CRITIQUE

(c)February 2019 by Charlotte Frost

A sequel to Santa Fe

Trello Board of Characters

Hutch couldn't believe that his professional life had come to this. It was all he could do to maintain his decorum as he looked at the clock in the conference room. Only ten minutes had past since Mr. Thomas Batt had arrived promptly for his appointment, so Hutch couldn't make the excuse that they needed to wrap up quickly in deference to his next meeting.

Four Polaroid snapshots were laid out on the table, each with a date. The snapshots were of dog feces.

Mr. Batt was a five foot five, thin, prissy man, with a receding brown hair line, dressed in a cheap suit. In a firm, serious tone, he tapped the second photograph. "This one is a lighter brown, but from the size and texture I'm sure it's the same dog as the others."

Hutch nodded helplessly.

"It can't possibly be a dog smaller than, say, a Doberman Pincher. These are large piles of excrement. So, I would suggest not wasting your time paying attention to small dogs who might be seen in the area."

"I'll keep that mind."

Mr. Batt ran his hand back through sparse hair. "I'm eager to know what your firm will come up with. It's shameful that people can have such low regard for a yard that is obviously well cared for. I look forward to confronting the culprits with evidence."

Hutch gathered up the photographs, hoping Batt would take it as a dismissal. "We'll do our best."

"If this case takes longer than two weeks, please give me a call to discuss."

"It shouldn't," Hutch said hopefully. "As long as you're willing to pay for daily surveillance, that's what we'll provide." He held out his hand.

Mr. Batt looked down at the extended hand and then shook it. Hutch stood. "I'll have our secretary, Lois, get your file started right away. We'll have surveillance going within forty-eight hours."

"Thank you." Mr. Batt also stood and turned toward the door that led to the reception area.

Hutch made his exit at the other door that went into the hall. He moved down to his and Starsky's office, where Starsky was typing on his computer. Hutch tossed the photos onto Starsky's desk. "That's our next case."

Starsky stopped typing and looked at the top photo. He moved it aside and looked at the next. Puzzled, he said, "Looks like dog shit."

"It is. Thomas Batt wants us to find out which dog is using his well manicured yard for an outhouse, so he can confront its owner. He's willing to pay for twelve-hour daily surveillance for up to two weeks." Hutch batted his eyes. "This is why we became private detectives."

Starsky grinned and turned back to his computer. "Put Nick in charge of it. He needs something to do. This will be simple, but the long hours will provide him with a nice paycheck. He can have Robertson help him, since he finished that last cheating spouse case we gave him."

Starsky's phone beeped. "David, Mike Hawkins is on line three."

Hutch gave him a concerned look as Starsky pushed the speaker button, before pressing line three. Mike Hawkins called on Tuesdays to give a quick update on Bri's training, as he had earlier in the week. This was Friday.

"Hi, Mike," Starsky greeted. "Hutch is here. What's up?"

"Bri's training is going to be set back six or eight weeks. She popped a splint bone this morning."

"Popped a splint bone?" Starsky repeated worriedly. "Sounds serious."

"No, no. It's a really common injury for young horses. It's an inflammation of the inside bone -- splint bone -- that runs the length of the horse's cannon bone, or ankle. She's not even lame. But it's tender to the touch and she can't be training on it until the inflammation goes away."

Hutch recalled what he'd seen at the riding stable when he owned Poncho, and where Danny was now turned out to pasture. "Is that like a knot, or bump, on the inside of her leg?"

"Yes, that's what it looks like. The knot will always be there, but the tenderness will go away."

"Yeah, I've seen that before on a horse."

Starsky asked, "So, you said six weeks?"

"Roughly. The recovery time varies from horse to horse. But this means that August is the earliest she'll debut, because it'll take her a while to return to the fitness that she'll lose while we're waiting for the inflammation to go down."

It was now May.

Hawkins' voice became enthused. "But there's some good news, too, in a sense. The reason this happened is because we set her up to run down a five-year-old horse that we put in front her. We made sure that he was tired enough that she'd have a chance to pass him. She got so excited about the idea of running another horse down that she just exploded by him and kept going. The rider couldn't hold her and she went faster than she was ready for. So, I'm going to have to find a stronger rider for her. But she sure wanted to beat the horse in front her."

Starsky grinned at Hutch. "So, she's probably going to be a horse that comes from behind?"

"No," Hawkins corrected. "She's way too fast to ever lag very far back. But I'm hoping we can convince her to sit off the leaders and stalk the pace. She needs to learn that in order to pass horses, she's got to let them be in front of her for the first part of the race. But boy, she sure has a quick turn of foot when she accelerates."

Hutch's phone beeped and Lois said, "Ken,Clint Foster at the stables where Danny is, is on line one."

Starsky quickly said, "Thanks for the update, Mike. We'll just have to be patient." He cut the line.

"Thanks, Lois," Hutch said. He put his line on the speaker phone before pressing it. "Hi, Clint. I've got you on speaker phone so my partner can hear."

Clint's voice sounded bashful. "Hi, Ken. Listen, uh, I'm not one to go putting my nose in other people's business."

That didn't sound good. "Yeah?" Hutch prompted.

"But I think you need to do something with this horse of yours."

Starsky asked, "Danny? What's wrong?"

"He's not spending much time out at the pasture with the other horses. Instead, in the daytime, he's usually up at the fence that's closest to the main barn, watching all the activity. Last weekend, we had a reining show, so there were competitors trailering in, and Danny was trotting along the fence and nickering most of the day, like he was feeling left out. And a while back, we had a girl scout troop here, and they were all petting him, because he was the only horse up by the fence, and he was just eating up the attention. They kept calling him 'a poor thing'." Clint paused. "I think he needs to be in the main barn, where he can see all the comings and goings. Better yet, somebody needs to be riding him or training him, or something."

Starsky snorted. "Never thought a horse wouldn't want to be at pasture."

"Certainly most would rather be in a pasture than a stall," Clint said. "But I've known a few in my time who seem like big Golden Retrievers. If given the option, they'd rather follow humans around than hang out in a big pasture with their own kind. I think Danny is like that. There is an open stall in the main barn, but of course the board will be a lot higher."

"We've actually got some other plans for him," Hutch said. "We might be leasing him out. Let me make some phone calls and I'll let you know."

"Good enough." Clint cut the line.

"I guess we need to call Mike back and talk to Stella." Hutch began leafing through his Rolodex card file.

Starsky's phone beeped. "David, there's a Sheriff Calvin Clayborne on line three. He said he knew you and Hutch in your cop days."

Starsky looked over at Hutch, furrowing his brow. He muttered, "I think I remember the name, but I don't know who...."

Hutch shook his head. "I don't recall, either."

"Thanks," Starsky told Lois. He pushed line three. "This is David Starsky. I have you on speaker phone with Ken Hutchinson."

"David Starsky? Do you remember me? Calvin Clayborne. I was a patrol officer when you guys were detectives."

"Uhh..."

"It's okay if you don't," he said with a chuckle. "It's more likely you remember the partner I had a short time. Raymond Andrews."

Hutch groaned.

Starsky now placed the name. "The rookie that shot Jackson Walters in that alley." The Walters family had been friends of theirs. The white rookie Raymond Andrews had shot the black unarmed Jackson Walters and never had to pay for it. "Yeah, I remember you now, Calvin. You got another partner pretty quick."

"Yeah. I couldn't get away from Andrews fast enough. That was one hot head that thankfully transferred out within the year."

"How can we help you?" Hutch asked.

"Well, I'm now the Sheriff of Hutton County. You know where that is?"

"Uh-uh," Starsky said.

"Not many people do. We're up north, about midway between San Jose and the south metro area, and another fifty miles east. There's just small rural towns that make up the county."

"Sounds like you've done well for yourself," Hutch said.

"Yeah, I like the quieter life. Anyway, the reason I called is because when I connected with some cops I used to know, it came up that you guys had your own detective agency."

Starsky figured Clayborne was leaving out the likely gossip that had ensued about his and Hutch's personal relationship.

"So, I wondered if you fellas would have any interest in looking into a case up here."

Starsky felt intrigued as Hutch rolled his chair closer to Starsky's desk. "Possibly. What kind of case?"

"Well, we're just a small outfit, and we don't have the manpower to tackle a murder from a year and a half ago. We have an annual fair for hot air balloonists that brought in a good sum of money last summer, so we got the town council to approve some money to hire outside help to try to figure out what happened to this poor woman."

"Who was she?" Starsky asked.

"She was a sixty-two-year-old grandmother. No enemies that anybody knew of. Went missing the fall before last. Then, after a couple of months, her body was found in a ditch about fifty miles from where she lived. We were able to eliminate immediate family members and the known bad actors in town. Beyond that, we just don't have anything to go on. A nephew from Oregon was down here a few weeks ago and putting a lot of pressure on to not let the case go cold, so that's when I submitted the request to the town council. Considering that people around here pretty much all know each other, and might be motivated to not see a friend or relative as a suspect, we all agreed that we need someone from the outside to do the investigating."

Starsky met Hutch's eye, who nodded. "Yeah, we'd be interested in taking a look. We're a pretty busy office, though, so I don't know how much time we'd be able to spend up there." A round trip drive would take some four hours.

"Well, I thought if you could come up sometime this weekend, that I could give you the files, and you could take them back with you. Then you could figure out your strategy and go from there."

"That would be great" Hutch said. "We could do that tomorrow."

Starsky felt a tingle of excitement at the idea of getting involved in a juicy case.

"Okay, let me give you some directions and some phone numbers."

Hutch grabbed a legal pad and wrote down the information that Clayborne relayed. Then he said, "Okay, we should be there by mid morning tomorrow. Looking forward to seeing you again, Calvin."

"Same here."

Starsky cut the line. "This sounds terrific, huh?"

"Yeah," Hutch grinned.

Starsky's phone beeped. "David, Mandy is on line one."

It was a sunny spring day and pleasant drive to Hutton County. The county seat was the little town of Whispering Gulch, which had a population of eight hundred, by far the largest in the region.

Starsky and Hutch sat in a conference room with a thick cardboard file open before them. On the table was a box of physical evidence.

Calvin Clayborne's close-cropped hair had gone mostly white. Hutch remembered from the Jackson Walter shooting that Clayborne had remained calm in the midst of tempers flaring after what appeared to be a racially-motivated shooting of a black civilian by a white cop. Clayborne had appeared silently condemning of his partner, while also looking as though he'd prefer to be anywhere else but there -- someone who was assumed to stand by his young rookie partner, however much he might disagree with his actions.

Clayborne still had a mellow air about him, and the relaxed manner that came from one moving from a bustling city to the slower pace of country life. He had given them the file of the deceased Ellie Porterson. Though white-haired, the family pictures of her showed a peaceful countenance. Her husband, eight years her senior, had died of a heart attack five years prior to her death. Her lone child, a daughter, had moved away as a rebellious young unwed mother and died of a drug overdose, leaving her small child to be raised by the father's family in Ohio. The rest of Ellie's family lived in Oregon, where they made good money from a printing business. Ellie had been asked many times to move there, but she preferred the quiet country life.

Starsky leafed through photographs of the inside of Ellie's home, which the police had investigated in trying to find something that would give a clue as to why her body was found fifty miles away, with two bullet holes in her skull. "Looks like she was quite the bookworm," he marveled. The photos included bookcases that lined the walls, and more books were stacked on other pieces of furniture.

"Oh, yes," Clayborne said. "She loved to read. She volunteered her time at the library, and made a little side money teaching others to read. Even helped inmates read at the county jail."

Hutch looked up from the file. "Did you check out her students?"

"Yes, we did what we could. Many of them were still incarcerated when she was murdered. One who was out had an alibi. One of the students in town was a sixteen-year-old girl." Clayborne shrugged. "Everyone we can connect with her either has alibis, or there's nothing about them to give us any reason to consider as a suspect. The closest one to being a suspect was Antley Turner, because he's got a long list of arrests, including some violent incidents -- one involving a supposed accidental shooting -- but he was working a job in the next county when Ellie went missing. So, we're at a loss."

Starsky asked, "Do you know for sure when she went missing?"

"Well, her brother in Oregon talked to her on the phone the morning of October 12th, which was a Friday. Various places around town -- the grocery store, the tire place -- have employees who saw her on Saturday, up to about one in the afternoon. Sunday is the question mark. On Monday morning, she was supposed to start a volunteer shift at the library at eleven, and she never showed. That's when someone went to check on her and couldn't find her. They waited another day and then contacted the police."

Hutch muttered, "So, some time between early afternoon on Saturday and late Monday morning."

"Yes. That's the best we can pin down. Her phone records don't show any calls."

"What was her house like?" Starsky asked.

"We couldn't find anything that looked like a clue. No reason to think that somebody came in and kidnapped her. There wasn't any food out or anything to indicate that she left suddenly. No damage to doors or windows."

"What about her car?" Hutch wondered.

"It was still in the driveway. We haven't found any prints on it that couldn't be accounted for. So, either she drove somewhere, was killed, and the killer drove it back with gloves and had an accomplice give him a ride, or she went with somebody who picked her up. Apparently willingly, since the house doesn't look disturbed."

The door opened, and an officer said, "The mayor is on line one."

"I'd better take that." Clayborne moved to the door.

"We'll be fine here," Hutch said.

As they continued to leaf through contents of the file folder, Starsky said, "We're going to need to start from square one. Completely fresh."

"Yeah."

"And hope we notice something that no one else has." Starsky's voice trailed off as he gazed at the photo of a desk with various stacks of books. "Hutch," he said in a awed whisper.

Hutch shifted his chair closer. "What?"

Starsky pointed to a stack of books. "Look at the third one from the top."

It was light-colored binding. The words on the spine read The Story of Us.

Hutch felt fuzzy around the edges.

Starsky's quiet voice was determined. "We have to find out who killed her, Hutch."

Starsky drove his new white Firebird home while Hutch continued to browse through the thick file.

"You know what I'm wondering," Starsky said.

"What?"

"If she had my book because she's the type of person who will read anything that looks interesting, or if she had it because she likes to read gay-related stuff, or cop-related stuff, and that had something to do with her murder."

Hutch held up some of the photographs and studied them. "From what little I can tell of the titles, I'd vote for she's the type of person who will read just about anything. But mostly non-fiction."

Starsky mused, "Wonder if she actually read my book, or hadn't gotten around to it when she was murdered."

"Well, Clayborne said that the family had kept her house the same as it was, other than cleaning out the perishables, because they didn't want to disturb anything that might lead to her killer being found. It's not worth much, so they aren't in a hurry to sell it. We'll need to check it out ourselves."

"Yeah." Starsky shifted in his seat and asked, "So, how do you want to tackle it?"

"Let's go through everything carefully this week and make lists of primary witnesses that we want to interview in person, secondary witnesses that we can interview over the phone, and a third list of those probably not involved that we'll put on the back burner. Then we'll make sure we have current addresses of those on our primary list, and hopefully interview them all in one trip. Then see what we want to do from there."

Starsky nodded. "Sounds good."

The following Tuesday, Starsky found Mandy sitting in a booth of the bar where they'd agreed to meet.

"Thanks for seeing me," she smiled at him, looking up for her pina colada.

"Sure. Hutch couldn't come, because he has to be out at the stables to meet with a lady who might be leasing Danny."

"At night?"

"Yeah. The stable has an lighted indoor arena. The lady is too busy at her own place with riding lessons and shows and stuff to come out on a weekend. Plus, Hutch thought there would probably be hardly anyone else there on a Tuesday night, so Danny wouldn't be bothered by other horses when she tries him out. You know, he's trained to be a racehorse and hasn't had been ridden in an indoor arena."

"Oh. I hope she likes him. You didn't want to be there?"

Starsky shrugged. "I didn't want to put you off, since it seemed like you needed to talk, and we didn't want to wait too long to get Danny leased out, since he doesn't seem to be very happy with just being a pasture horse. So, Hutch and I decided to split up for tonight."

She tilted her head with a smile. "Oh, I almost feel bad."

The waitress came up to their table and Starsky ordered a beer. "I told Hutch to take the video camera, so I can see how Danny does." He leaned forward. "So, what's on your mind, kiddo?"

Mandy poked at the ice in her glass with a straw. "Oh, I don't know. I guess I'm going through some kind of weird phase or something. You know, I've just always done was I was supposed to do. Went to school, got good grades, got jobs over the summers once I was a teenager, went to college, started a professional career. Make a good living. But it's like... so what?" She looked directly at him. "You know? I mean, what am I doing here? What are any of us doing here?"

Starsky presented an affectionate grin. "The big questions, huh? Did something happen recently that brought all this on?"

"I don't know." Then she straightened. "I mean, yeah, sort of. You know, there was this guy that has asked me out a few times."

"The one you mentioned at the track when Danny won?"

"Yeah. I don't even like him that much. But he's the first person that's asked since I called off the wedding with my ex-fiance, and I figured I may as well. I mean, I figured it would be too easy to keep saying no if I didn't at least try to go out."

"So, what happened?" Starsky asked with a nod.

"I've just seen him a few times," she muttered. "Then, a couple of weeks ago, I slept with him." She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I can't believe I did that."

Starsky furrowed his brow. "Was it that bad?"

"It wasn't anything. I mean, I was awake all through the night, in his bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering, 'What am I doing here'? Finally, at five, I got up and left. Now I don't want anything further to do with him. And if I don't go out on any more dates, he'll think it's because I thought he was bad in bed. He wasn't, but there isn't anything about him that appeals to me." She shrugged emphatically. "I feel like such an idiot. I'm a single girl, not seeing anyone, so if somebody asks me out who I find at least tolerable, I'm supposed to say yes, right?"

The waitress placed a beer in front of Starsky. "Thanks," he said. Then to Mandy, "Well, you don't have to. I mean, when I was single, I wouldn't expect a career woman like yourself to be automatically interested."

Mandy sighed. "And then, for Christmas, one of my co-workers got me a gift certificate for an astrology reading. I don't even believe in any of that crap. In fact, I think the co-worker got it for me as sort of a joke, because some of us gals have lunch discussions about stuff like that. Anyway, I thought what the heck, I'll use it just to see what the astrologer has to tell me. So, I go, and it's like an everyday person. Not somebody dressed like a gypsy or anything. And I told her I don't really believe in this stuff, and I just wanted to see what it's like, and I don't know what to expect... and she spent the entire time talking about the type of man that would be best for me."

Starsky grinned while twirling his beer bottle in his fingers. "Did she ask you about relationships?"

"No! She didn't ask me anything. She just start talking as though that's the whole reason I was there, and she was going to help me with it. And I thought, do I look that pathetic? Where she's thinking Oh, this poor thirty-five-year-old woman with no ring on her finger. She's going die an old maid. I'd better help her find someone. I mean, I thought she might tell me about my career, or my mother dying when I was teenager, or Millie's suicide, or something like that. If, you know, that stuff was supposedly in my chart. But no, it was all about finding a man." She took a quick sip of her drink. "I don't even care about finding a man. Not right now. Is that so terrible?"

Starsky rested his chin in his hand. "I guess it depends on what you want." That sounded whimpy, so he emphasized, "What YOU want. Not what everyone thinks you should want." Starsky reflected on conversations with Hutch a few months back. "It's like Danny. He's bred to be a racehorse. He wasn't a very good racehorse. But there's reason now to think he wants to be a horse that jumps fences. So, we're trying to do what we can to help him get a chance at what he's passionate about, rather than insisting he be what we thought he was supposed to be."

She nodded while curling a fist. "Yeah. Yeah. If only I could convince my father of that. His heart's giving him trouble -- doctor thinks he might live five years, at most -- and he's convinced that he's failed me if he doesn't live to see me married off. And then I get mad when he completely blows off me saying I'm not interested in a relationship right now. Like, he doesn't think I know what I'm talking about. And then he thinks it's funny when I get mad, like I'm getting mad because he's right, rather then the truth that I'm getting mad because he doesn't respect how I feel."

Starsky drew a slow breath. "Yeah, families can be tough. But I think you'll definitely be sorry if you give in to what anyone else wants for you."

She leaned forward, looking at him earnestly. "Do you wonder why you're here? Why life exists? Do you believe in God or something like that? That there's a right way or a wrong way to live? Or, do you think we're all just the result of eons of biological processes?"

Starsky shifted in his chair. "Ah, the heavy stuff." He wished Hutch was here. "Hutch would say that no one can really know, so why worry about it?" He smiled fondly. "Though he'll sometimes go off on philosophical meanderings."

"What do you think?"

"I believe in... something. Life after death, for sure." He thought of Terry Roberts. "Including that those who have passed on can communicate with those of us who are here, if we're open to it. You know, if you have closed mind about that sort of stuff, I don't think you'll ever notice any clues, so to speak."

Her eyes narrowed. "But do you think there's a purpose to life? Like, there's something here that we're all supposed to do? Like, some people think we're here to do good. Or we're here to learn." Her mouth twisted. "But all that stuff is so relative. You know, doctors centuries ago thought they were doing good when they bled people. Maybe a century from now, the medical profession will say that the current doctors were a bunch of fools for doing stuff like radiation and chemotherapy to cure cancer, or at least slow its progression."

Starsky tilted his head. "Yeah, I supposed that the 'real truth" about various things will always be a moving target, based on whatever mankind knows at the present time."

"But do you believe in God?" She suddenly sat back. "My family has always been the purest form of agnosticism. We're well educated. Rational. It seems utterly ridiculous that so many people can cling to something like The Bible as God's word. And yet," she glanced around, "there's life. Existence. Some kind of balance to it all. Which suggests that there must be something that created it all. But is there is a creator, then who created the creator?"

Starsky sipped his beer, wishing again that Hutch was sharing this conversation. "Boy, I haven't thought about stuff like this in a long time."

"Because you're happy," she said as a statement, "and confident in the rightness of your life."

Starsky gazed at his beer bottle. "What I know, with absolute certainty, is that there's nothing wrong with the type of relationship Hutch and I have. What I also know, with absolute certainty, is that it's not coincidence that Hutch and I found each other. Now, whether one calls that a predetermined fate, or that God was watching out for us, or that we've been reincarnated a hundred times and always find each other in our lifetimes... I don't know the answer to that stuff. And I'm okay with not knowing." He looked up with a nod.

She glanced at the wall. "I never really pondered it before. Too busy, I guess, intellectualizing everything." Her gaze went back to Starsky. "People talk like one's heart is foolish and they should use their head. But others say 'follow your heart'. But if one is supposed to follow their heart, then why do we have brains to help us figure stuff out?"

Starsky held up his empty beer bottle as the waitress went by. "I'll have another." Then he smiled as he regarded Mandy's serious countenance. "Well, I think mankind has been pondering those sorts of questions as long as he's existed."

She muttered, "Seems like somebody would have figured out the answer by now."

"Maybe there are things we aren't supposed to know. Like, if there's such a thing as reincarnation, there's a reason we don't remember our past lives."

"If, if, if. Maybe, maybe, maybe." She waved a hand.

Starsky decided to address her desire for a bottom line. "Look, Mandy, I think the best thing is to focus on what you do know. And if you sincerely don't want to be in a relationship right now, then stop questioning and rationalizing it. Just smile and nod your head when someone else makes a comment about it, and stick to your guns." Starsky suddenly recalled what she hadn't said. "What did that astrologer say, anyway? About what type of guy would be best for you?"

Mandy shrugged. "I don't know. I wasn't really listening. I was so appalled that she seemed to think I was some sort of pathetic single woman, desperately looking for a man, that I tuned her out, I guess."

Starsky grinned. "Well, I think I heard some astrologer say on a talk show that the number one question they get asked is 'Is there somebody out there for me?' So, since you didn't give her anything else to go on, in terms of things you wanted to know, she had good reason to make the assumption you were interested in finding a man."

Mandy sighed.

"What about the rest of your life?" Starsky asked. "How is everything?"

A couple of hours later, Starsky was watching TV when Hutch arrived home.

Hutch brought the camcorder with him to the living room. "You got to see this," he said, putting the camera on the table and ejecting the cassette tape. "I wish you could have been there, but I at least I can show you this." He was smiling broadly as he messed with the VCR.

After a few moments, he grabbed the remote while the machine made noises of rewinding, and then sat back on the sofa, next to Starsky.

"It went well, huh?" Starsky asked.

"You won't believe this," Hutch said. "Danny was incredible."

There was a noise of the rewind completing, and Hutch pressed a button on the remote. Their 48" TV screen showed Danny walking along the outer edge of an indoor arena, wearing an English style saddle, a woman in white riding breeches and a lightweight jacket on his back. Black hair extended from her helmet.

"That's Linda Beswick. She brought all her own tack with her, because I told her I didn't have anything. And she also brought along her teenage protege, Leslie." Danny began to trot, with Linda posting in the saddle.

"Danny did really well," Hutch went on, "considering that he's never been in an arena like this. You can see his ears going back and forth, like he's really listening to her. Clint was right that he's really eager for someone to interact with him. I'll fast forward a little bit." He pressed a button and the frames moved quickly.

"Danny's always so level-headed," Starsky marveled, while thinking of Bri's high strung behavior.

"Yeah." Hutch stopped the fast forward as Danny began to canter around the arena. "She said she could tell he was a racehorse, because he cantered a lot more easily going to the left, than to the right, where he was a more stiff."

"He's such a good boy," Starsky said fondly.

"That's Leslie," Hutch said, as the camera panned across a tall, blonde teenager that was watching horse and rider. She was also dressed in breeches and a jacket.

"So, are they going to lease him?" Starsky asked.

"I've got the paperwork for our attorney to look over. But you've got see this." Hutch fast-forwarded again while explaining, "Once she was done riding him, she dismounted and went over to her purse to get the lease papers. No one else was in the arena, so she just dropped Danny's reins, because it wasn't like he had anywhere to go, if he wanted to run away. I didn't have the camera on, but he followed her to where she was bending over her purse and nuzzled the back of her shoulder. Like, 'What are you going do do with me next?'"

Starsky chuckled.

Hutch paused the tape, turning to Starsky. "So, she got this idea about seeing him jump. There were a pair of jumps set up in the arena, just a couple of feet high, but she didn't want to ride him over them, because he hasn't had any training in that. But she told Leslie to try to get Danny to follow her on foot, and go over the jumps. Watch this."

Young Leslie was jogging down the arena, making clucking noises, and Danny began to trot after her, riderless. Linda was heard laughing, as was Hutch.

Starsky grinned as he watched.

"Go over the jumps," Linda said.

Leslie glanced back to make sure Danny was following, a dozen feet behind, as she ran toward the jumps at one side of the arena. She hopped over the first one and ran toward the second.

Danny followed, tucking his legs to jump over the first fence and then, a few strides later, the second.

"Oh, my God!" Starsky said, laughing.

"Yeah, that was incredible. Linda said she liked his form. And really loved his willingness and enthusiasm. And how calm he was, handling all this new stuff."

They watched as Leslie circled around to the two fences at a jog, and jumped them again, Danny also following at a trot, as though being careful to keep his distance and not run over her.

The video ended with them all petting him.

"So is Linda going to lease him?"

Hutch unfolded the stapled group of papers "She said this is the agreement she uses when she leases a horse. She wants to make sure they're signed before she takes him, but she said as soon as she receives them, she'll send a trailer to pick Danny up."

"Where is her stable?"

"It's apparently a major hunter-jumper outfit for young riders. It's about an hour north of Dusty Creek. Maybe another 15 minute drive for us." Hutch indicated the papers. "She said the main things are that she would pay for his maintenance and routine care. The lease can be for up to two years, with either party terminating at will, which means Danny would be returned to us. After two years, we would have to formally renew it." Hutch looked at Starsky. "She did offer to pay a couple of thousand to buy him outright, but I told her I didn't think you'd be interested."

"A couple of thousand?" Starsky muttered, having not expected an offer.

Hutch shrugged. "Yeah. Even if Danny turns out to be as good as we all hope, it'll take years to get to that level. So, he's basically a riding horse at this point. I thought it was a good price, but I didn't think you'd be on board with that."

"You'd be okay with selling him?" Starsky asked with disapproval.

Hutch grinned. "Buddy, have you ever thought about what we're going to do with all these horses, while Darla keeps having foals? I mean, in her lifetime, she could have another ten or so. And if Bri is retired to be a broodmare down the line... If we have the mindset that we're going to keep them all, we're going to need to buy a farm. And we can't afford a farm."

Starsky sighed. "Well, we aren't at that point right now. Just think if, like, Danny were in the Olympics. Wouldn't it be cool if we were still his owners?"

Hutch turned back to the lease agreement, dismissing the subject. "She also wanted to make sure we knew she's likely want to show him."

"I thought it would take a long time to train him to jump with a rider."

"Yes, but in the meantime, after a certain amount of training, he could be shown in what they call flat classes, where they don't jump fences. Just walk, trot, canter. And also conformation classes, where they aren't ridden but just led around with a halter, and judged on how well they're put together and their way of going."

"That would be cool. Maybe we could come out sometime and watch."

"Yeah. She wanted to make sure we were aware that she wouldn't necessarily be the only person riding him, and I said I didn't see any problem with that."

"Can we come out and see him?"

"Yes, we're always free to do that."

Starsky shrugged. "Sounds great. So, no money changes hands?"

"No. She's doing us a favor, because Danny isn't costing us any upkeep. And we're doing her a favor, because she can have up to two years to see if Danny is going to work out, without having to purchase him."

Starsky sat back, smiling warmly. "Sounds great, huh? He can get to do what he really wants and we aren't worried about the bills."

"Yeah." Hutch placed the papers on the coffee table. "I'll have Tom Placing look this agreement over, in case he's concerned about anything, and then we'll get it signed and in the mail to Linda." Hutch turned to fully face Starsky. "How did it go with Mandy?"

"Ah, she's just going through some stuff."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You know, she's more of an intellectual type and all of a sudden, she's wondering about the meaning of life and all that."

Hutch appeared concerned. "I wonder why."

"I think she's questioning who she really is. You know, she's really self-conscious about being a thirty-five-year-old woman who's never married. And everyone assuming she wants to find a man, when she's not really interested. At least, not right now."

"Did you have any advice to offer?"

"Just to not lose sight of what she really wants, when she's hearing from everyone else what they think she's supposed to want."

"Sounds like it was a heavy conversation."

"Sort of. But I really like talking to her. Feels sort of like I have a kid sister."

Hutch's expression became thoughtful.

"What are you thinking?" Starsky prompted.

"Sometimes, that's sort of how I feel about Judith -- like a sister -- since Lannie and I don't have deep conversations."

"Yeah."

"Maybe we should have the two of them over sometime. Fix them dinner, then maybe play some card games afterward. Maybe show some videos of the horses. They're both single career women. Seems like they ought to get along okay."

Starsky smiled broadly, touched that Hutch had the idea. "Yeah, let's do that some evening in the next few weeks." He leaned forward. "I love you."

They kissed. And kissed some more.

Starsky's hand went from Hutch's torso down to his swelling crotch. "I think I've just found the meaning of life."

Hutch kissed him harder.

It was a damp Thursday morning when they returned to Hutton County, stopping at the tiny town of Wyatt, where Ellie Porterson had lived. Her soft green one-story stucco home was set well back from the road, two miles from the nearest neighbor. The family had put a realtor's lock on the door, and Ellie's nephew had given them the combination.

The rain had stopped when Starsky and Hutch applied the combination, and removing the cover of the box revealed the key. They used it to open the door and were confronted with the smell of rodents, as well as the noise of tiny feet scampering away. The family had said that since the house was over seventy years old, they might raze it, rather than try to fix It up and sell it, since it was painful to think of someone else living there.

They both silently took in the main room, eyes roaming walls and furniture for any indication that something might have been amiss Ellie's last day. They remained silent as they moved on to other rooms.

When they entered her small office, dominated by a wooden desk, Starsky went to the stack of books that looked familiar from the police photos. He moved off the top two and picked up The Story of Us. He opened the cover and found a penciled note on the first page. "Hutch." Hutch stepped close as Starsky read, "I thought you might enjoy this. Interesting story. Fresh style. Love, Miranda."

Hutch grabbed another book and opened it. "Wonder if others were gifts."

Starsky put the book down to take another. "Miranda was a friend who worked at the library where Ellie volunteered." They looked through the inside covers of various books, and Hutch announced, "Here's one. My girlfriend says this is the greatest book ever. I can't speak to her taste. Ha. Your loving nephew, Greg. " Greg was the relative who had pressured the local police into not letting the case go cold. Hutch looked at the cover. "It, by Stephen King."

Starsky continued to browse. "I guess it's likely that a lot of people would give her books as gifts."

Hutch leafed through some pages of another book. "She does underlining. She drew a smiley face next to this paragraph." Hutch spent a moment reading. "It's a nutrition book talking about natural chicken, raised without antibiotics."

Starsky picked up The Story of Us. He leafed through the inner pages. "Maybe she hadn't read my book," he muttered. "There aren't any markings." He was about to put it down when it flipped through to the end. "Wait a minute." He quickly picked it up and turned to the last page.

Hutch looked up. "What?"

Starsky held the book open with a grin. There was a large smiley face taking up the space beneath the final paragraph.

Hutch also grinned. "Looks like she liked it. Loved it."

Starsky let that feeling settle in, then his mind wandered back to the case. "Obviously, Miranda read it. So, I wonder how starstruck she'll be if we go and talk to her. Maybe she'll tell us more about Ellie than she told the cops." They had intended to visit her anyway, since she was one of Ellie's closest friends.

Hutch replaced the books he'd picked up. "Well, we can always come back here, if we need to. Let's start going down our list."

Their first visit, since it was only three miles from Ellie's house, was a thin, elderly man named Monty Rathburn. He'd turned his property into an auto repair shop many years ago, and he had been under consideration as a suspect because it was well known in town that he'd had some financial disagreements with Ellie about how much he charged versus how much she was willing to pay.

The gruff-looking Monty straightened from the truck he was bent over, when he saw Starsky's Firebird driving up his gravel road. He regarded it with admiration as they both got out of the car.

"Monty Rathburn?" Hutch inquired as they approached.

"That's me. What can I help you with?"

While Hutch presented their card, Starsky explained, "We're private investigators that have been hired to look into the murder of Ellie Porterson."

Rathburn glanced at the card while saying in a subdued tone, "I hope you find who did it. Dam shame that something like that would happen to someone around here."

"We're taking a fresh approach to the case," Hutch explained, "so we'd like to ask you some questions. We know you already talked to the police back then, but we'd like to hear from you directly."

He shrugged. "Fire away. I've got nothing to hide."

"Let's start with where you were the weekend that Ellie disappeared."

"It was my grandson's birthday in Fresno. So, I left Friday afternoon for a visit, got back here Sunday evening. The next few days, people started talking about how Ellie hadn't been seen since Saturday." He snorted. "I heard that some people suspected me, just because she owed me money. If I'd done something as outrageous as murder her, how could she ever pay me?" He shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense. The only way I was going to get paid was if she was alive."

Starsky said, "Tell us about your financial disagreements."

He shrugged. "She'd drop off her car, because it had something that needed looking at. I'd look at it, do any necessary repairs. Then she'd come pick it up and I'd say, 'You owe me forty dollars' or whatever. She'd pay me twenty and say that's all she had on her. Then I'd send her a statement or call her for the other twenty, and she'd start arguing about how I overcharged her. I let it go the first time. Then it happened it again, and I realized when she paid me only part when she picked up her car, she didn't have any intention of paying me the rest. So, I'd keep sending her statements and calling her. After the third time, I refused to work on her car, and she paid me a little of what she owed from before." He shifted. "She wasn't the type of person to be confrontational. She was always agreeable to your face. But when you talked to her on the phone, or through the mail, she'd complain about how much I charged."

"Why didn't she just go to a different mechanic?"

"She had a Volkswagon Jetta. The closest dealer is in Fresno. Not a lot of shops in these parts can work on a foreign car like that. I only would do routine sort of things, because they're built differently than other cars."

Hutch nodded in understanding. "Then, if it wasn't you, do you have any idea of anyone who might want to harm Ellie?"

He shook his head. "Nobody does. A lot of people around town were gossiping about it, but the only name I ever heard besides myself is Antley Turner, because he's a bad sort. But he was in jail at the time she disappeared."

"If he hadn't been in jail," Starsky asked, "is there any reason he would have wanted to hurt her?"

Rathburn shrugged. "Just meanness, I guess. People of that sort don't need reasons, do they?"

They interviewed three more people, with an eye toward how their recollections of the weekend Ellie went missing might have changed from their original statements to police. But there wasn't any variation. Now, Starsky and Hutch were headed to the county library.

Starsky wasn't sure what to expect when he and Hutch approached the reference desk, where the name plate said Miranda Stevenson.

"Miranda?" he inquired.

She was an elderly lady with her hair dyed a soft red. "Yes?"

Starsky presented their card, saying their names carefully to see if she gave a reaction. "I'm David Starsky and this is my partner, Ken Hutchinson. We're private detectives."

She glanced at their card and then at them. "David Starsky. Hmm. That's not a common name, but it seems somewhat familiar."

Helpfully, Starsky said, "I wrote a book that was published a couple of years ago."

Her mouth fell open, and she looked from the card to him, and then to Hutch.

"About me and my partner," Starsky pressed.

She leaned back in her chair. "Why yes, I read your book. I thought it was delightful. I mean, the way it was presented. Not everything that happened. What on Earth are you doing here?"

Hutch said, "We're investigating Ellie Porterson's murder, on behalf of the Sheriff's department.. We understand she was a friend of yours."

The smile left. "Oh, yes, poor Ellie. I miss her very much." Miranda's brow furrowed. "How did you know I'd read your book?"

"We found a copy in Ellie's home," Starsky replied. "It had a note from you that indicated you'd already read it."

"Oh. You were in her home," she said with discomfort.

"We had to check it out," Hutch offered gently.

"I suppose," Miranda relented. "It just feels like such an invasion of Ellie's privacy."

"We had permission from the family. We're taking the approach of looking at everything with a fresh eye."

"Which is why we wanted to talk to you," Starsky said. "We know you already talked to the police when Ellie went missing, but we'd like you to think back to that time, and tell us anything you can that might be the slightest clue to what happened.

Miranda opened a drawer and grabbed a ring of keys. She gestured to a series of small rooms. "Let's go somewhere more private."

"Sure."

They followed her to one of the rooms, where she unlocked the door. They each sat at the small round table.

"I wish I knew something helpful," Miranda said with a heavy sigh. "But I don't have the slightest idea of what happened to her."

"Still, tell us about the days leading up to her disappearance," Hutch prompted. "Sometimes the smallest detail can be important."

"Well, she was working here on Thursday. Volunteering, like she did two or three days week. She loved books, loved to read, so she loved helping out here."

"Anyone ever bother her?" Starsky asked.

"No. Not that she ever mentioned. She'd help with checking out books and helping people find what they were looking for from the card catalogs. If I wasn't working, she'd man the Reference Desk. She never appeared uncomfortable around anyone, and I think she would have told me if she had been."

Hutch prompted, "What about repeat customers? People who always wanted her help?"

Miranda tilted her head. "Well, there's always a few -- men, usually -- who don't ever seem to want to learn how to find what they need. They just tell us what they want, and we look up the books or periodicals." She shrugged. "But that's what we're here for."

"Any that might have been particularly interested in interacting with Ellie?" Starsky wondered. "Like maybe they were particularly fond of her?"

"Not in that way, I don't think. But there was a young man who was writing a novel with a setting in this area in the fifties. So, he spent a lot time here, and was always having us look things up, because he wanted to be as accurate as possible regarding how things were back then. I know he always had a good sense of humor and he and Ellie would laugh a lot. I sometimes would, too, with him, but I think Ellie was his favorite between us."

Hutch was writing notes. "What was the man's name?"

"Eric Cressna. His book was just published a couple of months ago, I think. We have it on order." Miranda furrowed her brow. "Surely, you don't think a nice young man like him...."

"We have to consider everybody," Starsky soothed. "That's the only way we're going to find Ellie's killer."

She put her hand to her face. "Well, in that case, if you give me some time to think about it, I might be able to make a list of everyone I can recall that talked with Ellie somewhat regularly."

"Or maybe just once," Hutch said, "and something seemed unusual about them."

"How long are you in town?"

"We're headed back," Starsky replied, "but we'll be up again. Our address is on our card, so you can just drop your list in the mail."

"All right then." Miranda reached for the door. "I sure hope you're successful." She smiled warmly at Starsky as they exited the room. "I really enjoyed your book." She glanced at Hutch. "Never thought I'd ever be speaking to the two stars of the book."

She turned to lock the door behind her. Starsky noticed the yellow sticker on the key chain that held well over a dozen keys. As Miranda straightened, he nodded at the chain and said, "A smiley face."

She looked at it and smiled herself. "Oh, yes, Ellie put on that sticker. Thought it would be easier to find. She liked smiley faces."

"Yeah?" Hutch prompted.

"Her mother had died when Ellie was a young teen. Her mother would always draw smiley faces to show her approval. You know, that was back before it got commercialized and there were stickers and such that one could buy. So, Ellie also liked to draw smiley faces to end a personal note, or if she particularly liked a passage in a book, or something like that."

Hoping he didn't sound pompous, Starsky said, "I saw that she'd put a smiley face on the last page of my book."

"That means she liked the whole book, and probably read it so fast that she didn't take time to draw next to individual passages." Miranda's tone became melancholy. "I'm glad she enjoyed it. We never had a chance to discuss it."

"We're sorry for your loss," Hutch said gently. He reached to squeeze her hand. "Thanks so much for your time."

Hutch drove on the way back, and Starsky sat in the passenger seat with a notepad,  He turned it to a fresh page.

"One thing I noticed," Starsky said as he scribbled, "is that the city of Fresno came up twice when we were talking to the old auto mechanic, Monty Rathburn. He said he was visiting for his grandson's birthday in Fresno, and that the closest Volkswagon dealer was in Fresno."

Hutch shrugged. "It's a large city in this part of the state. Lots of people in the county probably need to drive to Fresno for various things."

"Yeah, but still it's worth noting that it was brought up for two different reasons in the same conversation."

"I suppose if Rathburn wanted to kill Ellie, he could have driven to Fresno for his grandson's birthday. He returned Sunday evening. That's in the window of time where he could have gone to Ellie's house, taken her, maybe said he wanted to talk about the money she owed him and settle it once and for all -- nicely -- so she was willing to come out of her house and get in his car. He drove her somewhere and killed her. Maybe assaulted her." The body had been too decomposed to determine if Ellie had been sexually assaulted before being shot twice in the head.

Starsky shifted in his seat, rubbing his lip with a finger. "Ellie was found fifty miles north of town. Why so far away? Hutton County is rural, with lots of places to hide a body. Why did the killer drive so far away?"

"And not in the direction of Fresno," Hutch noted.

"But not opposite it, either."

"Okay, let's go with that thought. Rathburn wants to kill Ellie. He calls to meet her, but for some reason at a place fifty miles north of town. He can still get there in good time from Fresno after visiting family, so she comes from Wyatt, and he comes from Fresno. Where she was found was roughly the same distance from each."

"Just awfully far north of Wyatt and inconvenient." Starsky wondered, "And why would Ellie meet somebody's who's unhappy with her out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Yeah, that doesn't make much sense. There's no way to know if the body was moved. But surely somebody didn't kill her near Wyatt and drive fifty miles to dump her body, when they could have done so much closer to town without it being discovered quickly."

"Let's try another angle," Starsky said, twirling his pen in his fingers. "Let's say the primary motivation was sexual assault. Who would do that?"

"She would be any easy target. Living a couple of miles from anyone, out there all by herself."

"The only person not incarcerated at that time was someone who had been suspected of molesting a child. Otherwise, there isn't anyone we've heard of who has any history of sex-related crimes." Starsky grunted. "That just doesn't have the feel of the motivation, and maybe she wasn't sexually assaulted at all."

"And there isn't any indication of financial motivation. Her house isn't worth much, and only a few acres of the surrounding land is hers. Nobody had a life insurance policy on her. What she had that was most valuable was her collection of books, and that would surely mean the most to herself and not anyone else."

"It's got to be personal, Hutch. We're looking for someone who wanted to kill her for their own specific reason. They didn't want anything from her. They just wanted her dead."

"And it was probably somebody who lived in or near Wyatt, because they didn't want her body discovered anywhere near town. That's why they drove it so far away, to try to throw off suspicion toward any of the locals." Hutch drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Let's assume she got in a car with somebody. Why would she do that?"

"It was a local, somebody she knew. Somebody she didn't feel threatened by."

Hutch reminded, "Her phone records show no call to or from her house in the window of time she went missing. So, she either expected somebody to drive up, or if it was a surprise visit, she was still willing to get in the car with them."

"Well, she loved books, loved teaching people to read. Maybe it was a somebody she'd agreed to give reading lessons to? Or loan a book to?"

"If she was loaning somebody a book, she could have just handed it to them, while they were in their car. So, between those two choices, it would have to be somebody who picked her up to take her some place for tutoring."

"Unless they, say, went to get something to eat. A drink or a cup of coffee. Or at least, that's what he said to get her into the car."

After turning those thoughts over, Hutch simply asked, "Why would somebody want to kill her? Why did somebody hate her that much? There's no indication of any relationships or anything like that. In small countys like Hutton, people would surely know if she was involved in any hanky-panky with someone's husband, or something like that."

Starsky drew a breath. "Well, she seemed really happy with her life. At peace. When people are feeling really unhappy or frustrated with life, that's when they can feel the most resentment toward others who really seem to have their lives together." Then he said, "You know, it is possible that it's a stranger. They drive up, say they need to use the phone, and are able to grab her by surprise so there's no sign of a struggle."

"Yeah." Hutch looked over at Starsky. "But it doesn't feel like that, does it?"

"No. But we've got to keep an open mind until we have more to go on. Maybe the list that Miranda provides of patrons at the library will give us something new to consider."

They were in their office the following week when Nick appeared at the door. He announced, "I solved the dog shit case."

Eagerly, Hutch asked, "You got video?"

"No. But I talked to the person and they aren't walking their dog there anymore."

While Starsky grinned, Hutch demanded, "What? You're were supposed to get proof. Not talk to the person."

Perplexed, Nick said, "But the dog isn't going to shit on Batt's lawn anymore, so that's all that matters, right?"

Speaking distinctly, Hutch said, "Our assignment was to find out who was responsible so Mr. Prissy could have the satisfaction of confronting them."

Amiably, Starsky said, "Why don't you tell us what happened."

"I had the place staked out, and this super cute girl -- maybe eighteen -- is walking her dog up the block. Think it was a Golden Retriever, maybe a mix. Anyway, just when I pick up the camcorder, she notices me and starts looking nervous, like she knows that I'm watching her. You know, like she thinks I might be some sort of creep."

"You are a creep," Starsky declared.

"Ha. So, I don't film it, because I don't want to spook her. Her dog shits on Batt's lawn, and she's still looking nervous, like she's wondering why I'm watching her. So, I figure at that point, there's no use in trying to pretend I'm not tailing her. So, I slowly drive up to her and roll down the window, and the first thing she says to me is, 'My dog's vicious', like that'll stop me from trying to abduct her. And the dog's wagging his tail. But anyway, I hold up my card and put on my friendliest face, and tell her I'm a P.I., hired by the owner of the house where her dog just crapped." Nick gestured with his hands. "She turned bright red, totally shocked. It had never occurred to her that somebody might not appreciate her dog crapping on their lawn. So, she starts stammering that it'll never happen again, and 'if he has to go, he has to go', and I'm telling her carry a shovel and a plastic bag so she can pick it up. And she turns ever redder and says she won't walk her dog around the block anymore and instead at the park. Anyway, the bottom line is, she got the point, was thoroughly embarrassed, and there's no way it'll ever happen again. At least, not on Batt's lawn."

Starsky grinned. "Well, I guess that's mission accomplished."

Hutch doubted it. "I don't think Batt's going to be happy about this. He really wanted to confront whoever was offending his yard."

Nick protested, "What kind of prick wouldn't be happy with the fact that it'll never happen again?"

"You didn't meet Batt. He had reached the point where he was studying the size of the shit piles to assure himself that it was the same dog every day."

"Geez, Well, at least in the future you aren't going to have to worry about me blowing cases about dog shit."

"Huh?" Starsky asked. "Why not?"

"Our lawyer thinks we're going to settle my car accident case for close to four hundred grand. He'll get a third, and that'll leave us with a quarter of a million, over and above medical expenses."

"Oh, wow," Starsky said. "When does he think you'll get a check?"

"Within a month or so. There's some people that still have to sign off on it."

Starsky reached to pat Nick's stomach. "Happy for you, bro."

Hutch felt compelled to say, "Nick, trust me. That money's going to go a lot faster than you think. It's not like you aren't going to have to work the remainder of your life. Or can go out and buy a yacht or something like that. Especially if you have some bills building up from when you were recovering."

Nick waved a hand. "Lan's going to be in charge of it all. Don't worry, she doesn't let money go to her head. But she's got some plans, too, for remodeling her stores."

"Don't forget Melinda's college fund," Starsky quipped.

"Like I said, Lan's on top of it. I'll be lucky if she gives me fifty bucks to spend every week."

Starsky grinned. "Then I guess that means you'll still be available to work for us on occasion."

They received Miranda's recollections of everyone who'd had ongoing contact with Ellie. They had separated the names into groups, and now were headed back to Hutton County for in person interviews.

They had been silent for a while when Starsky said grimly, "I'm sure glad that Nick is married to Lanette." He accelerated the Firebird to pass a slower moving car.

Hutch looked over at him. "Yeah?"

"If he had his hands on a quarter million... I can see him blowing through that like nothing."

Hutch had similar concerns, but Starsky hadn't said anything about it until now. "In addition to Lannie being a stable influence, I think the simple fact that he has a daughter, and has been around us and our money... he is surely more mature about the whole thing than he would have been five years ago. Let alone ten years ago."

"Yeah," Starsky replied, but didn't sound convinced.

"I remember, back when we were still working out of our home, we got a whole bunch of money in one day. The track had sent us a check for Darla's earnings at the end of the meet, and the the executor of Dad's estate had sent us a hundred grand."

Starsky smiled. "I remember that."

"All of a sudden, we had an extra hundred and seventy-five thousand. I remember you saying something about how it didn't seem like that big of a deal."

"It's just money," Starsky said with a nod. "We both knew it wasn't the key to our happiness."

"Just makes life a lot more comfortable. Plus, the cost of our lifestyle had grown with our income."

"I hope Nick can see it that way. That money isn't worth much for its own sake."

"He seemed pretty calm about the idea of coming into a quarter million."

"Yeah. I just wonder if it was because it hadn't really sunk in yet."

Sandra Smith was a thirty-something black woman who worked for Hutton County Social Services. When she found an adult who had reading troubles, she would tell them that they could get free tutorials from someone she knew. If they were interested, she gave Ellie their phone number.

As they sat at the table on the patio of a sandwich shop, Sandra explained, "I struck up a conversation with Ellie at the library about five years ago. I was always interested in what she'd read recently, and so we'd chit-chat a lot whenever I dropped in. Then when I found out she had a background in teaching others how to read, it just sort of went from there, with me coming across quite a few people in my work who can't do a simple thing like fill out a form." She sighed. "It's amazing how many people come out of school still not really knowing how to read."

Hutch asked, "So, Ellie taught a lot of students that you knew?"

She shook her head while sipping a soda. "No, not that many. You know, a lot of times someone would say they were interested, but they often wouldn't follow through. Ellie would tell me that she called them, but they never called back. Or, she talked to them and they'd mutter something about being too busy and never actually agree on an appointment."

Starsky wondered, "Did you ever refer some unsavory types to her?"

"Oh, no, I'd never do something like that. If I had any concerns about someone's character, or had any reason to think that Ellie wouldn't be safe around them, I wouldn't even bother passing on their phone number to her."

"Where did she tutor most of her students?"

"Sometimes in their home. Sometimes in one of the private rooms in the library. She wasn't foolish enough to be alone somewhere with a man, or anything like that."

Hutch folded his hands on the table. "Sandra, can you think of any reason why anyone would have wanted to murder Ellie?"

"Gosh no. It was such a shock. When she went missing, I thought surely she'd turn up. Like, maybe she had a sudden family emergency and had to leave town. But then when they found her body... that was horrifying to thank about. Still is. I've thought it through and though, and was extra diligent when I talked to any of the few people that I knew actually had contact with Ellie, and I just don't think her murder is connected to anyone through Social Services."

They left a short time later. Their prior interviews that day also hadn't prompted any new ideas.

When they were back in the Firebird, Starsky said, "Let me see those crime scene photos again."

Hutch took his briefcase from the floorboard and opened it. He rifled through the thick file folder and then pulled out some photos of the wooded area where Ellie's skeleton was found.

Starsky glanced at them. "No, the photos from inside her house."

Hutch rifled back through the file. "I thought you said crime scene photos."

"I did."

They looked at each other.

Hutch blinked as he slowly pulled the house photos from the folder. He handed them over, asking, "Who ever said the house was a crime scene?"

Starsky gazed at the windshield. "Yeah. Why did the police have photos from inside the house when they had no reason to think a crime had been committed there?"

Hutch nodded at the photos. "They're just pictures of the inside of a house. Nobody would ever know, just looking at them, that they're the home of a woman who was murdered."

"Yeah," Starsky said softly. "So, why did the cops take pictures of the inside of the home if there wasn't any evidence there?"

Hutch wondered if they were on to something. "Let's pay Sheriff Clayborne a visit."

The Sheriff's building was only a few blocks away from the library. As they pulled into the parking lot, they saw Clayborne leaving his vehicle and start up the steps.

Starsky honked his horn and called out, "Hey, Calvin!"

Clayborne glanced back, smiled, and then trotted back down the steps. He bent down to the Firebird's driver side window. "Hey, fellas. How's it going?"

"We're talking to a lot of people," Starsky assured him. "Nothing hot yet, but we've already run down a lot more names than you guys were able to."

"We have a question," Hutch said, leaning across Starsky's seat.

"What is it?"

"We got to wondering why there's a half dozen photos in the file from the inside of Ellie's house. The file doesn't mention any evidence found in Ellie's house. So, why were photographs taken?"

Clayborne grinned. "Two reasons, I guess. The main one is that we'd just gotten in a fancy new camera, and Deputy Davis was looking for any reason to use it, so he was taking pictures whether they were needed or not." The smile softened. "The second is, I guess, that we're a small outfit and we don't see many murders. So, I think we were just trying to be thorough, so nothing came back to bite us. For all we knew, the family was going to clean up the house and sell it, and that could have been our only chance to go through it, so we wanted some mementos to show that we'd looked at the house."

Starsky felt relieved at the explanation, but also disappointed. "Okay, thanks. It just suddenly occurred to us that the house isn't really a crime scene, as far as anyone knows."

"Yeah. But you can never have too much information."

"We'll let you get back to work," Hutch said.

Clayborne left and Starsky eased out of the parking lot. "Well, that didn't help."

"No. Now what?"

Starsky tilted his head. "I think I'd like to go back there."

"To the house?" Hutch asked in surprise.

"Yeah. Just look at it again, now that we've talked to all these people."

"Fine by me. I'm just thinking of the look on Miranda's face when we told her we'd been inside the house. Like, we were invading Ellie's privacy."

"I remember seeing that look. But we aren't going to mess up anything."

As they headed for the small town of Wyatt, Hutch said, "There's no other reason to think that Miranda would be bothered by us being inside the house, other than the invasion of privacy."

Starsky looked over at him. "Yeah, I already thought about that when she gave us that look. If Miranda had anything to do with Ellie's murder, I'd be more shocked than anyone."

"Yeah."

"Still, I want to go back to house."

The odor from rodents was even more pronounced than it was the first time they'd visited Ellie Porterson's home, considering the rising temperatures as it was now June.

While they moved around the living room, Starsky said, "Even if the family wanted to clean this place up and sell it, I don't think they could. I don't see how they could get the smell out, even if they left the windows open for weeks on end. They'll have to bulldoze it."

"Yeah," Hutch said softly. "They'd mentioned razing it. I don't think they ever expected Ellile's murder to still be unsolved a year and a half later."

Starsky stood in the center, looking at the shelves full of books. He let recollections of various conversations with witnesses run through his mind.

Hutch moved on to other rooms.

Starsky sat on the sofa, placing himself on the cushion that was directly across from the television, and next to the lamp, and was surely where Ellie most often sat while in the room. He tried to imagine her being here. Amongst her beloved books, perhaps reading while watching TV. Drawing smiley faces when she particularly liked something.

The end table had the disconnected telephone on top of a phone directory. A few other books and magazines were stacked on top of a thick pile of papers, next to the phone book.

As Hutch came back into the living room, Starsky picked up the pile of loose pages. "What's this?"

Hutch moved next to him.

It was a set of typed pages. The first page was a title page.  Winter's Sun. By Taylor Jobb

"Looks like a manuscript," Hutch said.

"Yeah." Starsky leafed through a few pages. Fondly, he said, "And some smiley faces."

"Taylor Jobb doesn't ring a bell."

"Uh-uh."

Hutch fingered the tops of the first few pages. "This is a xerox copy."

"Huh. Maybe because she gave the original back to Taylor Jobb?"

"And kept a copy for herself...?"

"Maybe for reference," Starsky considered. "If, like, after she gave it back to him, she was going to discuss it with him on the phone or something?"

"He must have wanted her opinion. I suppose that makes sense, to want the region's bookworm to give her opinion of your manuscript."

Starsky placed the stack of papers back on the end table. "I wonder if we should ask Miranda if she knows who Taylor Jobb is."

"She's out of town, remember?" Miranda had attached a note, when she mailed them her list of contacts Ellie had had at the library, that she would be away for a couple of weeks.

Hutch looked down at the top page of the manuscript. "There isn't a date on it. Could be really old, for all we know."

Starsky looked around. "Yeah. It's not like Ellie kept things picked up."

Hutch placed his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. "What do you want to do now, buddy?"

"Guess there's nothing else here. We need to get back and go to the grocery store, since the girls are coming over tomorrow." The "girls" were Mandy and Judith.

As Starsky rose, Hutch squeezed his shoulder. "We can always come back if we need to."

Just as they moved away, Starsky's leg brushed against the end table, and the manuscript fell to the floor, it's pages fanning out.

"Fuck," Starsky said, as they both squatted down to gather the pages.

"The pages are numbered," Hutch offered helpfully.

While a part of him wondered if it mattered, Starsky felt a need to keep Ellie's beloved home intact as much as possible, as a matter of respect, so he started putting the pages in sequence as he picked them up, while Hutch was doing the same. Through the corner of his eye, he noticed a few penciled comments and smiley faces.

"Starsk."

Starsky looked up.

Hutch was holding some pages in his hand. He held them out. "Not all of her comments were smiley faces."

Starsky slid over to Hutch and saw frowning faces on a few of the pages.

Hutch held up one and read, "The description of the town and the weather goes on too long. We need a little action to break up the descriptions. She wrote a frowning face next to that." Hutch dropped that page and picked up the next. "The character was grim and thin-lipped two pages ago, but now his dialog seems happy-go-lucky. Confusing. She put a frown next to that one, too."

Starsky rose, going to the nearest bookcase. He pulled out an old book and leafed through it. He paused to read a few comments, and saw happy faces next to most of them. None had frowns. He pulled out another.

Hutch joined him, silently pulling books off the shelves to browse through them.

After many minutes, Starsky shook his head. "There aren't any frowns."

"No," Hutch said, placing a book back on the shelf. "I've only seen happy faces."

Starsky moved back to the floor squatting down. "But there's frowns on this manuscript."

They began gathering up the pages again.

"We need to talk to Miranda when she gets back," Hutch declared. "Find out who Taylor Jobb is."

Starsky nodded, "As soon as we get to a phone, let's call Clayborne. Maybe he knows Jobb."

They worked in silence a few moments. Then Hutch said, "It's not like she hated it or anything. She did happy faces, too."

"I know," Starsky said, feeling that they'd discovered something momentous, "but there's no denying that she's not a frown-face type of person. Yet, she wasn't shy about noting her disagreement with parts of the manuscript."

They were down to the final pages, and Hutch sat back on his heels. "The car mechanic, whom she owned money to?"

Starsky looked up, neatening the stack. "Yeah?"

"He said that she wasn't the type of person to be confrontational face to face. But she could speak her mind in a note or on the phone."

"So, you're thinking she felt more free to be blunt about her feelings about the manuscript, when she didn't have the author right in front of her?"

"Yeah. Seems logical." Hutch glanced at the bookshelves. "Books are published. They already have the approval of the publisher. A manuscript is a completely virgin piece of work, until somebody reads it. Maybe she felt freer to disapprove of it, since it wasn't published yet."

Starsky placed the stack of pages on the end table. "Still, like you say, it's not like she hated it. She liked some parts."

They both rose to their feet, brushing off their hands. Hutch said, "This is a copy. If she gave the original back to Taylor Jobb, maybe he didn't appreciate her critique."

Starsky drew a long breath. "That seems quite a stretch. I mean, even sensitive creative types surely wouldn't use their hurt feelings as a basis for murder."

"It's the only thing we have to go on, at the moment." Hutch nodded at the pages. "Maybe we should take it with us."

That made sense. But, "I don't feel right about it, Hutch. We're lucky that her family gave us the code for the lockbox, so we can get into this house whenever we want. I don't want to go taking stuff, unless we really need to."

Hutch shrugged. "We've got the name. Taylor Jobb. I guess that's all we really need."

They stopped at the first gas station with a pay phone.

Starsky stood by as Hutch said into the phone, "Never heard of him, huh?" He listened. "Well it was a longshot. We've got someone else we can ask about the name, but it'll have to wait until next week when she's back from vacation." Hutch smiled. "Yeah, we're headed back for now, but we might be on to something." He listened a moment longer. "Keep the faith, Calvin. Have a good weekend." He hung up.

"No dice, huh?" Starsky asked as they moved back to the Firebird.

"No. He said he's sure he's never heard of anyone named Taylor Jobb. He would remember a name like that."

The following evening, Mandy and Judith showed up at their house for a steak dinner. Afterward, Starsky and Hutched played videos of Darla's races and her offspring, including the official track video of Danny's win, and then their TV appearances for Starsky's book. Mandy had bought one percent of Bri for a thousand dollars, and Judith turned down their offer to also own a small percentage. "I can just enjoy hearing about her races," she'd said to Hutch with smile.

Now, they were sitting at the kitchen table playing rummy. Each guest had brought a bottle of wine and, combined with the beer and wine provided by the hosts, a fair amount of alcohol had been consumed.

While they each held a hand of cards, conversation had eventually drifted to the "meaning of life" thoughts that had been recently expressed by Mandy, and then to their jobs.

"We'll find her killer," Starsky said confidentially, in regard to the Ellie Porterson's case. "It seems sort of personal to us, because she really liked my book. I can feel that we're getting closer."

Mandy huffed, "See, that's what I mean. You talk about 'having a feeling'. Lots of people do. I never have 'a feeling' like that."

Starsky offered, "Maybe you do, and you just aren't recognizing it for what it is."

"But where do you think it comes from?" Mandy challenged. "Is it just instinct developed from long practice? Or do you think the victim's spirit is somehow communicating with you? Or do you think God is trying to help you find her killer and directing your thoughts to the right places?"

Judith put in, "If it was God, you'd think He'd just tell you who the killer is."

"Exactly," Mandy nodded.

Starsky noted, "But that would deprive of us of the process of tracking down the killer."

"So, you think life is just a game that keeps God amused?"

Starsky gathered his thoughts before replying. "I think the God part of it is that people like me and Hutch are gifted with the ability to make deductions and maybe try to tap into what the killer and/or victim were thinking at the time of the crime. And that natural ability is honed by skill and experience." While Hutch laid down a card and drew another, Starsky added, "I think it's possible that victims are trying to tell us something. I mean, I don't really consciously think about it like that, but I'm open to the possibility that the deceased is somehow involved in where 'a feeling' comes from."

Judith said, "You're being awfully quiet, Ken." She tossed a couple of cards into the discard pile and drew two more.

"In my old age, I think alcohol makes me sleepy."

"Cop out," she accused with a smile.

Hutch drew a breath. "Well, whatever methods we use to narrow in on a suspect, we can't get that suspect convicted unless we have hard, objective facts. Or better yet, a confession. Sometimes, we can't even get a person arrested, even though everyone knows they're guilty, because the evidence is too flimsy to get them convicted in court. That was one of our biggest frustrations as cops."

"Yeah," Starsky muttered.

"Being a P.I. is a lot easier, because we don't have so much red tape. And it's not our job to get people convicted, but to only share what we know with authorities, if it's some kind of criminal case. Of course, we also get a lot of ridiculous cases that we sometimes can't believe that someone is actually willing to pay for."

"Like the dog shit case," Starsky quipped.

"What?" Judith and Mandy exclaimed in unison.

Hutch summarized the case.

"That would irritate me," Mandy said, "if I kept finding dog poop on my lawn, day after day. I mean, I do every once in a while and it's not a big deal. But if I thought it was the same dog, every single day, and the owner didn't care...."

"What I've learned in my profession," Judith declared, "is that people can have some beliefs or hangups that can seem really bizarre or trivial, but they can mean everything to that person. So, I've learned to just accept what other people think, and how they feel, and try not to look at it as right or wrong."

Starsky laid down his cards. "Gin."

The others groaned, since Starsky had won most of the prior games.

While Hutch began adding up scores, Starsky glanced at him. "You up for another, baby?"

Hutch shrugged. "Sure."

Judith said, "Maybe we should switched to Scrabble, since Mandy brought it over. That'll give the rest of us a chance."

"Fine by me," Starsky said.

They all got up from the table to stretch, take bathroom breaks, and refill wine glasses and the dishes of nuts and candy.

Mandy brought the Scrabble box and began laying out the components.

"Guess we need a dictionary," Hutch said. He went to the living room where the bookshelves were and retrieved a Websters that was a few inches thick.

After they all had sat back down, Mandy won the draw for starting first.

"Well, this seems appropriate," she said, laying out a word that spelled GHOST.

Starsky grinned. "You think that's just a coincidence?"

She looked at him for a long moment. Then asked, "What else could it be?" She sounded as though she wasn't sure.

Hutch made a noise of Twilight Zone music.

Judith was next. "Oh, boy," she said, as she laid out OCCULT.

Hutch made more noises.

As Starsky regarded his letters, he said to Mandy, "Still think it's just coincidence?"

"This is freaky," she admitted. And then challenged, "But what do you think is happening? God's listening to our conversation and is making the letters appear a certain way?"

Starsky shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe my old love, Terry, and your cousin Millie are entertaining themselves by arranging the letters we get."

Judith suggested, "Maybe a bunch of other deceased relatives and friends, too."

Starsky sighed as he placed a A and T next to one of the Cs. "That's all I've got."

Hutch shrugged. "Cat. Like black cat." He was silent a long moment while gazing at his tiles. He was subdued when he laid out OBJECT.

Starsky suggested, "Like UFO -- unidentified flying object."

"Wow," Judith said. "We've really got a theme going, however it's come about."

Mandy shook her head. "UFOs is a topic I've never been able to give any serious thought to."

Judith asked her, "You can't consider that other planets have life, and they've evolved enough to learn how to travel through space?."

"I tend to think we would have caught an alien on camera or something by now, if they existed."

"But you're thinking in terms of our own technology," Judith argued. "What if they're so advanced they know how not to show up on a camera, or something like that?"

While the two women discussed the issue, Starsky's eyes met Hutch's They gazed at each other a long moment.

Hutch nodded.

"What?" Judith asked. She and Mandy were now looking at their hosts.

Starsky pushed his tray of letters aside and folded his hands on the table top. "You know my book?"

"Uh-huh," Mandy replied.

"It was missing a chapter. Our agent thought it was too outlandish to be included, and I think he was right."

"Where is it?" Hutch asked.

Starsky nodded toward the bookcase. "The second shelf." While Hutch got up from the table, Starsky continued, "Instead, that chapter was published in another book, more appropriate for the subject matter, and my and Hutch's names were changed."

"What are talking about?" Mandy demanded. "You're sounding creepy."

"Yeah," Judith agreed.

"Don't mean to," Starsky said, trying a reassuring smile.

Hutch came back with a book and placed it on the table. An Objective Look at the Unexplained. By Daniel Wildenstein.

Starsky tapped the cover. "The last chapter has fake names, but it's me and Hutch."

"What?" Judith asked in a hushed voice, studying the drawings on the cover.

"Something happened to us," Hutch replied. "Years ago. When we first got together, after David was shot and we were on leave from the police force. We don't have any conscious memory of it, but it came out in a hypnosis session."

"Just read the chapter," Starsky said, "because it covers the whole thing pretty thoroughly, including all kinds of other opinions by experts on it."

"But you need to buy your own copies of the book," Hutch put in. "I wouldn't feel right loaning out our autographed copy from Wildenstein. It's our only copy."

Mandy nodded emphatically. "Sure. I'll stop by a bookstore during my lunch hour tomorrow."

Judith said, "Thanks for sharing this with us."

Starsky smiled warmly. "There's only a few we've told. You're now part of an exclusive club."

"That's a trust I won't betray," she assured them.

"I won't, either," Mandy said, "but this whole thing is freaking me out."

Starsky turned his smile to her. "Hutch and I are still the same two guys you've always known. We've just had lots of... stuff... go on in our lives. Good and bad. Like most people, I guess."

"I don't know if I'll ever be like most people," Mandy muttered.

"Don't try," Hutch said firmly. "There's a saying that goes, 'Don't dumb yourself down trying to fit in with everybody else.'" Then, more gently, "Revel in who you really are and what you really believe."

She nodded, drawing a deep breath. "I just have a feeling that my beliefs are about to be challenged in a big way."

The following Tuesday they were in their office while Hutch dialed the number to the Hutton County library.

"This is the front desk," a curt female voice replied through the speaker on Hutch's phone. "How can I help you?"

"Is Miranda Stevenson there? I'd like to speak with her."

"One moment."

"Good, she's there," Starsky said, rolling his chair closer to Hutch's desk.

After a moment, a voice answered, "This is Miranda. How may I help you?"

"Miranda, this is Ken Hutchinson, the private detective, here in Bay City with my partner, David Starsky. We've got you on the loudspeaker."

"How are you? Did you get my list in the mail?"

"Yes, we did. It was very helpful. But we've got some more questions to ask you. They might sound odd, but we just need you to answer as truthful as you can."

"Certainly. I want to help as much as possible."

"First, have you ever head the name Taylor Jobb?"

Her voice brightened. "Yes. He's on the list I gave you."

Puzzled, Hutch reached for the stapled group of handwritten pages she'd mailed. "Hang on." He leafed through them, while Starsky leaned over his desk. "I'm not seeing his name. Do you remember what page it's on?"

"The first page. He's the one I told you about when you were here. He was writing a book that takes place in this area in the fifties." She suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, I'm sorry! Taylor Jobb is the pen name for Eric Cressna. They're the same person. I know I put Eric Cressna's name on my list."

"Yes, it's right here," Hutch said, his heart pounding with that important information. "Okay, so...," he quickly browsed through her notes about Cressna, "he's the one who came into the library a lot and asked you and Ellie to find reference information?"

"Yes, about this town in the fifties. He was writing a novel about this area back then."

"And you said he had a good sense of humor and he and Ellie laughed a lot?"

"Yes, he was fun to talk to. We both found him amusing."

Starsky asked, "What's the name of his novel?"

"We just got it in while I was on vacation. Hang on." A moment later she returned. "It's called Winter's Sun."

Starsky's eyes were wide when Hutch met them.

"Are you still there?"

"Uh, yes," Hutch said, "just taking some notes here. Um, Miranda, I want to ask you about something else. You mentioned that Ellie liked to do smiley faces at the ends of notes and things."

"Yes. And passages in books that she liked. Things like that."

"Did you ever know her to draw frowning faces?"

"Well, on an odd occasion here or there. Like, once I came in on an afternoon shift. She'd been on the morning shift. She left a note saying that the toilets in the ladies restroom were stopped up. She put a frowning face at the bottom of that note." Miranda laughed softly. "There might have been another time or two. But she was mostly a happy, cheerful person, so she liked to do smiley faces."

Starsky asked, "We know she loved to read and teach people to read. Do you know if she ever gave comments on unpublished manuscripts?"

Miranda seemed puzzled. "She might have, but she never mentioned anything like that to me. Why?"

Hutch soothed, "We can't discuss our investigation, but does that seem logical to you, that somebody, especially a new writer who finishes a novel might want an opinion from someone like Ellie?"

"I suppose. If she ever offered that kind of service, I never knew about it. I mean, somebody like Eric Cressna had an agent and a publisher." Abruptly, she said, "Let me look here in Cressna's book, to see if he gives credit to Elliie or somebody like her." There was the sound of pages turning. "He thanks his mother at the front. Let me look to see what is might say on the back." A moment later, she said, "The About the Author stuff on the back says that he graduated from the University of Southern California and always wanted to be a writer. He grew up in Minnesota. Loved to play basketball but couldn't play in college because of an injury. Is living out this way now."

"Does it say where?" Hutch asked with forced casualness. Miranda's notes hadn't mentioned addresses.

"Over in Platoon County. That's the next county north of Hutton."

Starsky said, "Miranda, I know this might seem like a weird question, but did Ellie ever talk to you about books she didn't like? That maybe she'd suggest nobody read?"

There was a thoughtful pause. "No. She wasn't the kind of person who would say something negative like that. She loved books in general. Whether it was a good story or not, she still loved the idea that it taught her something, or took her to a fictional place or situation."

Hutch had a thought. "Did she ever complain to you about her car mechanic?"

He could sense Miranda's surprise at the change in subject. "Uh... no. No."

Starsky pressed, "Did she ever mention her car mechanic at all?"

"She had a Volkswagon. A Jetta. She said she was glad that she had somebody nearby who could do routine maintenance on her car. Otherwise, she'd have to take it into Fresno, because that's the closest dealer."

"But she never complained about what he charged?" Hutch clarified.

"No, not to me."

"This has been a great help," Starsky said sincerely, meeting Hutch's eye.

She gave an awkward laugh. "I don't feel like I've said anything important."

"Little facts can add up," Hutch said. "We'll be back in touch if we think you can help us further."

"Please do."

"Thanks, Miranda." Hutch hung up and looked at Starsky, who collapsed back in his chair. "Ellie definitely wasn't the type of person to say anything negative out loud, to somebody's face."

"No," Starsky agreed.

"But she felt comfortable pointing out the trouble spots in Cressna's manuscript, sitting in her living room working on it. Just like she felt comfortable telling her auto mechanic on the phone that he charged too much, or she simply refused to pay his bill."

Starsky rubbed at his chin. "No way would she have intended to meet with Cressna face to face to discuss with him the parts she didn't like about his manuscript."

"So, she either copied it and mailed the original back to him, or maybe he was going to drop by and she was just going to hand it to him. Maybe they were going to discuss it later on the phone, which is why she needed a copy on hand, so she could see her notes."

Starsky tilted his head. "Cressna's novel did get published. I wonder if he used her changes."

"We could pick up a copy of his book and go back to the house and compare to the manuscript."

"Still, whatever differences there are, it could be because the publisher changed them, not because he changed them due to Ellie's suggestions. I know some parts of my own book ended up not looking anywhere near how I'd written them, by the time my agent Milton Bloomberg had gone through a few rounds, and then the publisher edited it down even more."

Hutch sighed. "Yeah. So, maybe there really wouldn't be much point in comparing the finished work to the raw manuscript."

Starsky gave a small shrug. "We could also be completely off base. Maybe her death has nothing to do with Cressna. After all, even if he was enraged by her negative comments, it's not like he burned the manuscript. It still ended up being published. I mean, if anything, as a writer, it seems like getting published despite her criticism would be his revenge, so to speak. But if he murdered her before it was published, then he robbed himself of having that satisfaction."

"Yeah," Hutch relented. "But, you know, sometimes the people who seem the most easy-going are the ones who have the most volatile tempers. According to Miranda, Cressna was always laughing and fun to be around. Maybe he read Ellie's comments on his manuscript, just focused on the negative ones, and snapped."

"Okay, let's go with that. She mails him the manuscript. He gets it at home. Gets so enraged, because even a few negative comments feels like a rejection, and -- "

Hutch interrupted, "He thanked his mother, so he could be a mamma's boy who is accustomed to praise from older women."

"Yeah, so he's enraged. At home fuming. Feeling that his prize novel is completely rejected -- from this woman who was so helpful to him at the library."

"So, he drives over to her house. Maybe appears friendly when he drives up, so Ellie isn't suspicious. He takes her without a struggle. Maybe takes her to where he killed her, which is north of her house. Then drives back home, which is farther north."

Starsky drew a slow breath. "Boy, that's a lot of supposition. First, how does he know where Ellie lives? If he drove over to her house in a fit of anger, it seems he wouldn't have had the patience to find out her address."

"Her return address would have been on the manuscript she mailed back."

Starsky snapped his fingers. "Okay, that's a possibility. But then, while driving to her house, he'd have to calm down enough that she got into the car with him. And that doesn't fit with somebody who suddenly snaps and isn't normally prone to violence."

"Could be that he just barged into her house and overpowered her so quickly that there wasn't a struggle."

"Yeah. We don't know how large of a man he is, except he played basketball, so he's surely somewhat tall."

"What we do know is that Ellie was petite. Any reasonably healthy young male could easily overpower her."

"Yeah. And if he would have suggested that they go out for a bite to eat and discuss his novel, she wouldn't have agreed to that, because she wouldn't have been able to discuss the negative things face-to-face."

"Plus," Hutch added, "the manuscript was neatly stacked on the coffee table. So, she wasn't expecting to go anywhere to discuss it."

They fell silent, and Starsky stood, putting his hands on his hips. "The only thing we know for sure is that we need to talk to Eric Cressna."

The following Saturday they were on their way to Platoon County. They had gotten Eric Cressna's phone number from Information and called him. Starsky explained that he was a published author of a non-fiction book and thinking about doing a novel. He and his partner were going to visit friends in Fresno, and thought they'd take a side trip to Platoon County to get their copy of Winter's Sun autographed, though he hadn't read it yet. Cressna was agreeable and gave them directions to his rural home.

The dirt lane leading to Cressna's home was damp, and Hutch could feel Starsky's dismay at the pot holes that wore on the Firebird's suspension. After a quarter mile, they came to a dirty white wooden frame house. The large separate garage had the door open, revealing various tools and woodworking equipment, plus lots of boxes stacked on one side. Parked in front of the garage was a black, robust Ford F-150 pickup truck.

They stopped behind the pickup, and a tall slender young brown-haired man emerged from the house. "You must be David Starsky." He held out his hand, smiling broadly.

Starsky shook it. "Yes. My partner, Ken Hutchinson."

"Nice to meet you. Come on in."

They followed, Starsky holding his copy of Winter's Sun.

"You can have a seat." Cressna indicated the old, comfortable looking furniture in the living room. "Coffee? I'm out of cream."

"No, no," Hutch waved his hand while taking a seat in an easy chair. "I'll take a small glass of juice, if you have something."

"Pineapple juice?"

"Sure."

"Nothing for me," Starsky said, sitting on the sofa.

A moment after disappearing into the kitchen, Cressna appeared with a small can of juice and held it out to Hutch.

"Thanks." Hutch popped the lid.

Cressna rubbed his hands and sat down in another easy chair, opposite Starsky. "So, what made you want to pick up my book?"

"I know someone at the library in Hutton - Miranda? - and she said it was a great book by a new author, so I thought I'd buy it. Plus, I have a relative that collects books and she told me that early books by authors can be really worth something, if they're autographed." Starsky shrugged, "So, I figured if you go on to be famous...."

Cressna grinned. "I appreciate your faith. We'll see. Why don't I go ahead and get that taken care of." He indicated the book.

Hutch carefully watched their hosts' reactions as Cressna took a felt marker from the coffee table. So far, he seemed like an easy-going young man.

Starsky gave him the book, and then sat back in his chair. "Miranda and I got to talking, and she was telling me about another lady who volunteered there, that got murdered a while back. Did you know her?"

Cressna finished signing the book. "Ellie? Yes. That was a shame." He handed the book back to Starsky and capped the marker.

Hutch put in, "Seems weird for something like that to happen in a peaceful area like this."

"Yeah, it was over in Hutton County, and Hutton and Platoon are similar in the size of the towns."

"Did the cops find her killer?" Starsky asked.

Cressna snorted. "Not hardly. They aren't going to go looking for one of their own."

Hutch's gasp matched Starsky's. "You think a cop murdered Ellie?" They hadn't expected something like this.

Cressna spread his hands. "Look. All I know is that in rural areas like this, the cops run everything. They've got all the power. If they want to throw you in jail and not give you a phone call, who are you going to complain to?"

Starsky's brow furrowed. "Has that happened to you?"

"No. But I observe things. I'm a writer. I grew up in a suburb outside of the Twin Cities in Minnesota. I went to school at a large university. I love how peaceful it is out here, but in small population areas like this, the cops have all the power."

Starsky sputtered, "But why would a cop kill Ellie? I was under the impression that she was an older lady, who just liked to help out at the library."

Cressna looked away, shrugging. "I have no idea."

Hutch felt himself deflate, since Cressna didn't know any particulars.

"In a small population area like Hutton County," Cressna went on, "how hard can it be to figure out who killed somebody?"

Hutch suggested, "What if she was murdered by a stranger, just coming through town?"

"People would remember a stranger."

While Hutch silently acknowledged the point, Starsky muttered, "Just seems like such an awful thing. Miranda said that Ellie just loved books, loved to read. And help people at the library."

Cressna's mouth twisted. "Ellie and Miranda both really helped me with research on my book, but Ellie was no saint."

"Why do you say that?" Starsky asked.

Cressna leaned forward. "Since she was such a bookworm, I had her read my manuscript for Winter's Sun. She completely trashed it."

"Really?" Starsky asked in a disbelieving tone.

Cressna nodded emphatically. "Yeah. I'm really sorry she's dead. I know it makes me a prick, but I wish I could show her that it got published, despite her criticisms."

Starsky nodded. "Yeah. I can understand that. I paid somebody -- a professional -- to look over my manuscript, when it was at that point, and it was really discouraging, all the things she said."

Hutch well remembered how true that was, before Starsky had acquired the much more positive Milton Bloomberg.

Cressna waved a hand. "Yeah, well, I didn't use any of her suggestions, and my publisher loved it. I've got a contract for two more novels."

"I envy you," Starsky said. "My book was an autobiography, so it was easy to write. I have ideas for a novel, but I'm not sure I'm ready to put them down on paper. It feels really different, making a story up."

Hutch noted that Cressna hadn't even asked for the title of Starsky's book. He wasn't sure if he was annoyed or admired Cressna for not pretending to be interested.

Cressna went on, snorting, "I guess, in a roundabout way, Ellie's criticism helped me."

"Yeah?" Starsky prompted.

"Yeah. Feeling annoyed with her criticism gave me some ideas. I re-arranged some of the events. Added some things. I think it made the story more powerful. Anyway, the first publisher my agent sent it to loved it, and so getting it published went very fast from there."

The phone rang from the kitchen.

Cressna rose. "Excuse me. I'm sure that's my mother. Her sister is in the hospital, and things aren't looking good."

"We won't keep you," Hutch said, as he and Starsky also stood.

Cressna gave a quick wave and disappeared into the kitchen. "Hello?" Then a moment later, "Okay, I'll head out that way."

Starsky and Hutch exited the front door. Cressna came out behind them. "I've got to get to the hospital in Fresno. My aunt's down to her final hours."

"We'll get out of your way," Starsky said, as he and Hutch now hurried to the Firebird, which was parked behind the black pickup.

They were silent as Starsky focused on backing up to turn around, and then moved down the lane faster than he normally would have.

Once they'd turned onto the two-lane highway, Hutch said, "That didn't exactly go like we expected."

"No kidding. He certainly doesn't like small town cops."

Hutch rubbed at his chin. "I wonder if there's anything to that."

"I can see his point, about cops having all the power."

"Yeah. Remember when we were at Dobey's cabin and got locked up?" Hutch felt a chill, remembering the Satanists that terrorized the nearby town.

"Yeah. We had no say until we could convince the deputy to let us out."

Hutch shook his head, feeling his stomach tighten. "Still, hard to believe Clayborne is involved in Ellie's murder. He's the one who called us in."

"Yeah." Starsky snapped his fingers. "You know, when we asked him about why photographs were taken of Ellie's house, when there wasn't evidence that it was a crime scene, he answered us right away. Not like he was trying to think of an answer."

"Right."

"So, if a cop did have something to do with it, surely Clayborne wasn't involved."

Hutch realized that, considering the lack of traffic, they seemed to be moving rather slowly. "Why are you going so slow?"

Just then, a black Ford F-150 pickup accelerated past them.

"So he could pass us."

The pickup continued on at a high rate of speed.

"Let's wait until he's too far away to see us in his rearview mirror," Starsky said.

"Why?"

Starsky grinned. "Because I left the autographed book there, so we'd have an excuse to turn around and go back."

"You still think he could have murdered Ellie?" Hutch was less certain.

"I don't know," Starsky relented. "But he had all those boxes stacked in his garage. Looked like they're labeled. Maybe we can snoop around a bit."

In the distance, the pickup went over a hill. Starsky slowed to a halt, and then turned the Firebird around. A few minutes later, they were back at Cressna's place.

"Let's check these out," Starsky said, moving to the garage where the boxes were.

They began reading the labels. There were boxes containing tax returns, bills, mortgage papers... "Calendars," Starsky read. "What was the date of Ellie's death?" He brought the box to the floor and began to open it.

Hutch had been through the case file numerous times. "She went missing around October fourteenth, nineteen eight-six."

The calendars were more of the popular organizers, with pages for appointments and addresses. "Here's nineteen eight-six." Starsky opened it. He leafed through the pages until he found October. They both were silent as they browsed through the brief notations. "Don't see anything about that weekend." He leafed back through prior pages.

"What's that?" Hutch asked. It was a penciled comment two weeks before Ellie's disappearance.

"Mailed Dep Davis," Starsky read.

Hutch felt a surge of hope. "There's a Deputy Davis who signed some of the witness statements. In fact, I think Clayborne said that he's the one who liked using their fancy new camera and took the pictures of Ellie's house."

"Mailed," Starsky repeated. "Mailed."

"Maybe that he mailed something to Deputy Davis?"

Starsky cocked his head while Hutch turned back to the box. "Let's find January of nineteen eighty-seven. Ellie's body was found on the eighth."

They pulled out the next organizer, which was labeled 1987. Hutched started leafing through the first pages of the calendar section.

"There," Starsky said, pointing. The entry read Ellie found.

Hutch sat back with a sigh. "Not Ellie's body found. Just Ellie."

"Because Cressna already knew she was going to be dead when she was found?"

"Boy, that's not much to go on. Let's look some more."

They spent another hour going through calendars, but there was nothing of interest beyond the two notations -- one from two weeks before Ellie went missing, and the other from the day her body was found.

They put the box back in order, and then went inside Cressna's house. They snooped around sparingly, being careful not to move anything. They found a shotgun in the bedroom closet, but it was a different type than the twenty-two caliber that had killed Ellie.

Starsky picked up his copy of Winter's Sun before they left.

Once back on the highway, Hutch said, "We were right about Cressna blowing way out of proportion Ellie's negative comments on his manuscript."

"Yeah. But he was honest about it. Didn't act like he was trying to pretend it's no big deal."

"Yeah."

"You know," Starsky said, "since Cressna is so convinced that small town cops are crooked, I'm thinking that maybe he knows it for a fact."

Hutch thought about that. "Maybe because he hired Deputy Davis to kill Ellie? Maybe he mailed him some kind of instructions? Maybe with some cash to pay him?"

"Maybe." Starsky glanced at Hutch. "You want to go for broke?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let's find a pay phone in town. Call the Sheriff's Department and ask for Deputy Davis, and hint that we have a job for him to do. See what he says."

Hutch grinned. "I'm game."

With Hutch standing close, Starsky dropped coins into the pay phone. Hutch held up a notepad with the number to the Hutton Sheriff's Department.

"Hutton Sheriff's Department," a female voice answered.

"Yes, I'd like to speak with Deputy Davis, please."

"Deputy Davis? He hasn't worked here for... oh, about a year or so."

Hutch deflated.

"Oh," Starsky continued smoothly, "can you give me his number? I have something of his that I'd like to return."

"We can't give that out."

"Do you know if he's working for another police department?"

"I'm sure he isn't. He had a relative pass away, and he moved onto the property his family inherited, out in Weiss County. He was close to retiring, anyway. I don't know what kind of work he's doing now, but if he was still in law enforcement, I think I'd have heard about it. I've been working here for over a dozen years."

"Okay, thanks." Starsky started to move the phone away from his ear, and then quickly said, "Oh, ma'am?"

"Yes?"

"I know this might sound like a weird question, but is he the deputy that was good at photography?"

Hutch was momentary perplexed by Starsky's line of thinking, but then remembered the photos of Ellie's house.

"Oh, yes, he loved taking pictures when we got a fancy new camera in," the woman said, "I don't know if he particularly cared about photography, but he loved taking pictures of things with that new camera."

"Okay, thanks." Starsky hung up.

"What are you thinking?" Hutch asked as they returned to the Firebird.

"The photos of Ellie's house keep bugging me. Why were those photos taken?"

"Like we've discussed, Clayborne answered that easily enough."

"Yes. He answered easily because he was speaking the truth. Deputy Davis wanted any excuse to use that fancy new camera, so he was taking pictures. And Clayborne wanted to make sure that nobody accused their small outfit of botching the murder investigation."

"Uh-huh?" Hutch prompted.

"But what if there's more to it than that? What if, for Davis, he had a much more specific purpose for taking those pictures, that Clayborne didn't know about?" Starsky turned onto the highway.

Hutch considered that. "Okay. But what would that purpose be?"

"I don't know," Starsky admitted with a sigh "When we first looked at the file, I assumed those photos were showing that nothing was disturbed in Ellie's house."

"Yeah. Me, too."

"If, say, Deputy Davis murdered her, was that what he was doing? Making sure there was evidence in the file to show that nothing was disturbed in the house?"

"Because, in reality, there was a disturbance in the house, and he wanted to make sure there wasn't any signs that somebody could point to later?"

"Yeah."

"Either way, the fact is that the photographs of the house -- as well as our own inspection of it -- don't contain any proof that anything happened there."

Starsky said, "If Cressna had a meltdown after reading Ellie's negative comments on his manuscript, he had plenty of time to get over it, since that notation on his calendar about mailing something to Deputy Davis was a full two weeks before she went missing. Besides, I believed him when he said he was sorry she was dead."

"So did I."

"So, it's not like he mailed Davis some sort of instructions on killing her."

"Doesn't seem like it."

They both sat in frustrated silence for another mile. Then Hutch said, "You know, Cressna said he completely dismissed Ellie's comments, yet he was saying something about how the experience caused him to change some things in his book."

Starsky frowned. "Yeah. But he wasn't very specific about what he meant by that."

They were silent another moment. Then they turned to each other and said in unison, "We need to read his book."

When they got home in early evening, Hutch volunteered to make an overdue trip to the grocery store, while Starsky wanted to start on Winter's Sun.

It was dark when Hutch carried in grocery bags from the garage.

"Hutch, you've got to see this," Starsky called from the living room.

"Give me a sec." Hutch found the perishable items and put them away in the refrigerator. Then he moved into the living room, where Starsky was sitting with his feet on the coffee table, his fingers marking places in the book. "You found something?"

Starsky straightened. "Just listen to this. This story is told by the narrator, Hector. It's in the fifties. He's from a wealthy family, and finally decides to claim the property that a great uncle left and moves out to Hutton County. In the first chapter, he's talking about settling in and meeting people. At one point, he's driving along the road beside a cow pasture, and he sees a cow down, like it's giving birth. He slows way down to watch, and this car zooms by him, and almost sideswipes him, like it's pissed off that he slowed down, even though there was plenty of room to pass. He finds out later that some guy named Mike Brown was the driver of the car. In Chapter Two, it's more about him meeting people and going to church and all that, and people are talking about how no one has seen Mike Brown in a while. And Hector is wondering if other people also feel that Mike Brown is a jerk, and just not saying so, while they seem so concerned. At the end of the chapter, he hears that Mike Brown's body is found, about a week after he went missing. He'd been shot and dumped somewhere."

Hutch considered the vague similarities to Ellie's case. "Okay."

Starsky opened the book. "Then, at the beginning of Chapter Three, he totaling shocks the reader. Listen to this. It starts out I understand, strictly from an objective standpoint, that I'm the catalyst for Brown being murdered. I don't feel guilty about it. I'm too separate from what happened. All I did was get mad. And since I know that country cops are as crooked as they come, and not paid much for sometimes putting their lives on the line for the citizens they're supposed to protect, I mailed five thousand dollars to a deputy. Had never met the guy. Just found a name and an address and mailed him five thousand dollars cash. I enclosed an unsigned, printed note that said, '"For killing Mike Brown. More jobs could follow." I didn't have anything in mind for the future, but I wanted to give him some incentive to follow through.

I never expected him to actually do it. I expected to him to pocket the cash and never give it another thought. But no, that deputy went out and killed Mike Brown. Instead of feeling guilty, I'm intrigued by it all. Did he enjoy killing him? How did he go about it? Did he just walk into Brown's home and shoot him? Did he face him? Did he walk up behind him? Was it just a job to him, or did he spend a while talking to Brown, relishing that he was in control of the last minutes of Brown's life? Did he make Brown beg for his life? Maybe it wasn't done at Brown's home. Did he walk up to Brown, all friendly, and suggest they drive somewhere, and then he killed Brown at the place where his body was found?

It can't ever be tied to me, because of course there wasn't a return address on the envelope I used to send the money. Nobody knows that Brown almost sideswiped me that once, so there's no reason for anyone to think I disliked Brown, let alone had met him in the short time since I moved to the area.

I didn't really want Brown dead, but now that he is, I'm find the whole situation rather thrilling. I have this wonderful secret that I have no need or desire to share with anyone else.

Is that deputy hoping I'll send him more cash for another murder? It's an empowering feeling, thinking that somebody in law enforcement is waiting for me to direct their next step.

Starsky looked up. "And then he goes on, talking about regular things. I've browsed through the rest of the book, and it's mostly about him starting a relationship with this gal who is the granddaughter of the mayor and works at an ice cream parlor. But every once in a while, he drops a little reference to Brown's murder. Like it never quite leaves his mind. Eventually, the town forgets about it, and there's never a suspect, but it's something that's always there for Hector." Starsky turned to the last page. "He eventually asks the girl to marry him and he's looking forward to a happy life, though he knows all about an affair that's gone on between the mayor and a housewife in town. At the very end, he says Everybody has secrets. Including me." Starsky closed the book.

Hutch let out a long, slow breath. "So, you think that two weeks before Ellie's death, Cressna mailed Deputy Davis some cash, with a note to kill Ellie and that there might be more jobs, but he never expected him to go through with it?"

"Seems plausible, doesn't it? He's pissed that she trashed his book, maybe has fantasies about killing her, but he isn't a killer. So he appeases his anger by ordering her death, but he can't imagine Davis would actually follow through, when Davis could just pocket the cash, knowing that nobody is ever going to admit to sending him money to commit murder. Yet, Davis follows through. The only reason I can figure is that he hopes more cash is coming his way. And Cressna just goes with the fact that Ellie was murdered. He doesn't feel guilty about it. Just matter-of-fact. Perhaps, like Hector in the book, the writer in him is all intrigued by Davis's motivations and how he went about killing Ellie."

"Killer or not," Hutch said with disgust, "if it happened that way, Cressna's one sick bastard."

"Yeah. And so is Davis."

Hutch considered, "Cressna knows it's Davis who did the killing, but Davis doesn't know that the money came from Cressna. He probably has no idea who Cressna is."

"But, in less than a year, Davis left the Sheriff's Department, to live in Weiss County."

"Maybe he felt, all in all, it would be better to be away from the area, especially if no further cash ever came his way." Hutch sat back with a sigh. "Could Davis really just up and kill a nice old lady like Ellie? Especially when he has no idea why somebody wanted her killed? I wonder if there was some other history between him and her."

Starsky drew a breath. "At some point, we're going to have to talk to Clayborne about Davis."

"Yeah," Hutch said with dread. "I'd like to put that off until we have all the other facts we can possibly gather. No sheriff wants to consider that any of his cops might be dirty." Another thought occurred. "You know, though, Davis might have paid somebody else to do it. Found somebody who just got out of the slammer and gave him a portion of the money to kill Ellie."

"That's possible. But then that's somebody who knows, and the fewer witnesses the better."

"True. Any ideas on what we should do next?"

Starsky rubbed at his face. "I keep thinking about those pictures of Ellie's home." He abruptly turned to face Hutch. "Let's say we're on the right track. Let's say Davis killed Ellie, because Cressna paid him to do it. After a couple of months, Ellie's body is found, and now it's a homicide investigation. Now, they're interviewing a lot more people, and they go to Ellie's home, with the family's encouragement, to see if there's any indication there of what could have happened to her. Davis has that fancy camera, and as a matter of due diligence he takes pictures of Ellie's home. But he does it with his own self-interest in mind, wanting to make sure that if there's the slightest hint that something took place at Ellie's home, there isn't any record of it."

Hutch was following. "So you're thinking that we need to go back there, and see if there's something that the camera deliberately didn't pick up."

"Yeah. I'm thinking we need to have those photographs with us inside the home, and try to match up where Davis was standing when he took them. And then look at the sections of each room that he didn't catch on camera."

Hutch wasn't looking forward to spending yet another full day at Hutton County. Because of appointments at the office, an additional trip wasn't going to happen for a few days, at least. "You know, even on the chance that we're absolutely right, and even on the more unlikely chance that Clayborne swallows everything we tell him of our theory, neither Davis nor Cressna can be convicted on any of it. It's all circumstantial, and lightweight circumstantial, at that."

Starsky nodded with a grimace. "A confession is the only thing that's going to get anyone convicted. Actually two confessions. Cressna saying he mailed some money to Davis to kill Ellie doesn't prove that Davis received the money, let alone prove he murdered Ellie. And if Davis were to confess that he killed Ellie, he would have no way of knowing who sent him the money to do it."

Hutch's head was spinning with the assumptions, holes, and possibilities. "One step at a time. Let's go back to Ellie's house one last time next weekend, and see if we can find anything that the camera didn't pick up."

The following Tuesday, Hutch drew a breath while holding a thin file folder, and then walked into the conference room.

Thomas Batt was seated, his hands folded on the table top, his dress shoes tapping against the floor. He'd been on vacation for a couple of weeks, so was just now able to meet to discuss the conclusion of his case.

"Mr. Batt, it's good to see you again," Hutch lied.

"Likewise, Mr. Hutchinson."

Hutch was glad that Batt didn't extend his hand in greeting. He took the chair next to him, but made a point of sliding it a few inches away. "I take it that you haven't had any further problems with your lawn."

"Not that I've been able to find, but I've been away on vacation."

"Yes, but I'm confident your problem is solved."

Batt furrowed his brow. "You have a name or address of the culprit?"

Hutch opened the file. "Actually, no. That wasn't necessary. Circumstances were such that our surveillance detective was confronted by the offending party, who was a young woman with a Golden Retriever." Hutch tapped the report that Nick had written up and placed it before Batt. "She was very naive and didn't realize how offensive her dog was being. She promised it would never happen again." Hutch forced a smile.

As he feared, Batt didn't seem pleased. "That wasn't your assignment. Your assignment was to get me information so I would know who the culprit was."

"Things didn't work out that way, but since your yard is no longer a target of the offending dog, you don't have to worry about it anymore."

"That's not the point," Batt protested. "I wanted to talk to the individual who allowed her dog to commit such despicable acts upon my lawn."

"Now there won't be any further despicable acts."

"I want this woman to know how unreasonable she was being to allow her dog to do such things."

"If you read the detective's report, you'll see that the woman felt horrible about it." Hutch wasn't interested in continuing the argument. "Look, for the time put in, your bill comes to twelve hundred and eighty dollars. In the name of settling this, I'll cut it in half, so you only owe us six hundred and forty." He took the invoice from the file and crossed out the amount typed there, and wrote the new amount. He placed it before Batt.

Batt's mouth hardened as he stared at it. Abruptly he reached into his coat pocket. "I'll agree to this settlement, but I'll have you know that I'm not happy about it." He pulled out a checkbook.

"Noted," Hutch said simply. He clamped down on his impatience as Batt slowly and meticulously wrote out a check, glancing frequently at the invoice to make sure he was spelling the firm's name correctly.

Frowning, Batt pushed the check toward Hutch.

"Thank you," Hutch said, trying not to sound sarcastic. "The invoice and the copy of our detective's report is yours to keep."

"I'll see myself out," Batt said as he stood.

Hutch exited through the hallway door.

They had agreed that after visiting Ellie's house for hopefully a final time, they would present Sheriff Clayborne with their theory.

It was a sunny June morning when they stood at the entrance to various rooms, Starsky holding up a photograph of that room and telling Hutch the parameters of what the photograph showed, so Hutch searched the "blind spots" that the camera didn't catch.

When they did the living room, Starsky noted, "The manuscript on the table is included in the bottom right edge of the photograph. That's ironic, huh? If our theory is correct, the manuscript is the reason that Cressna hired Davis to kill Ellie, but Davis surely didn't know that."

Hutch glanced at the manuscript. "Yeah."

They ended up at Ellie's office, and after a thorough search of the blind areas -- looking for blood or any indications that violence had taken place -- Hutch stood back with his hands in his pockets. "This part of our theory is definitely wrong."

Starsky lowered the photograph of the office he'd been holding. "Yeah. But we had to try."

Hutch smiled while moving to a stack of books on Ellie's desk. He removed the top two to pick up the third, The Story of Us. "Want to see it again?" He turned to the last page, where Ellie had written a large smiley face beneath the final sentence, and held it up to Starsky.

Starsky moved closer, feeling warm as he looked at the drawing. "Yeah. I'm so glad she liked it."

Hutch placed it back on the stack.

"I wonder what's going to happen to all these books when the family sells or razes the house or whatever?"

Hutch shrugged. "Maybe donate them to a library?"

"Yeah, but they'll have to sit in open air a while. They all probably smell like mice shit by now."

Hutch started to place the first two books back on top of the stack, but lost his grip on one, and it feel to the desk, face down with the cover open. Hutch picked it up. "Starsk," he said in a hushed voice.

Starsky moved next to him.

Inside the front cover, it read Ellie, I've read this many times and thought I'd pick you up a copy. If you've already read it, feel free to pass it along to someone who hasn't. Happy Birthday! Sarah Davis

Starsky blinked. "Sarah Davis? A relative of Deputy Davis?"

Hutch slowly placed the book on top of the stack. "Somehow, the Davises are connected to Ellie."

"Unless they're two Davis families in the area. And it's not like Sarah was close to Ellie. Her signature includes her last name."

"Unless Ellie knew multiple Sarahs, and Sarah Davis wanted to make sure Ellie knew which one the book was from."

Starsky released a heavy sigh. In so many ways, it seemed like they kept getting somewhere with the case, and yet each knew discovery brought more questions than answers. "It's time to lay things out for Clayborne, and see if he can add anything."

As they sat in a conference room at the Sheriff's Station, they started off by asking if Clayborne knew who Sarah Davis was.

"Yes, that's Tom Davis's wife. He used to be a deputy here. In fact, he's the one that took the photos of Ellie's house and interviewed a lot of the witnesses."

Hutch asked, "Was Ellie particularly friendly with either Tom or Sarah?"

Clayborne rubbed at his chin. "No. I mean, pretty much everyone in these small towns knows each other. Everyone gets together for the annual hot air balloon festival, at least. So, we're all acquainted. But if you mean tight friendships, not that I'm aware of. I think Tom would have mentioned something to me after Ellie was murdered, if that was the case."

Hutch exchanged a glance with Starsky and then began to lay out their own files with notes. While doing so, they began their explanation to Clayborne about what they think happened that led to Ellie Porterson's death. After Ellie had been so helpful to his research at the library, new author Eric Cressna had asked her to read his manuscript. In addition to making some positive notations, she'd also made negative ones. He'd zeroed in on the negative ones and felt enraged. To appease his rage, he'd mailed money to Deputy Davis with anonymous instructions to kill Ellie, along with the suggestion of future jobs, and Davis had followed through. Starsky and Hutch suspected this because a copy of Cressna's manuscript had been found at Ellie's house, and because Cressna had made a point of notating on his calendar when he'd mailed something to "Dep Davis", two weeks before Ellie disappeared, and had also notated when her body had been found. What's more, he admitted to feeling upset by her negative comments, as well as admitting that Ellie's death caused him to change some things in his manuscript, and the subsequent published book was told by a narrator who had mailed a cop money to commit a murder -- while expecting him to simply pocket the money.

When they stopped talking, Clayborne was shaking his head. "I appreciate your work, fellas, especially since we're hitting the end of the budget we have allocated for your services, but this is all a whole lot of speculation. I can't get any kind of search warrant -- let alone an arrest warrant -- based on something stated in a novel, which by definition is a work of fiction."

Starsky insisted, "He made notes in his calendar that referenced Ellie."

Clayborne snorted. "Which is completely inadmissible in a court of law, since you guys don't have copies, and if you did, it wouldn't have been obtained legally."

Hutch wanted to shift the focus of the discussion. "What can you tell us about Tom Davis?"

Clayborne shrugged. "He was a decent deputy. No better or worse than anyone else." He shifted in his chair. "If you're asking if he's the type of person to murder for hire...," Clayborne released a heavy sigh. "Look, there's a lot of poverty out in these rural areas. I don't get paid near as much as when I worked in Bay City, but I'm a lot happier. As much as I'd like to think a cop wouldn't be on the take, I'm not that naive."

Starsky said, "I don't know how we can get a confession from Cressna, but we have a plan for getting Davis to talk."

"What's that?"

Hutch asked, "Do you have the equipment to record your phone calls?"

"Yes, we do. A couple of balloon festivals back, the sales tax money was enough to buy us some new equipment and get more modernized. All of our phone calls are recorded. What do you have in mind?"

Starsky said, "I assume you have a current phone number for Davis."

"Oh, sure. We have his contact information on file."

"Then set me up in a room with a phone with a recorder. I'll call Davis and act like I'm the one who sent him the money for Ellie's murder and hint that I've got another job for him. Let's see what he's willing to tell me."

The actual recording equipment was in a separate room. Hutch and Clayborne sat listening as Starsky, alone in the conference room, called Tom Davis.

"Hello," a gruff voice answered.

"Is this Davis?"

"Yes. Who's calling?"

"You did a nice job with the Ellie Porterson murder."

Silence.

Starsky went on, "Looks like the cops have given up on it."

The reply was low and sinister. "It's about time you got back in touch, you scumbag. Two thousand dollars was nothing for what I did."

Starsky scoffed, "She was a petite old lady. Should have been an easy job."

"I only did it because I was expecting more. She wasn't any threat to anyone. What did she ever do to you?"

"That's not your business. As for the amount, I had to make sure you just weren't going to pocket the cash."

"It crossed my mind -- more than once. Especially when I haven't heard anything else from you for nearly two years." The last was stated in anger.

"I wanted to be sure that you did a good enough job that your fellow cops wouldn't suspect you."

Davis grunted. "I know what cops look for and what they don't. There's no way they could ever tie it back to me."

"That's obvious. So, I'm getting ready to line up another."

"It's going to cost you ten thousand. That's not up for negotiation."

"Huh. If I agree to that, I'm not mailing you cash this time."

"And this time, I'm not taking it anonymously. I want to see who I'm in bed with."

"Uh-uh," Starsky said. "The next time, I'll have a third party hand the money to you. He'll be somebody who doesn't know who I am and doesn't know who you are. He'll just be getting paid to hand you a sealed envelope."

Davis's voice grew heavy with threat. "I was willing to have an anonymous benefactor the first time. But I'm not doing that again. If you know who I am, then I need to know who you are."

Abruptly, Starsky said, "Let me tell you the next target. Eric Cressna."

Hutch drew a sharp breath. He and Starsky hadn't discussed bringing Cressna into the conversation. Now, Cressna's life was in danger.

Clayborne glanced at Hutch with disapproval.

Davis voice was back to being thoroughly sinister. "I'll grant you your homework, you cowardly fuck. I'd love to blast away the skinny shit-face who was fucking my wife."

Hutch's eyes widened as he looked at Clayborne.

There was a moment before Starsky replied, as though he too was grappling with this unexpected information. With forced calm, he said. "The timing matters. Don't do anything yet."

"It had better not be another two damn years."

"No, no," Starsky assured. "More like a month."

"Ten thousand," Davis insisted. "Not one penny less."

"I'll be in touch."

There was a click as Davis hung up.

Hutch released the breath he'd been holding. "That's enough for a search warrant, at least?"

"Yeah, we'll start there."

As soon as Starsky entered the room Hutch said, "I didn't know you were going to bring up Cressna."

"I didn't, either," Starsky said. To Clayborne, he asked, "That enough to get you to move on Davis?"

Clayborne nodded.

They were driving home an hour later, having left all their files and shaken hands goodbye with Clayborne, who assured them that he'd keep them updated on further developments.

Hutch said, "I about shit my pants when you mentioned Cressna."

"So did I, when I realized what I'd said. The words were out of my mouth before I even realized it. I certainly wasn't planning to bring him up. That was putting his life in danger, except now Clayborne can bring Davis in."

Hutch looked at Starsky with a smile. "Just a feeling, huh?"

Starsky shrugged. "Guess so. It just suddenly seemed like the right thing to say." Then, with surprise, "And it was."

"I wonder what Mandy would think of that."

Starsky grinned and spent a moment in thought. "Who knows. Maybe Ellie is trying to communicate with us. Maybe that's what happens in any murder case when a cop suddenly has an idea that leads to the killer."

"Guess none of us will ever know for sure."

"I wonder if Mandy and Judith have read the chapter yet in Wildenstein's book."

"Judith has. She made an lunch appointment with me for next Friday"

"Huh. She must be eager to talk with you about it." Starsky always found the subject of Hutch and Judith to be amusing. "Wonder if she'll charge you for it."

Hutch deadpanned, "There's a reason she made it a lunch date, rather than just an appointment to see her at her office."

After a brief silence, Starsky's thoughts returned to Ellie. "Man, so sad that she was killed for two thousand dollars, and it sounded like Davis didn't even like doing it."

"Yeah. Hopefully, through his wife, they can find a link to Cressna."

"I didn't see that detail coming."

"I didn't either."

Starsky mused, "I wonder if, by banging Davis's wife Sarah, that's how Cressna got the idea to pay Davis. Like, maybe he knew that Davis needed money."

"Or maybe they were intending for Sarah to eventually turn in her husband for murdering Ellie, and then that would free her to marry Cressna."

"If that was the plan, it didn't pan out."

"Yeah, and we don't know if Sarah and Cressna were just having a casual affair, or something more serious. Sarah surely is a lot older than Cressna."

"Yeah."

Hutch reached over and clasped Starsky's hand. "We did good, buddy. Even if nobody ever gets prosecuted, at least Ellie's family can know the identity of who was responsible."

Starsky pleaded, "Let's not give up on the idea of Cressna and Davis both being prosecuted."

Ten days later, Hutch returned from lunch.

Hutch's smile made Starsky smile. "How did it go with Judith?"

"We had a nice conversation," Hutch said, plopping into his office chair and patting his stomach. "Nice meal, too. She never would have guessed that we were the guys in the chapter. She said she was amazed at how 'well adjusted' we are, considering that some people who have experiences like that have to deal with ongoing trauma."

That made Starsky feel good. "Well, it's not like we ever think or talk about it. Too much living to do in the present, I guess."

"Yeah. That's pretty much what I told her. She said she's heard about lots of bizarre experiences from lots of people. Too many to believe that life is just breathing in and out. She believes that there's 'something' -- or a lot of somethings -- going on out there in the universe. She also said that she knows for a fact that there's a lot of closet believers. A lot of people will snicker in disbelief at the idea of aliens or ghosts when around other people, but they'll often reveal those beliefs to a therapist."

Starsky nodded. "Good. I'm glad she was okay with it all." He glanced at his phone. "I hope Mandy's okay. I keep thinking about calling her, but maybe she hasn't brought herself to read it yet."

"Yeah. We can give it a few more days, and then call her if we haven't heard anything. Plus, since Bri's laid up for the time being, it's not like there's any horse news to discuss." Hutch snapped his fingers. "Oh, speaking of horse news, I called Clint out at the stables from my car phone, and he'll take care of getting Danny all ready for Linda Beswick to pick him up Sunday evening." They gotten the lease papers finalized last week.

"Great."

Starsky's phone beeped and Lois said, "Sheriff Clayborne is wanting to talk to either one of you."

"Put him through."

Hutch rolled his chair to Starsky's desk, while Starsky pushed line two on the first ring. "Hi there, Calvin. I've got you on speaker phone. What's up?"

"Hi, Calvin," Hutch said.

"Hey, fellas." He released a dramatic sigh. "I've got to admit, when I was a cop in Bay City, the murders were straightforward. There were reasons for them. Robbery, insurance money, disgruntled spouses."

"Yeah?" Starsky prompted.

"You wouldn't believe the twists and turns of the Ellie Porterson case."

"Try us."

"Okay. The summer before Ellie's death, she met Sarah Davis, Deputy Davis's wife, at the balloon festival. I guess they both liked to read and just sort of developed a casual friendship. Also at that fair, Eric Cressna was helping with setting up the refreshments, and so was Sarah Davis, so they also hit it off. She was unhappy in her marriage to Tom, and even though she was a lot older than Cressna, they made arrangements to meet in Fresno every weekend for a while. They both knew it wasn't ever going to get serious, but through their conversations it became apparent that the Davises had a lot of debt and money was always a problem. When we brought Sarah in to talk with her, she was fully cooperative, but she claimed to have no knowledge of any kind of contact between her husband and her lover. She was as shocked and saddened as anyone about Ellie's murder."

"We didn't know any of that," Hutch put in.

"Yeah. Well, then we brought in Eric Cressna, because we told him that we suspected Sarah Davis of having a hand in Ellie's murder, even though we really didn't. He admitted to the affair, and after we started talking like we were going to go hard after Sarah, he suddenly folded and said that it was Tom who committed the murder, because he'd paid him anonymously, and he never expected anything to come from it. He was telling us, 'Read my book, and you'll understand.'" Clayborne snorted. "Like that left him off the hook. Anyway, long story short, we agreed to ask the D.A. just to give Cressna probation, in exchange for him testifying to mailing money to Davis, with a note to kill Ellie, and that there might be more jobs to follow. So, between the testimony of Cressna and Sarah, as well as your phone call with Tom, I think we've got enough to convict Tom Davis in a trial."

"That's great," Hutch said. "Ellie's family can finally put this behind them."

Starsky muttered, "Just seems like Cressna should pay a higher price. He didn't even have the decency to feel guilty about it. And he was mad all because Ellie 'trashed' his book, even though she had at least as many good things to say about it as bad things."

"Well, we figure that it's going to be harder to convince a jury to convict a young writer like him, so he's more valuable as one to turn on Davis. If it makes you feel better, we put him in protective custody in Fresno. Between the book hinting at what he did to murder Ellie, and when it all comes out at trial, we figure a lot of locals are going to be pretty upset with him. So, he can't go back to living the simple country life he was before. At least, not out this way."

"That's something, at least," Starsky acknowledged.

"Thanks for all your good work, fellas. I'm glad we reconnected."

"So are we," Hutch said. "All the best to you, Calvin."

Starsky cut the line. "At least the actual killer is going to spend the rest of his life behind bars."

Hutch crossed his arms. "You know, most anyone can say the money isn't the key to happiness. Yet, I think very few people genuinely believe it, deep down." He shook his head. "Two thousand bucks was reason enough for Davis to kill a nice old lady that he didn't have anything against. How could that have possibly been worth it?"

"Surely, it wasn't, once he gets sentenced."

"But he should have known that before he ever received the money. How did society get so fucked up that having money is the key to everything?"

Starsky wasn't up for one of Hutch's philosophical moods, but he did want to be soothing. "I think that goes back eons, baby. The people who are perceived to have 'more' or always targets of those who have less."

"But what is less? What is more? Where does one draw the line?"

"I don't know," Starsky muttered. Then he smiled warmly at Hutch. "I just know that I'm damn glad that you and I have figured out that money is a very nice thing, but money by itself never buys happiness. Or even security."

Hutch nodded. "Yeah. Because once you spend it, it's gone. And even if you save it, what good is it if you aren't spending it or have any future plans to spend it? Yet, people do crazy things in their belief that more money will make their lives better."

"Well, we can't control what other people think or do," Starsky said. He patted Hutch's stomach. "We've just got to focus on our own lives."

Starsky's phone beeped. "David, your brother is on line one."

"Thanks, Lois." He waited for the call to come through, then pressed the top button on his phone. "Hi there, bro. What's up? Hutch is here."

"Guess what, older brother? Lan's driving us home, and I'm holding in my hand a check from the insurance company that we're taking to the bank."

"Yeah?" Starsky met Hutch's eye. "How much?"

"Two hundred sixty-six thousand sixty four dollars."

While Starsky tried to picture the stated figure, Hutch casually asked, "Why the weird amount?"

"Oh, they just have all these weird calculations." Nick's voice brightened. "My family is rich. How cool is that?"

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