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 ). 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 Jim's chest. "How many...*bodies* have I seen in the last few years, anyway?" "They weren't your mom, honey. It makes a difference. I think you're more afraid of how much it's going to hurt than what you're going to see." Jim's soft words seemed to be the last straw. Blair buried his face against his lover's chest and sobbed, his body still stiff with the fear and tension of his nightmare. Jim held him for long minutes, murmuring little words of comfort and planting a few kisses on the soft curls near his mouth. As the tears subsided, but the tension remained, Jim shifted them until Blair lay beneath him, moving up a bit to look into his lover's wet, troubled face. "What can I do to make you feel better, sweetheart?" "Part of me just really wants you to make love to me, and part of me...just doesn't have the heart. I feel like I need you so bad and it feels like it's disrespecting my mom for me to..." "To escape from all the pain for a few minutes and feel good?" Jim stroked away a few tears with his thumb. "She loved you, Chief. Seeing you hurting would hurt her. You know that." "Since we got here, I just wanted to make love. It's like I needed to feel that...*closeness*. And I've felt so...guilty about it. I mean, what kind of...*nympho* does that make me?" "It doesn't make you a nympho, sweetheart." Jim kissed Blair's forehead. "It makes you human, with human needs. And sometimes making love makes us feel better about things. Or just makes the pain take a back seat for a little while." "I don't know if I could get it up to save my life. Maybe this is going to sound weird, but would you just...make love to me anyway? Even if I...if I don't... It won't mean it doesn't feel good or isn't what I need. Just let me feel you inside me?" "Anything you want, baby." Jim kissed Blair's mouth once, lingering a little before shifting his weight aside so Blair could roll over. "You're strung like a bowstring, Chief. Stretch out on your belly and let me rub your back a little while, get you relaxed." Blair flopped on his stomach, wriggling out of his boxers and tossing them aside. Jim looked at the smooth expanse of back, the perfect swell of the buttocks, and felt his cock filling at the sight. He'd wanted Blair intensely since the morning they'd been running too late for their usual morning interlude--the morning they'd found out about Naomi. Realizing their night stands here weren't as well-equipped as the one at home, Jim hung off the bed and tugged his carry on bag closer, digging around until he found the lube and a small bottle of hand lotion. After warming some of the lotion in his hands, he started slowly massaging Blair's taut muscles. "When I first woke up, I thought maybe all of it was a nightmare," Blair said softly. "I wish it were, sweetheart," Jim replied gently, hands rubbing carefully over Blair's skin. "We'll find the bastard who did this, I promise you. If I have to hunt the fucker to the ends of the earth." "You know what? In the end, it isn't going to matter. Not to my mom, anyway. It won't bring her back." "No, you're right. But it'll be justice, and Naomi deserves justice." Jim was quiet a few minutes. "I was thinking, Chief. I've got a couple of investments--nothing real big, but I think maybe it would be nice if we could do something for your mom. I don't know. Maybe a scholarship or even some sort of gift to one of the spiritualist groups she liked so much--you'd have to tell me what would be the best idea. I was going to talk to you about it when we got home, but I thought maybe, you know, thinking about it now would help." "You really mean that?" Blair looked over his shoulder. "Naomi's always going to be alive in you, and in your heart. But this way, her name would go on--and she'd go on doing good for people, making a positive difference. I think she'd like that." Jim smiled when Blair smiled a little, then turned around and sat up, hugging his larger lover with enough enthusiasm to push *him* back on the bed, Blair landing on top of him. "I take it you like the idea?" Jim croaked, his neck trapped in the vise of Blair's arms, his body pinned underneath Blair's. "I love it. And I love you," Blair added, taking the lead in kissing Jim this time, the two of them rolling on their sides and relaxing into the activity. Jim finally broke away from Blair's mouth, kissing his chin, his jaw, his throat, and finally lingering on the adam's apple, resisting the urge to leave a passion mark there that couldn't be covered by Blair's collar during the next day's visitation. Moving away from the sweet spot, he focused his attentions on Blair's right nipple, licking and then sucking on it until the younger man writhed with the pleasure of it, stifling little moans as Jim brought it to full hardness before moving to its mate. Meanwhile, his hand found Blair's semi-erect cock and began stroking Deserting the taut nipples, Jim kissed his way down the path of silky body hair to Blair's navel, nipping at its edges and lingering just below it to leave his mark on the sensitive skin there. Kissing it soothingly, he rose up until he was sitting back on his heels between Blair's splayed thighs. Blair pulled his knees up in wordless invitation, the need and desire as plain in his eyes as it was in his position. Leaning in to nuzzle the warm groin area, using his tongue to stimulate the heavy sacs there, Jim groped for the lube and finally located it. He coated his fingers and inserted one gently, starting the stretching process while he licked and sucked at his lover's balls, hand working the stiff shaft. "Oh, God...Oh, Jim...ahhhahhh..." The moans were a little broken, and Jim wasn't sure if it was pleasure or emotion, but one thing he was sure of was when Blair was ready for him. When he'd worked his way up to three fingers inside the tight channel, and he felt the telltale relaxation of those muscles, he removed his fingers from the moist heat and leaned forward to whisper in Blair's ear. "I'm going to move up on the bed, baby. I want to hold you while we make love." "I want that too," Blair murmured back, in a voice so faint only a sentinel would have heard the reply. With pillows stuffed hastily behind his back, Jim reclined and Blair came to him, lowering himself slowly but steadily onto the hard shaft that waited for him. When they were fully joined, Blair leaned forward, enclosed in Jim's arms. "Need you so much," he whispered against Jim's chest, his voice breaking a little. "I know, baby. Relax and let me love you." Jim kissed Blair's hair, then his forehead, and then, as the younger man rose up, claimed his mouth at the same time he began claiming his body with firm but restrained strokes. Blair needed the closeness, and he needed it to last a while. To be loved into exhaustion until he fell into the boneless sleep of the sated. Alternating between deep kisses and warm, lingering embraces, their lovemaking lasted longer than either could remember it lasting before. It wasn't until their bodies began demanding some increase in tempo, both physically needing completion, that they fell into a more frantic rhythm of thrust and counter-thrust until Blair came first, unable to stifle the cry that escaped as he spilled his completion over Jim's chest and stomach. Jim finished moments later, filling his increasingly languid lover, muffling his own outcry in Blair's mouth, kissing him with all the love and passion he could give. Long minutes later, Jim slipped from Blair's body. Nearly asleep, Blair still lay sprawled over Jim's chest, his breathing evening out into the early stages of sleep. Jim caught hold of the covers and brought them up, tucking them lovingly and protectively around the precious body in his arms. He smiled at the peaceful look on the beautiful face resting on his chest. There was a little moisture near the dark lashes, and Jim ached to take away *all* the pain that put it there. At least for tonight, Blair would sleep deeply, sheltered in the warmth and beauty of love and life, the cold reality and pain of death held at bay for just this brief space in time. ******** Jim stirred and expected to feel Blair's heavy warmth against him. Instead, he found himself alone in the bed. Since opening his eyes to the sunlight in the room was not an option until they adjusted to the barrage gradually, he immediately reached out with all senses but his sight to locate his lover. He didn't have to scan far, as Blair's relaxed heartbeat and respiration, as well as the scent of his body mixed with the scent of their lovemaking, was only a few feet away. Curious, Jim opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the brightness until he could focus on Blair. There, bathed in the rays of morning sunlight, Blair sat in a lotus position on a pillow on the floor of the room. The sunshine set on fire the red and bronze highlights in the long, tousled curls that hung down over bare shoulders and back. Though Jim could only see him in profile, he could see a look of total and utter peace settled over the perfect features, the full lips slightly parted to allow for the deep breathing. Warmed by the sun, Blair seemed totally serene, sitting there nude, completely centered and at rest. The time had long since passed when Jim would carelessly interrupted Blair's meditation. Maybe it was knowing what Incacha had said, that he was passing the Way of the Shaman on to Blair, or maybe it was simply discovering how much real depth there was to Blair Sandburg, or maybe it was simply taking time to notice how truly deep within himself Blair journeyed when he submerged himself in the meditative state--or maybe it was just the serene beauty of Blair's face in a mask of complete tranquility. Maybe it was just because Jim loved Blair too much to shatter something in a moment of inconsiderateness that the younger man had worked hours to achieve. Lying there, watching his lover, Jim could detect the subtle change in heartbeat and respiration just before a little smile curved Blair's mouth. He obviously was not "under" any longer, and he knew he had an audience. Though how he knew from behind closed lids, Jim wasn't sure he wanted to know. "You ready to get back under the covers?" Jim asked softly, a little smile in his voice. "She spoke to me," he said, his eyes still closed a moment before opening them to look at Jim, with the most radiant smile on his face. "Jim, she spoke to me." "Naomi?" "She told me she was in a good place, that she was fine, that I shouldn't cry for her--I'm saying this all wrong." Blair seemed momentarily frustrated. "She didn't use words..." "She spoke to your mind...gave you the knowledge?" Jim asked, leaning up on one elbow. "Yeah, exactly," Blair nodded, smiling. "It was like all of a sudden, this crushing pain...it just...*lifted*. And then I felt her. Like she was right here with me," Blair explained, his voice breaking a little, though he was still smiling, "and she was telling me it was okay, that she was *okay*. That she was happy where she was." Blair took a deep breath and his smile widened, despite the lone tear that crept down his cheek. "She's at peace, Jim. She's *okay*." "If there's any justice in the afterlife, sweetheart, she deserves that." Jim swung his legs over the side of the bed, and grabbing the blanket, wrapped it around his shoulders and then sat behind Blair on the floor, sheltering his smaller lover in his arms and legs and wrapping them both in the blanket. The sun felt good streaming in on them, but it was still a bit chilly to be sitting on the floor naked. "After we made love last night, I felt...for the first time, I felt like I could heal. Like I had something to hold onto. And then this morning, when I woke up, I just...I had to do this...you know, try to get centered, get in touch with myself, sort things out. There was just this moment of...*inner peace* about the whole thing, and I realized, right then, that it was my mom...that she was telling me everything was okay for her. That she was all right and I shouldn't worry about her." "Feel a little better able to face today?" "Oh yeah. It's like, there's still this big...*raw spot* in my heart, and it really *hurts*... But I can do this now. I can go on." "You're the strongest person I ever met, Chief. I never doubted you could make it." "Yeah?" Blair leaned back into the solid warmth, nuzzling under Jim's chin. "I did." "Think I could convince you to have a couple bites of breakfast this morning?" "Maybe just my shake." "Blair, sweetheart, you have to eat something." "Some toast or something." "Or something. Come on. Get back under the covers and rest. I'll go get you a little 'or something', okay?" "Okay. I'm a little sleepy yet. What time is it?" "About eight thirty." "Think everybody else is up?" "Hutch is. Your dad just woke up, and I can hear him on the phone with someone. Sounds like business." "I should go out to the kitchen, you know, mingle with the natives a little." Blair smiled, but didn't move away from Jim. "You've got a long day ahead, baby. Rest a little more and I'll bring you some food. Then we'll tackle everything." "Okay. Sounds good." Blair let himself be maneuvered up and steered to the bed, where he crawled back in and curled up, cuddling one of Jim's pillows. "I'm glad you're feeling better, sweetheart." Jim leaned forward and kissed Blair's cheek. "I'll be back soon." ******** "I noticed you didn't make any of the arrangements in keeping with Jewish traditions," Starsky said to Blair as they sat in the living room, waiting while Hutch changed into his suit and Jim made a phone call back to Cascade. Starsky's voice held no reproach, just curiosity. Blair had told him he was Jewish, that he'd had a bar mitzvah, and yet, his mother's funeral arrangements were anything but Kosher--but then, Naomi wasn't exactly a traditional woman. "My grandparents were Jewish. It's kind of a weird story. See, when my mom got pregnant, her parents freaked." Blair shook his head. "They wanted her to go away and 'take care of it'--have the baby out of town somewhere, put it up for adoption and then come back like nothing ever happened. She didn't go for that idea." "So what happened?" "She severed all her ties with them. She was living on her own at the time, but they had money, and they were helping her with a lot of expenses and stuff. But as fate would have it, my great-grandmother stepped in and took over." "Financially, you mean?" "Mostly. Naomi was her favorite grandchild, so she helped out with money, and when she died, she left everything to Naomi--which was quite a lot, I guess. We never really worried much about money-- Naomi always had it, and I guess a lot of it came from Grandma--I called her that too, since I really never saw my actual grandmother." "How did you end up having a bar mitzvah? You said it was your cousins' idea before." "Yeah, it was their idea, but they knew it was Grandma's wish, but she never wanted to push it on Naomi, because she knew Naomi didn't want me raised according to any specific religion. They talked to Naomi about it, and all they asked was for the chance to just *educate* me in the Jewish faith--and for my great-grandmother to get to see me have a bar mitzvah and to know that I'd at least learned the religion. Well, Naomi said okay, and one thing led to another, and I had the bar mitzvah. I've always been good with reading and digesting information, so I was a quick study. It's a fascinating religion--there are some really beautiful concepts about it, and I could honestly say to her that I felt like I could embrace those ideals." "You don't practice it, though?" "Not really. I mean, I guess I sort of agreed with my mom's idea that there wasn't one true religion. But it's like, if someone asks me what religion I am, I always say 'Jewish' right off." Blair smiled. "It's the only one I was initiated into via the ceremony. And like I said, I found it really meaningful." "After your bar mitzvah, it sort of...dropped?" "Well, my great-grandmother died the next year, and Naomi didn't really want to start embracing the religion of her parents, and my cousins were living in Texas, so we didn't see much of them." Blair paused. "I mean, Naomi knew it was her parents, and not Judaism, to blame for the rift between them, but still, it was like she wanted to move away from the things of her youth and start fresh. You know how teenagers are--they don't usually seek out synagogues or churches on their own to go pray. That usually comes with a parent prodding them to go and keep active. I just drifted away from it. But I never forgot all the things I learned." "Did you ever meet your grandparents?" "No. I was a mistake--a *sin* in their eyes. They made it real clear to Naomi that I wasn't welcome. And she obviously wasn't going to leave me somewhere so she could visit them--just on the principle of the thing. So our paths never crossed." "That's sad. How people can turn on their own that way. All the years missed--missing out on a grandchild...I can't picture it." "Me either, but times were different even back in '69." "Very," Starsky agreed, nodding. He smiled as he watched Blair tug at the collar of his dress shirt. Again. "We probably could have gone in jeans. I think Sunflower would have liked that better anyway." "Yeah, probably," Blair said, smiling a little sadly as he looked down at his dark blue suit. "She'd hate this. She'd tell me I looked like a banker or an undertaker." Blair paused. "Does it offend you that I made the arrangements the way I did?" "Why should it? If it wasn't a religion that Naomi embraced, there'd be little point in burying her according to those traditions. I don't figure they'd have much meaning to you either at this stage of the game." "Your family is pretty traditional about things like that?" "Weddings and funerals and all the usual rites of passage, yeah, they are. But, you know, even with me, there's Hutch to consider. If I go first...he's the most important person in the world to me, and I want him to deal with it however it's best for him--whatever has the most meaning to him. There are a few things I *don't* want done--either for personal or religious reasons...a few basic Jewish beliefs I don't want to go against. I admit I don't go to synagogue and I don't limit what I eat the way some of my family does. My folks played it kind of fast and loose with the Kosher diet, and I just got looser, I guess." "I know that showing the body and cremation are big no-no's, but she wanted both things. We didn't talk about it much, but the one time she did, she said she wanted a gathering of all her friends, a group meditation in the presence of the body, and then to be cremated and her ashes scattered somewhere special." "Then you did the right thing following her wishes, Blair. There are a lot of ways to honor and bury the dead." "I'm glad you feel that way. I mean, I know you said you were Jewish, and after we talked about it before, I was sort of worried that maybe you wouldn't approve of how I arranged things with the funeral home." "You did what your mom wanted. That's how it should be." "Should we get started?" Jim asked as he joined them, dressed in a black suit with a fine pin stripe. Blair smiled up at him. "The CEO is here," he quipped, and Starsky laughed. "We just concluded that Naomi would be giving us a hard time about our monkey suits," he clarified to Jim, who smiled. "Yeah, I can just hear her. Of course, I'd have to tell her just to be thankful that I didn't wear my dress blues." "Or your army uniform," Blair added. "I would worry about getting a bolt of lightning for that one," Jim responded, chuckling as he sat down next to Blair, sliding an arm around him. "How're you doin', Chief?" "Okay. I'm doing okay," Blair said, managing another little smile. "Good." Jim kissed his temple and tugged lightly on the pony tail. "Sorry to hold things up," Hutch said as he joined the group. "Oh, brother," he groused, checking out Starsky's suit. Both men wore nearly identical dark blue suits, white shirts and sedate striped ties. "I thought you were wearing your black one." "It's got that big gravy stain on the pants from Aunt Dottie's funeral dinner." "That's why they have dry cleaners, Gordo," Hutch shook his head. "We aren't going to be the only men in blue suits." "It would help if you hadn't decided you should buy the same tie I did." "Hey, guys, time out." Blair laughed. "You really think anybody's going to notice?" "I think we should get going," Jim interjected, steering Blair toward the door with a gentle hand on his back. "You could have worn your gray one," Starsky muttered to his partner, who mumbled something decidedly unsavory in response as he pulled the door shut behind them. ******** The funeral home was a large, attractive white brick building with white shutters framing the windows and brass light fixtures and hardware on the doors. Inside, the decor was a subtle blend of blues and mauves, softly lit with obviously expensive lamps and nicely furnished. A small, tasteful sign near the front door directed visitors to one of two chapels, the first holding the remains of a man, the second, Naomi Sandburg. "Mr. Sandburg," the funeral director greeted, coming out of his office. A tall, slender man in his early forties, he had reddish hair, wire-rimmed glasses and a pleasant smile. "Gentlemen," he greeted the others, then turned back to Blair. "I thought the West Chapel would be a nice choice for your mother. There's a window that overlooks our garden, and the decor is really quite attractive. We just completed renovating it a few months ago. It's right this way." "You didn't have any problems with...you know, I...I guess there was bruising..." "I think she looks quite lovely," he said, smiling. "I'll leave you to spend a little time with her before visitation starts. If there is anything not to your liking, I'll be in my office. Please let me know, and we'll take care of it for you right away." "Thank you," Blair responded, nodding and watching the other man leave. Then he turned back to look into the chapel in front of them. "I never saw a funeral home with a window like that before," Blair said, stalling, not quite ready to make his way up to the front of the room, where the whitewashed wood casket with its gold handles, drenched in apricot roses, waited for him. "I think Naomi would have appreciated the little touch of nature with the garden," Jim said. "So do I," Blair agreed. "You want us to come up with you or would you like a minute by yourself?" Jim asked, his arm around Blair's shoulders. "Come with me, huh?" he looked around at the other three men, who all nodded, Starsky and Hutch walking behind Jim and Blair up to the casket. Jim could only imagine the impact seeing Naomi that way was having on Blair. For his own part, he felt not only the stab of pain at the thought of such a vibrant life force being extinguished so cruelly, but this was the first time he had ever seen Naomi's face motionless. And in that motionless face, he did not see serenity. There was nothing unpleasant or unsightly, and all anyone else would notice is that she looked...*serious*. But Naomi never looked *serious* in life. Blair leaned gratefully into the support of Jim's body, reaching out a hand tentatively to touch Naomi's hand. He'd known it would be cool, that she wouldn't respond the way she always had in life. But the still, unyielding feel of the hand beneath his, and the unusually serious expression on her sleeping face pierced him with an unwelcome reality. The apricot dress and printed scarf that had been one of her more flowing and stunning outfits in life made her look pretty now, but it was just a dress. Naomi, with her gestures and her laughter and her *life* had made that dress into a living entity of its own as it swirled around her and *adorned* her. Now, it was as motionless as she was. He hadn't realized he was crying until he felt the tears on his cheeks again. "She looks beautiful, Chief," Jim said softly, squeezing Blair's shoulders. Blair felt another hand in the middle of his back, which he figured was his father weighing in with his moral support. "She looks...unhappy," Blair said, looking down at her, almost able to *feel* the angst that simmered just below the serene surface imposed on the face by death. "I thought...you know, when she was sleeping? She'd always be almost...smiling." "Sometimes people's expressions are a lot different in death than they are sleeping," Starsky said, carefully avoiding reminding Blair of the obvious. "Whoever did this..." Blair began, then gave up as his voice broke too badly to go on. "Is going to pay for it," Jim said firmly, pulling Blair into his arms. "Dearly." "Sunflowers," Blair said, smiling as he sniffled and pulled back from Jim. "From you?" he asked, looking back at his father who just smiled in response. Near the casket was a large floral arrangement with a number of vibrant flowers, but most noticeable were numerous large sunflowers. "That's what I think of when I think of your mother," Starsky said, looking fondly at Naomi. Though they'd had very little time together, she had blessed him with what he considered a great gift--his son. "Bright, vibrant, beautiful..." "Looks like the gang back home is represented," Jim said, guiding Blair away from the casket to another very large arrangement with gladiolias, mums and a myriad of other bright flowers. The card was signed "Love & Sympathy , The Bullpen Gang". The four men moved from arrangement to arrangement, finding many names none of them recognized, several Blair recognized and explained, and then one that surprised even Jim. A glass terrarium of green plants accented with a few small carnations bore a card that read, "With Sympathy, Dad & Steve". "Wow, that was really nice of them," Blair commented as he read the card. There was the clearing of a throat from behind that startled the group, and all eyes widened in surprise to see Simon standing there. "Am I too early?" he asked honestly, noticing he was about a half hour early for the first visitation. "Simon," Blair said, smiling, genuinely shocked and moved to see their friend show up all the way from Cascade. He walked over and greeted Simon with a hug, which was returned with a couple of loud pats on the back. "How are you holding up, Blair?" he asked, stepping back. "Not so great, but I've got a good support system--that just got better. Thanks so much for coming here." "I'm glad you feel that way, because I didn't come alone." At Simon's statement, the rest of his entourage stepped into view. Joel, Henri, Rafe, Daryl and Megan joined them, each greeting a stunned Blair with a hug and expression of sympathy. "You guys all came all the way from Cascade?" Blair bit his lip, then swallowed, determined not to get more emotional because his friends were there. "I don't believe you're all here." "You think a few miles were going to scare us off?" Joel chimed in, patting Blair's back. "We had a little help getting here," Simon said as Bill and Stephen Ellison joined the group. "Yes, we flew here in style on the Pacific Coast Plastics corporate jet," Megan stated, smiling at the two men who entered the room. "Dad, you did this?" Jim asked, visibly surprised. "After you called about Blair's mother, I got to thinking that with the funeral out here in California, and everyone on tight schedules back home, it might make things easier if the trip to and from was a bit quicker. Besides, I thought this was more important than the current VP getting to Honolulu without the indignity of traveling coach," he added, bringing a little chuckle from the group. It was obvious that the retired CEO and current Chairman of the Board was still keeping a watchful eye on his interests. He moved over near where Blair stood. There hadn't been a lot of contact between Jim and Blair as a couple and the Ellison branch of the family. Jim's father had been less than overjoyed with Jim's choice of life partners, but had never expressed that in so many words, nor had he been anything but polite to Blair on the rare occasions when they spoke on the phone. "It's taken me a little while to get used to the idea of you and Jim," he said honestly. "But I want you to know that you're part of our family now, and while we're not a perfect lot, we do rise to the occasion for each other when things go wrong." He held out a hand toward Blair, who shook it, then bridged the slight distance with a brief half handshake-half hug. "This really means a lot to me," Blair said, swallowing hard, glad to feel Jim's hands on his shoulders from behind as he stepped back from Bill Ellison. The first hours of visitation moved along quite uneventfully, with a number of Naomi's friends stopping in to pay their respects. A tall, slender, older man who had been one of Naomi's long-time spiritual advisors, asked Blair if he would object to them holding a candlelight meditation there that evening in Naomi's honor, after the evening visitation hours. Blair was pleased with the idea, and the funeral director agreed readily to keep the building open until the group had finished. Jim, Blair, Starsky and Hutch took the visiting Cascade contingent to Huggy's for dinner before the evening hours. Knowing the rather somber-looking group was probably not in the mood to mingle with the usual nightclub crowd, Huggy set them up at a long table in a banquet room which was reserved for pre-arranged private parties. "Any developments on the case yet?" Simon asked Jim quietly, keeping one eye on Blair, who was talking quite intently with his father and Jim's father--a conversation to which Jim had hoped to keep sentinel hearing tuned. Figuring he shouldn't be eavesdropping anyway, he put his attention on Simon's question. "The boyfriend is a possibility. We found what *might* be evidence of a struggle at the house where Naomi was living with him. It was unusually clean, and I found a shard of a broken piece of pottery behind the couch--the broken piece had already been replaced with one almost identical." "But no other more obvious things?" "Not really. He's in the hospital with heart problems. The guy's 66 years old. I don't really picture him as the killer, but he's a good sized guy, and he wanted to get married, and you know how likely it was that Naomi would have gone for that." "You're thinking maybe it was the old 'if I can't have you nobody can' routine?" "Could be. She was with someone else the night she died. It didn't appear to be forcible, so he could have also done it in a jealous rage." "What do you think?" "I'm going to pay the guy a visit after the funeral. I've been more worried about Blair the past few days than I have checking out good old Harold. He's not going anywhere." "I don't think Harold did it." Both of them were surprised by Blair's voice. "He really loved her. He's even going to try to get out of the hospital in time for the memorial service tomorrow." "He's just a suspect, Chief," Jim responded. "What about those old homicide cases you were looking up?" Blair asked his father, who shrugged. "They're definitely something to explore--all the avenues are still open." "Old homicide cases?" Megan asked, intrigued. "You think this might be the work of a seri--I mean, you think it could be linked to other similar cases?" she asked Starsky, quickly correcting what she felt might be too harsh terminology in front of the victim's son. "We have a couple of unsolved cases on the books that have similar M.O.'s that Starsky thought of," Hutch spoke up, "so he's doing a little research. We want to explore every possibility to the fullest. Including a warrant on Harold's car. I've got to call Ginny and see if she had any luck with that." "Maybe after the services, you'll have a better handle on who your mom's current friends were," Henri suggested. "They might be able to help." "Good thinking. I'm trying to make sure everyone signs the guest book--you know, with contact information," Blair responded, and Jim looked at him, a little surprised. "I plan on being part of working this case, Jim. Starting now. You don't think I was 'working the room' today as more than just the family representative?" "I didn't want you to be burdened with 'working the room' at all, Chief. You've got enough to handle--" "Look, some bastard out there murdered my mother. This is probably the hardest thing I ever went through, but I am *not* going to sit back and snivel in the corner when there might be a chance to pick up a few leads," Blair stated emphatically. "So far, I've talked to her spiritual advisor--and I hope to talk to him more tonight before the meditation--and a few girlfriends, plus a couple of neighbors from Harold's neighborhood. Now I *really* wanted to cultivate them, so I spent some time chatting them up a little, getting them to talk about Harold and Naomi as a couple... They really didn't have much but good things to say, so I'm afraid I didn't get too far there." "You know, this kid never ceases to amaze me. I think he did more detective work than most of us did," Simon said, chuckling a little, directing the comment toward Starsky, who looked over at his son with blatant paternal pride. "It's in the genes," he said, winking at Blair, who just smiled in response. ******** The evening visitation began at seven, and Blair steeled himself for another round of expressions of sympathy from people he never met. He felt bone tired, drained, and yet at the same time, felt some odd solace at being near his mother, even if she truly was not there. Heading toward the doorway of the room with the intent of getting a little fresh air, Blair paused when he saw two very elderly people standing near the guest register, looking at the crowd, seeming hesitant to enter. "Are you here to see Naomi Sandburg?" he asked, noticing something strangely familiar about them--almost like a...*resemblance*. "I'm Blair...her son." "We came to pay our respects," the man said. Tall, slender, slightly stooped with age, he was dressed in a gray suit, white shirt and tie. His petite, frail-looking wife was wearing a plain navy blue dress with a string of pearls. "Were you friends of my mother's?" he asked, a sneaking suspicion of who these people were creeping over him. "She was our daughter," the woman spoke up, earning her a somewhat annoyed look from the old man. "Then you're my--" "We just want to pay our respects in peace. If you'll excuse us," the elderly man said abruptly, guiding his wife by the elbow toward the casket. Blair stared after them, dumbfounded. He'd known Naomi's parents had severed all ties with her when she became pregnant with him, but he would have never imagined that all these years later, they would still carry that resolve with them, or that they could be so openly cruel to their own grandchild--the last living part of Naomi. "Who are they?" Starsky asked, joining Blair where he stood near the door, staring after the old couple as they made their way to the casket. "Naomi's parents. I need some air." Blair walked briskly through the reception area and out the door. Starsky turned back and looked at the elderly couple near the casket, and debated whether or not to approach them. A part of him wanted to confront them, condemn their behavior, let them know that hurting his son on what was probably the worst day of his life was not acceptable. Then he wondered what the point would be. If these elderly people could carry that kind of hate for that long, and could blame an innocent baby for the circumstances of its birth--let alone disown their own daughter for having the child--would anything he said now, by the side of her casket, make any real difference? He watched as Ellison took a marked interest in the old couple, assessing them in that intent manner of his, as if he were cataloging everything about them. Deciding that there was little point in slamming his head against the brick wall that was Naomi's parents, and figuring his son probably needed him more than they did, Starsky made his way out to the front door, then strolled around the building looking for Blair. He found him sitting on a bench around the corner from the entrance. Without speaking, he sat down next to Blair. The younger man was quiet, just wiping at his eyes occasionally, staring out at the parking lot. There were quite a few cars there this evening, and the detectives in the group had all been circulating and trying to pick up on anything interesting that might be said by any of the mourners. He wondered how many funerals were infiltrated to this degree with cops with ears open on full alert. He had to smile at what Naomi would think of her final send off having such an inordinate number of cops present. "What?" Blair asked, sniffling, but smiling a little at Starsky's amused expression. "I was just wondering what your mom would think of the fact that she has more cops here at the funeral home than the donut shop downtown on a Monday morning." "Oh, man," Blair responded, laughing and shaking his head. "She'd probably say something about 'the pigs' and then give all the guys this sweet expression and bat her eyelashes a little and all would be forgiven." Blair smiled fondly at the thought. "Nobody ever stayed mad at her for long." "You know, Blair, what happened in there with your grandparents--" "I should have expected it. I just didn't think they'd come, and when they did, I thought maybe it meant..." Blair shrugged. "The two best things that ever happened to me were hooking up with that old blond grouch in there...and finding you. So I'm not just handing you a line of bullshit when I say that those angry old people-- they're the losers. Because not a day's gone by that I haven't been grateful for meeting you, and getting to know you--for having my son in my life. Don't ever forget that." Starsky put his arm around Blair's shoulders, squeezing a little as his son rested his head on his father's shoulder. "Back when they were young, having a child out of wedlock was a terrible thing--a horrible transgression. Even as recently as when Naomi had you, it was still not accepted the way it is now. And that makes their hate look even more barbaric--because now, it's not seen the same way." "I know that. I mean, in my head, I understand that. It's just that...it still hurts, right here," Blair said quietly, pressing a fist over his heart. "I just wanted to have a chance to know them. I wrote them a letter when I was sixteen--when I got to college. I thought maybe when I was on my own, maybe they'd at least be willing to let me meet them. They didn't write back." "I'm sorry, kiddo." Starsky rested his head against Blair's briefly. "You don't need more piled on you right now." "I tried again when I got my Master's--I thought maybe if they saw that I wasn't...you know, a delinquent or something, maybe then they'd want to meet me. I invited them to my graduation. I even told them in the letter that they didn't have to admit I was their grandson. I just wanted a chance to meet them." "No wonder you were a little gun shy when you ran into me and we found out the truth." "My track record with long lost relatives wasn't too hot, no." "Well, it's improving. And when I take you out to meet your grandmother in New York--and about eighteen million other Starskys, it'll get a hell of a lot better. I called her not long after I got back from Cascade, after meeting you for the first time, and she was so excited-- I've sent her photos and told her all about you. She can't wait to see you. She's getting old, Blair. I want us to do it soon." "Maybe when we figure out this case--maybe after that, we could go?" "It's a plan. Just a word of warning about the East Coast Starskys--they're a clannish lot, so expect a lot of big gatherings of cousins you probably won't even remember when you're done." "Sounds great. I never had much family. I had a couple of uncles I spent a little time with, and a few cousins, but nothing close." "The rest of the Starsky clan is going to love you as much as I do. So the only danger is you might get a few more relatives than you bargained for." "Thanks." Blair swallowed. "I really needed to hear this right now." "Think you're ready to go back in and face the music?" Starsky asked, smiling a little. "Yeah." Blair straightened up and smiled back. "Jim's probably wondering where I am." "He was eye-balling the old folks when I left, so they may have already stepped on a landmine without us doing a thing." They started walking back toward the door. "Ellison's a great guy, but he's a little... intense, isn't he?" "He takes his work seriously." "I know that, but I just mean the way he looks at people sometimes--like he's *scanning* them." "You're a cop--you know how that goes." "Yeah, but this is different. I can stare at someone or really try to figure them out--but it's like he finds what he's looking for and then stops looking." Starsky shrugged. "I'm not explaining this too well." "Jim was in Covert Ops before he was a cop. I think he's just...well, he assesses people pretty completely--sizes them up." "I guess." Starsky let the subject drop as they walked back into the funeral home. The elderly couple passed them without a word, but the old man continued out the front door, the woman going into the rest room. "I wish they could see past their hatred long enough to just..." Blair shrugged, and was about to turn and follow Starsky into the room again when his grandmother emerged from the rest room, furtively scanning the hall, then scurrying over to where the two men stood. Blair could see a great deal of himself in this spritely little lady with her big blue eyes, and the coarse, curly gray hair that was just barely restrained in a bun at the nape of her neck. She reached out and took Blair's hand, turned it palm up, and placed a little pendant in it, then closed his fingers around it. "This belonged to your great grandfather. Keep it with you always." "I want to talk to you, to--" "I have to go. Your grandfather has not changed his feelings. I always loved my daughter and you remember that I loved you too." "But if I could just talk to him, maybe he'd change his mind and then--" "You are just like my Naomi--to you, all is possible. Now I really have to go. Be well." She squeezed his hand once more and hurried toward the door. "Grandma, wait!" Blair called after her, the name rolling off his tongue as if he'd always known her. Sprinting the few yards that separated them, he gently hugged the elderly woman, and as he moved back, handed her his card. "If you ever need anything, or you want to talk--I'd love to talk to you more--call me, or write, okay? Thank you so much for this," he gestured with his hand that was still closed around the little pendant, "and for talking to me." "None of this was my choice, little one," she said sadly, patting his cheek. "I really must go." She swallowed hard as a couple of tears escaped, and hurried out the door. "You okay?" Starsky walked up behind him. "Yeah," Blair responded, smiling, opening his hand to look at the gift his grandmother had given him. It was a small, gold Star of David on a gold chain. "Can you fasten it for me?" He handed it to Starsky, who clasped it easily. Blair shifted his shirt collar around until it fell into place beneath his clothing. "Everything okay out here?" Jim joined the two men where they stood in the reception area outside the chapel where Naomi rested. "That was my grandmother," Blair said, smiling a little. "I heard. I figured that's who it was when I saw her--you look just like her, Chief." "You think? I guess I kind of do," Blair responded, seeming pleased with that concept. "She gave me a pendant--a Star of David. I put it on under my shirt." "I'm glad. Too bad your grandfather can't get over his attitude problem--it seems like she wants to spend some time with you--get to know you." "I think she'd like that. I know I would. But I guess she's gotta do what she's gotta do. I should get back in there," Blair headed back into the room, flanked by his father and Jim. "What time are they doing the meditation?" Starsky asked. "About 9:30--visitation ends at 9:00, so that'll give time for people to finish up and head out before we get set up." "You know that guy?" Jim asked, nodding toward the tall man who stood near Naomi's casket. "No," Blair said, shaking his head. "But I don't know a lot of her current friends. I guess I should go say hello and see who he is." "I'm being paged," Starsky said, noticing Hutch giving him a signal from the doorway of the room. "Why don't you go let the Cascade gang off the hook to go back to their hotel and get some rest. They look a little wiped, man," Blair said, noticing that their friends had camped on a couple of couches in one corner of the room, a little wilted from their flight, the time difference, and having provided a full and admirable day of moral support for Blair. "Good thinking. I'll be right back." Jim leaned over and kissed Blair's lips quickly, then headed over to visit with their friends. "Excuse me, I'm Blair Sandburg, Naomi's son. Were you a friend of my mom's?" Blair asked the man standing near his mother. A rather average-looking man with straight brown hair and wire framed glasses, he looked to be about the same age as Naomi. "John Fordney," he said, extending a hand to Blair, who shook it. "I knew your mother a long time ago. A very long time ago. As a matter of fact, I knew her before you were born." "Really? I guess you guys did go back a ways then. Were you into the same social causes she was, or--" "We hung out with the same crowd." He looked back at Naomi. "I just wish we could have spent more time together recently. She was quite a lady." "She sure was. She never really gave up all the things she believed in back in the '60s--how about you? Did you outgrow the whole hippie movement or...?" Blair prodded, smiling slightly. "More or less, I'm afraid. I wish I could say I had your mother's lasting power as a social activist, but I'm afraid I don't. I'm a financial planner now. Short of becoming a cop, I think that's probably the worst career I could have chosen as far as Naomi would be concerned." He chuckled a little. "I think I'm part of the establishment now--but I do still send in donations to environmentalist groups." "Then you're probably in the clear, man," Blair responded, smiling a little. "Coming from Naomi's son, I'll consider that official then." "Okay. I'll let you have your visit. I just wanted to introduce myself," Blair concluded. "It was nice meeting you." "Same here, Blair. Again, my sympathies." "Thanks." Blair smiled slightly again, and headed back toward where Jim was standing, eyeing the man at the casket with some unreadable expression. "I don't like that guy. Who is he?" "You don't...? His name's John Fordney. He said he was an old friend of my mom's." "Hm." "What is it?" "I'm not sure yet. But he seemed...*uneasy* while you were up there talking with him. Heart rate picked up, he got jittery... I'll tell your dad to run a check on him." "He said he was a financial--" "Yeah, I heard. Look, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, Chief. I just don't like the guy. "He seemed all right. Maybe he was just nervous, running into me. I get the feeling he was one of my mom's old lovers, and maybe running into her son was just sort of awkward. He wasn't really forthcoming about how he knew her." "We'll check him out," Jim concluded. ********