and jumped in again, continuing on his way.
As the old mausoleum came into view, he noticed a battered old van parked near the entrance. Hooded figures stood on either side of the old iron doors, which stood open.
Miles Sallinger was nothing if he wasn’t theatrical. No wonder he had a thing for 666.
Jake put the car in park and cut the engine. This was insanity, and he knew it. Neither one of them would walk away from this. A part of him wished he hadn’t been so clever in losing the detectives, and another part had no qualms about laying down his life for Tony. He just hoped that would do some good, and that at least Tony might come out of this alive. If both Jessica and Tony were out of his life, that life wouldn’t be worth much anyway.
He got out of the car and approached the doors.
“Come with us,” one of the figures said. The voice sounded young. Not a child, but not quite a man, either.
“Where’s Tony?” he asked.
“Just come with us, and we’ll show you,” the other said. Flanked by these weird doormen, Jake walked down a long hall lined with crypts, the cement floor littered with dried leaves and other debris from years of disuse. They turned to the left, and at the end of another long corridor, four more hooded figures gathered around a form tied down to an altar covered with a red and black tapestry. Jake recognized Tony’s long brown hair fanned out around his head on the tapestry, his stomach clenching with fear and horror as he saw rivulets of blood that had trickled down Tony’s side.
“Tony!” he called, moving forward, but the figure behind the altar, closest to Tony, pulled out a long knife, already stained with blood, and held it high above Tony’s chest. Jake was just close enough to see Tony’s terrified eyes riveted on him in the flickering light of the black candles that surrounded the altar in floor-standing candelabra.
“That’s far enough,” the figure with the knife said, shaking back his hood to reveal his identity.
“Miles Sallinger,” Jake said, stopping in his tracks. “What did you do to him?” he asked, forcing himself to move his gaze from Tony’s eyes to Sallinger.
“I marked him as a sacrifice. Don’t worry. He’s still alive.” Sallinger lowered the knife a bit. “Greg, watch him,” he said, and another of the figures pulled a handgun and aimed it at Jake. “It’s time to atone for your mockery of the Master.”
“Tony’s got nothing to do with this. You and I both know this is between you and me. It always has been.”
“Oh, I agree, but he’s part of it,” Sallinger said, lowering the knife the rest of the way, laying it aside. “I’ve gotta say, seeing all those rock stars in business suits was almost worth all of this,” he added, snickering. “I see you went back to your leather,” he said, gesturing at the black leather jacket Jake wore over his white dress shirt and suit pants. “You should have left the funeral suit on.”
“You said you’d kill him if I didn’t come. Well, I kept my promise. I came here alone.”
“I never promised I’d let him go. I just said, ‘if you want to see him alive again, come alone.’ He’s alive. I kept my promise.”
“What do want from me? Just let him go, and it’s yours. You want a record deal? You want to sing songs for Satan yourself, be a big star? I can make that happen, man. I’ve got the money and the connections to give you anything you want.”
“I’ll have all I want from Satan. He is the true Master. You still think you can offer me more than he can.”
“Look, I just don’t know what you want me to do.”
“Recant your denial of the Master.”
“From that interview?” Jake asked, still stunned all of this could spring from one honest answer in a magazine interview.
“You said it was all a show. None of it was real. What is in your music is the most real thing in my life. I see the true path through your music. That can’t all be a lie. You mocked the Master, and you have to pay.”
“You don’t think killing my sister was enough to make me pay?” Jake choked back all the horrible things he wanted to say. This was the man who had violated and killed Jessica, made her suffer a death too horrible to even contemplate. And now he had to stand here and play games with him. He glanced back and Tony and steeled his resolve. “I have already paid for anything I said in any interview.”
“Yes, you’ve paid, but you still have to recant your denial. And atone.”
“It was a dumb ass thing for me to say. My manager told me to say it,” Jake said, hoping he could be a fluent and convincing liar. “You know, all those Moral Majority assholes are on our backs, with all the record burning, and the evangelists are all accusing us of putting backward messages on the albums…the management was afraid of the negative impact on sales if I said what I really felt in that interview. So they told me going in to play down the Satanic angle, like it didn’t mean anything. Man, it was a stupid thing to do, but I didn’t think I had a choice.”
“We always have choices,” Sallinger said, moving away from Tony a bit. Jake longed to say or do something to comfort his friend as he watched Tony’s chest heaving with panic-induced hyperventilation. But he had to stay focused on playing the game with Sallinger, who seemed to be taking the bait. “You could have stood behind what you believed. The Master would have granted you all the wealth you think you had to lie to keep.”
“You’re right. I know that now. I mean, my life fell apart after I told that stupid lie, after I denied what I really believed, and if I’d been honest, none of this would have happened. I just don’t know what to do to fix it now.”
“You have to atone. Make a sacrifice to the Master that shows how you feel about him. That shows he is above all else in your life.”
“Like what?” Jake knew the answer, but Sallinger needed to feel he was imparting wisdom.
“I’ve read in the magazines what you always say about your band, how you’re all such good friends, but you always say that you and Tony have been best friends since you were kids.”
“That’s right,” Jake admitted, nodding. “But I already gave up my sister.”
“Not freely, you didn’t. That was a punishment inflicted on you. You didn’t voluntarily give her life. This would be a gift to the Master to atone for your mockery. To show your faith and that he is above all else to you.”
“Is that why you killed your parents?” Jake asked.
“The sacrifice had to be difficult,” he said, seeming a little unnerved. “Satan must be above everything and everyone else.”
“Is there some kind of ceremony? I never really did any kind of formal ceremonies before,” Jake said, hoping the admission didn’t invalidate all he’d been claiming to believe. Sallinger smiled, a feral, sickening smile. Jake flicked a glance at the boy with the gun. He hadn’t faltered in aiming it directly at Jake. They weren’t a particularly experienced or impressive group, but there were six of them, and Tony was not only restrained, but injured. They didn’t stand a chance making a direct escape attempt.
“I will guide you,” Sallinger said, his smile widening. He held the knife out toward Jake, laid across both hands. Jake took it, his hand shaking a little as he saw the blood on the blade, and when he realized that it was probably the same knife that had slit Jessica’s throat. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back tears. Don’t lose it now. You’ve got him where you want him. You’re holding a knife, dumb ass. Don’t think about it.
Jake smiled, looking at Sallinger.
“You can almost feel the power in the knife,” he said, and Sallinger looked delighted.
“That’s how I feel. Like the Master’s power is in my hands and flowing into the blade.” He led the way to the altar, letting Jake come behind it with him, close to Tony. He watched Jake’s expression like a hawk as they approached Tony, as Jake got his first look at Tony’s injuries.
Not only was his face battered and swollen, but “666” had been cut into the flesh of his stomach with the knife Jake now held. Jake swallowed convulsively, his ulcer searing him, the bile rising in his throat. By sheer force of will, he refused to let it win. The pain was nearly blinding now, and the continuous waves of nausea were relentless.
“Master, your servants call on you to come to them now. Make your presence known.” Sallinger waited, hopefully, but nothing happened. “Master, we humbly ask your forgiveness for the mockery made of your name by one of your disciples. Please, show us your favor with a sign.” Again, they all waited silently. A light breeze blew through the old building, stirring the leaves and debris on the floor. It was just a draft, but it seemed to satisfy Sallinger. “Ask for the Master’s forgiveness, and tell him what you offer him for it,” he said to Jake.
“M-Master,” Jake began, struggling more with the churning in his gut than what to say. He was a lyric writer, after all, and he’d been writing this melodramatic devil worship crap for a few years now. “Master, I ask your forgiveness for my denial of you, and my mockery of your name. I play my music to give glory to you and to bring to you strong disciples like Miles, who devote their lives and their hearts to you. I have denied you publicly, and I ask your forgiveness for my weakness. I offer you…” He swallowed, feeling tears burn behind his eyelids at even saying the words, and at the agony on Tony’s face. “I offer you what I hold most dear. My most treasured friend,” he said, feeling the tears rolling down his cheeks now, his eyes locked with Tony’s. “I offer you the most precious thing I could offer you to atone for what I’ve done, in hopes you will forgive me and allow me back into your service.”
In the distance, a dog barked and howled….
“Starsky, slow down,” Hutch said, holding a flashlight out the window to get a better look at the large black Great Dane that prowled the shoulder of the road, barking and howling vociferously. “I think it’s Spike.”
Starsky brought the car to a halt.
“Hutch, be careful.” Starsky drew his weapon. “We don’t know he’s gonna be friendly.”
“He was at the house,” Hutch said, getting out of the car. “Hey, there, Spike,” he said calmly, approaching the overwrought animal as he continued barking. The dog moved away then, trotting back toward the trees, then paused, barking again. “He wants us to follow him.”
“Swell,” Starsky muttered, noticing they were at the entrance to an old cemetery. Of all the places along the road they could have found a clue to Jake’s whereabouts, this wouldn’t have been his choice. It was dark now, and the tombstones stood out too-white against the shadows of night. The trees rustled, and the dog howled mournfully. Starsky couldn’t help thinking of the poor morons in the horror movies who always ended up visiting Dracula’s crypt just after sunset.
“You’ve got to admit, Starsk, this would be Sallinger’s idea of a great place.”
“Yeah, well it ain’t mine,” he said, falling into step with his partner as they followed the dog who was silent now, just determinedly leading the way back into the cemetery. “Check that out,” he said, gesturing toward the mausoleum that stood at the end of the path, the old van and Jake’s black Porsche parked nearby.
“Great.” Hutch pulled out his hand-held radio to contact Arturo and Lizzie, who were searching in a nearby area. “Zebra Three to Zebra Nine, we’ve located the suspect. He’s got at least two hostages and possibly as many as five accomplices. We’re at the Oak Meadow Cemetery on Foster Road, about twenty miles west of Gable Road.”
“We copy you, Zebra Three. We’re on our way. ETA about ten minutes,” Arturo’s voice came over the small speaker.
“When you get here, hold off until we give you a signal.”
“Ten-four, Zebra Three.”
“Now what?” Starsky asked.
“Front door’s open,” Hutch said, shrugging. “Let’s have a look.”
“What about him?” Starsky asked, indicating Spike, who was standing by their sides, silent now, as if he knew his silence was necessary.
“Bring him along. We might need him.”
“You bring him along,” Starsky retorted. “Or you could just ride him in.”
“Spike, heel,” Hutch said, and the dog just looked at him, tilting his head. “You think Jake ever took him to obedience training?”
“Jake and Spike in an obedience class? I don’t see it.” Starsky drew his weapon. “Ready?”
“No,” Hutch said, drawing his weapon, “but let’s go.”
The forlorn howl of the dog seemed in keeping with the murky atmosphere and the horror of the moment. Jake recognized it as Spike, and prayed that meant the dog was where he could do them some good. That somehow, man and dog had managed to communicate enough to enlist the animal’s help. Swallowing again, he finished his little speech, resolving to end this once and for all.
“In Satan’s name, I offer this sacrifice.” He raised the knife high above his head, but spun on his heel and plunged it into Miles Sallinger’s chest with all the strength he possessed. A shot rang out, and he felt it buzz past his ear as Sallinger’s body crumpled at his feet, a surprised look on his face, frozen forever in glassy eyes. He braced himself for another gunshot, one that would hit its target this time, and it came, but there was no pain.
“Police, don’t move!” He recognized Hutchinson’s voice, and hoping that order wasn’t for him, he turned back to Tony and started frantically tugging at the rope holding his wrists down to the altar.
The figure that had been armed with a gun was in a heap on the floor, the gun several inches from his outstretched hand. Jake kicked it farther away before going back to the rope, which wasn’t budging at all.
“Somebody help me with this!” he shouted, desperate to free Tony from the altar, to get him medical help.
“We’re a little busy, Jake,” Starsky said, handcuffing one of the four uninjured conspirators who had surrendered willingly. They were lined up against one wall of the mausoleum, hands against the surface of the wall crypts. Hutch was cuffing another. Fortunately, more footsteps followed, and in a moment, cops filled the horrid chamber, cuffing the other two of Sallinger’s followers. Another cop crouched to check the vital signs of the man who was shot.
As two more detectives arrived to help secure the scene, Starsky and Hutch went to help Jake, who was clawing at the rope on Tony’s wrist, feeling more and more hysterical as the knot refused to budge.
“Let go, Jake,” Starsky said, pulling him back a step or two while Hutch moved closer and cut the ropes with a pocket knife. It was hard not to sag against the support of the hands gripping his upper arms briefly, but Jake had made it this far without wimping out, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“He needs an ambulance,” Jake said, stating the obvious. He still battled the antics of his ulcer, but despite the pain in his gut and the blood on his hands, all he could think about was getting Tony out of that hellish place.
“We’ve got more help on the way. It looks superficial,” Hutch said. “Tony, are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, and Tony blinked, focusing on Hutch as he spoke.
“I think I’m okay,” he managed. “You did good,” he added, reaching a little feebly toward Jake who grasped the outstretched hand in both of his.
“I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.” Jake swallowed the urge to break down, refusing to let all this get to him now. Tony was the one who was hurt. He needed help, someone to be strong for him.
“For what? Saving my ass?”
“This is because of me. It should have been me.” Jake was finding the emotion harder to fight now, but it was true. Tony had been tortured just because Jake loved him, and Sallinger, the perverted little psycho that he was, knew that.
“Tony, we’re gonna leave you right where you are until the ambulance gets here. Save you moving around a lot more if you’re okay with that,” Starsky said, and Tony nodded.
“Make him get checked out,” Tony said, inclining his head toward Jake. “His ulcer’s probably turned into a fireball by now.”
“You’re worried about my ulcer?” Jake asked, incredulous. Then, feeling Tony needed something to focus on besides pain and misery, he added, “So why aren’t you worried about it when you want to stop the bus for Taco Bell at three in the morning?”
Despite the horror of their surroundings and all he’d been through, Tony actually laughed. Jake felt a nudge from behind him, and he turned to see Spike there.
“He signaled us at the road, or we probably wouldn’t have found this place so soon,” Hutch explained. As soon as Jake turned toward him, the dog jumped up with his paws on Jake’s shoulders.
“Yeah, you’re Daddy’s good puppy, aren’t you?” he crooned, hugging and stroking the dog.
“I think I’m gonna puke,” Tony muttered from behind him.
“More like Daddy’s good Clydesdale,” Starsky mumbled, still eyeing the big dog with trepidation.
Jake rode in the ambulance with Tony, followed by Starsky and Hutch in the Torino. Lizzie and Arturo were making sure the remains of Sallinger’s little cult were booked and processed downtown until the two lead detectives on the case returned to headquarters.
“We could have probably gone back to the station,” Hutch said. “They’ll be fine.”
“We’ll hang around until the rest of the band gets to the hospital. Besides, we can take Jake’s statement while Tony’s being checked out.”
“You think Jeffries is making friends with Spike?” Hutch asked, referring to the cop who had volunteered to transport the giant dog back to the Miller estate.
“If he’s got aftershave on, Spike’s probably making friends with him,” Starsky responded, remembering the big dog’s fondness for his aftershave.
“Jake did a pretty good job getting their fat out of the fire. Of course, Sallinger’s guy with the gun would have blown his head off if we’d shown up a few seconds later than we did,” Hutch said.
“Yeah, that’s true. But then laying down your life for the person you love isn’t a tough decision,” he added, reaching for Hutch, their hands clasping. “I don’t think he would’ve made it through losing Tony, anyway.”
“How do you think that’ll play out?” Hutch asked.
“Well, Tony’s lying on a sacrificial altar with ‘666’ gouged into his flesh, and his main worry is Jake’s ulcer. Knowing what those perverts did to his sister, Jake walks into the middle of it, by himself, resigned to the idea of dying for Tony. I think they’ve got a pretty solid foundation to build on.”
“Remind you of any other couple we know?” Hutch squeezed Starsky’s hand.
“Still upset that I told him about us?”
“It was risky, but no, I’m not upset he knows. Besides, they’ll probably stay as far in the closet for their jobs as we have to for ours.”
Jake walked alongside the gurney until he was instructed to wait outside as Tony was wheeled into an examining room. As the swinging doors closed, he rested his hands against one of them and looked through the small square window, straining to see what was happening with his friend.
“Jake?” Starsky approached him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “They’ll take good care of him. This is a good hospital.”
“Sounds like the voice of experience,” Jake said, reluctantly leaving the door and walking toward the waiting room, where Hutch was making a phone call.
“This is where I spent quite a bit of time after my shooting. They have a good staff, good facilities. Tony’ll be fine.”
“How can you be fine after something like that? You know what it feels like when you cut your finger, for God’s sake. I can’t even picture what kind of pain that was…” Jake dropped into a chair and slumped back in it. “Is Sallinger dead?”
“Very,” Starsky responded.
“Shit. If I was gonna kill the guy, I would have liked to make it last.”
“What you did was self defense. Justifiable homicide by any definition. Don’t let anybody else hear you make a remark like that,” Starsky advised.
“Dumb thing to say to the cops, huh?” Jake ran his hand back through his hair.
“You should get checked out. Did you ever take the pills you forgot?” Starsky asked.
“The pain’s easing off a little now. They checked my blood pressure and stuff in the ambulance.”
“I could get you a milk from the cafeteria.”
“Really? Thanks, man,” Jake said, seeming surprised by the gesture. “That might help.”
“Be right back.” Starsky patted Jake’s knee as he rose, heading down the all-too-familiar hall toward the cafeteria. Meanwhile, Hutch finished his phone call.
“Nick, Steve, and Doug are on their way over with your grandmother,” he said. “Rick Lucas is escorting them, just to be on the safe side, but I think we got everybody you need to worry about.”
“Grandma should have stayed home and rested. This is too much for her.”
“She’s pretty tough, Jake. Besides, I have a feeling she wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”
“Yeah, our whole family are a bunch of stubborn assholes,” Jake said, smiling tiredly.
“You realize you almost got your head blown off tonight.”
“I know. He said ‘no cops.’ I’m sorry I lied to you, but I was afraid they’d kill him. Truth is, when I got there, I was sorry I’d been such a Lone Ranger about the whole thing, but it was too late to turn back.”
“You feel up to giving a statement tonight?”
“Sure. As soon as I know Tony’s okay and see Grandma and the guys, I’ll give you anything you want.”
Starsky returned then with three cartons of chocolate milk.
“Didn’t want you to feel left out, Blondie,” he teased, handing one to Hutch.
“Gee, thanks. I could use a beer right now,” Hutch said, opening the little carton.
“Thanks for this,” Jake said, taking a couple of gulps. “Might keep my stomach from rotting for a few more hours.” He looked at his hands that still held traces of Miles Sallinger’s blood. “They had some of those little wet towelette things in the ambulance, but they didn’t really do the job.” Jake’s hand shook noticeably when he held it out. He clenched it into a fist and kept it in his lap. “Nerves of steel, huh?”
“You’re not a cop. Nobody expects you to kill a guy and go through everything you did tonight without being a little rattled,” Hutch said sympathetically.
“That was some mighty impressive driving earlier,” Starsky said, hoping to distract Jake for a moment to something less upsetting, at least until he’d had a chance to finish the milk.
“Thanks. My cars are kind of an off-hours hobby. I’ve been known to do a little fast driving on Gable Road before today. Don’t tell your friends with the radar, okay?”
“I think we can probably let that slide,” Starsky replied.
“You’re not bad behind the wheel yourself. That car is pretty awesome. I’ll give you ten grand for it.”
“What?” Hutch almost choked on his milk. “You want to give him ten grand for an eight-year-old car?”
“Tony’s always wanted a muscle car, and I know that one has an engine in it that really kicks ass. I had to floor it to get away from you in a Porsche. Oh, wait–is this gonna get me in trouble? It’s not a bribe or anything. I just wanna buy your car.”
“Ten thousand dollars?” Hutch repeated.
“It’s not for sale,” Starsky said defensively.
“Fifteen,” Jake replied, and Hutch simply stared at the two men, incredulous. He wasn’t sure what was more shocking–Jake’s ease in tossing money around in five-thousand-dollar increments, or Starsky’s steadfast refusal to do business.
“I’m not ready to part with it just yet, but if I do, I’ll give you first chance.”
“For fifteen grand, you probably will,” Jake said, laughing. “You seriously won’t sell it to me for that?”
“I seriously don’t want to sell my car.”
“Wow. Must be a good car. Now I really want it,” Jake quipped, finishing his milk. “Actually, I probably would have given you fifteen grand for that carton of milk. Thanks again.”
“I shoulda held out for a better deal, but you’re welcome,” Starsky said, laughing. Just then, the doctor came out, and they all rose.
“Which one of you is Jake?” he asked. The older man with thick gray hair had a friendly smile as he approached the group.
“I am,” Jake said. “How is he?”
“He’s asking for you, so you can go in and see him for a couple minutes before we do his stitches. The good news is that his injuries are painful but superficial. He’s got a black eye, a split lip, and some facial bruising, but no fractures. The cuts to his stomach didn’t go deep enough to do any internal damage–they’re flesh wounds. We’re going to have a plastic surgeon do the sutures tonight–he’s on his way. He’ll be able to tell you more about scarring, but my guess would be that plastic surgery could obscure the pattern so it’s not readable. I would assume he’d always have some scarring in that area, though. We’re sedating him now, so if you want to see him while he’s awake, you can go in.”
“Thanks, Doctor,” Jake said, hurrying toward the exam room.
“Will he be able to make a statement tonight?” Hutch asked.
“Not a coherent one. He’s in a lot of pain, and he’s been through a lot. If it can wait until morning, you’ll get a better statement, and it’ll be easier on him.”
“That’s fine. Thanks, Doctor,” Starsky said, identifying with Jake’s relief as he headed for the exam room to see Tony. Hutch and he had been through that scenario way too many times.
Jake approached the gurney where Tony lay, looking very relaxed now. The lines of anguish and terror were gone from his expression, and whatever drugs they’d given him were having the desired effect. The nurse who was checking the IV when Jake arrived now left the room, making notes on a chart.
“Hey,” Jake said, not quite sure what else to say. There was so much he wanted to tell Tony, and he so badly needed to see his reaction, but this probably wasn’t the time to dump declarations of undying love on him.
“Hey, yourself. It’s not your fault,” Tony said, and the words hit Jake like a ton of bricks. All the emotion he’d pushed down seemed to bubble to the surface. He pulled a little stool on wheels up to the side of the gurney, sitting down and taking the hand Tony offered him.
“They did this to you because of me,” he said, letting a few tears escape now. “Because you went to get my stupid fucking pills,” he added.
“It’s not your fault you need pills, and it’s not your fault this happened.” Tony pulled his hand away to reach up and rest it against the side of Jake’s head. “Quit tearing yourself up.”
Jake put his head down on the mattress and cried.
“I killed him,” he muttered. “His blood is still on my hands. I’m so sorry I didn’t get there sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t even think about it when you went to get those pills.”
Tony stroked Jake’s hair slowly. “You got there when they wanted you to get there. It’s okay, pal. I’m gonna be okay. We’re both alive, and it wasn’t looking so great for a while there.”
“I love you,” Jake blurted, looking up at him through bleary eyes. It wasn’t quite the moment he’d planned, but he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “And look what I did to you.”
“You didn’t do anything. Any more than you did anything to Jessie. You’re a victim, too, Jake. We’re all victims of this damn thing, but we’ll be okay.” He paused. “I love you, too. You know that.”
“I didn’t mean blood-brother love.”
“Neither did I.” Tony yawned. “After all these years of not doing drugs, maybe I’ve been missing something. These are good drugs here,” he said, drifting toward sleep.
“You’re not disgusted?”
“Come here,” he said, tugging on a lock of Jake’s hair. Jake leaned forward, and was startled when Tony’s hand pressed against the back of his head. Before he knew it, their lips were touching, clinging, just the barest brush of tongue-tips teasing one another before Tony seemed to lose his ability to fight the sedatives any longer, and withdrew from the kiss, resting his hand on the bed again. “To be continued…” he murmured, yawning as he dozed off, leaving Jake hunched over him with a silly grin plastered on his face.
Scott Kennedy sat slumped in a chair at the interrogation table, looking much less impressive now that he was clad in a t-shirt and jeans, his hooded robe confiscated upon his arrest. He was seventeen years old, a classmate of Miles Sallinger. He also considered himself a disciple of Satan. Hutch wondered how many years of therapy Kennedy’s parents would waste money on trying to untwist his twisted psyche.
“My associate said you wanted to make a deal,” Hutch said, sitting across from him at the table. “You don’t have a lot to bargain with, my friend, so you better make it good.”
“I’ll tell you everything.”
“Sallinger’s dead. Your buddy…” Hutch opened the file folder to read the name, “Greg Shuster, who was waving the gun around is dead, too. So who are you going to give us? Satan?”
“Pretty close,” he said. “I’ll give you the brains behind this whole thing.”
“That’s not Sallinger?” Hutch asked.
“You thought Miles did all this by himself?”
“You’re saying he didn’t?”
“Nope,” Scott said, smiling. “You’re interested now, huh?”
“If what you have to say is good.”
“Didn’t it ever seem weird to you that this guy who was out to get Jake Miller just happened to live in the same town as the girls’ school where his sister went?”
“It was a coincidence, definitely.”
“Yeah, sure it was. Miles has a cousin in Bay City. Mike Ingalls,” he added.
“Ingalls?” Hutch repeated.
“Jessie Miller’s old boyfriend. Jake Miller caught them together, and I guess he really humiliated Mike, threatened to cut his dick off or something. Anyway, Mike was really pissed off about it.”
“How did Miles figure into it? Why didn’t Ingalls try to get back at Jake himself?”
“Because Miles was really into 666, and it was too easy to get him upset about Jake Miller–what he said in that magazine interview. You gotta understand, Miles was into devil worship before he got into 666. He bought their albums just because of the name of the band. He thought it was some kind of sign.”
“You didn’t buy into all that?”
“I thought it was interesting. Kinda creepy, like a good slasher movie. I never meant to get into stuff this big league. I don’t think Mike was ever really into it as much as Miles, either, but he came up to visit one weekend, and they got drunk, and then they got high, and Mike started talking about Jessie Miller. When Miles defended Jake, because he was so into 666, Mike told him what Jake said in the magazine interview. Miles got really upset. He went out to a convenience store that was open all night so he could get the magazine with the interview in it. He read it and freaked out.”
“You don’t think he would have done any of this on his own, without Mike?”
“Nah, I don’t think so. Miles is a little weird, and he has some seriously sick ideas, but Mike pushed him into doing something about it. He got him all charged up on the idea he could make Jake Miller pay by going after Jessie, and that Jessie had it coming anyway for being a prick tease–Mike’s words for her.”
“How would Ingalls make all this happen?”
“He was Miles’ big connection to the music business,” Scott said, snorting a laugh. “He worked at the box office at one of the big arenas in LA. He finally lost his job for funneling all that stuff to Miles. He claimed he quit, but Miles said he got fired. He was stealing the tickets and passes. Mike was nothing important at the arena where he worked, but he had access to tickets and passes that were held at the box office for special guests. He’d pilfer the stuff from that supply and then claim they just came up short. That kinda stuff only goes so long before you get caught.”
“So he used the tickets to get Matt Proctor in on the act?”
“Right,” Scott said. “Matt was really looking for a way to impress Jessie, so those tickets and passes for the Priest concert were definitely good for that. She was real excited about it. I don’t know if her brother doesn’t know them, and couldn’t get her in to meet them, because usually, she didn’t care about stuff like that. Matt said she’d met half the good bands in the business, and the other half she mostly didn’t care about meeting.”
“Did they ever make it to the concert?”
“Oh, yeah. They went, and when they came out, we jumped them in the parking lot and took them to the mausoleum. We stashed them there a couple days before…before Miles did the ceremony. I swear to God, I had no idea he was gonna really kill them. I thought he was gonna scare ’em a little, party a little with Jessie, and let them go.”
“Party with Jessie? So you knew he was going to rape her, at least?”
“I figured that was what he wanted to do, or maybe it was what Mike wanted him to do. To get back at her for last year. Mike kept saying she was a slut, real easy, that she’d probably do it with all of us…” Scott was quiet a moment. “I think he was lying. She didn’t want it. I wanted to help her…” Scott sighed. “I was too chicken shit to stand up to Miles, and Greg always had that gun–it was one his dad kept at home. That whole night just kept getting weirder and weirder. We were smoking pot, drinking wine, listening to 666 and some other stuff like it, and everything was kind of…unreal. I just focused on getting high and drunk, because I didn’t want to think about what we were doing. He made Matt watch.”
“Nice guy, your friend Miles,” Hutch said.
“He did this whole ceremony with killing a goat, making us all drink some of its blood…it was bizarre how into this he was. Everything he did, I thought it would be the last thing, the worst thing…right up until he killed Matt. After he…finished with Jessie, he did this ceremony and said all these weird prayers to Satan, and we had to chant along. By then, I was pretty wasted, so I guess I was chanting. I don’t remember all that much about it. I know Jessie was screaming all the time, and Miles seemed to get off on that. He took a couple pictures. Said he was gonna send one to Jake Miller. I guess he didn’t do that. I know he mailed a couple to Mike.”
Hutch made a note to look for the photos when they searched Mike Ingalls’ apartment.
“He killed her boyfriend in front of her, then?” Hutch asked.
“Yeah. Then he killed her. It was like a sick nightmare.”
“But you stuck around with Miles after it happened–you were part of his little group when they were torturing Tony Patterson and planning to kill Jake Miller.”
“You didn’t know Miles. He was a psycho. I said I wanted out, and you know what he said? He told me my little sister was really cute and he’d like to get to know her better. She’s thirteen, man. I was scared of the crazy bastard. He kept talking about killing his parents. I never really doubted he would follow through. I couldn’t figure out how to get away from him. My parents are divorced, so my mom and sister are alone a lot of the time. Miles knew that. He’d met them both, been in my house. Any time someone questioned him, he’d tell us we were with him or against him and Satan, and we’d pay.”
“What part did Mike play in all this?”
“Not much after getting the tickets. Miles was crazy enough to do it all himself. Mike didn’t have to get involved too much after that. He wasn’t even there when Jessie and Matt were killed.”
“We’ll have more detailed questions for you later, Scott. I’m sure we can work out a plea bargain with the DA for your help.”
“Man, that’d be great. I never wanted to see anybody actually die. I guess I thought Miles was playing around until I saw how he went after Jessie, and that she wasn’t this horny slut Mike said she was.” Scott paused, chewing his lower lip. “Uh, would you tell Jake Miller I’m sorry? I know it won’t mean much, but I was kind of thinking about Sara, my little sister, when things were happening with Jessie… I shoulda said something sooner.”
“I’ll mention it to him,” Hutch said, uncertain yet if he would mention anything to Jake about the conversation. Sallinger was dead, but plenty of the gory details would come out in Mike Ingalls’ trial. Knowing Jake, he’d be in the front row of the courtroom for every minute of it.
Starsky met Hutch in the hall outside the interrogation room with a fresh cup of coffee. It had been a long night, and they weren’t going to get any sleep before the funeral later that morning, so the shot of caffeine was a godsend. Starsky had been on the phone with Rick Lucas, who was keeping an eye on the band’s comings and goings, just in case there were any loose ends of Sallinger’s cult left unaccounted for. Lucas and a couple of uniformed officers were spending the final hours before Jessica’s funeral between the hospital and the Miller place, and reported everything had been quiet.
“Well?”
“Mike Ingalls is Miles Sallinger’s cousin,” Hutch said. “We need to get over to Ingalls’ place. I’ll explain in the car.”
“You said Kennedy claims Sallinger took pictures?” Starsky said, drumming his hand on the wheel, irritated with the stoplight that was delaying them. Lights and sirens could spook Ingalls before they had a chance to corner him, so they were sentenced to obeying the traffic laws, at least minimally, until they reached their destination.
“I keep thinking he can’t get much sicker, and then he surprises me, even though the bastard’s on Ginny’s slab.”
“You remember how Jake said he wasn’t good about opening his mail?”
“You think the photos might still be in that mess of papers on his desk?” Hutch asked.
“I’m thinking we should call Rick and have him check. Last I heard, he was at the house. They’re evidence.” Starsky started away from the stoplight. “And I’d rather one of the cops opened them than Jake or Ida.”
“Zebra Three to Central.” Hutch paused, and when the dispatcher responded, he said, “Patch me through to 555-9682.” When the patch-through was completed, and the phone rang, a male voice answered. “This is Detective Hutchinson–”
“Hey. It’s Tony.”
“What are you doing there? I thought you were in the hospital?”
“Jessie’s funeral is in an hour. We’re just getting ready to leave. I can’t move around too much because of the stitches, but I’m not missing the funeral. Jake sweet-talked a nurse into letting us borrow a wheelchair, and I made my escape early this morning. What’s up?”
“Is Rick Lucas there?”
“Yeah, hang on.” There was a brief pause.
“Lucas here.”
“Rick, it’s Hutch. Are you in the library?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I need you to check the mail piled up under the roll-top on the desk. Jake said he isn’t good about opening his mail, and one of our perps claims Sallinger may have mailed him photos of Jessica.”
“Sick little mother, wasn’t he? Hang on a sec.” There was a sound of shuffling papers and male voices, and in a moment, Jake’s voice came over the line.
“What’s going on? Rick here’s digging through my mail looking for evidence, he says. I told you you could have whatever you wanted. Why the cloak and dagger?”
“We just found out that Sallinger may have mailed you something else, and if he did, and it’s there, it may still have prints on it if it’s handled properly.”
“He’s dead, what do you need his prints for?”
“Miles wasn’t in this alone.”
“No shit. I was there last night, remember?”
“I’m not talking about his buddies in the black dresses,” Hutch said. “I’m talking about another accomplice we just found out about.”
“Accomplice?”
“Look, we’ll explain everything later, after the funeral.”
“Does this mean we still need to really worry about all this security?”
“I’d strongly suggest taking it seriously until we get this jerk in custody,” Hutch replied.
“Yeah, okay, we’ve gotta get started, you know, head over to the church.” Jake was quiet a moment. “Are you coming to the funeral?”
“If we can. We’re on a call right now, but if we get things wrapped up, we’ll be there. Otherwise, Rick will be in charge of keeping things secure.”
“I wasn’t talking about security. Rick’s a good guy, I’m sure he’s got the bases covered.” He paused. “You guys have really gone above and beyond with this, keeping an eye on all of us…saving my stupid ass when I took off without you. I know you must’ve bent some rules to get us police protection today. It’d be nice if you could make it.”
“We’ll do our best. And Rick’s an off-duty volunteer, so that’s how we got you good protection today.”
“I think Rick’s got something for you.” Jake handed over the phone to Rick.
“There’s a sealed envelope with no return address, and the printing looks like that other envelope you showed me that Sallinger sent the letter in. I’ve got it bagged, and I’ll hang onto it until after the funeral.”
“Great. Thanks, Rick. Don’t let on to Jake what’s in it.”
“No problem. Later.” With that, Rick hung up the phone.
“Guess that backs up Kennedy’s story,” Starsky said.
“Someone should probably cut Miles Sallinger’s brain open to try to figure out what makes him tick. There doesn’t seem to be any limits to his perversions.”
“I don’t know as it does anybody any good to understand a psycho like that. I don’t want to understand him. I’m just glad Jake’s good with a knife. Saved the taxpayers a lot of money and grief.”
“Starsky and Hutch said you were in a band,” Jake said. Rick was riding in the limo with the band and Ida, heading for the church.
“I still think I should be out there instead of inside the limo,” Rick responded, ignoring Jake’s question. “We know you’re all safe in here.”
“Nice diversion,” Tony said, smiling faintly. The band had followed through on their plan to go to the funeral in full stage attire, and despite Jake’s amateur artistry with a pair of scissors to relieve the pressure the waist of the leather pants would have put on Tony’s stitches, he still looked uncomfortable. “Hey, Jake, if I stand up too fast, my pants are gonna be around my ankles. I think you cut these too much.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time you mooned somebody in your stage gear,” Jake responded, deadpan. Tony gave him a playful kick in the shin in response.
“Yeah, I’m in a band. I don’t get as much time to put in on it as I’d like. The job’s pretty demanding.”
“You haven’t mentioned it at all, since you’ve been hanging out with us, giving us protection.”
“What bearing does it have on anything? Besides, if I were going to talk shop with you, it wouldn’t be on the day of your sister’s funeral.”
“Hutch said you were off duty. So you could be putting in some time on it right now if you weren’t riding with us,” Jake said.
“I suppose that’s true. But this seemed a little more important than tuning my guitar.”
“Where do you play?” Nick asked.
“Mostly local clubs. We did a couple private parties in the past, but I don’t want to get back into that. We’ve played one or two clubs in LA, but I usually can’t work it out with my schedule, so…” He shrugged. “Finding missing people isn’t something I do for rent money. It means as much to me as my music. So I have to balance the two.”
“I always thought Missing Persons was the boring department to work in,” Doug said.
“Don’t hold back, man, just say what you think,” Tony said, shaking his head.
“It can be. It’s as boring or as interesting as you make it. Every missing person is a mystery. People don’t evaporate. There’s an answer to every open case in the file cabinets–if it’s from this year or twenty years ago. I just have to find it. I found forty-year-old bones once. Man, that was a rush.”
“You mean the person had been missing for forty years?” Ida asked, her eyes widening.
“Yeah. It was a missing child case from back during the World War II era. I was screwing around one afternoon, not really having any good leads on my current cases, going through the old files, and it caught my eye. The kid would have been almost the age of my parents by now. I found a couple inconsistencies in the statements made by one of the family members, and that was the last person who saw the little boy alive. He was a tough old bird. I talked to him at the nursing home, and he was still cool as could be. I went out and interviewed his daughters, and one of them, who was about the same age as the missing boy at that time, remembered hearing and seeing…some things. The long and short of it is that we found the bones under the garage on the property where they’d been living at the time.”
“I remember reading about that in the paper. That was a creepy case,” Doug said.
“It was, but it felt great to stamp that sucker ‘closed’ and see that little boy laid to rest. His mother was still alive, and she was just…she knew he was dead. I mean, you don’t disappear for forty years and then turn up alive, at least, not usually in real life. But to know what happened, where, who did it, and to finally bury her son… Kind of makes it all worthwhile.”
“If you made it big in the music business, you wouldn’t be digging for forty-year-old bones anymore,” Jake said, smiling.
“I’d miss it. My dad teases me that I’m worse than a guy with two wives. Love ’em both and can’t choose either one,” Rick said, grinning.
“You’re working a missing child case now, aren’t you?” Jake asked.
“It’s a real tangled mess. Prominent family, missing little girl, and my favorite suspect is one of Bay City’s big-money guys. He’s got all sorts of ties. The girl’s his stepdaughter. I just really don’t like that guy. He gives me that crawly feeling I get around pedo–hey, this isn’t the kind of conversation you probably want to listen to, Mrs. Miller,” Rick said, casting an apologetic glance at Ida.
“I never missed an episode of Columbo,” she said. “Don’t stop on my account. Besides, I think it’s good for all of us to get our minds on something else for even a few minutes.”
Mike Ingalls’ apartment was empty when Starsky and Hutch finally kicked in the door, after announcing their presence and getting no reply from inside the dwelling. It was obvious Ingalls had left in a hurry, food still out on the kitchen counter. His clothes were missing from the bedroom closet, and the dresser drawers were open, a few neglected pairs of men’s underwear and other odds and ends scattered on the floor.
“Damn!” Hutch cursed, taking in the scene. “What about Linda Fields?”
“Let’s go talk to the lady,” Starsky said. “Think she’ll be home?”
“Maybe the landlord knows where she works.”
“She probably went with Ingalls.”
“Maybe, maybe not. One way to find out,” Hutch concluded, leading the way out of Ingalls’ apartment. “Seal this place off,” he said to the uniformed cops in the hall. “Nobody in or out until we have a chance to search the place.”
“Better radio Rick and let him know Ingalls might be a problem,” Starsky said. “I’ll run downstairs and call.”
“He’s probably obsessive enough to try something, but it would be damn stupid. He should be on his way out of town.”
“Miles Sallinger should have left well enough alone after killing Jessica and Matt Proctor, but these nuts don’t seem too long on brains when it comes to strategy.”
Hutch’s knock on Linda Fields’ door was answered by a petite young woman with a substantial mane of teased and coiffed blonde hair. She was dressed in jeans and a ruffled pink blouse, large earrings dangling from her ears.
“Linda Fields?” Hutch asked.
“Yes,” she responded, looking confused when he flashed his badge.
“Detective Hutchinson, Bay City Police. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Mike Ingalls.”
“Mike? Okay,” she said, still seeming hesitant. “Come in,” she added, standing aside as he entered. There was a sound of clanging as she opened the door wider. “Did Mike do something?” Hutch noticed a set of wind chimes hanging from a nail on the back of her door.
“He might have. Do you know Mike’s whereabouts on the night of October twenty-third?” Hutch asked.
“Uh…well, not right off the top of my head. Hang on. I’ve got a planner. Sit down if you want. It’s in the bedroom,” she said, leaving him in the tidy living room.
Though the furniture was obviously nearly as old as Linda herself, she had decorated it with doilies and colorful throws, and accented the room with a number of trinkets and a few silk flower arrangements. Hutch sat on the couch and waited for her to return. He spotted a waitress’s uniform draped over the back of a chair.
“Where do you work?” he called to her.
“Finningan’s. It’s a bar and grill not far from here,” she said, returning with her planner and sitting in a nearby chair. “Okay, you said the twenty-third, right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Hutch confirmed.
“I worked a day shift, and Mike and I went out that night.”
“About what time did he go home?” Hutch asked.
Linda blushed noticeably. “He stayed over.”
“Are you sure he was here all night?” he persisted.
“I was asleep part of the time, but yes, I’m pretty sure. We’ve had some break-ins here, and I put those wind chimes on the back of my door so I’d hear if anyone came in. I’m a really light sleeper. I don’t think he could have left without me hearing him.”
“Are you positive?”
“Pretty much, but there are some hours between about two in the morning and dawn that I couldn’t swear to. But like I said, he’d have to get past the chimes. I wasn’t drinking that night, and I’m not into drugs, so it’s not like I was passed out or anything.”
“Did Mike ever mention Jessica Miller to you?”
“No… Why does that name sound familiar?”
“How about Jake Miller?”
“The guy from 666? Oh, right, his sister was murdered. Her name was Jessica, wasn’t it? Is that what this is about? You think Mike had something to do with that?”
“He’s a suspect at this point. If he is involved, Ms. Fields, he’s a very dangerous, very sick man. If he tries to contact you, I strongly urge you to get in touch with me immediately,” he said, handing her one of his cards.
“I have a date with him tonight,” she said, the color draining from her face.
“I’ll be surprised if he shows up, but we’ll have a unit watching for him. Given the state of his apartment, it looks as if he’s packed hastily and taken off. Ms. Fields, if you know anything about his whereabouts, or are in any kind of contact with him, please tell me now. I am not kidding when I say he’s dangerous.”
“Honestly, I don’t know where he’d go, and I didn’t know he’d taken off. We had a date tonight, like I told you. I expected him here by about eight, but that’s it, I swear.”
“Okay. Keep your door locked, and call if you hear from him.” Hutch walked to the door, with the nervous young woman close behind him. “These are a smart idea, by the way,” he said, smiling as he toyed briefly with the chimes.
“Thanks. You never told me–why would he be involved in killing Jessica Miller?”
“He dated her when he was in high school, and had an unpleasant confrontation with her brother. She was only fifteen at the time, and he was eighteen.”
“Oh, wow,” she said, leaning against the door frame as Hutch walked into the hall. “If he was with me, though, doesn’t that clear him?”
“Not necessarily. I wish it were that cut and dried. Thank you again for your time.”
Hutch met Starsky at the Torino in the apartment house’s parking lot.
“Any luck?” he asked Hutch.
“She said Ingalls stayed over at her place that night, that she can account for him for all but a few hours. She has some chimes on her door and she’s a light sleeper, so she doesn’t think he could have left without her knowing. How about you?”
“Got a hold of Rick in the limo. He’s on the alert for Ingalls. I called in Ingalls’ name and description. It’s going out to all the airlines and bus lines going out of Bay City. His plate number and car description are going to the Highway Patrol.”
“We’ll nail the little son-of-a-bitch one way or the other,” Hutch replied, getting in the car as Starsky slid behind the wheel to head for the funeral.
Mike Ingalls sat behind the wheel of the large four-wheel-drive Chevy truck. He drummed his hand on the wheel, impatient. He smirked at the St. Christopher medal that looked down on him from the visor. The old man in the apartment downstairs who owned this bucket probably wouldn’t even notice it missing until he toddled out the next morning to go to breakfast. It was filled with all sorts of useless items. The old guy must have kept every piece of junk he’d ever hauled in the damn thing.
His own car was parked on the next street over, ready for his escape, provided he managed to pull this off without killing himself. There’d be a big crowd, lots of screaming and confusion…the chance to get away was pretty good, provided he hit mostly people and managed not to run full speed into the brick wall of the church. Now that might smart, even in this land yacht.
Wait…wait…wait…hurry up and wait. Everything was at just the wrong angle now. Too many cars in the way to get a good shot at the crowd. He smiled as he watched the limo arrive carrying the members of the band, Jake Miller’s old grandmother, and some other guy he didn’t recognize. Judging by his hair and the way he was dressed, he was probably another musician. Tony Patterson needed help getting out of the limo, but refused to sit in the wheelchair one of the guys had pulled from the trunk. Persistent son-of-a-bitch, that one. Should’ve stayed at the hospital, Tony. This ain’t the place to be today.
Jake was torn between being attentive to the words the priest was saying and steeling himself against the emotion they were evoking. His grandmother was already dabbing at her eyes, her other hand clasped in his. She seemed so little and frail now. The thought pulled his emotions closer to the surface. He’d lost his father, now Jessica, and it wouldn’t be long before he had to face the inevitable with Ida. His other hand was squeezed, and he held onto the solace Tony was offering. The fact his friend had managed to get here at all was enough to overwhelm him with emotion. Tony was in pain, and he was out of the hospital against the doctor’s orders, but he was there, and nothing would stop him from being right where he was, at Jake’s side. He’d even refused the wheelchair, insisting it would get in the way and that he could manage on his own.
The crowd of mourners was a sea of teased hair, leather, spandex, and wild colors, sprinkled with the occasional dark suits and conservative dresses of record company executives and parents of Jessica’s close friends. The odd mixture was more than a little incongruous with the interior of a traditional Catholic church, but he knew Jessie would love the all-star farewell. She loved the music scene and relished meeting as many of the musicians in it as Jake could arrange.
During the silence that followed the Communion portion of the Mass, Jake, Steve, Nick, and Doug made their way up to the side of the altar where the church musicians usually performed. Tony didn’t feel up to maneuvering a guitar, so he stayed in the pew with Ida and Rick, whose longish hair and leather jacket made him seem like just one more musician in the crowd.
Jake took a deep breath and approached one of the four mics set up there. Steve and Nick both had guitars, and Doug held a violin, which wasn’t in keeping with his usual wild electric guitar image on stage, but like Jake, he also had a classical background.
“Jessie, this one’s for you, little sister. You loved to sing along with it, and you had such a pretty voice. When I sing it today…” He stopped, swallowing. “When I sing it today, I’m going to hear you in my heart, singing along. I’m going to hear you in my heart for the rest of my life, every song I sing. It hurts so much that you died in the fall, because you loved this time of year, especially going up north, seeing the leaves. So I hope it’s forever autumn where you are, kiddo.”
With that, they began to play the first mournful guitar and violin strains of the song, “Forever Autumn,” Jake wondering how he would sing it when it felt like there was a knife in his chest.
The summer sun was fading as the year grows old
And darker days are drawing near
The winter winds will be much colder
Now you’re not here
Rick watched the musicians performing the song, and he couldn’t imagine being able to perform at the funeral of someone he loved as deeply as Jake obviously loved his younger sister. He’d only sung at one funeral, at the request of a fellow officer’s widow, and even though he wasn’t close to the guy, it had hurt like hell to sing at his funeral. Somehow, Jake was doing it, keeping his voice steady and clear, rising just enough above the other men’s to keep his rightful position as lead singer.
I watched the birds fly south across the autumn sky
And one by one they disappeared
I wish that I was flying with them
Now you’re not here
Tony was talking to Ida in low tones, patting her hand, sitting in for Jake in consoling the elderly woman, as the beautiful but wrenching lyrics of the song were sung by her grandson and his friends.
Through autumn’s golden gown we used to kick our way
You always loved this time of year
Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now
‘Cause you’re not here
‘Cause you’re not here
‘Cause you’re not here
Jake’s face was streaked with tears, and his voice had shaken badly on parts of the last verse, but he’d poured that pain into the words, “‘Cause you’re not here,” until Rick thought he could feel it himself. More than ever, he hoped he could have some role in bringing down Ingalls. This family deserved justice, and it would do his heart good to help them get it.
A gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes
As if to hide a lonely tear
My life will be forever autumn
‘Cause you’re not here
‘Cause you’re not here
‘Cause you’re not here
As they finished the song, Rick didn’t think there was a dry eye in the house. He didn’t even know Jessica Miller, and he found himself swallowing and brushing a hand past his own eyes. The four men returned to their seats, Jake leaning over to hug his grandmother before they all quieted to hear the priest’s final remarks.
Starsky scanned the interior of the church, fully aware that the crowd was just too large and diverse for him to easily spot Mike Ingalls, even if he were fool enough to sacrifice his chance to escape for one more shot at Jake Miller. Standing near the main exit, he glanced over to where Hutch stood by another main side exit, and shrugged. Hutch was in clearer view of the mourners, so he kept his expression neutral, but it was obvious he hadn’t spotted anything either.
Now that the funeral was coming to an end, Starsky made himself scarce, blending amidst the mourners, many of whom also stood against the wall of the church, as all the seats were filled. He watched as the procession made its way toward the exit, Jake and Ida immediately behind the casket, the rest of the band behind them. Starsky was stunned when Jake spotted him as they passed, and reached out so the two men could briefly shake hands.
“Thanks,” he said, withdrawing his hand and continuing to move to avoid holding up the procession.
Hutch was outside the church now, watching as the mourners filed out. Steve, Nick, and Doug took their positions as pallbearers, with three young men who looked the right age to have been friends of Jessica’s. The casket made its slow, grim journey down the front steps of the church, Jake right behind it, flanked by his grandmother and Tony. Now that they were outside, he radioed Starsky, who was closer to the actual procession.
“Anything?”
“Nothin’ yet,” Starsky responded. “Rick’s right behind the family. Has his hand on his piece.”
“You think he sees something?”
“No. But he’s looking. So’m I, but I don’t…hang on a sec.”
“Starsk?” Hutch started hurrying around the front of the church, carefully easing through the crowd. “Starsky?”
“There’s a guy parked across from the church. Could be Ingalls. Son-of-a–!”
As the casket was loaded into the hearse, and all five members of the band, Ida, and Rick were standing near the back of it, a large blue and white Chevy truck charged across the street at full speed, hurtling right toward them. Breaking into a full run, Hutch wasn’t sure what scared him more–the potential carnage of a large vehicle crashing into a crowd of mourners, or the fact that Starsky, like himself, was running full tilt toward the heart of it.
Jake’s head snapped up at the sound of the approaching engine. With no time to think, he grabbed his grandmother and pushed her toward Starsky, who was running toward them. Someone roughly impacted with him, bringing him to a hard landing on the cement with another man’s weight atop him. The crash was deafening, rivaled only by the gunfire and screams of the mourners who scattered in all directions.
Rick drew his weapon, opening fire on the truck that didn’t show any signs of stopping as it plowed into the rear fender of the hearse, knocking it aside at an angle, hurtling toward the entrance of the church and the densest group of mourners. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen Jake and his grandmother barely spared from the collision, but at least one of the other band members hadn’t been so lucky. Hutch was coming up from the side, firing at the tires on the large vehicle. He hit his mark, and the truck slowed marginally, but veered to the side with its shredded tire.
“Keep coming, you son-of-a-bitch,” Rick said under his breath, aiming his weapon directly at the driver and refusing to give up his stance in the truck’s path. He opened fire, peppering the windshield of the truck until all that remained was the hollow click of an empty gun. He rolled out of the way as the truck headed for the brick wall of the church and crashed there.
The weight on top of him moved and groaned. Jake shifted, trying to help whomever had saved his life. He wasn’t even surprised to find Tony sprawled over him, trying to sit up.
“Take it easy, man. Nice and easy,” Jake said, helping him sit up as he regained his own equilibrium. “Grandma!” he bellowed, and was nearly faint with relief when he saw the elderly woman rushing toward him, calling his name. He managed to get to his feet just before she reached him, embracing him with surprising strength. “You okay, Grandma?” he asked as she released him a little.
“You’re bleeding!”
“Just a scrape from hitting the sidewalk,” he said, reaching up to feel the small wound on his forehead. Doug was rushing over toward them, and together, he and Jake got Tony back on his feet. “Where’re Nick and Steve?”
“Steve got hit,” Doug said. “Nick’s with him. I hope that’s an ambulance siren I’m hearing.”
“Shit. How bad is he?” Jake asked, rushing toward the spot near the hearse where a large group of people were clustering. He eased his way amidst the people until he reached the spot where Nick was crouched next to his brother’s still form. “Nick? How is he?”
“He’s out cold. I don’t know how bad he got hit,” Nick said. “He pushed me out of the way,” he added, his hand resting on his brother’s shoulder. “I didn’t even see it coming.”
“Ambulance is on the way,” Starsky said, making his way to the center of the crowd. “Everybody needs to move back a little, give them a little room, folks. We’re gonna be taking everybody’s statements and making sure everyone who’s hurt gets checked out, but we need everyone to stay calm.”
“Where is he?” Jake rose to his feet.
“Where is who?” Starsky asked.
“The son-of-a-bitch who did this. Where is he?” Jake demanded, his voice rising.
“Hutch and Lucas are checking out the truck. It crashed into the wall of the church.” At that, Jake bolted toward the crashed vehicle, Nick close behind him.
Rick holstered his empty gun and watched as Hutch reached carefully into the open window of the truck to check Ingalls’ pulse. There was a bloody gash on his forehead, most likely from hitting the wheel when the truck impacted with the church, and blood soaking the right shoulder of his t-shirt, and another wound that looked as if it might have been a graze from a bullet not far from the gash in his forehead.
“He’s alive,” Hutch said, using his radio to call for multiple ambulances. Rick opened the door of the truck and searched the motionless man for weapons, checking under the seat just in case.
“Guess the truck was the only weapon he brought,” he concluded, moving away from the open door. Just then, Jake and Nick came rushing toward them. Jake pushed his way to the side of the truck and reached inside, grabbing the front of Ingalls’ t-shirt.
“Look me in the eye, you ball-less little son-of-a-bitch!” he demanded, shaking him.
“Jake, let him go. He’s unconscious,” Hutch said, trying to pry Jake away from the murder suspect. Rick had managed to intercept Nick before he reached the side of the truck.
“Come on, Ingalls! I know you’re awake. Open your eyes, you bastard, because I’m gonna shake the shit out of you until you do!”
Ingalls opened his eyes marginally then.
“If you were aiming at me, fuckface, guess what? You missed!”
“I didn’t miss your hot little sister, though, did I?” Ingalls slurred. Before Hutch and Lucas could pull Jake away from the truck, he brought his fist down hard on the bullet wound in Ingalls’ shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain.
“This isn’t over, asshole. You better look over your shoulder for the rest of your miserable fucking life!”
“That’s enough, Jake!” Hutch gave him a more aggressive pull this time, succeeding in dislodging him from the truck and his grip on the prisoner, but stepping back a pace at the nearly demented expression on Jake’s face.
“You’re protecting him now?”
“He’s wounded and he’s in custody. He’s not going anywhere. I’m protecting you from killing the jerk and ending up in prison. Jessie wouldn’t have wanted that, and your grandmother sure as hell deserves better than visiting you on weekends at the state pen in her golden years.”
“That asshole hit my brother!” Nick shouted, though he didn’t advance physically toward Ingalls or the truck.
“How bad is it?” Hutch asked.
“We don’t know yet. He’s out cold,” Jake responded, running his hand back through his hair. “And you’re worried about me roughing this piece of shit up a little bit?”
“This isn’t solving anything. Leave him to us.” Hutch was exasperated as Jake turned toward the truck once more, though he made no move to assault Ingalls physically.
“You better hope they put you away for life, Ingalls,” Jake said menacingly. “Because if you ever set foot outside prison, I’m gonna be waiting. You got that?” Something in Jake’s tone of voice or expression caused Ingalls to fall wisely silent.
“Ambulance is here,” Rick said, and the two musicians hurried back down to where Steve was lying on the ground surrounded by concerned friends. “You think Steve’s worse off than he is?” Rick asked Hutch quietly, stepping out of earshot of Ingalls.
“I don’t know, but I’m not going to make an innocent victim wait for medical treatment so we can patch up this scumbag. More help is on the way,” Hutch said, his words underscored by the sound of sirens in the distance. Starsky was hurrying toward them now.
“He alive?” he asked, gesturing at the truck and the bloodied suspect.
“He’s got a bullet in the shoulder and some cuts and bruises from the impact, but he’s alive,” Hutch said.
“Nice shooting, partner. If you hadn’t nailed that tire, he’d’a been on the front steps of the church, on top of a lot of innocent people.”
“Rick had a hand in slowing him down, too. You’re a crazy SOB, you know that, right, Lucas?” Hutch said.
“Yeah, well, I don’t see too much action in Missing Persons. I’ve gotta have some reason to keep going to the range.”
“How bad is Steve?” Hutch asked.
“They think he’s got a concussion and some broken ribs, but they need to get him to the hospital to know for sure. His vitals are good,” Starsky said. Paramedics from the second ambulance were hurrying toward them.
Mike Ingalls recovered from his superficial injuries and prepared to stand trial for a host of charges, including the capital offenses of conspiracy and multiple murder. Fortunately for him, he was confined to the county jail pending his trial, keeping him out of reach of Jake Miller and the rest of 666. Though Starsky and Hutch found it hard to believe Jake would resort to a murder of vengeance, the intensity of his rage where Ingalls was concerned was disquieting enough to make them happy the two men were separated by maximum security measures.
The envelope Rick found on Jake’s messy desk did contain the photos Miles Sallinger took the night of Jessica’s murder. Graphic and horrifying, the photos were solid evidence to bear out what Scott Kennedy had claimed in his testimony. Everyone involved was relieved that Jake was as tardy and sloppy as he was with opening his mail.
Steve Mallot recuperated from his concussion and nursed several cracked ribs from his encounter with the truck. Tony, who had managed to pull out a few stitches in all the commotion, recovered quite quickly when he was able to concentrate on resting and letting the lacerations heal. Starsky and Hutch were not surprised to learn he’d done much of his recuperating at the Miller estate.
“Wonder what Dobey wants?” Hutch said, referring to a note from their captain indicating he wanted to see them as soon as they arrived. With the Miller murder case in the hands of the DA now, the mountain of routine paperwork that had backed up on other cases was occupying most of their days.
“We turned in that big stack of reports yesterday. Must be somethin’ he didn’t like,” Starsky said, taking a drink of coffee before they reported to Dobey’s office.
“Have a seat, you two,” Dobey said, removing a letter from a previously opened envelope. “I received a letter regarding you two, and it was copied to the mayor,” Dobey said, giving them both an ominous look.
“What’s the problem, Captain?” Hutch finally asked.
“It’s a letter from Jake Miller, giving you two high praise for your ‘sensitive, efficient, and persistent’ handling of his sister’s murder case, and your ‘exceptional commitment to your job and to protecting the safety of his family and the band.’ He also sent this check to the BCPD Widows’ and Children’s Fund in your names, and Rick Lucas’s name. He also speaks very highly of Lucas for going above and beyond in assisting with the case.” Dobey handed Starsky the check.
“Fifty thousand dollars?” His eyes bugged, as did Hutch’s when he handed him the check.
“Apparently, you two made quite an impression on that family. Nice job. Needless to say, the mayor is going to be favorably impressed. I’m putting you two in for a commendation. Lucas’s captain is doing the same for him. This is the kind of community relations we need.”
“Thanks, Captain,” Hutch said, handing him back the check. “I know this’ll sound corny, but we were just doing our jobs.”
“Maybe, but the case was wrapped up promptly, and the family is obviously very impressed. That’s the ultimate result we can ask for.”
After leaving Dobey’s office, they agreed to place a call to Jake, both of them on extensions to express their thanks. It was rare for people who were happy with their work to contact their superiors, and even rarer for them to make sure that recognition made it to the mayor’s office. The large donation was a feather in all three of their caps.
“Miller residence,” Gina answered.
“Gina, is Jake there? It’s Dave Starsky.”
“He’s upstairs. Let me ring his room for you.” A few moments later, a male voice came over the line.
“I don’t usually take phone calls before ten, so consider yourself on the ‘A’ list,” Jake said, though his tone was cheerful. “How’s it going?”
“We called to thank you for the letter, and for making such a generous donation in our names,” Hutch said. “That was a great gesture.”
“Hey, no problem. It was the least I could do.”
“It’s more than most people do,” Starsky said. “We usually hear complaints when our captain gets a letter about us.”
“That’s what I figured.” Jake paused. “What?” he said, annoyed, as if he were talking to someone else. “Hang on.” Another voice came over the phone, after the distinct rustling of bedclothes.
“Hi, it’s Tony. Any chance you’ll sell Jake your car yet? He could buy it for me in time for Christmas.” There was a slight scuffling noise. “Ouch. Shithead,” Tony muttered, laughing.
“Sorry to interrupt such romance in bloom,” Hutch joked, and Jake laughed, obviously having regained control of the telephone.
“How about it, Starsky? Come on, help me score big points here.”
“Something tells me you’re scoring enough points without my help,” Starsky responded.
“I do okay,” Jake retorted, a definite grin in his voice. “Seriously, though, you guys worked hard on the case, and you treated us with a lot of respect, but the big thing was, you respected Jessie, right from the start. I know this might sound weird, but you treated her like a lady, and you never thought the worst of her. So many cops turn things back on the victim and believe some of the sleazy things people say… I couldn’t donate enough money to thank you for that. But I got something else in mind.”
“You’ve done more than enough, Jake. We really do appreciate it. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from Rick, too.”
“He called about eight-thirty, but Gina knows better than to ring my room that early. Forget the money. I try to give money to some good causes every year, and that’s a good one. Just keep an eye on your mailbox in the next week or so. I gotta go now.” With that, Jake hung up, not giving them a chance to ask him what he was up to.
It was a bleak November day, cloudy and damp, when Hutch brought in the mail, finding an envelope in Jake’s handwriting amidst the bills, ads, and magazines.
“We got something from Jake,” Hutch said, walking into the kitchen where Starsky was putting the finishing touches on a homemade pizza, enjoying a lazy day off at home. “Ironic we should get this when you decide to try out Gina’s pizza recipe,” he added, chuckling.
“This is gonna be great,” Starsky said, sniffing the uncooked pizza approvingly. It was covered with every conceivable topping, and strewn with enough cheese to obscure most of the top of it.
“I think you doubled some of her proportions, Starsk,” Hutch said, frowning as he looked at the messy concoction.
“Any good cook adds his own touches,” Starsky retorted, indignant. “You don’t follow the recipe exactly. Everybody knows that.”
“They do, huh? Okay.”
“What’d Jake have to say?” he asked, sliding the pizza into the oven.
“He sent tickets and backstage passes,” Hutch said, setting those items aside before opening the enclosed letter. “‘Dear Holmes and Watson’,” Hutch read, smiling and shaking his head. “Once a smart ass…” he commented, then continued, “‘I’m sending front-row tickets and passes to the Harvest Benefit Concert, coming up this weekend at the Bay City Palladium. It’s a world hunger benefit, and we’re not the only band playing there. In fact, you might actually like some of the other acts’.” Hutch paused, smiling at the humor. “He put a smiley face after that.”
“I heard about that concert. All sorts of big names are playing there.”
“‘I couldn’t get many tickets, since there are a lot of bands playing, and all of them have people they want to send good seats to. Grandma’s going to be backstage, but the best way to see a show is out front. I sent three tickets–bring Rick if he can come. If not, bring somebody you think’ll like the show. We’re having a midnight smorgasbord eating orgy after the show, and you’re all invited. It’s on Thanksgiving weekend, after all. See you there, I hope. Jake’.”
“Sounds like fun,” Starsky said, looking at the tickets and passes.
“I wonder if they’re still doing all the devil worship stuff in their stage show?” Hutch took a beer out of the fridge and handed one to Starsky. “Must have some unpleasant associations for all of them after everything that happened.”
“The show must go on, I guess,” Starsky said, laying the tickets on the counter with the letter. “It’s gonna take that a while to bake,” he said, gesturing toward the oven.
“You put a wheel of cheese on top of it, Starsk. It’ll take forever for all that to melt, let alone brown a little.”
“Wonder what we could do with all’a that time we got on our hands?”
“Clean up the mess you made in the kitchen,” Hutch said, surveying the damage.
“I had something a little more interesting in mind, Blondie.”
“We’ll get started with this tomato sauce,” Hutch said, dipping a long finger into the jar and raising it to Starsky’s lips, running it back and forth across them until they were coated. “This mess could take hours.” Pulling Starsky into his arms, he covered Starsky’s mouth with his own, licking at the sauce.
“You missed the parmesan cheese,” Starsky said, picking up the shaker and pulling Hutch’s shirt away from his chest, sprinkling the powdered cheese inside. Setting the shaker aside, he unbuttoned Hutch’s shirt and dragged his tongue down the center of his chest, catching some of the cheese.
“Are you sure you didn’t miss any spots lower?” Hutch asked, his voice husky. Starsky was on his knees now, already unfastening Hutch’s jeans, tugging those and his underwear down far enough to free the growing erection.
“This is one seriously large roll of pepperoni you got here, babe,” Starsky teased, before engulfing the head of Hutch’s cock in his mouth. Hutch groaned, relishing the hot, wet suction. Talented fingers were toying with his balls, another hand sneaking around behind him, flicking playfully at his pucker. Wordlessly, he handed Starsky the olive oil.
Never missing a beat with his mouth, Starsky managed to get some of the oil onto his fingers, revisiting Hutch’s entrance, sliding an oiled finger inside. He eased off a bit on the suction, until only the head was in his mouth, the stimulation more playful now. Hutch tried to thrust forward, to regain the prior intensity, but Starsky obviously had other ideas. Now that he was stretching and lubricating Hutch, but purposely avoiding his prostate, Hutch knew his lover had bigger plans for him.
Starsky released Hutch’s rigid shaft with a purposely wet pop. Standing, he unzipped his jeans, and shoved them and his underwear down, freeing his erection. He poured more of the oil into his hand and stroked rapidly, bringing himself to full hardness and coating himself with the oil. Hutch slid his jeans the rest of the way off, kicking jeans, underwear, and shoes aside in one surprisingly fluid motion. He found it strangely arousing that Starsky wasn’t even bothering with that degree of undress. He’d only pushed his pants down as far as absolutely necessary, but otherwise remained fully dressed.
Starsky guided Hutch toward the counter, encouraging him to bend over. He flipped up the tail of Hutch’s shirt, fully exposing him. Without further preliminaries, Hutch felt the blunt head of Starsky’s cock pressing against him, slowly but insistently demanding entrance. He groaned a little at the first stretch as the head slipped inside, Starsky keeping up the pressure until his full length was sheathed, his groin pressing against Hutch’s cheeks. Hutch could feel the rough friction of denim against his bare butt and thighs, but that sensation soon became a distant second to the demanding pace Starsky was setting. Hutch gasped in pleasure as his prostate was hit on one particularly deep stroke. He grabbed the edge of the counter, moaning with each hard thrust, pushing back against Starsky in response.
The rhythm became more and more frantic, and Starsky was unerringly hitting Hutch’s prostate on each stroke. Their shared cries of pleasure echoed in the quiet house as they both approached their climax. Hutch’s moans were erratic and broken as his whole body vibrated with his orgasm, the wonderful shudders and contractions of his passage driving Starsky to his own completion.
As Starsky slipped free of his body, Hutch luxuriated in just lying there, panting, knowing how ridiculous he must look, and not caring. Two warm hands massaged his buttocks now.
“You look so good there, babe. Makes me wish I had two cocks.”
“Two? Shit, Starsk, I’d be dead if you had two cocks,” Hutch responded, chuckling.
The first three bands to perform at the charity concert were all rock bands. They were considerably tamer than 666, the first going more for fluffy hair, eyeliner, and lipstick than for leather, their sound dominated by synthesizers and a somewhat bland, unremarkable dance beat. The others were hard rock bands who had the audience waving devil horn salutes at the stage, and shaking their heads dangerously close to the point of cerebral hemorrhage.
“Do you feel as old as I do?” Hutch shouted into Starsky’s ear. He watched Starsky’s face crinkle into that familiar smile.
“We’ve got plenty’a good miles left on us, Hutch,” Starsky retorted. Glancing at Rick, he noticed their fellow cop and concert companion was waving his own devil horn salute toward the stage, vibrating in place with the music. “He’s only a few years younger than we are.”
“We look like the cops,” Hutch complained, and Starsky just laughed.
When it was finally time for 666 to take the stage, the house lights dimmed to nearly nothing, and the stage was engulfed in total blackness. A few ominous beats of the drums, along with an equally menacing set of chords from the bass were all that was heard. Two red spotlights converged on a figure in the middle of the stage, dressed in a black leather jacket, no shirt, black leather pants that fit like a second skin, and black leather boots with silver chains. Wearing his usual red spiked collar, Spike stood by Jake Miller’s side, the singer apparently trusting his dog’s training sufficiently not to leash him. The crowd roared as Jake assumed his familiar pose, arms across his chest, fingers in devil horn salutes on either side of his head. As if on cue, the dog snarled, baring its large white teeth. With a barely noticeable cue from Jake, Spike howled loud and long.
A moment later, the electric guitars joined the throbbing rhythm section, and Jake was in motion, grabbing the cordless mic from its stand and prowling back and forth across the front of the stage, belting out the vocals with his usual energy. If the demonic overtones of the stage show and the music bothered him, it didn’t show. For the next two tracks from their most recent album, the mild-mannered musician who played old standards on the piano with his little grandmother was nowhere to be found. This was like a Mr. Hyde alter-ego that ripped its way out of the gentle, sensitive Jake Miller, throwing him aside like the sheepskin that covered the big bad wolf.
The girls were screaming, a couple of them flashing the band, goaded by Jake’s smoldering looks and undulations in their direction. He caught a red lace bra that flew across the stage, rubbing it over his now-sweaty chest and down over the bulge in his leather pants, and then tossing it back into the crowd, causing a screaming frenzy of grabbing for the souvenir. Starsky could have sworn Jake glanced in Tony’s direction during this little exchange and winked, checking to see if his new lover appreciated the sensual show he was putting on with little real interest in what the girls thought of it.
But then the predator was back, finishing up the performance that was both erotic and ominous. The next selection was nothing short of bombastic, outclassing all the previous bands for volume and the reverberation of the drums in the hearts and heads of the audience. At the climax of the song, Jake stalked toward the center of the stage, holding a skull. The bottom jaw of it dislodged, and he guzzled the liquid that ran from it.
“Duck,” Rick said, elbowing Starsky.
With the too-realistic stage blood oozing down his chin and dripping on his chest, Jake made his famous projectile-spit stream of blood into the crowd, landing with suspicious accuracy on the cops in the front row. The amount was minimal by the time it actually traveled from Jake on stage to the men in the front row, but it was enough to make them part of the spectacle. Jake’s devilish, sideways, bloody-mouthed grin in their direction was unmistakable.
At the end of the song, Jake sprinted off the stage, and for a moment, the crowd began making discontented noises, thinking 666’s portion of the show had been cut unusually short. The stage went dark, and after a few minutes, the lights came on again, revealing a few roadies scurrying around, bringing out extra guitars.
“We’re gonna wrap up our set with something a little different for you tonight,” Jake said, still clad in his black leather, but the stage blood had been hastily washed from his face and chest. A few strands of his long hair were clinging to the sweat on his face and neck, and he pushed it back, looking a bit cooked under the intense stage lights. “Come on out, guys,” he said, motioning toward the backstage area as several musicians from the other bands performing that night joined them on stage. “We wanna do a little jam session for ya tonight,” he said, and the crowd cheered wildly. “I got a few friends here, and one of ’em, I told him I was gonna get him up on stage with me next time we played the Palladium. Well, here we are. And I got spare guitars. No excuses.” He motioned to Hutch, and the spotlight moved to include both Jake and the cops in the front row.
Hutch shook his head and waved off the invitation.
“Go on, Hutch, it’ll be fun,” Starsky goaded, shoving his partner a little until he stood a bit apart from Rick and Starsky.
“Not just him. All three of you. Come on, you want me to tell this whole joint that Bay City’s finest are chicken shit?” Jake teased, the challenge in his eyes as he rested his hands on his hips. Tony laughed, shaking his head.
“Well, I’m goin’ if you guys aren’t,” Rick said. “Come on!”
“I’m not going up there,” Hutch said, digging in his heels.
“Do I have to bring my grandmother out here to order you up on this stage?” Jake wagged a finger at Hutch, and the crowd was laughing now, getting in the spirit. “His name’s Hutch, and we have to give him a little incentive,” Jake said. Hutch turned a nice shade of pink and covered his face as the chant of “Hutch, Hutch, Hutch” filled the arena.
Finally coerced by Starsky and Rick, who were both intent on taking advantage of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to jam on stage at the Palladium with some of the biggest names in rock and roll, Hutch reluctantly went up on stage. Jake greeted the three men with handshakes and one-armed hugs that were a flurry of sweat and leather as he directed them where to stand, making sure Rick and Hutch both had guitars. He handed Starsky a tambourine.
“I know you’ve got rhythm, man,” he teased, taking his spot at the microphone. “Everybody’s gonna know this one, so just jump in when you’re ready. Tony, get us rolling, huh?”
A moment later, Tony was starting the immortal and nearly universally known opening riff to “Smoke on the Water.” There were so many musicians jamming up there, it was more like one big party than a performance, and before long, Hutch found himself playing along, singing along with the refrain. Jake obviously loved the song, giving the vocals all his energy. Nick was pounding the drums for all he was worth, Steve was keeping up the bass line, and Tony did his best to do justice to the guitar solo, dueling for it with Doug. Neither Starsky nor Hutch had seen Rick perform live before, and it was obvious he was as much in his element on a stage as he was behind a gun or a desk at headquarters. The expression on his face was one of pure elation as he played, flanked by a couple of famous guitarists.
When the song finished, the crowd roared their approval, and the majority of the musicians waved and then exited the stage after taking their bows.
“Not so fast,” Jake said, as his three guests started to leave with the others. “Let’s have a round of applause for three Bay City Police Department detectives. These guys saved my life and Tony’s life, and they nailed the guys who were responsible for what happened to my sister, Jessica. Help me say thank you.” The crowd roared their response, complete with cheers and whistles.
“Hutch,” he said, crooking his finger to motion Hutch back on stage. The other two went back to their places in the crowd, sweaty and electrified by their participation in the jam session. Roadies wheeled a black grand piano onto the middle of the stage. “You and I have a duet to do.”
“I really couldn’t,” Hutch demurred, glad he was far enough from a microphone that only Jake could hear him. Covering the microphone, Jake responded.
“You’ve got a great voice, Hutch. Just pretend we’re singing in the library back at my place. Close your eyes if you have to. This is an easy one. You can sing it in your sleep.”
“Well, okay,” Hutch finally agreed, glancing down toward Starsky, whose face he could barely make out in the shadows outside the spotlights of the stage. Still, his partner’s cheers and whistles were unmistakable to his ears, even in a noisy crowd.
Jake sat behind the piano, and Hutch sat on a stool next to it, with an acoustic guitar. Tony kept his electric guitar and accompanied them, but stayed out of the spotlight. Jake played the first notes of “Take Me Home, Country Roads,” the John Denver song they’d played at his house that night. If Jake could go from the barely caged beast he’d been on stage a few minutes ago to this gentler persona, playing such atypical music in front of his rabid heavy metal fans, Hutch figured he could risk making a fool of himself to play along. While Hutch spent considerable time watching Jake or his own hands on the guitar to avoid noticing the crowd, that was alight now with the tiny pinpoints from a sea of lighters, he couldn’t help noticing that Jake’s eyes were more often than not riveted on Tony, who stood just beyond the glow of the spotlight, encouraging the crowd to clap along.
When they were finished, the crowd roared its approval, and Jake stood, encouraging Hutch to do the same, grabbing his hand and holding his arm up as if he were signaling a victory at the end of a prize fight. Hutch had to laugh at the whole situation, wondering if he’d ever really feel stage fright again after he’d “rocked the house” at the Bay City Palladium with 666.
The smorgasbord at the hotel after the concert was truly the orgy of food Jake had promised. With everything from turkey and the trimmings to hot wings and pizza, Hutch viewed the whole mess as something of a gastric nightmare. Starsky and Rick, on the other hand, seemed to have found their heaven on earth as they loaded their plates with every conceivable concoction.
“Makes my ulcer twitch just watching them,” Jake said, slicing himself a bite of turkey from the pile of it on his plate. The musicians in the room were showered and back in off-stage casual attire again, relaxed and gorging themselves on the buffet, visiting with the select group of friends and family gathered there. Numerous round tables in the large banquet room were laden with full plates and numerous bottles of champagne and expensive wine, as well as beer and soft drinks.
“No cheating tonight?” Hutch asked, noticing the bland contents of Jake’s plate.
“Not worth it. After everything that’s happened in the last couple months, it’s messed up enough without me adding fuel to the fire. Look, I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much tonight. I thought you might have fun on stage.”
“You’re a good singer, Jake, but a lousy liar. You were having a great time embarrassing me,” Hutch responded, chuckling.
“Okay, so maybe a little, but I was just kidding around. I hope you didn’t mind.”
“It was fun. I can’t believe I’m saying that, but I enjoyed it.” Hutch paused. “Tony and Steve both seem to be doing well now.”
“Steve’s still having some trouble with headaches. He got a pretty nasty knock on the head. But he’s doing well. Tony’s healed up mostly. He’s having a plastic surgery procedure after Christmas. He was going to leave it so he could flash it in our next video. The name of the band permanently scarred into his flesh.” Jake shook his head. “He believes in making the best out of a bad situation, but that was too much for me. Next thing, we’ll have teenagers gouging things into their flesh and blaming that on us, too.” Jake brightened immediately when Tony returned to the table, his plate piled with everything Jake couldn’t eat on his best day.
“You want me to eat this over there?” he asked, noticing Jake taking a visual inventory of everything on the plate.
“Nah. I’d only be up puking at four in the morning, so it’s no temptation.”
“Thanks for sharing,” Tony chided, shaking his head as he dug into his food.
“If I roll over the wrong way when it happens, I will be,” Jake replied, grinning wickedly. Tony cast a furtive glance around to be sure only friends were in earshot. “I looked around before I said anything,” Jake responded, his humor fading.
“It sucks that you have to, but Starsky and I have developed a sort of radar to scan the area before we say anything that could be held against us.”
“Being out isn’t an option for you guys, either, I guess,” Tony said, taking a drink of his wine. “I’d rather be open about it, but the whole image is part of the job. If that girl whose bra Jake was rubbing all over himself on stage knew he was doing that for my benefit, I don’t think she’d have been as thrilled. We told the guys, though. They took it pretty well.”
“We’ve all been friends too long to lie to each other that way. I was really glad they handled it so well,” Jake said. “Although, we did have to promise not to make out in the bus or anything,” he added, smiling.
“That is the most amazing buffet I’ve ever seen,” Starsky said as he and Rick rejoined the group, barely able to keep the food from sliding off their loaded plates.
“I swear, this is like eating at a table with starving refugees,” Ida complained, taking her seat on the other side of Jake that had not been claimed by Tony. “They do allow you to have seconds, Tony,” she chided, and Tony just grinned back at her around a mouthful of lasagna.
A woman who appeared to be about sixty years old laid a hand on Ida’s shoulder. “Ida,” she said. Vince and his wife brought the baby.”
“Oh, I have to see her!” Ida was out of her chair like a shot, hurrying off with the other woman to another table where one of the musicians was showing off a new baby.
“Fastest way to reduce a room full of rock stars into a bunch of drooling idiots,” Jake joked, laughing. “Bring the baby–and, of course, bring at least one grandmother to help show her off.”
“We weren’t sure if you’d still be doing the whole dark and ominous act, after everything that happened,” Starsky said. Hutch shot him a look. “What?”
“It’s okay,” Jake responded, shaking his head. “Truthfully, if I never see another pentagram again, it’ll be too soon, but it’s what we do, and none of this was the fault of the music. Ingalls used it to motivate his psycho cousin, but he’d have gone after me if I played in a bluegrass band, or sang with Lawrence Welk’s orchestra. Everything happened because of him, not because of the music or anything we do on stage. I believed that before all this happened, and I still do believe it. For us to change what we do, or water it down, would be like selling out. It would be validating all the crazy evangelists who are burning our records. And I won’t do that. Jessie would be the first one to be horrified if we quit doing things our way.”
“How many bras have you got in your collection, anyway?” Rick teased.
“Just one. I throw most of them back.”
“After he does his little routine with them,” Tony added, and Jake smiled wickedly.
“Well, yeah, there’s that.” He paused. “We were doing this show in Detroit, and a couple of the girls were getting really into it, flipping up their t-shirts, that kind of thing. All of a sudden, from somewhere in the crowd, comes this enormous pea-green bra. I mean, it was huge. I had nightmares about giant, pea-green hooters for weeks.”
“None of us wanted to know where it came from, to be honest,” Tony admitted, laughing.
“Here’s the kicker–it still had price tags on it from some discount store. To make matters worse, it was marked down to, like, three bucks.”
“I think that girl was missing the point, somehow,” Rick said, snorting a laugh.
“He hung it in the tour bus, and he won’t let us take it down,” Tony said.
“It’s kind of like Cinderella’s slipper. We’re traveling around the country looking for the woman who can fill that baby.”
“And still stand upright. Hey, look at Doug. He just fell into the baby trap,” Tony said, nudging Jake. Doug was holding the baby now, making a number of inane-looking faces at it. “Missy’s trying to get pregnant,” he said of Doug’s wife. “He’s practicing making an ass out of himself for when he has his own kids.”
“That was some great playing out there tonight,” a voice said from behind Rick. All turned to see a tall black-clad man with long brown hair and dark glasses. His voice was British accented. He handed Rick a card. “I’m looking for a new guitarist. Stop by if you’re interested.” Before Rick could say anything, he was gone.
“Do you know who that was?” Rick said, his eyes bulging.
“His guitarist just quit. He was a temp anyway,” Jake said. “His original guitarist died in a plane crash a couple years ago. I don’t think he’s really been ready to hire somebody permanently until now anyway.”
“Should be a good gig for somebody,” Tony commented. “You going?”
“Guess I’d have to be nuts not to,” Rick said.
“You don’t seem too sure,” Starsky said, looking over Rick’s shoulder at the card.
“I don’t think this would be a moonlighting job. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to try out, see what happens.”
“He’s moody, and he’s got a mammoth drug habit,” Jake said. “We opened for him a few years ago. He puts on a great show; I’m just not sure how he’d be to work with up close and personal.”
“Food for thought,” Rick said, tucking the card in his pocket. “Sure is nice to be asked, no matter what I do.”
“You’re good. I’d like to hear your band sometime,” Tony said. “Where are you playing right now?”
“Friday nights at Fever. It used to be a disco–”
“Yeah, I know the place. Turned into a pretty cool club in the last few years. We’ll check it out some night. You know, come in wearing trench coats and sunglasses so nobody recognizes us.”
“That’ll be great cover, Jake. Nobody’ll notice you,” Starsky teased.
“This from a guy who does surveillance in a bright red car with a white stripe,” Jake needled.
“What is it with people razzing my car lately?” Starsky asked, indignant, remembering Tanner’s snide comment about his car when they’d visited Aspen Hollow.
“Yeah, it’s really weird looking. You should sell it to somebody,” Jake responded. “I’ll take it off your hands.”
“What kind of car is it?” Ida asked.
“A 1974 Gran Torino. I told you he almost caught me out on Gable Road–and I was in the Porsche. That car kicks a–uh, really moves,” he said, smiling at his grandmother’s knowing look. “He won’t sell it to me.”
“I suppose you did your usual slick negotiating where you start out offering him about three times what it’s worth,” Tony said.
“Sounds about right,” Hutch replied, chuckling. “I don’t know who’s crazier–Jake for the offer or Starsky for not taking it.”
“My money’s on Jake. I’ve always had my doubts about him,” Tony retorted, nudging Jake.
“We had a great time tonight,” Starsky said, shaking hands with Jake as they prepared to leave the banquet room. It was nearly dawn, the buffet had been cleaned down to mere scraps, and even the hardier souls were starting to head for the door.
“One thing you’ll find about musicians–we’re like vampires. When the sun’s due to come up, we all head for cover,” Jake said. “I’m glad we’ve got a driver here. I’m wasted. I’ll probably be asleep by the time we get home.”
“We didn’t get a chance to say good night to Ida,” Hutch said.
“The chauffeur took her home a few hours ago. She was getting tired.” Jake paused. “So, give me a call sometime. You’ve got the number and address.”
“Ida seemed to be enjoying the evening,” Starsky said. “How are you guys doing?”
“You were right. It gets a little easier with time. Grandma’s a survivor. Me? I still feel like somebody shot me in the chest most of the time. I signed us up late for this gig because it meant we’d spend most of Thanksgiving rehearsing. I don’t mind telling you I dread Christmas. Jessie loved that holiday. She loved decorating, loved shopping, the presents, the music. I don’t even want to see a Christmas tree.” Jake smiled. “That was probably more than you wanted to hear.”
“I wouldn’t’ve asked if I didn’t want an answer.”
“Any other strange things happening at the house?” Hutch asked.
“No,” Jake said, seeming disappointed. “Everything’s quiet. I guess it was all grief and exhaustion playing tricks on me. Part of me was hoping it was real, but–”
Just then, all the lights in the banquet room went out, leaving the remaining guests in darkness momentarily before the lights came back on again.
“Somebody must’ve hit the lights by mistake,” Hutch said, smiling uneasily.
Jake paused, smiling as if he knew a secret he wasn’t about to share, then replied simply, “Yeah, that must be it.”
Next week on Starsky and Hutch:
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