Title: FAMILY AFFAIRS
Author/pseudonym: Candy Apple 
Email address: blair_lady@yahoo.com
Rating: MAO 
Pairings: J/B, S/H

Status: NEW, complete
Date: 8-3-00
Archive: YES
Category: Drama, Series, Crossovers
Archive author: Candy Apple 
Archive email address: blair_lady@yahoo.com
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Outside Influences" and "Dad's Day"

Disclaimers: Jim, Blair, Starsky and Hutch do not belong to me--a fact
which brings great sorrow to my life.  No infringement upon the lucky
devils who *do* own them, is intended.  No money being made (trust
me on this one), just for sharing with other fans.  The original
characters are mine, though (big consolation <g>).

Notes: This story is a sequel to "Outside Influences", and is also a
crossover with Starsky & Hutch.  The story takes into account canon
only through "Neighborhood Watch".  

I've set this story in the fictional "Bay City", which was the setting for
"Starsky & Hutch", primarily because first off, it's more canonically
correct for S&H, and secondly, because the LAPD is a real entity.  I
can use and abuse the BCPD freely, as it is a creature of fiction. ;-) For
purposes of the story, consider "Bay City" to be very "L.A.-like". 

Summary:   A tragedy sends Jim and Blair to California to work with
Starsky & Hutch.  Together, the four men struggle to solve a puzzling
murder case, and come to terms with a great loss.

Warnings: DEATH OF A RECURRING SUPPORTING
CHARACTER. 

Other Warnings: Violence, some language, m/m sex, song lyrics, disco,
William Ellison, endearments, romance, h/c, cold pizza and algae
shakes...

************************************

FAMILY AFFAIRS

by 

Candy Apple



     "Jim," Simon's voice came from his office, as he stood in the
doorway.  It was just a firm statement of Jim's name, not really a bark
of command or summons.  A little thrown by the oddly sedate
demeanor of the captain, Jim exchanged a quick look with Blair, who
started to rise with him.  As they approached the office, Simon held up
a forestalling hand.  "I need to speak to Jim in private a moment,
Blair."

     "Sure, Simon," Blair responded, visibly surprised by such a soft-
voiced dismissal.  It was more Simon's style to say "wait here" and
slam the door.
     
     Once the door to the office was closed, Simon turned to face
Jim.  

     "There's a call for you.  Dave Starsky's on the line."

     "Why didn't you want Blair in here for that?"  Jim asked
immediately.

     "I should probably just let Starsky fill you in, but I thought it
would be best for you to take the call, then talk to Blair."

     "Did something happen to Hutch?"  Jim asked, picking up the
phone, but not pressing the button to open the line just yet.

     "Just take the call, Jim."

     "Starsky?  What's going on?"

     "I called Simon's office because I know Blair sometimes
answers your phone...this isn't something I should tell him on the
phone, Jim."

     "What's this all about?"  

     "I've got some...something really terrible has happened."

     "Is Hutch okay?"  Jim asked, sitting on the edge of Simon's
desk.

     "Yeah, he's fine.  We both are.  I'm down at the county morgue. 
There's just no good way to say this.  Is Blair right there with you?"

     "No, he's at my desk.  Why?"  

     "Jim, Naomi's here."

     "At the morgue?"  Jim had no sooner said that when the
realization of what kind of news Starsky was giving him began to
spread over his body in a sickening, hot-cold wave.

     "Hutch and I were called in on this case--they told us they had a
Jane Doe at the morgue, and when we got here..."  Starsky let the
words trail off.

     "How bad is it?"  Jim asked, hoping that Blair's mother had
somehow met a natural end, but he didn't hold out much hope for that
outcome given Starsky's words.

     "I think..."  Starsky swallowed almost audibly, obviously upset
himself yet.  "She was strangled...there are bruises--definite signs of a
struggle."

     "Good God."  Jim ran a hand over his face.  "Sexual assault?"

     "The M.E.'s not sure.  There's evidence of sexual activity not
long before the time of death, but she's not sure whether or not it was
forcible."  Starsky sighed.  "This is unreal."

     "Can you take care of getting us a flight?"  Jim looked out the
window of Simon's office at Blair, who was typing something into the
computer, watching the screen intently.  He cringed inwardly at the
pain he would soon have to inflict on the man he loved so much.

     "Hutch is doing that now.  I figured you'd want to get here as
soon as possible.  Do you want me to talk to Blair now?"

     "No.  I think it'll be better if I do."

     "I agree--I didn't want him to get this kind of news over the
phone, even from me.  That's why I wanted to talk to you first.  Hutch'll
take care of the flight stuff and give you a call back.  We're going to
headquarters and get started on this right now."

     "You think they'll let you keep the case?"  Jim asked.

     "I hope so.  That's one thing we need to talk to our captain
about right away."

     "We'll wait to hear from you about the flight."

     "Right.  Take care of my boy, okay?"  Starsky said, his voice
shaking just a little.  

     "Always," Jim responded firmly.  After hanging up the phone,
he looked Simon.  "God, I can't believe this."  Jim took in a deep, shaky
breath.  He had his own feelings at the thought of Naomi's violent
passing, but he knew they were a grain of sand on the desert in
comparison to what Blair's would be.  

     "I'm so sorry, Jim.  I didn't want Blair to be in here when you
talked with Starsky, and I figured that would be pretty rough news for
him to take over the phone."

     "Right," Jim agreed.

     "Are you okay?"

     "Me?  Yeah, I'll be fine," Jim dismissed, though his voice was a
good deal rougher than normal.  "I cared about Naomi...the fact she
was Blair's mother made her special, you know?  But Blair... God, this
is going to kill him."

     "Take him home and talk to him.  We'll cover the bases here
until you two get back from California."

     "Thanks, Simon."  Jim hauled himself up off the edge of the
desk and made his way out to Blair.  As soon as the younger man raised
his head to look at Jim, it was obvious he knew something was terribly
wrong.

     "Jim, what is it?"  Blair asked, looking immediately worried.

     "We need to talk, sweetheart.  At home."  Jim took Blair's coat
off the rack and handed it to him.

     "I don't understand--"

     "I can't explain right now.  I'll tell you everything, but we have
to go home, Chief."  Jim shrugged into his own coat, and Blair
followed suit, looking back at Simon's office, then hurrying to catch up
to Jim at the elevator.

     "Is there some reason you can't tell me now?"  Blair asked as
they got into the truck downstairs.  

     "Just trust me on this, baby.  Okay?"  Jim asked, reaching over
and caressing Blair's hair lightly.  

     "You're really scaring me here, man."  Blair shook his head and
stared straight ahead out the windshield as Jim drove toward the loft.

     "I don't mean to.  But this is a talk we need to have at home, not
in the truck."

     "What happened?"  Blair burst out, unable to contain his worry
or his curiosity any longer.  "Did you get fired or something?  Did *I*
get fired?  Is Simon resigning? *What?*"

     "Look, Chief, I have some...some...difficult news, and I don't
want to get into it here.  Please."  Jim stole a glance over at Blair, who
looked no less distressed, but nodded, respecting Jim's wishes and
falling silent.

     The weight of the impending discussion heavy on his shoulders,
Jim unlocked the door to the loft and they walked in, closing it behind
them.  Once their coats were on the rack, Blair turned back to face Jim.

     "Now, will you please tell me what's wrong?"  he asked, eyes
wide with concern.

     "Blair, I...there was a phone call...I think we should sit down."

     "I don't want to sit down!  Tell me!"  Blair demanded.

     "There was a phone call from...from your dad."

     "Is he all right?  Is Hutch okay?"

     "They're both fine, sweetheart," Jim responded, taking a hold of
Blair's shoulders.  "But...he had some...some bad news for us."  Jim
swallowed, looking up briefly, as if an inspiration of how best to say
this might descend from the heavens if he just procrastinated long
enough.  "It's...it's your mom.  It's Naomi," he said softly, looking into
Blair's eyes.  A look that was blended dread and confusion swept over
those eyes.

     "Naomi?  What about her?  Was she in an accident or
something?  Is she hurt?  What?"  Blair prodded, his voice rising.

     "It's...it's worse than that, baby.  She's...she's dead, Chief," Jim
finally forced out, feeing the pain stab him in the heart like a knife, as
if he'd received the news instead of given it.

     "No, wait, that can't be," Blair said, laughing a little.  "See, I
just talked to her on the phone a couple nights ago, and she was *fine*,
man.  So see?  She can't be...she's fine, Jim."  Blair pulled away from
Jim's gentle grip on his shoulders.  "I gotta tell you, if this is your idea
of a joke, it's pretty sick."  Jim could hear the wild, rapid heartbeat, see
the fine tremor running through Blair's body.  The denial was fragile,
frail and brittle.  A last ditch effort to protect himself from the pain. 
Now it was up to Jim to shatter that shaky armor and say it again.

     "She's gone, Blair.  Starsky...saw her.  He and Hutch are making
flight reservations for us to go out there."  Jim moved up behind Blair
and tried to take a hold of his shoulders again, but Blair lurched away,
walking briskly toward the kitchen, leaning on the counter with both
hands.

     "Then he's *wrong*.  He doesn't know her that well.  He made a
mistake.  He identified someone else as her," Blair declared, his voice
shaking badly.  

     "Blair, baby, I know how hard this is--"

     "It's not hard because it's not true!"  Blair shouted back, turning
to face Jim as the first tears leaked out his eyes.  "Why are you doing
this?!"  he demanded, shouting through his tears now.  "It's a sick,
twisted, lousy thing to tell me something like this!"

     "Honey, I'm sorry.  I...I'd give anything in the world to make this
*not* true.  But it is.  Go ahead and yell and scream or whatever you
need to do.  But you have to face it and accept it, Chief.  Naomi's
dead."

     "NO!"  Blair shouted back, dropping to his knees on the floor,
falling forward and bracing himself on his hands.  "NO!!!"  he shouted
again as Jim knelt next to him, afraid to touch the smaller man in his
volatile state.  Finally, he ventured a hand out to rub Blair's shoulder.

     "Blair, I--" Jim was cut off by Blair slamming into him full
force, arms locking hard around his middle, sobs wracking Blair's body
so violently they shook both men.  In a heartbeat, his arms were around
Blair, trying vainly to hold him still against the horrible eruption of his
grief.  "Baby, I'm right here.  I'm right here, I've got you.  I'm right
here,"  he crooned over and over again, knowing there was nothing else
to say, no real comfort he could offer beyond his presence.

     Several times, Blair tried to catch his breath to speak, and
finally croaked out a single word.

     "How?"  he sobbed, hands spasmodically clutching at the fabric
on the back of Jim's sweater, face still buried against Jim's shoulder.

     "She..."  Jim realized then that he was crying himself, the pain
of Blair's grief breaking his heart.  "She was...killed...by someone," Jim
managed, realizing he couldn't say the word "murdered".  It wouldn't
even form on his lips.

     "No.  Oh, God, no," Blair moaned miserably, holding onto Jim
and shaking his head a little.  

     "They don't know who.  Starsky and Hutch have the case. 
They'll find out, baby. *We'll* find out."

     "It won't...bring her...ba-ack," Blair sobbed in response.

     "No, baby, it won't.  I know."  Jim kissed Blair's hair and started
rocking a little, rubbing Blair's shaking back in long strokes.  "That's it,
sweetheart.  Let it all out.  It's okay.  I've got you." 

     "How?"  Blair asked again, and Jim knew this time he was
asking for details.  Tightening his hold on the smaller body clinging to
him fiercely, Jim rested his head against Blair's.

     "They're still trying to figure out all the details."  Jim cleared his
throat, blinking away his own tears.  

     "What...the cause...what was the cause of death?"  Blair pushed
out through sharp, ragged breaths.

     "The M.E. said strangulation."  It was such an ungodly word,
and Jim found it twisted his own stomach in a knot now to say it to
Blair, to feel the new wave of tears in its wake.  He concentrated on
rocking Blair slowly, crooning little words of comfort against his hair. 
Somehow it felt absurd to inflict the pain and then try to assuage it.
//God, it sucks being the messenger,// Jim thought, hating that he had
been forced to hurt Blair this way, to bring him this news--and grateful
at the same time that it was being delivered by the one person who
loved Blair more than any other living human could possibly love
another.

     "She was...so...gentle..."  Blair moaned softly.  "Why?  It's...it's
just...*wrong*."

     "I know, Chief.  She was a really beautiful lady.  An
exceptional person.  She had to be."  Jim kissed Blair's hair and rocked
him a little more.  "I'll always love her for producing such a beautiful,
amazing man for me to love."

     "I'm glad you're here," Blair managed, tears quieting a lot now,
reduced to an occasional hiccup or sharp intake of breath.

     "I always will be, sweetheart.  Nowhere else on earth I ever
want to be."

     "Do they...have a suspect?"  Blair asked, sniffling and trying to
regain a little of his composure, but still content to slump there against
Jim.

     "I don't think so.  Not yet anyway.  Starsky called...the moment
he found out."
     
     "We have to go there."

     "I know.  He said Hutch was taking care of making flight
arrangements for us and would call us back when he had a flight time."

     "I never got to see them together," Blair said sadly, a few tears
still trickling out, though he seemed too drained to put the energy into
sobbing anymore.  Jim figured the "them" Blair meant were Naomi and
Starsky.  Plans had fallen through for their holiday visits this past year,
once because of a case Jim and Blair were embroiled in, then because
Blair couldn't leave the University during finals, and again because
Starsky and Hutch had ended up spending Christmas in Minnesota with
Hutch's sister, whose husband had died recently.

     "I'm sorry our plans kept falling through last year, baby.  We
should have just gone...but you think you always have time," Jim said
sadly, still patting Blair's back and rocking them a little.

     "Yeah...I remember...my m-mom saying...'there's always next
year, sweetie'..."  Blair's voice shattered on the last word, and he began
to cry again, sobs shaking him in Jim's arms.

     "Where do you think your mom is right now?  Huh?"  Jim asked
softly, stroking Blair's hair.  "You think she's heading for a new life
yet?"  Jim probed, knowing Blair and his mother both were open to the
possibility of reincarnation.  The question seemed to distract Blair from
the worst of his misery momentarily.  

     "Most...theorists would say she's...on the astral plane now." 
Blair swallowed, and Jim felt him relax just a little.

     "Sorry to be dense, Chief, but what exactly are you talking
about?"  Jim smiled as he heard a little snort from Blair.

     "The astral plane is where...some people believe the soul goes
after...after death.  The more spiritual...you are," Blair took in a couple
of sharp breaths, his voice still shaky, "the higher the level...you go to."

     "Kind of like Purgatory or Heaven?"

     "Kind of."  Blair was quiet a minute, still sniffling.  "Some
people believe...that the...the spirits who are...who evolve to the
higher...levels...get to this place called the mental causal plane, and
they influence people...back here on the physical plane--like
discoveries and art."

     "So they don't go right back out into other bodies?"

     "Not right away."  Blair sniffled again, and a few quiet tears
still drizzled.  "Some...not at all...they might stay on the astral plane,
or...or move higher."

     "This astral plane--it's a peaceful place?  The higher levels are
more like Heaven then?"  Jim clarified, delighted to have lulled Blair
into a slightly better state by making him click into teacher mode.  By
making him stop in the middle of the worst moment of his life and try
to cope with it using that nimble brain, the worst of the hysterical tears
had waned.

     "I guess it's all mental--but there are these images generated by
the mind, that makes it seem like some kind of paradise version of
earth."

     "Sounds like the perfect place for your mom, huh?  Everything
mental and spiritual, people working toward their spiritual potential? 
Beautiful, peaceful," Jim summarized, still stroking Blair's hair lightly
while he talked.  

     "I hope so...I hope that's where she is.  That it's all like that...
*really*."

     "Someone like Naomi--someone who spent so much time on
her spiritual life--she's got to be someplace beautiful, sweetheart.  All
the pain and the hurt...that's here with the people who miss her.  But it's
not with her anymore.  Whatever happened to her, baby, she's above it
now."

     "Thanks," Blair said quietly.

     "For what, honey?"  Jim asked gently, kissing Blair's wet cheek.

     "Making me think."  Blair looked up at Jim and actually smiled
a little.  

     "Come on, Chief.  Let's wash your face, huh?  One of these
might be good, too," Jim said, smiling as he handed Blair his
handkerchief, then helped him to his feet again.

     "I never thought my legs would feel...*shaky*.  You know, I've
seen people get bad news and, like, collapse..."

     "It's okay.  I've got a good hold on you.  Come on, let's get some
cool water on your face, huh?"  Jim steered him to the sink, and turned
on the faucet, grabbing a clean hand towel out of the drawer and after
Blair splashed his face with the water, carefully drying off Blair's face
with it.

     "God, Jim...it just...hurts so bad," he said softly, holding onto
the edge of the counter.

     "I wish I could fix this for you, sweetheart.  Change it.  I'd do
anything," Jim said honestly, infinite sadness in his own face as he
looked down at Blair's grief-ravaged countenance.  

     "You've...gotta tell me everything, Jim.  Every detail.  I need to
know, and I...I don't know if I can handle hearing it from anybody but
you."

     "I've told you all I know, sweetheart.  We have to wait until we
talk to your dad and Hutch again before we know the details."  The
phone rang, and Jim paused.  "You okay here a minute?"

     "You better get that.  Might be Hutch about the plane."

     "Right."  Jim nodded and moved away, leaving Blair standing
there, holding onto the counter, watching him with eyes that were
puffed and bloodshot.  "Ellison."

     "Jim, it's Hutch.  I got you and Blair reservations on a flight
leaving Cascade in about two hours.  You think you can make it?  I
know it's quick notice, and Blair's probably not really feeling much like
traveling this fast, but the next available flight is tomorrow afternoon."

     "That's fine.  We'll be on it.  Thanks for making the plans for
us."

     "That was nothing.  Please--tell Blair how very sorry I am about
this.  I didn't know Naomi at all really, but she meant a lot to Starsk,
mostly because of Blair, and I guess I feel the same way."

     "I'll tell him."  Jim looked over to see Blair motioning to him,
coming over to the phone.  "Blair wants to talk to you," he told Hutch,
handing Blair the phone.

     "Hutch?  How's my dad?  Is he okay with all this?"

     "He's a tough old buzzard.  He'll be fine, kiddo, don't you worry. 
We both feel terrible about this, Blair.  I'm so sorry."

     "Thanks.  I guess I'm just still trying to get used to the idea.  I
mean I was talking to her a couple nights ago on the phone and now..." 
Blair swallowed, paused a minute and then persevered.  "I just wanted
to be sure my dad's okay."

     "He's fine--well, given the circumstances.  Don't worry about
him.  That's my job, okay?"  Hutch teased gently, and Blair chuckled a
little shakily.

     "Yeah, he says you're a mother hen."
     
     "Gotta live up to the name then, right?"  Hutch was quiet a
moment.  "Blair, Starsk and I have made preliminary arrangements at a
really nice place here in town for your mom--well, for once you get
here and...sign the necessary papers.  All the details are still up to you
about how you want the services handled."

     "What about Harold?"

     "Oh, he's been calling us every fifteen minutes.  We're on our
way over to have a little chat with him."

     "He really seemed hung up on her.  You don't think...?"

     "We don't think anything yet.  But nothing's been ruled out. 
We'll fill you both in when you get here."

     "Okay."  Blair handed the phone back to Jim and wandered into
the bathroom, where Jim heard more water running, and some
noseblowing. 

     "What's the story with Harold?"  Jim asked.

     "Nothing so far.  The guy's been calling here all morning.  The
local news here reported a Jane Doe--giving Naomi's general
description--and he's been climbing the walls ever since."

     "Understandable--even if he's on the up and up."

     "Yeah, I s'pose.  Look, we'll be there at the airport to pick you
both up.  You can stay at our place."

     "Great.  I think that'll be good for Blair--to be with his father."

     "I agree.  Probably work wonders for the old man too," Hutch
quipped.

     After hanging up, Jim went in to check on Blair, and found him
sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, a few new tears on his face,
staring straight ahead.

     "I'm going to pack a few things for us, honey."  He crouched in
front of Blair.  "Why don't you come upstairs with me and stretch out
up there while I get our stuff, okay?"

     "I thought I was getting a hold of myself, but..."  Blair gestured
at the tears helplessly, shaking his head.  "They just keep coming."

     "I know, baby.  Come with me."  Jim took a hold of Blair's arm
and led him upstairs, where he curled up on the bed, not even arguing
with Jim about helping to pack.  "If you need to cry, sweetheart, you go
right ahead.  You're entitled."  Jim caressed the soft hair lightly, leaning
down to kiss Blair's forehead.

     "I always wondered how I'd handle this news, you know?  I
mean, all my life, I've known a few cousins here and there, but my
mom was my only...*family*.  Before you."

     "Don't you forget it," Jim responded, smiling and picking up
one of Blair's favorite handmade blankets off the foot of the bed and
covering him.  "Cold, Chief?"  he asked, having sensed the fine shivers,
knowing that Blair teetered on the edge of shock.

     "A little, yeah.  Thanks."  Blair pulled the blanket around him,
watching Jim as he moved around the bedroom, filling one large
suitcase with their underwear, socks, then pants and jeans, then a
couple shirts and sweaters.  As an afterthought, he dug out Blair's night
time sleeping gear for cool nights--his favorite old sweatpants and a
couple extra pairs of thermal socks.  

     Next he pulled out a suit bag and carefully packed his black
suit, and Blair's dark blue suit, and the necessary dress shirts and ties to
go with them.  Then he packed a large travel bag with dress shoes, and
a few other odds and ends.  

     "I'm going to run downstairs and get our stuff out of the
bathroom, sweetheart.  Just rest a minute, okay?"  Jim rubbed Blair's
shoulder briefly before hesitantly going downstairs and gathering up
their shaving supplies and other necessary toiletries.  He hesitated as he
picked up the tube of KY, wondering if he were being grossly
insensitive to even think of taking it.  But then, he couldn't be sure
what form of comfort Blair might seek in the coming days, and it
seemed better to be prepared.

     With everything packed, Jim headed back upstairs to collect his
partner.  After making a stop in the bathroom, washing his face more
thoroughly and smoothing up his rumpled hair a little, Blair looked
much more like a tired, bleary-eyed version of his old self.   Soon, the
two men embarked on their sad journey to L.A.

********

     Blair opened his eyes, and for a brief moment, thought all that
had occurred that horrible day had been a nightmare brought on by his
slightly awkward position.  But it wasn't.  He had been napping with his
head on Jim's shoulder as they made the flight to L.A., and now he was
awake again, the blissful numbness of sleep slipping away as the pain
crested and reminded him of the purpose of their trip.

     "We'll be landing soon, sweetheart," Jim said quietly, squeezing
Blair's shoulders.  "Better sit up and buckle up," he advised, and Blair
followed the order wordlessly, regretting the loss of Jim's arm around
his shoulders.  Soon though, a strong hand closed around his to replace
the lost contact.

     "Guess I slept most of the trip," Blair said, his voice a little
rough from both sleep and the grief that bubbled just below the surface. 


     "You needed a little rest.  Feel any better?"  Jim asked.

     "I've been waiting to feel numb.  It hasn't happened yet," Blair
answered sadly, but forced a smile, and squeezed Jim's hand.  "I
couldn't do this without you."

     "You don't have to do anything without me, Chief.  I'm here for
the duration."

     "You better be," Blair said, smiling again, pushing away the
flare of pain that came at speculating how he would handle this
moment if it were Jim who had died.  How he would be surviving at
this point in time, who he would cling to, and what any of it would
mean.  And what reason he would have to want to make it through his
grief and come out on the other side of it, a survivor.  Every compelling
reason for wanting to accomplish all that now was Jim.  But if Jim
were gone, what would that compelling reason be?

     "What is it?"  Jim probed, seeing the new stress in Blair's face
that spoke of some dark thought, a new worry beyond the obvious.

     "Just some morose thoughts, man."  Blair shook his head and
then smiled at Jim.  "Think maybe you could smile at me?  It'd make
me feel better," Blair said, still smiling faintly himself.  As Jim's face
broke into one of those soft smiles reserved just for him, the love
radiating from those cool blue eyes, Blair absorbed the warmth until he
closed his own eyes briefly.  "Thanks."

     "Smiling at you is easy, Chief."  Jim covered their joined hands
with his free hand.  The jet began its descent to the runway.

********

     "Do you see them yet?"  Starsky agitated, rolling onto his
tiptoes for the tenth time in so many minutes.  Hutch shook his head
and rolled his eyes. //Still an impatient little kid,// he thought fondly. 
"You s'pose the plane's late?  I guess they would've announced that,"
Starsky concluded without benefit of Hutch's participation.

     "It's only five minutes past the arrival time.  Besides, they
haven't even announced that the flight's arrived yet."

     "Oh, yeah, right."  Starsky stuck his hands in the pockets of his
jeans and started pacing.  "We should have made *sure* we got
together with them over the holidays sometime.  We should have
picked up Naomi and *gone there*.  He just wanted to once see us all
together in one place."

     "Starsk, come on, don't beat yourself up.  This time last year,
we were all healthy, alive, happy--there was no reason to think we
wouldn't be again this year."  Hutch sighed.  "Unfortunately, we tend to
put things off when everything's going well...always assuming we'll
have tomorrow."

     "Yeah, but I thought we'd been around the dance floor enough
times to know better."  Starsky paused as the flight's arrival was
announced, and the two men headed quickly to the designated gate.

     "I see Ellison," Hutch said, finally giving in to the "tiptoe"
method and looking over the heads of the other arriving passengers.

     "Is Blair with him?"  Starsky prodded, and it was on the tip of
Hutch's tongue to say "No, he forgot him on the plane", but given the
somber circumstances, he swallowed that retort and actually looked for
Ellison's ever-present appendage, Starsky's son.  

     "Yeah, he's there, babe," Hutch responded, sparing a smile as
Starsky's face lit up, despite the misery of the circumstances bringing
them all together.  In a moment, Starsky was a cloudburst of sound and
fury, waving his arms and calling out to his son.  "I think you can relax, 
Starsk.  The passengers in that jet out on the runway know we're here
now."

     "You're a real riot, Hutch, you know that?"  Starsky shot back
with a glare that didn't faze Hutch any more now than it had twenty
years ago.

     And then Starsky was weaving through the people, homing in
on his son like a guided missile.  As soon as he encountered Blair, he
pulled him in for a bone-crushing hug, which the younger man seemed
to be returning in kind.  

     "Good to see you again, Hutch," Jim said, holding out his hand,
which Hutch shook with a sad smile.  

     "Yeah, you too.  Circumstances are certainly unfortunate."  He
watched as Jim cast sad eyes toward his partner, who had broken down
a little in his father's arms.

     "Wish we had made it last year," Jim said quietly, and Hutch
nodded somberly.  

     "Good to see you," Blair muttered, still hanging onto his father.

     "You too, son."  Starsky worked hard to rein in his emotions,
keeping up a good front for Blair.  He pulled back and took a hold of
Blair's shoulders.  "We'll get you guys settled in the guest room back at
our place so you can get a little rest after your flight, huh?"

     "I want to see her," Blair said solemnly.

     "You will, Blair.  Tomorrow," Hutch interjected.  
     
     "She's my mother.  I need to see her," he repeated.

     "Hey, kiddo, look at me."  Starsky took a hold of Blair's chin. 
"Your mom loved you more than anything.  She would want you to
have nice memories of her, right?  We'll go tomorrow and see her at the
funeral home, okay?"

     "I need to make arrangements--how...I mean, she didn't leave a
lot of instructions but..."

     "All we did is the preliminary stuff, Blair.  If you don't like
something we've arranged, all you have to do is say the word, and we'll
change it.  We've made no final arrangements for burial or a memorial
service," Hutch added.  "We felt sure you'd have your own ideas of
what you wanted done for that, but we wanted to at least get things
started so you didn't have to do all of it."

     "I wasn't sure if Naomi adhered to Jewish traditions or if she'd
want something totally different..."  Starsky added, shrugging a little.

     "I probably sound really ungrateful," Blair said quietly.

     "No, absolutely not," Starsky responded immediately.  "What
you sound is worn out.  Come on.  We'll work out all the details later,
huh?"

     "How did you...get things moving so fast?"

     "The M.E. is a good friend of ours.  She moved this case to the
top of her schedule, and made sure everything was completed ASAP," 
Hutch responded.  "If all goes well, she should be able to release...
Naomi should be at the funeral home tomorrow afternoon."

     "Did you talk to Harold?"  Blair asked.

     "Let's head for the car while we're talking," Hutch suggested,
moving forward, the rest of the group in tow.  "You have baggage
claim tickets?"  Hutch asked Jim, who snapped out of his own semi-
stupor and followed the other man to collect the luggage while Blair
and his father headed toward the exit.

     "How's he doing?"   Hutch asked.

     "As well as can be expected, I guess.  This whole thing--it's so
sudden...and how it happened--nothing about it is easy."

     "Very true."

     "You talked to Harold?"
     
     "He's in the hospital."

     "What?"  Jim frowned as he picked up the large suitcase and
travel bag while Hutch picked up the suit bag.

     "We brought him in for questioning, played a little hard ball
with him, and the guy keeled over in the interrogation room.  The
doctor said it was a mild heart attack.  We've got nothing on the guy.  I
feel like a world class asshole for playing good cop-bad cop on him for
two hours."

     "The boyfriend's always the first suspect," Jim commented as
they headed toward the exit where Blair and Starsky were standing
together, apparently deep in conversation.  "What do you make of this
character?  I know Naomi seemed to feel he was a bit of a bore."

     "He's an investment broker--very affluent.  Runs with the jet set. 
His first wife died ten years ago, and he never remarried.  As near as
we can tell, Naomi was his first serious relationship since.  He seems
genuinely devastated--and he has an alibi that he was out of town on
business, although he can corroborate his whereabouts around the time
of death, and he was within driving distance."  Hutch nodded toward
the other two.  "We'll pick this up later."

     "Right," Jim agreed before they moved into earshot of Blair.

********

     As soon as Blair learned that Harold was in the hospital, and
that the police had no concrete reason to suspect him, he insisted on
stopping there to see his mother's final lover.  

     At 66, Harold Bloomfield was many years Naomi's senior, but
despite the age difference, she had considered him attractive and had
described him as a tall, well-built man with a great head of hair and
devilish brown eyes.  As Blair stood in the doorway of the room in the
cardiac care unit of the hospital, he couldn't speak for how devilish the
exhausted-looking eyes were, but it was obvious that Harold was a very
good physical specimen for 66.  But then, Naomi would have accepted
no less than someone who could keep up her pace--and that would take
a very healthy, vibrant person.

     "Mr. Bloomfield?"  Blair said hesitantly, lingering in the
doorway.

     "Blair," the older man said immediately, pressing the button to
raise his bed a bit.

     "How'd you know?"  Blair asked, smiling slightly.

     "Naomi's pictures.  I didn't expect to see you.  I...I'm glad you
stopped by."

     "I'm sorry we never got a chance to meet under happy
circumstances," Blair said, moving toward the bed, finally extending
his hand to shake Harold's hand.  "I was concerned--I heard you had a
heart attack this morning.  How're you doing now?"

     "Tests and more tests.  They never give me a straight answer
how I'm doing.  I've got to say that without your mother, I don't much
care."

     "She wouldn't want to hear you say that."

     "No, you're right."  Harold smiled at Naomi's son, looking him
up and down once, quickly.  "You have her...presence."  Blair was a bit
thrown by the depth and meaning of the statement.  "She used to light
up the room when she walked in.  I think you're a lot like her."

     "Thanks," Blair said, blinking back tears and smiling.  "If there's
anything I can do..."  He let the words trail off with a shrug.

     "I didn't do anything to hurt her, Blair.  She was...I asked her to
marry me twice, and I was working on the nerve to try again--three
times and out, you know--I loved her.  I couldn't have hurt her."

     "I'm glad," Blair said, not really believing this man could be a
ruthless killer, but also realizing that the most ruthless of killers could
often hide behind a very innocent facade.  "I should go now.  The nurse
told me just a couple minutes."

     "Thanks for coming by.  I hope you'll visit again."

     "I'll try."

     "When is the memorial service?"

     "I'm not sure yet.  I, uh, this whole thing...I'm just trying to get a
grip on it.  I haven't made those plans yet, but I'll have to do that
tonight.  I can call here and let you know."

     "Do, please.  I want to be there."

     "Don't endanger your recovery."

     "I won't miss Naomi's service.  Please let me know when it is."

     "I will," Blair responded, nodding.  "Take care of yourself.  I
know my mom cared a lot about you--she'd want you to get well."

     "I'm doing my best.  Thank you again for coming here."

     "You were important to my mom.  I wanted to meet you."  Blair
smiled slightly, then turned and walked out the door.

********

     "Well, this is it," Starsky announced with a slight wave of his
hand as Hutch drove the old blue four door LTD that carried them into
a long driveway.  At the end of it was a contemporary house with a lot
of windows and a natural wood exterior.  A fieldstone chimney
accented the front of it, marking the center point between two large
triangular windows, and the apex of an interior cathedral ceiling in the
living room.  The house was on a large lot, with a number of trees,
though it was possible to see just a bit of the side of the neighboring
house from the driveway.

     "The view out back is spectacular--right on the ocean," Hutch
stated proudly, putting the car in park as they began to spill out of the
old car.

     "You must have put a lot of work into this place," Jim said,
standing in the yard in front of the rather distinctive windows and
chimney.  "Did you add that yourselves?"  he asked, gesturing toward
it.

     "It was Starsk's idea.  The chimney was there, but when we
started talking about renovating, he started doodling on a pad of paper,
and the next thing we knew, he had cost us a home improvement loan I
don't even want to talk about," Hutch concluded, laughing softly.

     "Hey, Hutch, why don't you show Jim the deck set up out back? 
Blair and I can handle the luggage."  

     Jim glanced over at Blair to see if his partner seemed okay with
that idea, and Blair just nodded a bit, his mouth twitching in an attempt
at a smile that didn't quite make it.  Still, it was plain that he had no
objections to spending a few minutes alone with his father.

     "Your room's got a great view of the ocean," Starsky began,
feeling more than a little awkward at what to say to his son at a time
like this.  It was different than grieving together--though Starsky felt
some grief at the senseless death of his son's mother, a woman he had
once loved, he couldn't honestly say he felt anything remotely akin to
the soul-deep pain he saw in Blair's eyes.  He found himself
questioning if he felt more sadness at Blair's pain than he did at
Naomi's passing, and found quickly that he did.  Though he hadn't
raised Blair or known him as a child, his paternal instincts had kicked
in full throttle, and his dearest wish was to find some way to stop his
little boy from being so miserable.

     "This is really nice," Blair said, his voice lacking its usual
luster.  The two men walked through the large, open living room with
its cathedral ceiling and impressive fireplace and down a short hall,
turning off to the left into a large, bright room with a wall of windows
overlooking their private little stretch of sand, and the rich blue of the
ocean.

     "It's been our dream house.  It wasn't much to look at when we
bought it.  Probably would've been cheaper to just tear it down and start
over."

     "But this was something you built together, step by step. 
Invested your lives in together."

     "Yeah, exactly like that," Starsky responded, smiling as they
dumped the luggage on the dark blue bedspread.  There were a couple
of brightly colored Southwestern print throw pillows on the bed.  Blair
smiled and touched one of the pillows with his fingertips.  

     "Looks like some I saw in Arizona once--at a market at this
reservation."

     "That's where those came from.  Hutch and I took a trip out
there four or five years ago."  Starsky walked up behind his son and put
an arm around his shoulders.  "You want to talk?"

     "I want you to tell me all there is to know about the case.  No
pulling your punches.  Jim told me as much as he knew--from what you
told him.  But I want to know the whole thing."

     "Okay, fair enough."  Starsky sat on the side of the bed, and
Blair sat next to him.  "We got a call late last night that there was a
Jane Doe in the morgue--victim of an apparent strangulation."  Starsky
watched his son's profile as he spoke, the lower lip tucked firmly under
Blair's teeth, eyes staring straight ahead.  "When I saw her...Blair, I...
there just aren't words."  Starsky looked out the window, facing the
same way as Blair now. 

     "Was she...Dad, please, just tell me how bad it was.  I need to
know."

     "She had a few bruises, but my guess would be that they were
the results of a struggle with her assailant more than from an
intentional beating."

     "I need to know if she was...if..."  

     "The M.E. didn't think she was raped.  There was evidence of
recent sexual activity, but there's no reason to believe it wasn't
consensual.  There was no trauma to that area to indicate anything
violent or forcible."

     "Thank God," Blair sighed, closing his eyes.  "Was it...did he...
use something to...?"

     "His hands."

     "How...is it...do you know if...how painful..."  Blair looked at
Starsky with pleading eyes, as if he wanted his father to read the
thoughts that were too awful to voice.

     "I can't lie to you, son.  Death by strangulation isn't a nice way
to die.  I wish I could say that she didn't feel anything, or that it was
painless or quick--I don't know exactly how quick it would be.  The
evidence suggests he was a strong man with powerful hands."  Starsky's
own adam's apple bobbed and his eyes filled at the anguish he saw in
Blair.  It didn't surprise him that the brilliant, inquisitive mind that was
one of his son's greatest assets was now torturing him with the need to
know the horrific final road his mother traveled. 

     "You think Harold...?"  Blair asked, wiping at his eyes but
managing to keep his voice.

     "I thought maybe.  You know from working with Jim that when
someone is murdered, their significant other is the first logical
suspect."

     "I get the feeling he really loved her."

     "Love is one of the greatest motivators for crimes of passion. 
You can't overlook someone as a suspect because they loved the
victim."  Starsky looked back out the window again.  "I haven't ruled
him out, but he's looking less and less likely.  I mean, if the guy keeled
over in the interrogation, it's not too likely he would be in good enough
shape to...well, that he could..."

     "I know what you're saying," Blair interrupted.  "Was it Harold? 
That she was with right before...?"

     "No.  And that's the guy I wanna talk to."  Starsky paused. 
"When you talked to her last, did she mention anyone else?"

     "No.  She didn't say a whole lot about Harold.  She was bored
with him in some respects, but she stayed with him--I think she knew
he was nuts about her--I know he bought her a lot of nice gifts and
treated her like a queen.  Not that she would have been lured by gifts
alone, but I mean, he really spoiled her--took care of her.  She seemed
to like it and rebel against it at the same time."  Blair snorted a little
laugh.  "My mother swore she'd never get married, and here's poor old
Harold proposing once, twice, and working on getting the nerve to go
for the gold again.  She told me when he proposed the first time--it was
right about the time she was getting ready to dump him.  Then she was
really moved that he was that stuck on her, and even though she turned
him down, she stayed.  The second proposal was sort of the same
thing."  Blair sighed.  

     "But all this time, she never mentioned another guy?"

     "Well, no, but..."  Blair shrugged.  "She probably didn't think it
was important unless she left Harold over him.  She never promised
Harold anything, so she probably wouldn't have felt it was a major big
thing if she slept with somebody else--not enough so to call me and tell
me--it would have just been something that happened if she met
someone she clicked with."

     "Later, when you've had a chance to rest a little while, I want us
to talk about any interests your mom had, places she talked about
going, things she liked to do--we have to figure out who this other guy
was, and what happened between them."

     "You think it was definitely someone who knew her?  Maybe it
was just...some...*nut*."

     "Certainly possible.  In a way, I hope that isn't the case, because
if it is, she probably won't be his only victim.  That kind of nut, who
kills anonymously, usually kills more than once."

     "Somebody...has to pick out something for...for her to wear. 
God, she had so many beautiful clothes...she liked things...*flowing*,
you know?  She always kind of...*swirled* into the room..."  Blair took
in a sharp breath, tears rolling down his cheeks now.  "She was always
so beautiful," he said through his tears.  "And so...*alive*--those eyes,
that smile--she had so much...*life*.  How...Dad...How do I do this?" 
Blair asked, breaking down now and letting himself really cry.

     Starsky pulled his son into his arms and held him tight, a few of
his own tears coming to the surface now.

     "I remember when my dad died," Starsky said softly, patting
Blair's back a little.  "I was a kid--ten years old.  I still had Ma--she's
such a great lady.  We're going to take a little trip out there and meet
her as soon as we can.  But Dad...he was my buddy, you know?  We did
things together, and I wanted to be just like him.  Your grandfather was
a cop too, remember I told you about him?"  Blair nodded a little, and
Starsky continued.  "He was gone so fast, so suddenly.  For no good
reason.  No good reason except he was a good cop who pissed off the
wrong people.  And just like that, he was gone.  And for a long time, I
didn't think that hurt would ever get better--but you know what?  In
time, it does.  It never goes away.  You always remember, and you'll
always have this little sadness in your heart for what you lost--but you
do start seein' the light at the end of the tunnel. You start holdin' onto
the people who are still around, who still love you--and you think about
what that person wanted for you.  My dad wanted the best for me.  He
worked hard, tried to give us the best home we could have.  We never
had much money--but we never went without anything we needed.  He
usedta tell me--when I said I wanted to be just like him--that he wanted
somethin' better for me--maybe I oughtta be a lawyer instead of a cop--
or a judge, or somethin' like that.  He thought I was smart enough to do
that, that I should have a better life than gettin' shot at by thugs and not
makin' enough money."

     "Guess that plan didn't work, huh?"  Blair joked, sniffling a
little.  Starsky laughed at that and squeezed Blair a little.

     "Not too well, no."  Starsky was quiet a few minutes, letting
Blair cry it out, before he spoke again.  "He wanted happiness and
success and a bright future for me.  He wanted me to meet some nice
lady and get married.  He wanted me to be happy.  To have a good life.
And you know what?  Naomi would want that for you too--and she
knew you met somebody special who was going to be there for you,
and that you have a good life.  But she'd want you to be happy.  And
pretty soon you're going to start thinking about the good memories. 
When my dad first died, all I thought about was...hearing that shot--he
was on his way home from work--he rode with this buddy of his who
lived about four blocks away.  He liked to walk the rest of the way--
kind of relax, clear his head...it was a drive-by shooting before it got
that title.  I didn't see him, but I heard it, and somehow, I *knew*. 
Then the cops showed up at the door..."

     "That must've been awful," Blair said.

     "It was.  And for a long time, the only thoughts I had about him
were about how horrible his death was.  Thinking about him hurt
because those were the thoughts I had.  But you know what?"  Starsky
paused, though it was a rhetorical question.  "As time passed, I started
thinkin' about the good things.  About him teachin' me how to pitch,
about shoveling out the driveway together every winter, about goin' to
ball games and way back when I was real little, riding on his shoulders
when we'd all go out for ice cream..."  Starsky smiled at the memories
himself now, rubbing Blair's back a little.  "Thinkin' about my father
started to be a good thing again.  It made me happy to remember him. 
And that happens, son.  I know it doesn't feel like it ever will right now,
but it does.  You'll remember your mom and how pretty she was, and
that smile, and how much she loved you--and it'll make you feel good
instead of hurting so much like it does now."

     "I'm really, really glad you turned out to be my father," Blair
managed, his voice still broken.

     "So am I, kiddo.  So am I.  You remember that.  I know I can't
step in for your mother, but you've still got a parent who loves you,
who's proud as hell of you.  Don't you ever forget that."

     "I won't," Blair responded, taking in a shaky breath, his
emotions reduced to a few straggling, silent tears.  "I love you too,
Dad."

********

     Jim could hear the sounds of Blair's crying from out on the
deck, where Hutch was expounding on its virtues and his and Starsky's
work in putting it together.  The older man was the consummate host,
doing his best to keep Jim entertained while Blair and his father had a
little private time to talk.  But Hutch's attempts at casual conversation
were as brittle and Jim's attention to it.  Their lives had all been marred
by a horrific tragedy, and there was no denying that they had been
brought together for a painful purpose.

     He glanced back at the house for the third time, and Hutch
paused, smiling knowingly.

     "He just lost his mother, Jim.  He needs a little time with his
father.  Trust me on this one--Starsky has one of the best shoulders to
cry on there is."

     "I wish there was something I could do.  I feel so damned..."

     "Helpless?  Useless?  Inadequate?"  Hutch supplied helpfully.

     "Thanks.  I needed that," Jim quipped sarcastically, and both
men chuckled a bit.  "Exactly."

     "Let's grab a beer.  I don't know about you, but I could use one." 
Hutch led the way back inside the house, and the two men paused at
the refrigerator while two bottles were procured.  They continued into
the living room and sat at opposite ends of a big tan leather couch that
faced the magnificent fireplace.

     "What's your take on Harold?"  Jim asked, taking the first long
draw off the beer.  "I know he collapsed during questioning, but how
was it going?"

     "He was getting agitated, obviously.  There were a few things
that bothered me.  He doesn't have an airtight alibi for the time of
death, he was in love with her, obviously--but I think it could easily
border on obsession.  And if she was seeing someone else..."  Hutch
shrugged.  

     "How's Blair?"  Jim asked as Starsky walked into the room,
looking a little bleary eyed himself.

     "He's resting.  I don't think he'd mind a little company."

     "Excuse me," Jim said simply, taking his beer with him and
disappearing down the hall.

     "How is he really?"  Hutch asked as Starsky dropped onto the
couch next to him, resting his head back against Hutch's arm, which
was stretched out on the back of the couch.

     "He's torn up.  I'm trying to picture hearin' that somebody had
done that to my ma without going nuts.  I don't know if I could do it." 
Starsky accepted Hutch's beer as his lover passed it to him.  He took a
long draw on it and handed it back.  "We've got to nail the son of a
bitch who did this to my kid."

     It was on the tip of Hutch's tongue to remind Starsky that
Naomi Sandburg was the victim of this crime, but that would have
served no purpose.  Starsky was fiercely protective of his new found
son, and anything that made Blair this miserable was bound to put
Starsky on the warpath.  

     "Hey."  Hutch moved his arm enough to get it around Starsky's
shoulders, and the other man complied, resting his head on Hutch's
shoulder now, taking another draw off the beer that was offered.  "He'll
be okay, babe."

     "I know."

     "Did he shed any light on who the mystery man might be?"

     "Didn't know.  He said she hadn't mentioned anyone, but he
didn't think that would be too unusual--Naomi was a free spirit, so
unless she was really serious about the guy, it's not too likely that she
would have made a big deal out of it with Blair.  He's not up to being
put through the paces of where she liked to go, what she liked to do. 
I'm hoping we can do a little more of that tomorrow.  They were in
fairly regular touch, so he may know something vital to the
investigation."

     "I'm still not finished with Harold," Hutch said.  "Having a bad
heart doesn't mean he couldn't have done the deed.  Did you see that
guy's hands?  Long fingers, big, powerful hands...I'd love to match them
up with the bruise patterns."

********

     "Jim?"  Blair's voice was a little ragged, and he didn't roll over
from his position on his side, facing the window, his back to the door.

     "Yeah, it's me, baby."  Jim sat on the bed behind his lover. 
"You want a couple swallows of beer?  It's nice and cold.  Might make
your throat feel better."

     "Okay."  Blair sat up and sniffed a little, though he wasn't
crying.  His face was pale with red splotches around his eyes and under
his nose.  Both eyes were puffy and badly bloodshot.  He took a few
swallows and handed the bottle back to Jim with a suppressed burp.

     "You want me to wash your face?  Would that feel good?"  Jim
lifted a couple of curls away from Blair's face, stroking his cheek with
a gentle thumb.  Blair nodded in reply, and Jim went into the adjoining
bathroom, returning with a cool cloth.  He sat on the bed again, this
time in front of Blair, and carefully bathed Blair's face.  If nothing else,
Blair seemed calmer now, almost tranquil.  

     "How did you handle it when your mom died?"  Blair asked,
and Jim froze a moment in his ministrations, completely unprepared
for that question.  "I'm sorry--you don't have to talk about it."

     "It was kind of a different situation, sweetheart.  She left long
before she died."  Jim patted Blair's shoulder and carried the cloth into
the bathroom, hanging it on the rod.  When he returned, he stretched
out behind Blair and spooned around him, pulling him close.  "I went
through the separation part of it--the end of the relationship--when she
walked out on us.  When she died...it was more like a news item than
anything emotional.  Just information on someone I used to know."

     "You can't have felt that calm about it."

     "I didn't when she left.  I was little--about six.  I didn't
understand what was going on.  I'll hand it to my dad--he put the best
spin on it he could.  He said that sometimes adults can't get along
anymore, and they have to live apart.  The hard part for him to explain
was why we weren't going to see her anymore.  I mean, I knew a couple
other kids whose parents were divorced, and there was visitation. 
Steven was too little to really get what was going on, but I asked when
we'd be visiting her.  He gave me some double talk about how she was
moving far away, to find a job, and that we probably couldn't go see her
for a while.  A while turned into forever.  She died in a car accident
when I was sixteen.  By then, it really didn't matter all that much to
me."

     "That's horrible.  I can't imagine anyone not wanting to see their
own children."

     "The only regret I have is that I never had a chance to ask her
*why*.  I have a sort of half-assed explanation from my dad's side--that
they weren't getting along, that she didn't want the responsibility of a
family, and so on...I would have liked to have heard it from her.  At
sixteen I still didn't care about looking her up and asking her.  So I
never did, and then it was too late."  Jim sighed.  "Still, if she wasn't
interested for ten years, I guess I didn't miss out on much by not
looking her up and bothering her."

     "She missed so much.  Makes you wonder the real reason,
doesn't it?"

     "Well, there's not much reason not to trust my dad on that point. 
He seemed really broken up about it at the time--though he bounced
back fast.  But he never remarried.  Once bitten, twice shy, I guess.  He
threw himself into his work, and sometimes I think he was running
away from what homelike was without her--he worked impossible
hours, found every possible community organization to get involved in
that had any ties to business in the area, served on the boards of God
knows how many foundations and hospitals...he didn't do all that when
she was there.  He had commitments, sure, but he did things with the
family.  He was home on Sundays and we'd have a big breakfast and
then do something--either outside, or go somewhere...but it's like when
she left, he had to escape home.  Escape the reminders of her--like
Steven and me."

     "That's really awful--to lump the two of you in with the bad
memories."

     "He did what he had to do to survive, I guess."  Jim kissed
Blair's cheek.  "Want to sleep a little?"

     "Just talk to me some more, okay?  I don't care what it's about."

     "Later we'll sit out on the deck--Hutch told me the whole story
about how they designed and built it themselves.  It's really
something..."  Jim went on, recounting Hutch's tale of the deck design
and building project, complete with all the little obstacles and disasters
they'd encountered along the way.  He kept talking until he was
satisfied Blair's breathing had been even long enough, his sleep deep
enough, that the cessation of Jim's words wouldn't disturb him.  
     
********

     When Blair woke from his nap, Jim was snoring softly behind
him, a large arm tucked protectively around him.   Blair smiled a little,
nestling into the warmth of Jim's body.  As horrible as everything was,
Blair realized how fortunate he was to be surrounded by so much love
and support, to be among people who all cared for Naomi for their own
reasons.  

     Though he'd been absorbed with his own pain at the time, it
hadn't escaped him that Jim had cried with him back at the loft, that
Jim's voice had been a little too quiet and a little too ragged from time
to time, that he grieved for Naomi in his own subtle way.  Blair knew
there were a number of reasons for that grief.  Jim had liked Naomi on
her own merits, despite his aversion to some of her more outlandish
ideas.  And for having produced Blair, Jim had always viewed Naomi
as something and someone very special.   Most of all, he knew the
fastest way to hurt Jim was to make him witness the pain Blair was
now going through.  Nothing ever seemed to hurt Jim as deeply as
seeing Blair hurting.  Nothing could possibly drive him crazier than
being unable to stop it or make it better.

     Despite not having sentinel hearing, Blair relaxed and listened
to the sounds of the house.  He could hear snatches of conversation
coming from outside.  Starsky had opened the windows to let in some
fresh air before he'd left Blair to his rest.  It was a cool evening, with a
beautiful, fresh breeze coming in off the ocean.  He surmised that his
father and Hutch were on the deck, and at least part of the time, Starsky
was on the phone, because the conversation had that odd, one-sided
quality to it.  Before long, he heard one of them come inside the house.

     Glancing at the clock and seeing it was almost nine, Blair
shifted, disturbing Jim gently.

     "Jim, wake up," Blair prodded quietly.  "Jim, it's nighttime." 
Blair was more concerned that Jim should get a halfway decent meal,
since neither of them had eaten since six thirty that morning--and then
it had been a bagel for Jim and a shake for Blair.  For his own part,
Blair really didn't care about food, but he knew Jim would be getting
hungry, and figured disturbing their hosts in the middle of the night
searching for food wasn't really too polite.

     "Hm?"  Jim opened his eyes and blinked a couple times. 
"How're you doin', sweetheart?"  Jim asked, reaching over to rub Blair's
shoulder as they lay on their sides, facing each other now.

     "Better.  My dad and I had a good talk.  I think it helped."

     "Good."  Jim smiled softly at his lover, leaning forward to kiss
him on the lips lightly.  "Think you could eat something?"

     "I'm not very hungry."  Blair sighed, then continued.  "But I
think you should get something."

     "No way, Chief.  You haven't eaten since breakfast, and all that
amounted to was a stinky shake."

     "I don't think I'd keep it down.  I just don't want anything yet."

     "Okay, I won't push the issue.  I don't promise not to bring you a
tray though."  Jim pulled Blair into his arms and held him close. 
"Come on, Chief, come out with me and have something.  I don't like
leaving you in here by yourself."

     "Jim--"

     "You really think you'll be happier lying here feeling lousy all
alone?  You know if Naomi were here right now, she'd drag you out of
here, forcibly if necessary, and feed you."

     "Tongue, probably," Blair said, smiling a little at the thought,
fighting down the spasm of pain the image brought with it.

     "Let's go find out if Starsky keeps *that* in his refrigerator,"
Jim challenged, getting up and holding out a hand to Blair.  The other
man reluctantly took it and accepted the pull to his feet.

     By the time Jim and Blair ambled out to the living room, they
found Hutch ensconced in his favorite overstuffed chair, a big leather
contraption with a matching ottoman, glasses in place, absorbed in a
book.  There was some music playing low in the background--something 
classical.

     "If you guys are hungry, there's left over chicken in the
refrigerator.  Starsky went back downtown--said something about
wanting to follow up on an idea--something he wanted to run through
the computer."

     "About the case?"  Blair asked, sitting on the end of the couch
closest to Hutch's chair.  

     "He thinks the M.O. is similar to one we worked on ten or
twelve years ago."  Hutch shook his head.  "It was never solved, but I
seriously doubt the guy resurfaced after being dormant for that long." 
Hutch put the marker in his book and closed it.  "But you can't ignore
any of the possibilities."

     "Sometimes something triggers someone like that," Jim opined,
sitting next to Blair and running his arm behind him on the couch. 
"Was this a serial homicide case, or a single victim?"

     "Serial--two victims, both women, both str--uh...the cause of
death was the same in both cases," Hutch quickly amended, not
thinking the gory details were something Blair needed to hear.

     "Young women?"

     "One was twenty-six, the other forty-two."  Hutch paused,
fiddling with the edge of the book cover.  "Both redheads who were
very active se--uh, socially."  Hutch looked a bit uneasy at his almost
blunder.  

     "Was it just the similarity in the type of victim that made you
guys think of that case?"  Blair asked, forcing himself to move beyond
his pain a moment.  He owed it to his mother to think clearly, to use his
mind that was supposed to be so sharp to help solve her murder.

     "How detailed do you want me to be?"  Hutch asked directly,
taking off his glasses and setting them aside with the book on the table
next to his chair.

     "I want to know the answer to my question," Blair persisted.

     "The other victims were both strangled with the killer's hands,
and the bruising patterns on the necks were very similar to the pattern
we observed on the autopsy photos the M.E. provided us with this
afternoon.  We spent most of the afternoon with the old case file,
comparing photos, victim profiles--it's more than a little unsettling."

     "So this is a really viable theory, huh?"  Jim asked, dropping his
arm around Blair's shoulders, for which the smaller man was truly
grateful as he soaked up the tangible demonstration of support.

     "That's what Starsky wants to run through the database at the
station.  We had a few pretty strong suspects at the time--just never
enough to zero in on one and bring him in.  So he wants to find out
where these guys are now, how old they'd be, what their last known
address was--if the DMV still has records on them--things like that."

     "There's so much I should be doing," Blair said, thinking of all
the people his mother knew, arrangements that should be made, what
to put in her obituary.  "I need to go to her house.  I guess it's Harold's
house.  I need her address book and...and clothes for her.  Her friends
need to know so they can come to the service.  And I really want that to
be something special, something memorable...different..."

     "Like Naomi, huh?"  Jim said gently, squeezing Blair's
shoulders. 

     "Yeah," Blair responded, smiling a little and nodding,
swallowing hard to push the emotions back down.  

     "There's no immediate rush, Blair.  The funeral director is used
to a lapse sometimes with out of state family coming in, or special
circumstances that delay the final plans," Hutch said.  "We don't have a
warrant for Harold's place..."  Hutch smiled slightly.  "But seeing as
how you have to go there anyway..." 

     "I don't have a key to get in there.  I'll need his permission."

     "Didn't you search it already--being it was a crime victim's
home?"

     "We did a pretty decent search before you two arrived today,
but we didn't find anything out of the ordinary.  Plus, we had Harold
buzzing around our heads like a gnat the whole time.  It's not a crime
scene, and Harold hasn't been arrested, so there's a limit to how many
times we can go in there on our own and really go over the place."  He
paused, shrugging.  "Naomi had a key," Hutch responded, the wheels
obviously turning as to the possibilities of a little unofficial second
search of Harold's domain.

     "Look, guys, I'm not going to sneak into his house and root
around.  I'm sure he'll be fine with it if I ask him.  Besides, without his
permission, anything you found wouldn't be admissible anyway."

     "I thought he wasn't supposed to be a cop," Hutch quipped,
smiling.

     "Jim rubs off on me from time to time."  Blair flashed a devilish
grin at his lover, making Jim laugh out loud.  The little double entendre
was the first sign of humor from Blair since the horrible news he'd
gotten that morning.  

     "As often as he'll let me," Jim added, kissing Blair's temple and
squeezing his shoulders.  

********

     Starsky pulled into the driveway, and hitting the button on the
garage door remote, drove into his side of the two-car garage.  After a
long evening of squinting at the computer monitor, he had updated data
on all the prime suspects in the old murder case that so closely
paralleled Naomi's case.  As he got out of the car, he smiled at seeing
Hutch leaning against the open door into the house, wearing his
favorite blue robe, arms crossed over his chest.

     "Any luck?"  he asked as Starsky headed toward him.

     "I don't know.  I came home to see if I could *get* lucky," he
retorted, snaking his free arm around Hutch's middle, nuzzling his
neck.

     "Anybody ever tell you you're a dirty old man?"

     "Yeah.  You.  Every night."  Starsky pulled back a little,
showing Hutch his paperwork.  "Files on the suspects from the Wexler
case," he said, referring to the name of the second victim from the old
case.  "One's dead, but the other two are alive and well, two of them
still at their prior addresses, one living in Houston."

     "Did you eat downtown?"  Hutch took the files, thumbing
through them while Starsky closed and locked the door behind him.

     "Yeah, I stopped in to see Huggy."

     "Nachos again?"  Hutch asked, shaking his head in obvious
disapproval, though he was still reading one of the files.  Starsky
flipped on the light in the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water
from the cooler in the corner.  

     "He's experimenting with curry chicken."  Starsky took a few
gulps of the water.

     "How's he doing?"

     "He's got a long way to go before it goes on the menu," Starsky
replied, stifling a loud belch.  "A very long way."

     "We're going to Harold's house tomorrow."  Hutch smiled what
Starsky could only interpret as a predatory smile.

     "How'd you manage that, blondie?"

     "Blair called him and asked if he could use Naomi's key and go
in to get her address book and some clothing and also to get an idea of
her personal effects.  So, of course, we should be there for moral
support."

     "I would be anyway," Starsky responded, taking another drink
of his water.  "But a little look without our buddy Harold following us
around is an added bonus.  How's he doin'?"  He jerked his head in the
direction of the hall that led to the bedrooms.

     "I think he's getting a better handle on things now.  Whatever
you said to him earlier seemed to help."

     "I'm glad.  He's sleeping?"

     "They went to bed about an hour ago.  Everything's quiet, so I
guess they're down for the count."  Hutch opened the fridge.  "You
want a sandwich?"

     "Actually, I was thinkin' about takin' a shower."

     "Well, it's all yours.  I took mine earlier," Hutch responded,
pulling out a package of cold chicken.  He was grabbed from behind, a
pair of hot lips on his neck.  

     "So take another one."

     "We've got company."

     "In the shower?"  Starsky teased.

     "Smart ass."  Hutch turned around and accepted the embrace
from his lover, sliding his fingers into the soft curls.  Starsky moved
back enough to seal his mouth over Hutch's, his tongue probing until it
was given entry.  When he pulled back, Hutch grinned evilly.  "You're
right.  Too much curry."

     "C'mon, blondie.  I'll show you 'too much curry'."  Starsky took
a hold of the tie of Hutch's robe and pulled him along, backing toward
the hall, their bedroom, and then finally into their bathroom with
unerring accuracy.

     "You're way overdressed here, babe," Hutch observed, his voice
dropping to that low, soft, sexy tone that always got Starsky's motor
running without so much as a touch.  Long, nimble fingers began
divesting him of his clothing until he was down to his briefs.  Even
Starsky's incessant attempts to distract Hutch with kisses and nibbles
didn't deter the other man in his task.  

     "The robe goes," Starsky growled, pulling it gently but quickly
off Hutch's body and tossing it aside.  Years of experience teaching
them that they were each more efficient at removing their own
underwear without distraction, they shed the final fabric barriers
between them and tossed them in the same direction as the discarded
robe.  "Looks like somebody's gettin' interested," Starsky quipped,
flexing his eyebrows at the partial erection Hutch already sported.  

     "Unlike someone else, who's *always* interested," Hutch dead-panned, 
moving closer to his partner, placing both hands on Starsky's
butt, kneading the firm mounds.  Starsky mirrored the gesture, bringing
their groins together, semi-hard cocks meeting and teasing each other,
mouths locking in hungry kisses.  

     "Shower," Starsky panted, pulling free of the kiss long enough
to move away and turn on the water.  

     The two men moved under the spray, making feeble attempts at
washing each other, finally giving up and concentrating on the friction
of their bodies, slick with soap and water.  With a shout of Hutch's
name, Starsky came first, his lover following close behind with his own
strangled groan of pleasure.  

     After finishing their shared shower, the two men dried each
other off and retired, naked, to their bed.  Hutch spooned up behind his
partner, his recently sated cock nestled in the valley between Starsky's
cheeks.  

     "That's it, babe, get in position for a wake-up call," Hutch
growled in Starsky's ear, smiling at the little shiver of anticipation from
the man in his arms.  

     "Here."  Starsky handed Hutch the tube of lubricant, and let out
a long sigh, getting ready for sleep.  "Might as well be prepared.  Don't
want you pokin' me with one of those bony elbows at six in the
morning climbin' over me to get it."

     "You're gonna get it all right, babe," Hutch countered,
squeezing Starsky a little and kissing his cheek.

     "What's that?"  Starsky raised up a little on his elbow, and
Hutch did the same, disturbed from his position by his partner's
movement.

     "Sounds like crying," Hutch observed.  Then, rubbing Starsky's
shoulder, he said softly, "Jim's with him.  He'll take care of him."

     "When I find the son of a bitch who did this, I might kill him
myself," Starsky stated flatly, the cold anger in his voice enough to
unnerve Hutch that he really might follow through on the threat.  

     "No, you won't."  He kissed Starsky's shoulder.  "We'll put him
away for the rest of his miserable life."

     The two men settled together into an uneasy sleep.

********

     Blair's tears had been short-lived, part of a nightmare.  Jim
didn't think Blair had ever really fully shaken off his sleep, but he had
quieted as soon as Jim had crooned a few little love words to him and
held him tighter.  Now he was clinging to Jim like a koala to a tree
branch, both men on their sides, facing each other, Blair's arms and one
leg hanging onto Jim possessively as if he were being dangled over a
cliff instead of safe in bed.  He was still unsure how Blair was
comfortable breathing in the hot little space where his face was pressed
into Jim's neck, but he was sleeping quietly now, and Jim wasn't about
to disturb him.

     Jim's sleep had been interrupted by the sounds of Starsky's
arrival home, their voices, and finally, their lovemaking.  As hard as
he'd tried to pull back his hearing and not eavesdrop, to fall asleep
again without paying any heed to the other sounds in the house, he
hadn't been successful.  He wasn't used to staying with other people in a
household.  He had learned to block out the familiar sounds Blair made
in the loft before they were lovers, and even now could handle the
movements, and various little noises Blair made through the night
without being unduly disturbed; but this was a strange house, and
sentinel ears were spending most of the night cataloging the sounds,
sorting out the mundane from the unusual.  If Jim hoped to get any
sleep during their stay here, he had to get used to the sounds of the
house.

     Having wondered how sex would be after fifty, now that he'd
entered into his fourth decade, Jim smiled at the thought that it was
apparently alive and well.  As soon as he'd realized what he was
hearing, he'd done his best to ignore it, to afford his hosts the privacy
they assumed they had, and to which they were entitled.  Still, he hadn't
been able to miss the shouts of completion over the sound of the water,
which was what he had been using like a white noise generator to
deflect his hearing from the two men.

     He stared out the window now, looking over Blair's shoulder as
the younger man slept with his back to it.  Moonlight bathed the floor
of the room right in front of the windows, and if he stretched out his
hearing, he could hear the waves lazily lapping at the shore.  Someday
he hoped to have a setting like this with Blair--somewhere a bit
secluded, private, quiet--a home they could build together, make their
own.  If they could be as in love twenty years from now as Starsky and
Hutch were, they would be among the rare, fortunate couples. 
Cuddling the sleeping man in his arms, Jim had no doubts that time
would never effect his love for Blair.  And for the first time in his life,
Jim felt totally secure that his feelings were returned by the object of
his affection, and would be, forever.  

     As dawn arrived, Jim dozed off to sleep, now able to blot out
the sounds of Starsky receiving his "wake-up call".

********

     Though Hutch had said they could get Naomi's key out of
evidence, Blair opted to stop by the hospital and pick up a key to
Harold's house from Harold himself--asking the man's permission to go
through things there at the same time.  He returned to the LTD parked
in front of the hospital and got into the back seat with Jim.  

     "No questions asked?"  Jim queried.

     "None.  I really feel sort of lousy betraying his trust this way. 
He thinks I'm just going in to get some things."

     "We've already been in there to look through the place," Starsky
said.  "When we showed up there to notify him, and to take him in for
questioning, we had the right to look around, being it was the home of
a crime victim--that's part of the investigative process.  It's just that we
want to go back over the place without him standing there."

     "Hopefully Harold's innocent.  But either way, you'll be helping
the investigation of your mom's death move forward more quickly,"
Hutch added.  

     Harold Bloomfield's house was located on a quiet street in an
upper middle class suburb of L.A.  The stucco exterior, arched entrance
and red tile roof gave it a decidedly Spanish motif.  Inside, the decor
was light and airy--with various dashes of bright color.  Blair knew
immediately that whatever this house may have looked like before,
Naomi had transformed it into *her domain*.  

     "The bedroom is back here," Starsky said, guiding Blair toward
it with a hand on his son's back.  

     "Nice house," Jim commented to Hutch as the two men began
systematically, but neatly, searching every inch of the living room.

     "Harold's pretty affluent.  He owns a summer place at Lake
Tahoe, a couple of boats--there's a Lexus and a Mercedes convertible in
the garage out back.  I think the Mercedes is the one Naomi was
driving.  There's a photo of her with the car in the bedroom."

     "What's your gut tell you about this guy?  Personally, I want to
have a little talk with him when he's up to it," Jim said, going through
the contents of the china cabinet drawers in the adjoining dining room. 
"More photos," Jim said, producing three fat envelopes of prints. 
Hutch joined him in the dining room so they could go through the
photos.

     Blair opened the two master bedroom closets, and as soon as
he'd determined which one was Naomi's, he got down on all fours and
crawled into it, backing out again with a small tapestry suitcase.  It was
on the tip of Starsky's tongue to say that he'd looked through that very
case himself, and there was nothing of interest in it beyond a few odd
personal effects.  His jaw dropped more than a little as Blair calmly
opened it, removed its contents, and then removed a false bottom in the
case, procuring Naomi's personal journal and address book.

     "She traveled a lot, but she always wanted a safe, private place
to keep a couple of really important things--somewhere where nobody
else would know where to find them.  Well, nobody but her or me."

     "I looked through that myself," Starsky said, his exasperation
coming through in his voice.  That made Blair laugh softly as he
replaced the other items in the small case and zipped it, setting it back
in the closet.

     "You weren't supposed to find anything.  That was the idea."  

     "Let's have a look," Starsky said, holding out his hand.  Blair
just stared at him blankly a moment.

     "This was private--she kept her address book and her journal
with her all the time."

     "This is a murder investigation now, Blair.  You know as well
as I do how important something like the victim's journal or an address
book of her acquaintances would be to the case."

     "I should have never let you see where she kept it.  I thought
you were here as my father and not as a cop," Blair shot back angrily,
still holding the two books, both thin and about the size of a 5x7
photograph.

     "I think you know which one of those roles means the most to
me, son," Starsky said gently, resting a hand on Blair's shoulder.  "But
if you want this case to stay with Hutch and me, I've gotta act like a cop
sometimes, even when it messes with the father in me."  He watched
Blair's throat work overtime as the younger man regarded the two small
books carefully.  "Look, we won't put them into evidence.  You can
keep them with you.  But I need to look through them.  We can do it
together, back at the house, later."

     "She never meant for anybody to read her journal. *I* don't plan
on reading it.  I was just going to...I don't know.  I don't think I can burn
it.  Maybe just keep it someplace..."
     
     "Blair, do you keep a journal?"

     "Yes," he responded quietly, swallowing hard.

     "Does Jim read it?"

     "Never.  I mean, I guess it really wouldn't matter if he did.  But
he doesn't.  He knows it's private."

     "If something...God forbid, if something like this happened to
you, would you be angry at Jim for reading it, or for sharing it with the
cops who were trying to find the person responsible?"

     "I know I'm not being logical about this," Blair said, shaking his
head, rising up from where he'd been crouched on his knees.  He sat on
the foot of the bed next to his father.  "It's just...*hard*."

     "I wish I didn't have to ask you hard questions or pry into your
mom's life.  But I think maybe it'll be easier than having strangers do it,
and if I can't be objective, and make you hand over the evidence when I
see it, then I can't stay on the case."

     "I want you to keep the case."  Blair reluctantly handed the two
books to Starsky.  "I'm sorry about snapping your head off before."

     "It's okay."  Starsky leafed through the address book first.  "She
kept this pretty up to date?"

     "Yeah.  It was her way of keeping track of all the people she
knew.  And she knew a *lot* of people."

     "You know any of these folks?"

     "Probably.  You want me to go through and make a list of the
ones I know?"

     "Sounds like a great idea.  Hopefully a few of the people in
here," he gestured with the address book, "will be explained a little
more in here," he referred to the journal.  

     "I need the address book to call her friends, make sure they
know.  Some of them are out of town..."  Blair shrugged.  "She starred
the ones that mattered most."

     "Really?"  Starsky took another look through the book.  

     "She never said it in so many words, but I knew those were the
people I was supposed to contact if anything ever happened to her."

     "So, uh, we need to find something nice for her to wear?" 
Starsky's question seemed to spur Blair to move, and he walked over to
face the open closet.

     "I don't know where to start," Blair said with a little smile as he
looked at the panorama of beautiful clothes.  "She always looked so
beautiful,"  he said, his voice cracking a little.  

     "Let's look at the photos, huh?  There're a couple pictures of her
in here.  Maybe we could get some ideas."  Starsky walked over to the
dresser and picked up a framed photo of Naomi and Harold.  It looked
like it might have been taken at some sedate country club party, Harold
in a business suit, smiling, his arm around Naomi, who definitely had
her "camera smile" in place.

     "Man, she was bored unconscious," Blair observed, laughing a
little in spite of the sharp pain he felt at seeing a photo of his mother
for the first time since her death.  

     "She looked pretty there.  What about that dress?"

     "Too conservative."  Blair shook his head, not pleased at all
with the prospects of sentencing Naomi to eternity in a dress she
probably despised.  "I know."  Blair moved to the closet with
determination and began sorting through the dresses and outfits
hanging there with a definite mission in mind.  "This one."  He pulled
out a flowing, ankle-length dress that was a brandied peach color. 
When Naomi walked, it swirled and moved with her, the color
complimenting her own coloring perfectly.  "It was my favorite one on
her," he said, smiling as a single tear escaped.

     "Then I think she'd approve of the choice," Starsky said, sliding
an arm around Blair's shoulders.  "Did she like scarves?"  Starsky
asked, moving toward the dresser, pulling out a drawer or two until he
found one that held a bevy of beautifully-colored fabrics.

     "She needs a scarf, right?"  Blair asked, the raw pain in his eyes
at that question stabbing Starsky in the heart as he swallowed the lump
he felt in his own throat.  

     "How about this one?"  He suggested, holding up an apricot silk
which complimented the colors in the dress perfectly.

     "She wore that with this once," Blair responded, smiling.  "I
think she'd like that.  It was one of her best ones.  She didn't wear it
much because she didn't...want anything to...happen to it."  Blair
swallowed his emotions diligently, determined to get through this part
of the process with his composure intact.  He placed the dress carefully
on the bed.  "It seems weird...being in her things like this," Blair said,
moving to the dresser and finding the drawer with the necessary
undergarments to go with the dress, then locating one of Naomi's
favorite pairs of ornate, beaded slippers she would wear around the
house with some equally elegant hostess gown.

     "Blair, I didn't want to get into this before, but was there
*anything* at all significant about your last conversation with her?" 
Starsky asked, watching as Blair paused a little in folding the clothes
and carefully slipping them into one of Naomi's more sedate blue tote
bags.  

     "Not that I remember.  We talked about a retreat she'd been to--I 
guess it was only last weekend.  God, it seems like forever ago." 
Blair sat on the foot of the bed.  "She had been to Sacramento with a
friend of hers last weekend for a two-day retreat at this commune
where she lived for a while in the mid-80's.  I can give you information
on how to contact them if you want.  After that, she came back home--I
think she got back Monday, and then she called me that night, and then
Wednesday...yesterday...we got the call."  Blair shrugged.  "There was
nothing out of the ordinary.  She didn't complain about anyone
harassing her, she didn't express worry about anything--she seemed
really rested from her retreat, and generally pretty happy about things."

     "Did she say anything else specific about Harold?"

     "Not really.  Just the usual--you know, that they had gone out to
dinner to celebrate when she got home, that he had this huge bouquet
of roses..."  Blair's eyes flicked to the vase on the dresser that held
some beleaguered looking red roses.  "Those must have been the ones. 
He had roses waiting for her when she got home."

     "She didn't mention again that she was planning to dump him or
anything?  I remember you saying she was sort of bored with the whole
situation."

     "No.  She was bored in a way, but she really didn't want to hurt
him, and she knew he was so nuts about her...I don't think she was
planning on going anywhere in the immediate future.  She never
mentioned any arguments or anything like that."

     "Any luck?"  Starsky's attention moved to his partner as he
appeared in the doorway.

     "None.  Jim's digging around in the guest room, but there's
nothing out of place.  The place is immaculate--and there's nothing to
indicate that anything violent happened here."

     "How immaculate is it?"  Blair asked.

     "Meaning what?"  Hutch frowned a bit.

     "I mean, is it abnormally clean?  Like, maybe things were
messed up and it had to be cleaned?"

     "Great observation, Chief," Jim joined them in the bedroom. 
"How compulsive a housekeeper was Naomi?"  he asked Blair.

     "Not very--I mean, everything was always clean, but..."  Blair
shrugged.  "Let's just say I learned my housekeeping skills from her."

     "Harold must do the cleaning then," Jim retorted, and Blair shot
him a look.  "Actually, though, in a case like this, there wouldn't be
much...I mean..."

     "Not much or any blood?"  Blair supplied, knowing Jim wasn't
sure how blunt to be in his opinion.

     "Exactly."

     "But there could have been a struggle, things upturned or
broken," Starsky suggested.

     "Those photos we found in the dining room--some of them were
shots taken in the house.  Let's compare them with areas like the living
room and the bedroom and see if we can detect any major pieces
missing like lamps, art objects..."

     "And the trash.  We need to check the trash--did anybody check
the trash when we were here before?" Starsky was on his feet now,
digging in the pocket of his leather jacket for a pair of latex gloves.  

     "Probably, but I don't recall them bagging anything from it as
evidence, so I'd rather we had a look."  Hutch led the way out to the
back of the house, leaving Jim and Blair to look through the photos at
the dining room table.  

     "Looks like this one was taken in the living room," Jim said,
finding a shot taken of Harold and Naomi on the couch, looking as if
they were hosting a small gathering for the holidays.  "Hey, Chief, that
vase that's behind the couch on the sofa table in this picture--was that
there when we came in?"

     "I don't know."  Blair got up and headed into the living room,
Jim behind him.  "No."  Blair said definitely, frowning.  "That was one
of my mom's favorites.  I don't see it anyplace else either."

     "Interesting."

     "It could have broken any time between last Christmas and
now."

     "True," Jim agreed, giving the area an even more intense visual
scan.  "But I don't think it was.  Move a second, sweetheart."  Jim
nudged at Blair's shoulder, and he moved off the couch.  Jim pushed
the piece of furniture forward and pulled his glove back on before
picking up a tiny shard of blue pottery.  "Unless Harold isn't as good a
housekeeper as we think he is, it was more recent than that."  Jim
fished an evidence bag out of his pocket and dropped the little piece
inside.

     "Jim, I...if we're done here, we should go to the funeral home."

     "I know this is hard, baby."  Jim pulled Blair into a hug.  "You
want to take the stuff and wait for us in the car?"

     "Looking at the photos...it's just...*hard*, you know?"  Blair
asked hesitantly, still holding onto Jim.

     "I know.  You're doing great, Chief."

     "Doesn't feel like it."

     "If we find something from following up on that idea about this
place being too clean, it'll be because of you.  You're the one who had
that thought--that got us looking again."  Jim pulled back and took
Blair's face in both hands.  "I'm so proud of you, sweetheart.  The worst
time of your life, and you're coming up with ideas for the investigation. 
Don't be so hard on yourself if you have to give in to the grief a little. 
This is so sudden, and so...difficult.  Nobody's critical of you for that."

     "I feel like a crybaby," Blair said, vainly trying to avoid
shedding any more tears.  

     "You're not," Jim said simply, pulling Blair close against him
again.  "I love you, you know."

     "I love you too," Blair responded right away, squeezing tighter.

     "Why don't you take your mom's stuff you packed and wait for
us in the car?  We won't be long."

     "Okay."  Blair backed away reluctantly, then stared at the vase
that currently resided on the sofa table.  "Jim, what if...what if she...if
she...*died* here?"

     "We don't have any evidence that she did, sweetheart.  The little
piece of the old vase could be just...a piece of debris that didn't get
cleaned up.  It doesn't mean anything by itself."  Jim kissed Blair's
forehead.  "Wait for us in the car, okay?"

     "Yeah, okay," Blair said, nodding and turning away, picking up
the tote bag of Naomi's belongings that he'd left at the front door before
he started looking at the photos with Jim.  

     "Interesting," Starsky said, carrying in an opened trash bag.  He
tilted it to show Jim the large shards of the blue vase.  

     "Get a load of this."  Jim held up the little evidence bag.  "It was
behind the couch."

     "I think we need to have a word with Harold," Starsky said, then
frowned, looking around.  "Where's Blair?"

     "He's in the car.  He needed to get out of here."

     "Yeah, well, so do we.  We should get over to the funeral home
with Naomi's things.  Hutch!  You about ready to pack it in?"  Starsky
called back to his partner, who was just walking back to the living
room from the kitchen.

     "Anytime."

********

     Their next stop was the hospital to talk to Harold about the
broken vase.  Blair volunteered to take the key back and ask him about
it, thinking Harold would be less defensive and more likely to give him
a straight answer than if he felt he were being interrogated again.  

     "Did you get what you needed?"  Harold asked.  The head of the
bed was raised up a bit now, and while the older man didn't look
particularly energetic, he looked a bit better rested than he had a few
hours earlier.

     "For now.  I still need to figure out what to do with her things,
you know?  I can't really handle that right now."

     "No need.  Naomi's things are fine where they are.  Take what
you like, and I'll be happy to handle the rest of it...when I feel able to
see them all go."

     "You really loved her a lot, didn't you?"  Blair asked, sitting in a
chair near the bed.

     "She was the most important, special part of my life.  We would
have been married if she'd said yes.  But I guess I was a little old for
her," he said with a fond smile.  There was no reproach in his voice.

     "She wasn't into marriage.  I know she cared a great deal for
you."  Blair set the key on the night stand.  "Oh, there was one thing I
wanted to ask you about.  Something of my mom's I wanted to take
with me for sure.  Her blue vase--the one that was in your living room
for a while?  She really loved that vase, and I thought maybe it would
be a nice item to have around the apartment at home, if you don't mind
parting with it."

     "Blue vase...oh, the one that was behind the couch?"

     "Yes."

     "Can't help you there.  I don't know where it is.  I noticed it was
missing when I got home from the business trip, and I figured Naomi
moved it someplace else--though I'm not sure where, since I didn't see
it anyplace.  I guess I just didn't think about it much."

     "That's weird."

     "I was a little surprised, as much as she liked that thing, but I
guess she got tired of it, or maybe it broke or something."

     "Maybe.  Well, thanks for letting me use the key.  I'll be in
touch about any other things I want to take home with me."

     "That's fine.  You're welcome anytime, Blair."

     "Thanks, Harold.  Get better soon."

     "I'm working on it," he responded, smiling a little blandly. 
Blair had the distinct feeling much of Harold's incentive to get well had
died with Naomi.
  
     He re-joined the others in the waiting room.  

     "I feel like a class A jerk, lying to him that way."

     "You didn't lie," Jim said.  "You obfuscated, remember?"  Jim's
attempt at humor fell flat. 

     "No, I played games with a guy in the cardiac care unit.  Makes
me feel...*creepy*.  Anyhow, he says he noticed it missing when he got
back from his trip, but didn't see it anyplace else around the house.  In
other words, he doesn't know--at least, he's not admitting to knowing
anything."

     "Okay.  We needed some sort of idea where he was coming
from on it before we put much stock in it as significant," Hutch said. 
"The fact he can't give us a tangible explanation makes it pretty likely
its destruction had something to do with her death."

     "Maybe she just knocked it over," Blair suggested.

     "Could be, but the coincidence is pretty odd, given that it sat
there for quite a while safely," Starsky countered.  "We've got to check
everything out."

********

     Naomi was to be shown at the funeral home the following day,
with cremation to follow.  Her ashes would be scattered that Sunday,
the memorial service delayed an extra day in hopes of allowing some
of her more far-flung friends to make it there in time.  

     Though she had never spoken much of her death or any
potential funeral arrangements, she had mentioned that if she were to
choose any spot, she would like to have her ashes scattered over the
grass of the clearing in a nearby woods where she had given birth to
Blair.  It didn't surprise Jim to find out his partner had come into the
world in a very unconventional manner.  Naomi had been out on a
picnic with friends, and three weeks before her due date, little Blair
had decided to make his appearance.  So out in the middle of nowhere,
two of Naomi's best friends delivered her son, and he rode back to town
in a blanket-lined picnic basket in the back of the van with his mother. 

     Reluctantly, Blair agreed to be put off another day in seeing his
mother, as the funeral director wanted time to prepare her properly,
now that he had clothing and a photo Blair had provided to guide him
with hair and make-up tasks.  Deep down, he felt a need to see her, and
yet dreaded it with all his heart at the same time.  Not only would it be
real when he finally did confront that sight, but he feared that
somehow, he would look at her, and the evidence of the ordeal of her
final moments would somehow be visible, and he would be unable to
cope with it.

     "We're there, honey," Jim said softly to Blair as the car pulled
into a parking spot outside Huggy's Steak & Ale.  Starsky glanced in
his rearview mirror, watching his son's lover interact with him.  For all
of Ellison's temper, attitude and capacity for violence when pushed, he
was remarkably gentle with Blair.  With the exception of Hutch and
himself, Starsky couldn't remember ever seeing that kind of love shine
through so plainly in anyone's eyes.

     "Guess I was sort of..."

     "Zoned out?"  Jim suggested, smiling and taking a hold of
Blair's hand, squeezing it gently.

     "Yeah, zoned out," he responded, returning the smile with a
faint one of his own.  

     "Huggy's been naggin' us to meet you ever since he found out
about you last year," Starsky said, getting out of the car as the other
men followed suit.  The four of them started walking toward the brick
building which sported a large logo in red neon cursive writing style
which proclaimed it "Huggy's Steak & Ale".

     "Not too many cars around," Blair observed.

     "He's not officially open yet--he opens at five."  Hutch led the
way to the service entrance on the side of the building and rang the
doorbell.  Within a few moments, a slender black man with close-
cropped hair and a pencil thin mustache dressed in jeans and an
obviously expensive red silk shirt opened the door.

     "You forgot the secret password, my man," he teased Hutch.

     "Health Department Inspection," Hutch dead panned.  

     "I thought you wanted to come inside," Huggy retorted,
undaunted.  

     "Hey, Hug, I got somebody here I want you to meet."  Starsky
flopped an arm over Blair's shoulders.  "Three guesses."

     "Must have his mother's good looks," Huggy quipped.  "Hey,
kid, I'm really sorry about your mother.  Wish I could've seen you under
less sad conditions."

     "Thanks, Huggy.  Dad and Hutch talk about you all the time. 
It's really good to meet you."  Blair smiled and shook hands with
Huggy.  "This is my partner, Jim Ellison."

     "Ah, the son-in-law," Huggy surmised, shaking hands with Jim. 

     "You think you could rustle us up something before opening
time, Huggy?"  Hutch asked.

     "For my special friends, I have no hours," he said, dramatically
motioning them through the door which led into the kitchen.  "And
even for you characters, I'll have the cook make something."

     "You're all heart, Hug," Starsky responded.  "We'll be over by
the pool table.  You got time to join us for a while?"

     "I'll be right there, gents," Huggy replied, approaching his
kitchen staff to give them instructions on what to prepare for their early
guests.  

     The interior of the restaurant was intentionally dark, with dim
lighting and no windows except for those near the entrance.  The
centerpiece of the room was a large bar with a number of sturdy, green 
leather upholstered barstools with brass accents.  There was a wide
screen TV at one end of the room, as well as a smaller set mounted
behind the bar, which was currently showing one of the cable sports
networks.  There was a small dance floor and a jukebox, plus a small
stage area.

     "Quite a place," Jim opined, looking around as they made their
way to the table closest to the large, heavy oak pool table.  
     
     "You play pool, Jim?"  Hutch asked as they all took their seats. 
Jim weighed the thought of spending the whole round gauging his shots
not to win every one, given his obvious advantages, and shook his
head.

     "I did once or twice in the Army, but as a pool player, I make a
great spectator."

     "Blair?"  Starsky asked.

     "I know how.  I don't play much, though."

     "Then it's time we honed your skills.  Come on."  Starsky got up
and Blair somewhat lethargically got out of his own chair and plodded
after his father.  Starsky was making a painfully obvious ploy to
distract his son from his grief, and Blair figured the least he could do
was play along.  
     
     "That was quite a stroke of good luck, noticing that pottery
fragment back at the house," Hutch commented as the waiter arrived
with a pitcher of beer and four glasses.  "I hope beer's okay."

     "Fine," Jim responded, smiling slightly, his attention straying to
Blair.  The younger man looked sadder, more drawn and more tired
than Jim ever remembered seeing him.  Starsky was knocking himself
out to provide his son with some distraction, something to cheer him
up, and in his usual spirit, Blair was trying not to disappoint someone
who loved him--he was acting "cheered up".

     "I guess I need to get new glasses," Hutch joked, chuckling a
little as he began pouring the beer, raising his eyebrows toward Jim,
who nodded a confirmation and slid his glass closer to the pitcher. 
"How did you see that thing from a distance?"

     "I knew what I was looking for, that's all," Jim responded,
taking a drink.  "Blair and I noticed the vase in the photo was missing,
so I knew I was looking for pottery shards when I looked under the
table."

     "You call that a *shard*?  It was more like a pottery *particle*." 
Hutch shook his head.  "Didn't you find something else when we were
searching that crack house in Cascade...the one where you found Blair
that time...oh, damn, what was that?  A cigarette butt!  You said you
smelled it."

     "I thought it smelled like someone had smoked in there," Jim
answered, uneasy without Blair's fluid conversational skills handy to
bail him out before the questioning got too specific.  

     "I didn't smell it."

     "I have a sensitive nose."  Jim frowned.  "Why the twenty
questions all of a sudden?"

     "No reason.  I was just impressed with your...oh, I don't know,
let's call them, *tracking dog* capabilities.  I'm beginning to think we
should have you go over all our crime scenes to pick up what the rest of
us miss."

     "You're giving me too much credit," Jim said, smiling and
looking around for the waiter, praying he'd show up with a salad or
appetizer or something that would give Hutch's mouth something to do
besides ask questions.  

     "Well, I figure with that arrest record you've got, you must be
doing something right," Hutch concluded, and Jim heaved an
internalized sigh of relief that the little interrogation seemed to have
ended for the moment.  

     "Blair plays a big part in that.  Aside from the obvious personal
reasons, I really value him as a partner.  He's been a great help to me."

     "What do you know about Naomi?"  Hutch asked, figuring that
Jim might be more blunt than the crime victim's own son.

     "Mostly what Blair tells me.  I've met her a couple of times, and
she stayed with us when she visited.  I didn't know her well."

     "How...socially active was she?"

     "You don't have to use euphemisms with me, Hutch," Jim said,
glancing at the pool table to be sure Starsky was keeping Blair
occupied.  

     "Okay, I won't then.  Are we talking about a liberated single
woman or a careless, promiscuous one?"

     "Naomi has had a lot of lovers, from what she's said, and what
Blair has told me.  I think she tends to start relationships pretty easily,
and Blair didn't seem to think it would be unusual if she were sleeping
with someone else while she was with Harold, since they had no formal
commitment.  I guess--"

     "I don't believe this," Blair's voice startled Jim from behind.  It
was rare for anything to startle him, least of all Blair's approach, but
he'd been deep in thought, and by the time he realized Blair was there,
he'd heard enough to be upset.  "How can you sit here and talk about
her like that?!"  he challenged Jim angrily.

     "Chief, we need to--"

     "Need to do what?!"  he shot back.  "Blame the victim?  Trash
my mother's reputation?  Make this *her fault*?!"  he added, tears
springing to his eyes, one trickling down his cheek.  "She was
*murdered*!  I can't believe you're sitting here putting her on trial for
having a life!"  he shouted, the tears flowing harder now.  And then he
turned abruptly and headed for the door.

     "Let me try."  Starsky put a restraining hand on Jim's arm before
the other man could take off after Blair.  Jim nodded reluctantly,
figuring that since he'd been the one making the remark that had upset
Blair, he'd probably be the last person Blair would listen to right now.

     "He's going to have to get a thicker skin about this if he's going
to hang around the murder investigation, Jim," Hutch said as the two
men sat down again.  "Naomi was a free spirit, and she obviously got
around quite a bit.  That's going to translate into some less than
glowing things being said of her, whether it's fair or not."

     "I know.  I just wish he hadn't heard the first shot fired from
me."  Jim let out a long sigh.  "The truth is, I've got some questions
myself about Naomi's lifestyle.  I didn't know her that well one on one. 
I knew her through Blair.  I spent time with her *with Blair*.  I didn't
know who her other friends were, how many men were in her life
currently, how much of the whole hippie counterculture she was really
into and how much she was *still* into.  I feel confident she was clean. 
Not a user.  At least not anymore.  She seemed to be involved yet in
various social causes--I think she still liked to protest things she
perceived as wrong or unjust."  

     "I have to ask Starsk where Blair found that address book.  We
looked for something like that when we went through her things after
we saw her at the morgue.  But we didn't find that."  Hutch smiled. 
"You two are starting to undermine my confidence here."

********

     Blair was sitting against the trunk of the LTD, arms crossed
over his chest, when Starsky made his way across the parking lot and
joined him in the same position.

     "You okay?"  he asked Blair's profile.  The younger man didn't
look at him, but he did brush a hand past his eyes and take a deep, but
shaky breath.

     "Yeah, I'm all right."

     "You know, this is going to get ugly, kid.  There's no way
around that."

     "But it's not fair," Blair said softly, the fight seeming to be
drained out of him with the grief that had ravaged him.

     "No, it's not.  It's not your mom's fault she was killed.  No
matter what her role turns out to be in the whole situation that led to
her death.  But when someone dies violently, and we have to figure out
how, and at whose hands, we have to take a hard look at the victim. 
We have to dissect their lives, their behavior, their values, their friends,
their lovers--everything.  You know that from hanging out with Jim."

     "I know.  But it's my mom they're talking about, here."

     "I know that too.  Which is why regulations specify that
someone personally involved with the victim or the suspects shouldn't
be involved in the investigation."  Starsky raised his hand to forestall
the protest he saw coming when Blair turned to open his mouth and
speak.  "I'm not saying we're going to try to freeze you or Jim out of
this at all.  I'm just hoping *we* can hang onto the case, given my
connection to Naomi through you.  But what I am saying is that this is
one of the reasons for that rule.  It's damned hard to objectively nitpick
and critique the lifestyle of someone you loved.  And it's not fun
hearing people suggest things that are less than...*ideal* about them."

     "But Jim knew my mom," Blair said sadly, looking straight
ahead again.  "I guess it just hurt hearing it from him."

     "What did he really say?  That Naomi had a lot of lovers?  Isn't
that true?"

     "Well, yeah--"

     "That she might have been having a relationship with someone
while she was with Harold, because they weren't committed as far as
she was concerned--isn't that true?"

     "I know it's true, but it's the way people say it.  It's like they
think she was some kind of...I can't even say it, but you know what I
mean."

     "Or is that how you're afraid they're going to see her?"  Starsky
suggested gently.  He wondered if Naomi's free and easy love life had
been hard on Blair, and if it had been a source of embarrassment for
him.  How much real damage it had done to his son to never know who
his father was until he was 30 years old?

     "It's just that...when people didn't know her...they just saw the
surface, you know?  I mean, the whole free love thing was part of her
culture, part of the hippie movement.  She carried those principles
beyond the sixties, man.  She lived them.  She still showed up at rallies,
she still picketed with her friends when she saw an injustice.  She still
meditated and burned incense and worried about being in touch with
her inner self.  Reaching new levels of consciousness.  Going to
countries rich in the traditions of the Eastern religions to explore those
principles."  Blair was crying again, but they were silent tears that fell
while he spoke.  "Free love--sexual expression, liberation, whatever
you want to call it--was just one part of the package.  But it's all people
see, and they write off this wonderful, beautiful woman as some kind
of...of..."  Blair gave up on finishing the sentence and looked away,
fighting to keep his control.

     "I never fell in love with a cheap floozy, Blair.  And believe me
when I say, I fell in love with your mother.  I might have been really
happy to run into a wild, willing lady on a Saturday night back when I
was your age, but I didn't fall for them.  Didn't want to plan futures
around them.  Didn't want them to have my children.."  Starsky shook
his head.  "But Sunflower, she was different.  Sure, she was sexually
liberated.  We all liked to think we were back then.  That we were
above all the Victorian constraints of society.  I wasn't even a hippie
and I thought that way.  She was something special, Blair.  She knew
how to give and receive love.  And that's what happened between us,
even if it didn't work out.  You were a product of love between me and
your mother--not a cheap one night stand.  I never, ever thought of her
that way, and I never will.  But before this is over, you'll probably hear
me question some things about her lifestyle, try to figure out who else
had close, intimate contact with her--because I want to nail the bastard
who killed her.  And that's all part of the package."

     "She didn't deserve this."

     "Of course she didn't.  I know there's a lot of anger inside of
you.  You wouldn't be normal if there wasn't.  But think about it before
you take it out on Jim.  Would he ever say anything cruel or derogatory
about your mother?"

     "No."

     "Would he believe she deserved what she got because she had a
lot of boyfriends?"

     "No," Blair responded, sniffling and wiping at his eyes.

     "He was nice to your mother when she visited you?  He liked
her?"  Starsky watched as Blair nodded, not looking back at him yet. 
"He's good to you--treats you good?"

     "Yeah.  Spoils me rotten, actually," Blair admitted with a
chuckle.

     "'Cause if he's been saying lousy things about your mother, or
givin' you a hard time, I'm not too old to kick his ass."  Starsky smiled
as Blair laughed out loud.

     "I guess I acted like a real asshole in there."

     "You're excused at a time like this," Starsky responded, nudging
Blair with his shoulder.  "Apologies are always good, though."   

     "Guess I owe Jim a big one."

     "We're still talking apologies here, right?"  Starsky teased,
grinning a little evilly as his son laughed and turned pink all the way to
his ears.

     "Whatever it takes," Blair finally replied.

     "Yeah, well, stick with the apology for now.  I don't know if
Huggy's ready for the 'whatever' yet."  Starsky flexed his eyebrows. 
"Although Hutch and I have availed ourselves of the pool table on
occasion."

     "You're making that up," Blair challenged as he started walking
back toward the restaurant with his father.

     "Let's just say that gettin' a particular ball in a particular pocket
didn't always require a pool cue."  Starsky laughed at Blair's
speechlessness.  Rendering his eloquent son mute with the right
innuendo was more than a little amusing.

     When they returned to the table, Huggy was there and so was a
huge pizza--one half laden with meats and the other sporting a light
coating of cheese and assorted veggie toppings.  It was almost time for
the restaurant to open for business for the evening, and an attractive
middle aged African American woman with long, carefully styled dark
hair, a fashionable black dress and a few accents of obviously
expensive gold jewelry was now at the podium near the front entrance
where the host or hostess usually worked.  

     "Oh my God, this has to be Blair," she said, breaking into a
wide smile as the two men approached her.  "Look at those curls!  Just
like your dad," she said, smiling.  

     "Blair, this is Gwen--Huggy's wife."

     "Nice to meet you, Gwen," Blair said, putting on one of his best
smiles, though those weren't coming too easily yet.

     "I'm so happy to meet you finally.  Though I have to admit I'm a
little disappointed."  Taking in Blair's and Starsky's startled
expressions, she smiled and added, "The way your father talks, I
thought we'd get to see you walk on water when you arrived."

     "I'm still working on that one," Blair quipped, laughing,
knowing he liked this woman immediately. 

     "I'm so sorry about your mother, Blair.  If there's anything
Huggy and I can do...I hope you'll consider us friends and call on us if
you need anything at all."  She reached out to shake hands with Blair,
and held onto his with both of hers for a moment.

     "Thanks, Gwen.  I appreciate that."

     "I'll let you two join the others before they finish that pizza.  I
have to get things opened up."

     "Can you join us?"  Blair asked.

     "Sorry, honey.  I have to ride herd on the staff until we get
things running for the evening.  Happy hour is usually pretty busy in
here.  But you're all coming over to our place for dinner at least once
before you have to go back."

     "I'd like that," Blair responded, smiling slightly.

     "So would we.  Now go join the others--and you eat
something," she waved a finger at Blair.  He just smiled back at her
before they joined the other three. 

     Blair sat down next to Jim, who had consumed the sum total of
one bite off the end of his piece of pizza, while Hutch and Huggy were
looking around for seconds.  He reached over to the hand that rested on
Jim's thigh and took a hold of it.  

     "I'm sorry," he said softly as Starsky distracted the other two
men with a commentary on the pizza.

     "It's okay, baby," Jim said back quietly, moving his hand to lace
their fingers.  

     "No, it's not.  I'm sorry I jumped all over you."  Blair looked into
Jim's eyes, hoping to see that it really *was* okay.  As usual, he found
it would have been easy to drown in the love he saw reflected there.

     "I understand, sweetheart.  No harm done."  Jim leaned over
and planted a kiss on Blair's temple.  "I'll forgive you if you'll eat
something," he whispered in Blair's ear before moving back.  Blair had
to laugh at that little emotional blackmail, and accepted the piece of
the veggie pizza that Jim served him.  Though it would be the sum total
of the food he felt able to consume, it would take away the light-headed 
feeling making things seem even more confused and
unbearable.

     "Gwen is really a special lady, Huggy.  You're very lucky," Blair
commented, nibbling at the pizza.

     "Yeah, lucky he was able to fool her long enough to get a ring
on her finger," Hutch interjected.

     "Look who's talkin'," Huggy protested.  "Nobody'd have either
one'a these two so they had to marry each other," he retorted.  Starsky
snorted a laugh as he was trying to eat his pizza, and Hutch just
laughed, taking a drink of his beer.

     "Touche," he said, still chuckling.  "But he was the one who just
didn't have it with the ladies," he needled his partner, who shot him a
glare from across the table.  

     "Did you ever see that guy *dance*?"  Starsky shot back, his
voice rising a couple of octaves.  "People in glass houses, blondie," he
added.

     "You thought I could dance all right last night," Hutch said
calmly, going back to his food.  He smiled evilly as he knew without
looking that Starsky was turning the color of the pepperoni on his plate. 


     "Blair, Gwen and I would like you to have the dinner here, after
your mom's service.  Just let us know the right time, and a rough idea
on the numbers, okay?"  Huggy said, and Blair smiled.  
     
     "That's really nice of you, Huggy.  Thanks.  I have to make
some calls tonight, let people know.  She's going to be at the funeral
home tomorrow, and then the final memorial service and..."  Blair let it
hang there unfinished.

     "We're going to scatter the ashes the next day," Jim said softly,
rubbing Blair's back lightly with one hand.  "That service is scheduled
for eleven in the morning, and it's out in the country a little ways, so we
would probably get back here about noon or twelve thirty."

     "I'll tell Gwen, and we'll have everything ready.  I did get to
meet your mom once.  She was quite a lady," Huggy said, smiling and
taking another bite of his pizza.

     "When?"  Blair asked, surprised.

     "I wanted Hutch to meet her, so we had lunch with her here
about six months ago," Starsky explained.  "Huggy's open for lunch on
Fridays, so we asked her to meet us here.  We were only together
maybe an hour or so."

     "Yeah, now that you mention it, I remember her saying she'd
met Hutch--that you guys got together with her.  I just didn't remember
the details."

     "I'm glad I had a chance to meet her," Hutch said, smiling
softly.  "She was an exceptional lady--I can see a lot of her in you," he
said to Blair, who smiled back at the comment, not trusting his voice to
respond in words.  

     "Looks like the dinner crowd's startin' to build up a bit.  Better
go do the mix and mingle thing," Huggy said, taking a last swallow of
beer before standing up to leave.  "Blair--it was good meeting you. 
You just let us know about the dinner."

     "Thanks, Huggy.  It was great meeting you too."

     The four men finished their meal with a bit of sparse
conversation, and then decided to make the trip to the PD to drop off
the pottery fragment and the photo picturing the vase to the Forensics
lab.  The only person working in the lab was the Medical Examiner and
Chief of Forensics, Ginny Simpson.  An old friend and long time
colleague of Starsky's and Hutch's, she seemed very pleased to have the
opportunity to meet Starsky's son.  Blair began to get the feeling that
the entire West Coast had heard exaggerated accounts of his greatness
as Ginny also enthused about what wonderful things she'd heard about
him.  

     "Anything new?"  Starsky asked.  The middle-aged woman
sighed and shook her head, sitting back on the stool in front of the
microscope where she had been working.  

     "Nothing, I'm afraid.  We've been over the fiber samples from
that house with a fine tooth comb.  I'm trying to get your boss to issue a
warrant for us to impound Bloomfield's car.  I really want to have my
people go over it, inside and out."

     "Can't you get a warrant for that?"  Blair asked, looking directly
at his father.  

     "We tried already, kiddo.  No luck.  The D.A. doesn't feel we
have enough on him to do something like that without it being
considered harassment.  We've already been through Naomi's car and
found nothing, and Bloomfield wasn't even home at the time of death--
plus, the guy has some serious clout, so a lot of it is politics.  If this
were some poor guy whose girlfriend turned up murdered, we'd have
his car, his house, everything else--open season."

     "Not necessarily, Starsk.  We've got administration at the helm
right now who is afraid of lawsuits."

     "So there could be important evidence in this guy's car, and we
can't do anything about it because he's rich?!"  Blair demanded angrily.
"That really sucks, man."

     "We'll get to it, Blair.  It just takes time.  And you're right.  It
sucks," Starsky responded, sighing and nodding toward the pottery
fragment in the plastic bag that Jim held out toward Ginny.  "We found
this at the house.

     "Along with this photograph," Jim added.  "Looks like it was
taken sometime during the holidays, maybe a party they had at the
house.  Since there's no vase there now, and we found the remains of
one in the trash, it obviously was recently broken."

     "You're thinking a struggle, maybe?"  Ginny took the bagged
sample and held it up for a closer look.  "You know, his place was very
*clean*.   That always bothers me.  Blair, how fussy a housekeeper was
your mother?  Or do you know if they had a cleaning lady?"

     "Guess great minds think alike, huh, Chief?"  Jim poked his
partner, who smiled a little.  "Blair made the same observation at the
house earlier."

     "My mom wasn't fussy about keeping everything perfect.  She
was always clean with everything, but she wasn't exactly Hazel around
the house," Blair concluded, still smiling slightly.  "She always had
something more interesting to do than vacuum.  I think she mentioned
that Harold hired somebody--a cleaning lady, maybe.  I don't remember
for sure.  I think I remember her saying something in passing about the
cleaning lady's daughter getting married and her giving her something
for a wedding gift--you know, the usual conversational stuff you kind
of forget after a while?"

     "Since she presumably wasn't a live in housekeeper, for the
house to be as clean as it was when we searched it, I'd say she'd have
had to have been there very recently."  Ginny looked at the photo next
to the sample.  "How do you know this fragment matches this vase?  I
mean, I know I need new bifocals," she said, moving the glasses a bit to
get a better view, "but even so, there's no way to be sure just at a
glance."

     "Jim has a really good eye for color," Blair spoke up.

     "I guess," she said, flexing her eyebrows a bit and setting the
two items aside.  "Look, I'll have another go at the brass about a
warrant for the car.  Maybe I can turn this...*clean house theory* into
something that holds water."  Ginny paused.  "Any luck figuring out
any other possibles...any other *acquaintances*--?"

     "You mean the guy she was with before she died?"  Blair spoke
up, breaking the awkwardness of the question.

     "Well, we could ID him if we had someone to test."

     "I have her address book.  Maybe I can figure something out
from that."

     "We'll also be on the lookout at the services.  If this guy was
involved with Naomi, he probably will want to attend," Hutch added.

     "Let me know if you find anything out.  I'll see if I can come up
with something convincing to get us a warrant for the car," Ginny
concluded.

********

     Jim found himself in that state of being partially awake,
disturbed by Blair's movement.  The smaller man was wiggling around
in his arms, mumbling now and trying to say something in his sleep. 
Before Jim was coherent enough to make any calming gestures, Blair
shot up into a sitting position and let out a scream that sliced through
Jim's sensitive hearing like a razor blade through butter.  Gathering his
wits, he sat up next to Blair and barely got an arm around him before
the bedroom door crashed open and Starsky was there, clad in his
briefs, gun aimed into the room.  Hutch was moving down the hall
behind him, also heading for their room.

     "Sorry," Blair said quietly, obviously embarrassed at having
raised the whole household, and working valiantly to keep his voice
steady despite the nightmare.

     "Everything's okay?"  Starsky asked.  Blair nodded, dropping his
head into his hands to scrub at his face and push his hair back.

     "Sorry, guys.  I think we'll be okay."

     "Call if you need anything," Hutch said, nudging Starsky to
follow him back down the hall.

     "Good night," Starsky said softly, lingering a moment after Jim
responded.  

     "'night, Dad," came from Blair, and with a little grin of paternal
pride, Starsky responded. 

     "Goodnight, son.  Get some rest."  He pulled the door shut
behind him and Jim heard the footsteps continue their path back to the
master bedroom.

     "You want to talk about it?"  Jim prodded gently, still rubbing
Blair's back with one hand, the other lightly rubbing up and down
Blair's arm.  

     "I was at the funeral home.  There were flowers everywhere... it
was beautiful.  Lots of people, but I didn't really know any of them. 
You know how dreams are just kind of surreal like that?"

     "They don't always make sense, sweetheart."  Jim slid his arm
firmly around Blair.  "Let's lie back.  Come on."  The two men shifted
positions until Blair was cuddled up against Jim's chest, sheltered
safely in strong arms.

     "I could see the casket up front, and I kept trying to get to it,
and it was like the room just kept getting longer because I never got
any closer."

     "Maybe that's because you've wanted to see her, and we've
talked you out of it until now.  Maybe that was wrong."

     "You guys just wanted me to see her when it was easiest.  I
mean, it's bothering me a lot, but there's this part of me that's...afraid to
see her."  Blair swallowed.  "I think that's what this was about."

     "Seems more real when you see it for yourself," Jim said softly,
kissing Blair's hair.

     "Is that how it was with your mom?"

     "Yeah.  Seeing is believing.  It was a really...*defining*
moment."

     "I think it's necessary."

     "So do I.  Well, whenever possible."  Jim picked up Blair's hand
where it rested on his chest and held on.  "What was the rest of your
dream?"

     "I kept moving through the room, and like I said, for the longest
time, I just didn't get near her.  Then, all of a sudden, I was, like, right
there...and I could...I could see...I could tell...where the bruises were..." 
Blair's voice trailed off, and his hand flexed and tightened around Jim's.

     "That won't happen tomorrow, baby.  I promise."

     "This is so ridiculous," Blair said, quiet tears sliding down his
cheeks, landing in wet little plops on Ji