When the Torino pulled up on the street in front of Harold
Bloomfield's house, Starsky was already there, sitting against the hood
of the sedan he'd used to make his escape earlier.  As the four of them
walked up toward the front door, Starsky's hand wandered over to the
middle of Hutch's back, albeit briefly, which earned him a warm little
smile from Hutch.  Jim rang the doorbell, and before long, Harold
greeted them.

     "I have the radio on, and they said there was a suicide of a
suspect in the case--what happened?"  he asked, ushering them all
inside and closing the front door.

     "Stanford shot himself.  Guess that was pretty self-explanatory
from the news.  Damn, didn't take 'em long to get the word out,"
Starsky complained.  "Did Naomi do any gardening?"

     "She had a few plants around, as you can see, and she had some
other things out on the back porch--some kind of weedy-looking
things."

     "Herbs, maybe?" Blair asked.

     "I think that's what she said.  She joked about her 'dish garden'
on the porch, and how she wanted to put in a real garden out back.  We
just couldn't agree on what kind of garden it would be.  Why?"

     "You mind if we take a look out there?"  Jim asked.

     "Not at all, though I have to confess...I know I've let some of it
go.  I just haven't had the heart, you know, to go out there and look
after them."

     "This way?"  Starsky asked, starting toward the back of the
house.

     "Yeah, that's it.  Why the interest in the herbs?"  

     "Something we need to verify about a visitor Naomi may have
had the night she died."  

     "I see," Harold said, nodding.  "Who?"

     "Look, Harold, I understand you're anxious about this, but let us
do our jobs, huh?"  Jim said, his patience wearing thin.

     "Sure, sure.  Sorry."  Harold returned to the living room while
the others went out onto the enclosed back porch, which was more of a
sun room than a porch, with its vented windows and overstuffed
furniture.  

     "There it is," Blair said, pointing to a flat tray containing several
small, now dead, herb plants.  "'course she could have had it for a
while."

     "I don't think so," Jim said, moving closer to the tray.  "There's
blood on it."  Jim leaned in for a look, and ran his finger along the
clean part of the edge.  "This is sharp enough to cut flesh if you picked
it up wrong.  If this is Naomi's blood, Stanford's story could account for
all of it--the hair samples, the fibers, even the blood."  

      "Terrific."  Starsky added, sighing.  

     "Any luck, guys?"  Harold joined them on the back porch.

     "Do you know where these came from?"

     "That Stanford woman, probably.  She'd brought Naomi a flat
of these before."

     "*Mrs.* Stanford brought them over?"  Starsky clarified.

     "I don't know about these.  I hadn't really noticed them sitting
there, to be honest.  I don't think they were here before I left for my
business trip.  But she had stopped by one other time and brought some
herbs to Naomi, and they talked a few minutes, and then she left.  I
remember that because she and her husband were kind of strange
characters--hadn't outgrown the hippie movement yet, I guess--so it
stands out in my mind."

     "Did Mrs. Stanford visit here often?"  Hutch probed.

     "I only remember that one time, but I wasn't home all the time. 
Semi-retired, for me, ends up like working about two-thirds full time. 
Naomi did her own thing a lot of the time, so she didn't mind being on
her own.  There are a lot of things I probably didn't know about her
life."

     "There's no good way to ask this, but were you aware she was
having an affair with Frederick Stanford?"  Jim asked.  Blair seemed to
flinch at the question a bit, whether it was the continuing discussion of
his mother's liaisons or Harold's feelings he was thinking of, Jim wasn't
sure.  


     "No, I wasn't.  Well, I should say that I had no actual evidence
of it, but I wondered about it.  I hoped not.  She insisted they were just
friends, but they seemed unusually close for that.  Stanford was the guy
you went to arrest tonight, right?"  Harold prodded.

     "That would be him.  Problem is that he shot himself before we
could take him into custody.  We have evidence he was with Naomi the
night she died, but the more we look into it, his version of things is
checking out." 

     "We should be getting back downtown.  Paperwork," Starsky
said, and Harold chuckled, though it was hollow and held little joy.  

     "Bureaucracy is alive and well, huh?"  he asked, following them
out.

     "Some things never change."  Hutch paused.  "If you think of
anything else that could help us, please get a hold of us.  We've got
some serious holes in the theory of Stanford as the killer, so the real
one could still be out there."

     "Oh, before you go--there's an elderly woman who lives across
the street--her name is Regina Lowry.   She said she saw a man here the
night it happened, and I was just assuming it was probably the guy you
were arresting, or maybe Fordney--because we all figured he'd been
with her that night."

     "Did she just remember this now?"  Hutch asked, frowning.  "I
know the uniforms questioned all the neighbors at the time.

     "She left to go visit her daughter the morning after...  She wasn't
home when the police were questioning the neighbors, and I guess no
one contacted her after that."

     "Great," Starsky grumbled with an exasperated sigh.  "Did she
describe him?"

     "Tall, dark hair--but then her eyesight's not perfect, and the
streetlights can't really cut through all these trees to light everything up
all that well."

     "When did she tell you all this?"

     "This afternoon.  That's what I originally called you about, and
then when you said you were making an arrest, I figured it would be
time enough to talk to you about it later."

     "We'll have to stop by and talk to Ms. Lowry, then," Hutch said. 
"Do you consider her reliable?"

     "She's a bit of a snoop, a little forgetful, but overall, she's got
most of her marbles left."

     "Not exactly a glowing endorsement, but it'll have to do," Jim
commented, chuckling a little.  

     Regina Lowry was a stout elderly woman in her early eighties,
who happily recalled her experience of looking out her kitchen
window, which faced across the street at the Bloomfield household,
and seeing a tall man with dark hair entering the house at about 10:45
at night.  She assured them she was positive of the time, as she'd been
waiting to watch the eleven o'clock news, and decided to make herself
a snack first.

     According to her account, the man was at the door when she
first saw him, and then the porch light came on, which was when she
got a better look at his hair color, and someone answered the door,
though she couldn't tell who it was.  A moment later, the man
disappeared into the house.  She never knew what became of him,
since she then went to watch the news, and fell asleep in her recliner
until near three the next morning.  When she awoke, she didn't look out
that window again.  She recalled seeing a car in the driveway, and that
it was mid-sized, and a light color.  

     Both pleased and frustrated at yet another piece in the puzzle,
the four men decided to call it a night, and tackle the investigation
fresh, first thing in the morning.  

********

     Jim showered and toweled off, then slipped on a pair of clean
boxers and walked out into the bedroom.  Blair was reading again, this
time some unfamiliar book he'd borrowed from his father's collection. 
There was something about Blair, his hair loose, glasses in place,
barechested and engrossed in a book that made Jim want to push him
back on the pillows and eat him alive.  Even with the bruises that
marred his face, which were turning into a different technicolor
nightmare every day as they healed, he was beautiful.

     "What?"  Blair looked up and grinned, and Jim realized he'd
been standing there, staring at Blair with his mouth hanging open,
doing all but drooling.  

     "Hand over the book, Chief," Jim said, holding out his hand. 
Blair was still grinning a little, even as he frowned in confusion at the
same time, handing over the book.  Jim set it on the night stand, then
dove onto the bed like a music fan stage-diving into a mosh pit.  He
pulled Blair down and under him, kissing him passionately but
lopsidedly, to favor the bruising around his mouth.  

     "What was that for?  Not that I'm complaining," Blair said,
chuckling.  

     "Because I love you," Jim said with such seriousness and
affection that Blair found himself swallowing a lump in his throat.  His
emotions seemed to be right at the surface all the time anyway since
his mother's death, and this gentle declaration from Jim was almost
more than he could stand.  

     "I love you too," Blair said finally, tracing the strong jaw with
his fingertips.  Jim took the hand in his and kissed it.  

     "I want you, baby," Jim breathed against Blair's ear, reaching
down to find Blair's slightly hardening cock, stroking it.  "Want you in
me."  He ran his tongue along the shell of Blair's ear, eliciting a groan
and undulation from the body under him.  

     "How do you want it?"  Blair whispered.

     "Long and hard," Jim quipped back, and smiled as Blair
laughed.  

     "I was talking positions, man," Blair clarified before he was
silenced with another kiss.  

     "I figured I'd just flatten myself out and you could have your
way with me."  Jim slid Blair's boxers off his hips and down the strong
thighs.  Blair happily wiggled and kicked to get them the rest of the
way off his body.  Jim moved down then, spreading Blair's legs, licking
at the heavy balls there, then running his tongue up the underside of
Blair's cock.  Without further preliminaries, he took Blair in his mouth
and swallowed him whole, loving the wanton shout of pleasure it drew
out of him.  

     "Yeah, Jim...oh, man...God, that's good," Blair panted, then
threw his head back on the pillows and held onto the headboard with
both hands.  Just when he thought he would come right there and doing
Jim would be postponed, Jim pulled back, letting the slick organ slip
from his mouth.  He took a moment to drink in the sight of his lover,
hair all over the pillow, face flushed and beautiful despite the bruises--
and the glasses still in place.  Without further words, he moved over
and stretched out on his stomach, stuffing a couple of pillows under
himself to raise his ass to the perfect level.  

     "You're so beautiful, lover," Blair said, his voice rough with
desire as he moved up behind Jim, sliding his hands up and down the
smooth, muscular sides.  "You forgot something though," he said,
sliding his fingers under the waistband of Jim's boxers.  

     "Better get those outta the way, baby," Jim suggested
unnecessarily, before raising up to cooperate with Blair's motion of
sliding them down and off.  Blair massaged the firm buttocks, then
separated them and moved lower, letting the tip of his tongue tickle the
edges of the puckered opening.  

     "Better take my glasses off too, before you get poked with little
metal corners in bad places," Blair said, a smile in his voice.  Then, in
all seriousness, "Dial up, Jim," Blair whispered against that little
pucker, and grinned as Jim gasped a bit.  Knowing his directive would
be followed, Blair went back to tickling the edges of Jim's center with
his tongue, then began teasing the opening by darting his tongue in and
out rapidly.  Jim was thrusting down against the bed now, moaning, his
sense of touch dialed up to intensify the feeling of Blair's tongue
darting in and out of his hole, getting him ready. 

     "Come on, Chief," he gasped.  "Do it, baby."

     "Gradually dial down, lover.  Don't want to hurt you," Blair said
softly, kissing Jim's center before moving back and hunting for the
lube.  Jim wasn't frequently on the receiving end of things, and Blair
wanted to be sure he took every precaution.  He concentrated on giving
Jim a prolonged, sensuous internal massage, his fingers probing,
rubbing and caressing inside the warm, slick walls.  

     The stimulation of the partial blow job, and the sight of his
fingers disappearing into Jim's body made controlling his own cock a
nearly impossible task as it filled to painful hardness, eager for release. 
Jim was groaning now, humping the pillows beneath him, relaxing and
getting into the sensations of being probed and filled.  Blair let one
long finger slide a bit deeper and brush over Jim's prostate.  

     "Oh, man!"  Jim muffled the shout in the pillow under his face,
and Blair made the beautiful body laid out before him lurch again in
passion at the intense stimulation.  

     "You ready for me, love?"  Blair whispered against one smooth
buttock, knowing Jim would hear him clearly.

     "Oh, yeah," Jim sighed eagerly.

     Blair coated himself with the lube and moved into position
behind Jim, sliding slowly and carefully into the tight sheath until his
groin rested against the mounds of the perfect ass.  He rested there a
moment, savoring the intimate connection, letting Jim adjust to the
bulk inside him, and planting little kisses along the smooth back.

     "Move, baby," Jim said, thrusting back against Blair, his head
and shoulders raising up a bit now, as if to indicate he was ready for
motion.  Significant motion.  Blair was happy to oblige.  Knowing he'd
left bruises the last time he braced himself on Jim's shoulders, he
directed his overly-enthusiastic hands to the bed, and braced himself
there.  He began pumping his hips steadily, and soon, Jim was thrusting
back against him to increase the sensations.   Up on all fours now, Jim
picked up the pace, and Blair followed his lead, giving in to Jim and
his own need and thrusting in and out of the wet heat in rapid strokes.  

     Jim was moaning and grunting in pleasure with each impact,
and Blair found himself biting the undamaged part of his lip to stay
silent.  He angled his thrusts to start rubbing over Jim's prostate, which
dragged a series of muffled shouts of pleasure out of his lover.  And
then Jim was coming, his muscles clamping down hard on Blair's eager
cock, massaging it and eliciting Blair's cries of pleasure which mingled
with Jim's until their voices were as joined as their bodies.  

     When it was over, Blair lay on Jim's back, still inside him,
massaging the strong shoulders, kissing and licking at the skin beneath
his face.  

     "Love you," he whispered.

     "Love you, sweetheart," Jim whispered back, looking over his
shoulder.  "The only thing I don't like is not being able to look at you,"
he complained affectionately.

     "Consider yourself blessed.  My face is a little scary, man,"
Blair quipped, then returned to his kissing activities.

     "Come here."  Jim started to move a bit, and Blair slipped free
of Jim's body.  Once he was on his back, Jim pulled Blair up on top of
him, wrapping his arms around Blair's body, holding him close, their
faces only inches apart.  "You look beautiful to me," he said, reaching
up and pushing Blair's hair back with both hands.  He then moved on to
kiss each bruise, then pulled Blair down for a long kiss, ever mindful of
the healing lip.  

     "No words," Blair said softly, tracing Jim's lips with his finger. 
"I have no words," he repeated.

     "There aren't any, sweetheart.  Words are too small," he said,
and Blair grinned at that, at being understood perfectly.  He settled into
Jim's arms, letting the sensations of the strong hands rubbing languidly
over his back lull him into sleep with his equally sated lover.

********

     Hutch wandered out of the bathroom in his robe, still a little
damp from the shower.  He froze in his tracks when he noticed the soft
light of the bedside lamps had been replaced by the dancing gold light
of candles, and a silver ice bucket held court over the dresser, housing
a bottle of wine.  Two wine glasses waited patiently beside it.  Starsky
was sitting in the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room dressed in
one of his favorite robes--the deep, cranberry colored one Hutch had
picked out himself--waiting for Hutch's emergence from the bathroom. 
There was something about Starsky in red that had always done evil
things to Hutch's libido that made him unusually partial to that color
family when he bought clothes for his partner.

     "What's the occasion?"  Hutch asked, smiling at the set up.

     "Because I'm an asshole," Starsky responded, somewhat sullen.

     "Then we should have candles every night, babe," Hutch teased,
and smiled as Starsky snorted a little laugh.  

     "Yeah, you're probably right."

     "I was kidding, Starsk."  Hutch sat on the corner of the bed,
across from his partner.  "We had a few words...it was a horrible
situation...people snap sometimes.  It's not that big a deal."

     "I took it out on you and you didn't have that coming."  Starsky
shook his head.  "It was more than just Stanford, though God knows
that's enough of a disaster to explain to I.A."

     "Is that what this is about?  Because we're on our way to I.A.--*again*?"  
Hutch had a bit of a smile in his voice, and Starsky returned
it, though it was a dim ghost of his usual ready smile.  

     "I'm tired, Hutch.  I don't know what to do.  I don't want to sit
on the deck out back and rot away collecting a pension, but I don't
know how much longer I can play the games and get grilled by I.A. and
dance while some little puke twenty years younger shoots at my feet
because he'd like nothing better than to see the old dinosaurs retire."

     Moved by Starsky's miserable posture, Hutch knelt in front of
his lover and took a hold of Starsky's shoulders.  

     "Is it just this case, or has this been coming on for a while?"

     "It's been coming on a while, blondie," he said affectionately,
pushing a little of the blond hair back with one hand.  "I know you've
been ready to retire for a few years now, and I keep puttin' you off... 
Maybe those guys are right and I *don't* know when to call it quits."

     "What guys?"  Hutch frowned.

     "Nobody particular--it's been different people over the last
coupl'a years.  I.A. usually makes a point of asking me about my
retirement plans every time I have to deal with them."

     "Yeah, I know, but then we've probably spent as much time
with them as we have on the streets," Hutch said with a little chuckle,
which Starsky shared, albeit wearily.  "Now that we're involved with
the task force, and with the book coming out...they have to use some
caution in going after us--so retirement would be a nice option for
them.  Let's face it, Starsk.  We've never liked playing by the rules, and
now there are even more rules, so it's bound to be a rough ride for us
with the department."

     "When it gets so I'm yellin' at you and fightin' with you, it's
time."  

     "You just said you didn't want to rot on the deck collecting your
pension."

     "Well, I don't."  Starsky looked a bit helplessly at his partner.  "I
don't know what I want to do, outside'a turnin' back the clock about
twenty years and startin' over again.  Back when we had more life
ahead of us than behind us, back when we weren't talking about stuff
like life insurance and what's gonna happen when we get old and one
of us gets sick..."

     "Is that what this is about?  That stupid brochure I brought
home about long-term care insurance?"  Hutch raised his eyebrows.  "It
was just something I saw on a coffee table in the insurance office when
I went to get that claim paid for the wrecker service last month.  I
thought we ought to at least read it and know what's up with it, and
when to get it."

     "I don't want to get old, Hutch.  Worse than that...I don't want
you to get old, and I don't want you to die, and I don't want you in a
nursing home.  If you're drooling down your chin, *I'll* wipe it up,
right here in our own home."   Starsky stopped short, taking in a couple
of shaky breaths.  Before he could run a hand past his own eyes,
Hutch's thumb was there, catching the one or two little tears that dared
to escape.  "I don't want to let go, but more and more I feel like we're
hangin' around somewhere that we shouldn't be."

     "Because of I.A. or something some other guys are saying?"

     "Partly, and partly Taylor, and partly getting called on the
carpet for everything.  Documenting everything.  Treating the perps
better than the victims."

     "When we get through this case, why don't we take a leave of
absence?  We could go on a trip, get away from here a while...maybe
we're both just burned out."  Hutch laid a large hand on Starsky's cheek,
moving his thumb back and forth in a gentle caress.  "As for all that
insurance stuff, don't give it another thought, babe.  Don't let it drag
you down.  We're not old men dribbling our oatmeal just yet.  It was
just me planning way ahead again, and even at that...you know, I just
figured if for some reason we were both unable to really...take care of
things, we might get in a situation where one or the other or both of us
would need to go into a place where that care was provided."

     "It seems like just yesterday, we were out on the streets, bustin'
the bad guys...bringin' down Gunther and all his tentacles...and like
overnight, it's been twenty years.  I don't want the next twenty to go that
fast, Hutch."

     "I know, babe.  I don't either."

     "I'm not afraid of bein' sick or even dying.  I'm afraid of losin'
you.  And if this dumb job is gonna make me yell at you and fight with
you, then I don't want it anymore."

     Hutch moved forward and pulled Starsky into a tight hug,
closing his eyes and burying his face in the warm spot between
Starsky's neck and shoulder, taking in the familiar blended scent of
soap, recently shampooed hair, aftershave and Starsky himself.  

     "You aren't ever gonna lose me, babe.  Not ever," he promised,
knowing that their bond would transcend anything, even death. 
Thinking back to how he'd felt in those horrible days when Starsky's
life hung in the balance after the shooting, he could understand the fear
Starsky had of what time alone would bring to both of them to face. 
More than that, Hutch knew no separation inflicted by death would last
long.  More than one elderly person followed a spouse into death
within months, weeks, sometimes days.  Hutch held no illusions that
one of them would, as an old man, withstand the shock and trauma of
losing the other for more than a brief period of time.  

     "I don't know what's got into me," Starsky said, still clinging
tightly, but seeming to get a little of the usual strength back in his
voice.  

     "Bad case of the I'm-too-fucking-old-for-this-shit-but-too-damn-
young-to-retire blues?"  Hutch smiled as Starsky laughed out loud at
that assessment.

     "Exactly."  He pulled back and smiled at Hutch.  "You know,
one thing didn't change in all these years.  You're still the most
beautiful blond in the world," he said softly, tangling his fingers in the
fine blond hair that was now threaded with a few hints of silver.  

     "Then you *should* retire, Starsk.  Your eyes are going," Hutch
said, chortling.

     "My eyes are just fine," Starsky said seriously.  "And I still love
ya as much as I did the first time we got over ourselves and admitted it. 
Probably more."

     "Yeah, I know.  I feel the same way, babe," Hutch responded,
smiling and moving forward for a gentle but prolonged kiss.  

     "You want some wine?  It's good stuff--not the grocery store
junk," Starsky said, and Hutch nodded, moving up off his knees so
Starsky could get up and uncork the wine.  

     "Starsk?"

     "What, darlin'?"  He handed Hutch a glass of wine and then
poured his own.  

     "Time isn't going to change anything.  It hasn't for twenty years. 
It won't for another hundred."

     "I'll drink to that," Starsky agreed, tapping his glass against
Hutch's.  After they'd each taken a couple sips, Starsky jerked his head
toward the bed, waggling his eyebrows.  As if of a single mind, they
abandoned the wine glasses on the dresser and the robes on the floor,
and set about proving to each other that time only makes some fires
burn hotter and brighter.

********

     "You people have one hell of a nerve showing up here today,"
Mrs. Stanford said as she greeted the four visitors on her front porch. 
"I'm trying to make arrangements to bury my husband thanks to you."

     "Mrs. Stanford, we're very sorry for your loss--" Hutch began.

     "You're *sorry for my loss*?  My God, you caused my
husband's death, and you have the audacity to stand there and say that
you're sorry for my loss?!"  she demanded bitterly.

     "Your husband took his own life, Mrs. Stanford, and as tragic as
that is, it was his choice," Jim interjected.  "He asked to have a moment
with you.  I daresay you'd have considered the cops a bunch of
inhumane 'pigs' if that request had been denied."

     "Don't throw that hippie rhetoric back in my face," she snapped. 
"What is it you want from me?"

     "We'd like you to answer a few questions," Starsky said.  "You
were very emphatic yesterday that your husband didn't kill Naomi, so it
was our hope you'd want to cooperate in helping us figure out who did. 
That's the fastest way to prove his innocence."

     "Come in."  She stepped back.  "That was a nice speech,
Detective.  Was that in some behavioral psychology text you read in
the academy, or did you think that one up all by yourself?"  She walked
into the living room and sat on the couch, gesturing around her.  "By all
means, make yourselves comfortable."

     "Were you well acquainted with Naomi Sandburg?"  Jim asked.

     "I spoke with her on several occasions.  Mostly when she was
out here with the group for a meditation."

     "Did you ever visit her home?"  Hutch asked.

     "Once or twice, I think.  I took her a few herb plants Frederick
wanted her to have, and another time to return some books he'd
borrowed from her."

     "You were never aware that your husband was having an affair
with her?"  Hutch persisted.

     "I already told you that.  No, I was *not* aware of it."

     "Excuse me.  I didn't know you had company," a male voice
startled them from the kitchen.  A tall man with dark hair who
appeared to be in his mid-forties stood in the doorway, dressed in a
plaid shirt, jeans and scuffed cowboy boots. 

     "This is my brother, Wayne.  It's not company, it's the police,"
she clarified to her brother. 

     "I've been helping my sister with the arrangements.  I can't
believe you people are out here harassing her again," he said, shaking
his head and leaning on the door frame.   "Haven't you done enough?"

     "Since we haven't solved the case, frankly, no, we haven't,"
Hutch responded.  "What happened to Mr. Stanford was very tragic,
and your family has our condolences.  But we are still trying to find a
murderer."

     "Mrs. Stanford...I know how much my mother thought of
Frederick--of both of you."  Blair paused.  "This whole situation has
taken some terrible turns, but I don't believe that Frederick would have
wanted you or Wayne to stand in the way of the investigation.  If you
know *anything*, please help us.  Someone murdered my mother.  You
know how you feel about the cops because Frederick took his own life. 
How would you feel if someone had murdered him?  There're no words
to describe what it feels like to know that someone you love was
snuffed out in violence, that they suffered..."  Blair paused to swallow,
"...that they suffered an agonizing death for some reason you can't even
figure out."

     "Blair, I'm truly sorry for your loss," she said, rising and pacing
a little, looking a bit uncomfortable when faced with Naomi's grieving
son.  "I'm not standing in the way of the investigation.  I just don't know
anything else."

     "Did you visit Naomi on or near the night she died?"  Starsky
asked.

     "No," she replied, moving toward where her brother stood in the
kitchen doorway.  "I'm very tired, and I would appreciate it if you
would leave now, unless you have some sort of warrant."

     "No, we don't have a warrant," Starsky responded, rising.  The
others followed suit.  "And this can wait for now--but we can take you
in for questioning, officially, if that's how you'd rather handle it. 
Perhaps you'd be more comfortable with an attorney present."  Starsky
led the group to the front door.

     "Are you suggesting I have need of one?"  she challenged.

     "Giving legal advice is outside my job description, ma'am. 
That's your decision."  

     "If you continue harassing me, I *will* contact your superiors." 
She slammed the door behind them.  

     "Wayne's an interesting fellow, isn't he?"  Hutch said as they
strolled out to the driveway.  

     "That must be his ride," Jim said, pointing at a white Chevy
Lumina.  "A mid-sized white car."

     "Tall, dark-haired man," Blair echoed, nodding.

     "You know, when she said the word 'police', his heart beat went
through the ceiling," Jim said, crossing his arms over his chest.  "Now
he could have just been really angry..."

     "But you think good old Wayne might be our boy?"  Starsky
prodded.

     "Hey, guys?"  A man's voice surprised them from behind. 
Wayne was walking down the front porch steps, then toward the
driveway.  "Look, this is a real bad time for our family, so cut my sister
some slack, huh?"  he said affably, smiling a bit.  "I didn't mean to
come across so hostile, you know, but she's having a real bad time with
this, and I don't like seeing her upset anymore."

     "Understandable," Starsky said, nodding.  "So, Wayne, are you
here from out of town or are you local?"

     "I live in Bakersfield," he responded.  "I visit Janice whenever I
get the chance," he said, referring to his sister.  "We don't have a lot of
family left.  Parents are dead, we lost a brother to Vietnam."

     "You're very protective of your sister, then.  That makes sense,"
Blair said casually.

     "She's all I've got left.  Got divorced a few years back, so
family's real important."

     "You were close with your brother-in-law too, probably?"  Jim
asked.

     "Well, sure, we were all family, you know?  Hey, I better get
back inside.  Look, if you need to talk with her again, could you maybe
call first?  You know, let her get prepared a little?"

     "Of course," Hutch said, smiling slightly.  "Oh, is this your car,
Mr...Wayne?"

     "Wayne Jensen," he replied, smiling.  "Wayne's fine.  Yeah,
that's mine.  I didn't think I was blocking your exit or anything," he
said, gesturing toward the Torino, which was parked ahead of the
Lumina, at a bit of an angle.  There was plenty of room to get out of the
driveway around the white car.  

     "No, you're fine.  My sister's looking for a new car, and she was
talking about one of these.  Just wondered if you liked it," Hutch said
calmly, walking over to the car and looking in through the closed
window.  "Looks like it's got good interior room in it.  I like these four
door ones myself, but I guess she's looking for a two-door."

     "It's a good car.  No problems," he said.

     "How long've you had it?"  Hutch asked.  "Do you mind?"  He
pointed at the door handle, and the other man hesitated a little, then
shrugged.  Hutch opened it and poked his head into the gray interior.  

     "About six months."

     "Good road car then, too--all that traveling between here and
Bakersfield?"

     "Yeah, it does great."  

     "Hey, Jim, maybe you ought to suggest to Banks that they
switch over to Chevies up there in Cascade," Hutch said, giving Jim a
definite 'eye signal' to come to the passenger side and look in the other
door.  "Looks like better leg room in the back than the sedans we saw
when we were there last year," Hutch added, while Jim looked in the
passenger door.  It would be his lone chance to unofficially scan the
car's interior.  

     "What's going on out here?"  Mrs. Stanford appeared on the
porch, then hurried down the steps.  "Don't you need a warrant to
search a car?"  she demanded.  
     
     "It's fine, Janice.  The detective here said his sister is looking
for a car--"

     "She's probably also the Queen of England," Janice retorted,
crossing her arms over her chest.  "Get off my property.  And don't
come back here unless you've got the necessary warrants."

     "Yes, ma'am," Starsky responded for all of them, and the four of
them withdrew from the area around Wayne's car and headed back for
the Torino.  

     "You pick up on anything?"  Hutch asked Jim as he climbed
into the backseat to ride with Blair.  Once Hutch was inside with the
door closed, Jim responded.

     "Other than him dying a thousand deaths when you went near
that car, no.  I didn't have time to really look at the car itself, but he just
about had a heart attack when you opened the driver's door."

     "Let's go back to headquarters and run a check on Wayne
Jensen."  Starsky started up the car.

     "If we know it's him, shouldn't we pick him up now, for
questioning at least?"

     "Unless he broke down and confessed, we've got nothing to
hold him on.  We're better off not coming on too strong until we know
a little more about this guy.  Having dark hair and driving a white mid-sized 
car isn't illegal.  We have *nothing* on this guy now, except that
he, along with probably 25% of the male population of California,
matches the description from a little old lady who wears glasses and
looked out her window into the darkness."

     "Starsky's right.  Tipping him off now could make him bolt, and
we've got nothing to hold him on," Jim said.

     "How about questioning?  Can't you hold someone for 72 hours
before you charge them?"  Blair asked as they pulled out of the
driveway, casting another look at Wayne and Janice, as they retreated
into the house.

     "Taylor would put a stop to it long before 72 hours was up,"
Starsky said wearily, running a hand over his face.  "Lawsuits scare him
more than the bogeyman."

********

     Wayne Robert Jensen, age 45, a construction foreman, resided
in Bakersfield, California, as he told them.  He owned the Lumina and
a Dodge Ram pick-up, and a house in the suburbs.  He was divorced
from a woman named Bonnie, and had no children.  His rap sheet
began with a few disturbing the peace complaints, escalated to drunk
an disorderly, and then to a couple of assault charges stemming from
barroom brawls.  Five years earlier, he'd been charged with aggravated
assault in the beating and near-strangulation of the woman who was
then his wife.  The charges had been plea-bargained down to assault,
for which he'd served one year in the county jail.  

     "Beating and near-strangulation," Jim repeated, scanning the
file.  

     "Give Whitmore a call up there," Hutch suggested to Starsky,
who pulled out an address book as the four men all sat crowded around
his desk.  "We worked on a serial homicide case that included a couple
of victims from Bakersfield about three years ago.  Whitmore's a good
cop--he'll be glad to provide us some information on this joker."  

     "Tom?  Yeah, this is Dave Starsky down in Bay City," Starsky
leaned back in his chair as he talked on the phone.  "No, not yet, still
hangin' in there," he responded, rolling his eyes.  "You had a case there
about five years ago.  A clown named Wayne Robert Jensen who beat
up and partially strangled his wife, remember him?"  Starsky started
scribbling a few notes as he spoke.  "They take any photos of Mrs.
Jensen's injuries at the time?"  Another pause.  "Think you could scan
'em and e-mail 'em to our M.E.?"  Starsky waited.  "You've got a
scanner there, right?"  He rolled his eyes again.  "Then send 'em as an
attached file."  Another long pause.  "Do you have a clerical person
around who could figure it out?  Oh, your partner can?"  Starsky
sighed.  "Great.  Have Rick scan those in and e-mail 'em as soon as
possible.  We think this joker might have killed somebody here.... 
Right..."  Starsky flipped through the same address book where he'd
found Whitmore's number, and read off Ginny's e-mail address. 
"Thanks a lot, Tom.  If this pans out, we'll drive up to Bakersfield and
buy you a cold one," Starsky added, and after a couple more amenities,
he hung up.  

     "They're sending the pictures?"  Blair asked.

     "His partner's going to e-mail them to Ginny, and I'll call down
there and ask her to be on the lookout.  If we have even one shred of
physical evidence--like matching bruise patterns--it'll go a long way
toward having cause to hold Jensen for questioning."

     "Excuse me."  Blair got up and hurried out of the room, and
Starsky looked a bit stricken.

     "Well, that was sensitive," he said, tossing the address book
aside angrily.  

     "Blair knows the score with the case, Starsky.  You're not
telling him anything he can't already picture," Jim said, standing up. 
"I'll go see where he is.  He wants to be part of this, and he knows that's
going to mean hearing some painful things."

     "Just keep him the hell out of the lab when we look at the
photos," Starsky called after Jim, who just waved an acknowledgment
as he went to find Blair.  He had little concern that Blair would wish to
be present for viewing the photos, but as persistent as Blair was in
hanging onto his direct involvement with the case, he wouldn't have put
it past him.  

     Jim finally tracked his partner to the garage, where he found
Blair leaning against the trunk of the Torino, lower lip tucked
somewhat painfully under his teeth.  
     
     "Ease up on that lip, sweetheart.  It's still healing," Jim said
gently as he approached Blair.

     "I think I'm doing better and then all of a sudden...it just hits me
again," he said, his voice shaky.  

     "When this case is over, you're going to have to be prepared that
it's probably going to hit you in a different way--the part where you
have to cope with it and move on, after you've done all you can do." 
Jim slid his arm around Blair's shoulders.  "You don't get over
something like this overnight, Chief.  You're doing just great."

     "I don't feel very great," Blair said brokenly.  "I'm sorry," he
apologized as tears took over, and Jim pulled him into a tight embrace. 
"It hurts, Jim," he mumbled against Jim's shirt.  "It hurts so bad."

     "I know, baby, I know," Jim whispered against Blair's hair,
relieved for Blair's sake they seemed to have the garage to themselves
at the moment.  "It's a fresh wound yet, Blair.  It doesn't stop hurting
that easily, I know."  

     "I keep thinking...what...what was she thinking...and
feeling...when she knew he...when he..."

     "Shhh.  Don't do that to yourself, sweetheart.  There's
confronting what's happened, and then there's dwelling on it.  Don't go
there anymore than you have to."

     "I was...afraid if...I let go...I wouldn't stop..."  he sobbed against
Jim's shoulder.  

     "Shhh.  It's okay, Chief.  I'm right here.  It's okay."  Jim stood
there for long minutes, just letting Blair cry it out until the tears
dwindled to the occasional sniffle.  

     "Oh, man."  Blair pulled back, wiping at his eyes.  "Talk about
losin' it."

     "You're entitled."  Jim produced a handkerchief and wiped off
Blair's face, then with a quick scan of the area to be sure they were still
alone, he planted a gentle kiss on Blair's mouth.  "Feeling better,
sweetheart?"  Jim took Blair's face in his hands, and Blair nodded a
little.  The bruises were turning an odd greenish yellow now, and
blended with the puffy, red-rimmed eyes, Blair had definitely had
better days.  

     "Bet I look real good too," he quipped, accepting the
handkerchief to wipe his nose.  "You've got a wet spot," Blair said,
trying to wipe at the little area with the handkerchief.  Jim took a hold
of his hand and stopped him, then just held the hand gently.

     "If you give me a wet spot, Chief, don't wipe it off."  Then Jim
smiled a little devilishly, and Blair had to chuckle at that.  

     "This isn't the same."

     "They're your tears.  They're fine right where they are.  As long
as there are no more here," Jim said, punctuating his point by moving
his thumbs lightly under Blair's eyes.  

     "I think I'm okay now."

     "I think you are too," Jim smiled again, slinging an arm around
Blair's shoulders.  They returned to Starsky's desk, and found its owner
absent, while Hutch sat at the computer, glasses in place, staring
intently at the screen.  He hit a couple of keys before Blair moved into
view of the monitor.

     "Pictures get here?"  Blair asked, a little self-conscious at the
beleaguered condition of his face.

     "Whitmore cc'd Starsky on the e-mail, yeah.  He ran an errand
downstairs.  He'll be back in a minute."  As if on cue, Starsky re-entered 
the squad room and made his way over to his work area,
carrying a white styrofoam cup from the cafeteria.  In it was frozen
yogurt topped with raisins and granola.  He handed it to Blair.

     "Ma always used to give me ice cream when I felt lousy, but I
figured you for more of a frozen yogurt kinda guy, like this one over
here," Starsky jerked his head in Hutch's direction.  

     "Thanks, Dad," Blair accepted and cup and smiled, genuinely
touched by the thoughtful little gesture.  The treat from his father was
an extremely welcome bit of "comfort food" at a time when Blair felt
most acutely the loss of his mother.  

     "You okay, junior?"  Starsky asked, brushing a hand lightly over
the back of Blair's head as he returned to his seat behind his desk.

     "Yeah, I am now."

     The phone on the desk rang and Starsky picked it up, obviously
conversing with Ginny about the photos as he moved in closer to look
at the monitor with Hutch.  Jim and Blair stayed on the other side of
the desk, out of view of the monitor.  At one point in the conversation,
Starsky closed his eyes briefly, then brought his closed fist down firmly
but quietly on the desk.  A moment later, he ended the conversation
and hung up the phone.

     "It's an almost exact match," he said.  "Let's go bring our boy in
for a little conversation."

********

     It was the second time in so many days that the Torino,
followed by a black and white unit, made its way out to the Stanford
ranch.  Hutch remained at headquarters, coordinating requests for
search warrants of Jensen's car and home, spending considerable time
on the phone with Detective Whitmore in Bakersfield to orchestrate
any necessary cooperation between the departments.  

     The white Chevy Lumina was still in the drive near the house,
in the same spot it had been when they left.  Starsky pulled in directly
behind the car now, and the three of them, followed by two uniformed
officers, approached the door.  Starsky knocked, and in a moment, Mrs.
Stanford was there, looking incredulous that they would defy her
threats of harassment charges and return a second time that day.

     "We need to speak to Wayne.  Is he here?"  Starsky asked,
knowing she had little choice but to admit he was, given his car was
out front.  

     "Wayne!  The police are here!"  she called into the house. 
"Wayne?"  She frowned a bit.  "Wait here," she said, leaving them
standing on the porch.  Never one to follow such a directive, Starsky
walked into the foyer, Jim and Blair behind him, the other officers
standing just outside the threshold.  

     There was the sound of an engine and the squeal of tires, and all
five men raced out onto the front lawn in time to barely miss being hit
by the white car as it careened around on the lawn and headed out
toward the road.  

     "Son of a-- Get in!"  Starsky bellowed, leaping behind the wheel
of the Torino as Jim and Blair piled into the front seat, not wanting to
take time for Blair to climb into the back of the two-door car.  Starsky
was in motion and hot on Jensen's trail, the black and white unit
following him, lights and sirens piercing the serenity of the country
setting.  "There ain't no point in runnin', Jensen," Starsky muttered
under his breath.  "My engine could eat yours for lunch."  As if to prove
the point, he pushed the pedal the rest of the way to the floor.  

     Jim and Blair both fumbled into seatbelts, neither wanting to
take any unnecessary chances.  

     "Zebra Three to Central, we are in pursuit of a white 1997
Chevy Lumina, California plate--shit!"  Starsky tossed the mic aside
and used both hands to take on an unexpected curve in the road, and to
swerve wildly around a rather slow moving car on the other side of it.  
     
     "Let me call this in," Jim suggested, clearing his throat and
hoping to get his heart out of it.  They had missed the gray sedan in
their path by mere *inches*, and the man behind the wheel of the
Torino appeared possessed as he pursued their prey with a single-minded intensity.

     "You know that question you had about the speed?  It still goes
100," Blair said in a slightly panicked voice.  

     "Come on, cowboy, you're not gonna make it anyway," Starsky
complained, taking them around another wildly fishtailing curve that
raised Jim's voice at least two octaves while he finished giving the car
description and license number, and resumed his somewhat stiffened
posture in the seat.  "Hang on."

     "Why?"  Blair asked, his eyes bugging.  If Starsky felt a need to
warn them after the ride so far, he dreaded to see what lay ahead.

     "Trust me on this one."  Starsky had no sooner said that when
the white Lumina zoomed over a hill and then was airborne before
crashing down loudly back onto the road.  

     "Oh my God!"  Blair let out a shout and clutched at the nearest
stronghold, which was Jim, who surprisingly, appeared to be clutching
for similar support as the Torino took flight.  After the bone-rattling,
suspension-defying landing, Starsky shook his head.

     "Damn, he's pretty good.  Probably need to see Merle again
after this."  The next curve didn't take Jensen out of the game, and
Starsky seemed disappointed by that as he completed the wild turn
himself.  "We're going to be ripping right through a little rural business
district out here before long.  Think you can get a shot off?"  Starsky
asked Jim.

     "Just about positive."

     "Then do it.  We can't hit that area at this speed or somebody's
gonna die, and I'm not lettin' him get away."

     Jim rolled down the window and eased his head and shoulder
out of the car, aiming at the Lumina's rear tire.  He fired once, but a
swerve of the Torino to keep with the curving of the road made it go
wild.  The second shot was deadly accurate, and the white car's tire
exploded, sending the vehicle spinning out of control into a nearby
field, where it flipped once, and came to rest right side up.  Jensen was
out of the car in a heartbeat, running from it into the field.  

     Not to be outdone, Starsky drove the Torino out into the field
and chased their suspect, not wanting to give the fleeing man time to
reach the stand of trees before being apprehended.  Starsky slammed
on the brakes, cut the engine and was out of the car and running full tilt
after Jensen.  Jim and Blair were close behind him, as were the
uniformed officers.  

     As the foot race led them toward the trees, Jim caught up to
Starsky, and only marginally passed him to make the first tackle,
throwing Jensen to the ground.  Starsky was on him next, yanking the
man's arms behind his back and cuffing him.  He moved aside to catch
his breath while Jim hauled the man to his feet and hustled him toward
the uniformed cops.  

     "You just earned yourself a night's free lodging downtown,
Ace."

     "You don't have anything on me!"

     "If we didn't before, that chase just gave us what we need to
throw your miserable ass in a cell!"  Jim shoved him along roughly.

     "You okay?"  Blair asked his father, who was still standing in
the spot where he'd stood after tackling Jensen, leaning forward with
his hands resting on his knees.  He panicked a bit when the older man
just continued breathing heavily, one hand moving to his chest
momentarily.  
     
     "Took that one...a...little too...quick."  Seeing Blair's fear, he
hastened to add, "Not heart, kiddo...just old...pain from the...shooting."  

     "Just take it easy and breathe, Dad," Blair coached, patting his
father on the back.  Starsky seemed to catch his breath and then
straightened, flopping an arm around his son.  

     "I'm okay."  He swallowed.  "I had some...lung damage, and it
doesn't bother me much unless I...really overdo it.  I'll be okay."  By
now, Jim was hurrying back toward them from where Jensen had been
placed in the back of the black and white.  

     "Everything okay?"  he asked.  

     "Yeah.  Fine.  Just a little winded.  That's a lot of running for an
old fart," he joked, chuckling a little.  Jim laughed at that.

     "If all the 'old farts' at the Cascade PD could run like that, guys
like me would have to wait another ten years to get promoted."

********

     "You sure you want to watch this?"  Jim asked Blair, as they
took seats in the room on the other side of the two-way glass that
looked into the interrogation room.

     "I need to hear what he has to say.  I need to know what really
happened to my mom."  Blair took a deep breath.  "I have to be here for
her."

     "Understandable."  Jim settled in his chair and took a hold of
Blair's hand, lacing their fingers.  "If it gets too heavy, we'll wait
outside."

     "Okay," Blair agreed, nodding.  He looked at Jensen now, who
looked a bit ragged from the rolling car and the subsequent chase and
tackle in the field.  His full head of dark hair was in disarray, his plaid
shirt soiled and torn on one sleeve.  It was Hutch who walked in first,
carrying a folder with him, looking very relaxed and nonchalant
indeed.  He started the tape recorder on the table.

###

     "Mr. Jensen, I understand you've got some pretty impressive
driving skills," he said, taking a seat about midway along the side of
the table.  The suspect was seated at the head of it.  

     "No comment," Jensen responded sullenly.

     "You've been advised of your rights, I take it?"  Hutch opened
the folder and scanned the contents.  

     "Rights?  I didn't know I had any.  Why don't you talk to those
two maniacs who tackled me about rights."

     "Maybe I should talk to Naomi Sandburg about 'rights'," Hutch
said calmly, sitting back in his chair.  

     "I didn't agree to talk to you."

     "If you prefer to remain silent, that's your right.  And you may
either contact your own attorney or the court will appoint one for you--well, 
you've already heard that once today, haven't you?"  Hutch smiled
with feigned cordiality.  "Right now you're only under arrest for the
flight from the police.  You were wanted for *questioning* in the
murder of Naomi Sandburg.  There aren't a lot of questions for us to
run by you on the traffic charges, so I'm more concerned with
discussing the murder investigation."

     "If I'm not under arrest for that, I don't have to answer
questions."

     "No, that's true, you don't.  But you should know that we have
search warrants for your home, your car, your pick-up truck and,"
Hutch flipped through a few of the files, "oh yes, your camper and your
boat."

     "I didn't kill anybody."

     "We have an eyewitness who can place you at the scene on the
night of the murder," Hutch bluffed.  Mrs. Lowry could place a tall,
dark-haired man at the scene, but she hadn't positively identified
anyone as of yet.  Starsky was waiting for the police officers who had
gone to her home to give her a ride to headquarters to return with the
elderly woman so they could have a line-up.

     "Then they're lying," Jensen said.

     "Were you aware that for some aggravating circumstances, such
as conspiracy, murder can put you on death row in this state?"

     "I suppose it can.  So what?"

     "We're going to be bringing your sister in for questioning,
Jensen.  You think she'll hold up well under interrogation?"

     "Man, you guys are low.  What're you gonna do, use the rubber
hoses on a grieving widow until she snaps?"

     "We're going to ask her some piercing questions about this case,
because as tragic as your brother-in-law's suicide was, we can't put this
investigation on hold for it.  Now when she's under pressure, do you
think she'll cover for you?"

     "She's got nothin' to cover."

     "That's good to hear.  I understand you had a little problem with
your ex-wife, Bonnie.  You want to tell me what went down there?"

     "It got blown all out of proportion.  We had a fight, I admit I
pushed her around a little, but she made a big deal out of it."

     "Does this look familiar?"  Hutch slid a photo of a woman's
bruised neck in front of Jensen.  "Did you make those marks?"

     "She had some bruises.  I grabbed her by the neck once, and she
told everybody I strangled her.  I guess, yeah, I did that.  She bruised
easy."

     "This is an autopsy photo of the bruising on Naomi Sandburg's
neck."  Hutch tapped the photo Jensen was looking at.

###

     Jim felt Blair's hand flex and squeeze his.  

     "You want to go?"  he whispered.

     "No," Blair said softly, shaking his head.  "I'm okay."

###

     "That's a cheap fucking trick," Jensen shot back.  

     "This is a photo of the bruising on your wife, Bonnie's, neck
after your assault on her."  Hutch positioned the two photos side by
side.  "Remarkable similarity, wouldn't you say?"

     "I think I oughtta see a lawyer."

     "That's certainly your right, Mr. Jensen."  Hutch stacked up the
photos.  "But let me outline for you how this will probably go down. 
Your sister isn't exactly playing with a full deck right now, and a little
pressure is probably going to make her sing like a canary.  We're going
to have a line-up here in a few minutes, in which our eyewitness is
most likely going to confirm her I.D. of you as the man who came to
Naomi Sandburg's door the night she was murdered.  We have the
uncanny similarity of bruise patterns from one admitted assault and the
bruise patterns in this homicide.  After going over your home and all
your vehicles, there's every likelihood there's something you missed
disposing of that can further tie you in."

     "You've got a lot of suppositions and nothing much to back
them up."

     "If all our suppositions pan out, you'll be facing charges of first
degree murder, and conspiracy to commit murder.  And you'll be facing
the death penalty."

     "Excuse me, Detective Hutchinson?"  A uniformed officer
poked his head in the door.  "We're ready for the line-up."

     "I guess we're ready also.  Mr. Jensen has nothing further to tell
us without an attorney, and I'm ready to get this show on the road." 
Hutch stood.  

     The line-up didn't yield as concrete an I.D. as they'd hoped, but
Mrs. Lowry indicated that of the six men presented, number four--Jensen--
most closely matched the appearance of the man she saw at the
Bloomfield house.  As Hutch geared up to resume the interrogation and
put the most dismal spin on the I.D. for Jensen's benefit, Jackson
Walters, one of the PD's head Forensic lab technicians, came rushing
into the viewing room and collared Starsky at the door, handing him a
folder with a big smile on his face.  Sometimes it was hard for Starsky
to believe that this intelligent man who coordinated much of the
evidence analysis in the lab had come so close to being a delinquent in
the wake of his father's unjust shooting by a police officer 25 years
earlier.  Out of a hotbed of racial unrest and inner city pressures,
Jackson Walters, Jr. had grown up to be a top flight scientist, and had
spent the last ten years sharing his skills with the Bay City PD.  

     "Check out the match on the prints we found on the shards of
that blue vase out of Bloomfield's trash," Jackson said smugly.  "Think
that might help?"  he asked.

     "Aw, yes, this is *it*.  Jackson, you're beautiful, man," Starsky
effused.

     "I'll remind you'a that the next time I *don't* get the results
you're lookin' for."  Jackson headed back for the elevators, and Starsky
caught up to Hutch before he returned to the interrogation room, where
Jensen would once again be waiting.  

     "Read it an' weep."  He handed Hutch the information.

     "The unidentified fingerprints on the shards of blue vase we
found in Bloomfield's trash are *Jensen's*?"  Hutch looked up, catching
a bit of Starsky's enthusiasm now.

     "He musta cleaned it up after he struggled with Naomi and put
it in the trash.  We got him at the scene, Hutch."

     "Hey, did somebody take Mrs. Lowry out to look at the car in
the impound lot yet?"

     "Jim's doing that right now.  Drag your feet a minute on going
back in with Jensen.  Blair's on the other side of the two-way glass, and
I wanna be in on the rest of the interrogation, but I want Jim with him
if Jensen confesses.  It could get graphic."

     "Let him stew a few minutes anyway.  It'll do him good."

     "May not have to.  Hey, what's the verdict?"  Starsky asked Jim
as he strode down the hall toward them.  

     "She said the car she saw had a tail light that didn't work."

     "Jensen's car only had one tail light when he jammed on the
brakes during that chase," Starsky said.  "What'd she say about the
car?"

     "She said 'that sure looks like it but I don't know the models too
well to know for sure'--but when we tested it with hitting the brake
lights, she identified it--she said that was the same as the back end of
the car she saw that night.  Sounds like a good ID to me."

     "Combined with this, it works like a charm."  Hutch handed Jim
the folder.

     "We got him."  A somewhat feral grin spread over Jim's face.

     "I'm gonna have 'em bring in his sister.  I wanna lean on her and
see if we can make a case for conspiracy.  If so, we could have a
capital murder case here."  Starsky jogged down the hall toward the
squad room, happy as a clam.

     "Where's Blair?"  Jim frowned a bit, seeming to realize now that
his other half was nowhere in sight.

     "I think he's back on the other side of the glass--probably staring
at Jensen, who doesn't know he's in there.  He made a beeline back
there after the line-up."

     "You need help with Jensen or is Starsky going to work on him
with you?"

     "I figure I'll get started again, and after Starsky's had a bit of
time with the sister, he can come in and drop that information on
Jensen, and see what happens."

     "I'll go wait with Blair, then.  I don't think he should be hearing
what Jensen has to say, by himself."

     "Agree with you there," Hutch said, nodding.

********

     Janice Stanford sat sullenly at the table in the interrogation
room, resolutely silent.   Her long salt-and-pepper hair was tied loosely
in a pony tail, and she fidgeted with the simple gold wedding band she
wore on her left ring finger.  She had strong features, and Starsky, who
sat across from her with a tape recorder between them on the table,
couldn't decide if she had been pretty at one time.  Now she simply
looked hard and cold.

     "I told you I want a lawyer."

     "You're not under arrest, Mrs. Stanford."

     "I know my rights."

     "Your brother is going down for this.  I just want you to be
aware of that.  My partner is talking with him right now, as we speak. 
First one to talk makes the deal.  Loser goes down for first degree
murder, with a possible conspiracy charge thrown in.  I'll be happy to
provide you a telephone to call your lawyer, but clamming up could be
a very unwise choice.  But it's your choice."

     "Nice choice you're giving me.  I should confess to some crime
or blame it on my brother."

     "Oh, your brother did it, all right enough."  Starsky leaned back
in the chair.  "We've got evidence putting him there that night, physical
evidence that he took part in a struggle, and I daresay we'll probably
find still more corroborating evidence from searching his house and his
vehicles.  Now that we know who, and what, we're after.  What I want
to know is whether or not big sister was pulling the strings," Starsky
added.

     "You have a hell of a lot of nerve accusing me of something
like that.  Why would I do it anyway?"

     "Oldest motive in the book, next to money--jealousy."

     "I just found out about the affair."

     "Really?"  Starsky nodded.  "Why would your brother visit
Naomi Sandburg the night she died?"

     "How should I know?"
     
     "You two are pretty close, right?"

     "Yes."

     "Well, I just find this an odd string of events.  You are
supposedly visiting your mother in San Diego.  Your brother, who
normally lives in Bakersfield, is up here, visiting you while you're not
home, and just happens to drop by and visit a woman who is having an
affair with your husband--and does so in what has to be *moments*
after your husband leaves.  Meanwhile, you return home from San
Diego, and your brother is...where?  At your place?  Back home in
Bakersfield?"

     "It was a mix up.  It happens."

     "Is your brother in regular touch with your mother?"

     "What does that have to do with anything?"

     "I just find it odd that if you two are so close, and he visits
often, that you didn't mention the visit to your mother."  Starsky leaned
forward on the table.  "As it stands now, we've got Wayne nailed.  It's
just a matter of sorting out the charges, and they're not gonna be pretty. 
If you've got some part in this, now's the time to speak up unless you
want to stand back and let him take the fall.  Provided, of course, he
chooses to suffer in silence and cover for you."

     "Detective, you haven't given me anything but a bunch of odd
circumstances.  Families mix up dates and times all the time, and as
often as we visit each other, there're bound to be times one of us isn't
home.  You've got nothing.  You're bluffing.  And you're not very good
at it."

     "Charging Wayne with murder one is no bluff.  It'll happen
before the night's over."  Starsky stood up and headed for the door. 
"You're free to go, for now," he said, starting to open the door.  

     "What makes you think it was murder one?"  she asked. 

     "Because I don't believe he had any other reason to go to her
house than to kill her.  Unless you know something I don't--which I'm
betting you do."

     "No, I'm afraid I don't."  She rose from her chair.  "You did say I
was free to go?"

     "Conspiracy equals 'special circumstances'.  He could get the
death penalty--and so could you."  Starsky pulled the door open and
stood aside.  "If you walk through that door, we're offering no more
deals.  We don't have to."

********

     Jim and Blair watched silently as Wayne Jensen listened to
Hutch's account of the evidence, his face betraying a certain discomfort
when the fingerprint evidence was divulged. ////  
     "We've got you at the house, Wayne.  It's just a matter of time. 
When we get our act together, we'll have no reason to cut you any slack
for cooperating."

     "All I was gonna do was talk to her," he began, looking down at
his folded hands where they rested on the table.  "She was screwing
around with Freddie, and Janice found out about it.  She was pretty
upset..."


###

     Jim took Blair's hand, and Blair laced his fingers with Jim's and
squeezed.

###

     "Why don't you start from the beginning and tell me what
happened?"

     "Janice called me three days before that, and she was really
upset.  There's this phone down the basement at the ranch, and I guess
she picked it up and Freddie was on the phone with Naomi, and it was
pretty clear what was going on."

     "In what way?"

     "They were making plans to get together while Janice was
visiting her mother.  Naomi said this Harold character she was living
with was going to be out of town, so why didn't he come over there?"

###

     Jim turned to look at Blair, who was staring fixedly at Jensen. 
His heartbeat was speeding up, his respiration becoming more rapid,
but his face remained unchanged.  Only the death grip on Jim's hand
was an external sign of how hard this was for him to hear.

###


     "Anyhow," Jensen continued, "they made their plans, and Janice
hung up and didn't say anything to him.  She called me, and told me
that she knew he was steppin' out on her, and now she knew who with--she 
said she suspected it a while, because she felt there was something
between them that was...different.  She put up with all his hippie free
love shit, but I kept tellin' her it was just an excuse to get a little extra
free tush on the side."

###

     Jim looked over at Blair again, worried how Blair would feel
when things got graphic.

     "You want to hear the rest of this?"  Jim asked Blair, who
nodded.  

     "I need to hear how it happened.  My mom can't tell me."

     "Okay.  Anytime it gets too rough, we're outta here on your say-so."

     "Okay," Blair agreed, nodding as they turned their attention
back to Hutch and Jensen. 


###
     
     "That's what you figured Naomi for then--"a little extra free
tush"?"  Hutch asked, the distaste plain in his voice.

     "Janice said she had been hanging out with Freddie and his guru
group or whatever you call it since back in the late 60's sometime.  She
always thought there was something going on there, but it wasn't until
she heard the phone call that she knew for sure.  So yeah, since they
were planning on getting together while their other halves were outta
town, that's how I had her figured."  He paused, then continued.  "The
plan was to catch Freddie there and have it out with both of 'em.  I
figured if her old man was gone, they'd spend the night there.  So I
waited 'till goin' on eleven to even go there.  When I got there, he was
already gone.  I figured since I'd driven all the way up from
Bakersfield, I might as well have my say.  I could go have a little
quality time with my brother-in-law when I got done with her."

     "Got done with her?"  Hutch asked, raising an eyebrow.

     "All I was gonna do was talk.  That's all it was ever s'posed to
be, and Janice didn't know anything about it.  I wanted her out of the
way when I talked to Freddie, so her being at Ma's was perfect."

###

     "What's going on?"  Starsky asked quietly as he slipped in the
observation area behind Jim and Blair.  

     "A confession," Jim said simply.

     "Better wait to go in there then.  Don't want to disturb the flow,"
Starsky said, sitting down next to Blair.  "Doin' okay?"  He ran his arm
along the back of Blair's chair.

     "I'm okay," Blair said quietly, nodding a little.

###

     "...about quarter to eleven, and I didn't see the van.  Anyhow, I
went up to the door, and she answered it and I said I was Janice's
brother, and that I had a few things I wanted to say to her.  She looked
a little jittery about letting me in, but I kinda got up in her face and she
backed away so I could walk in.  I told her I knew the score--what was
up with her and my sister's husband.  She was still wearing this silk
robe and looked like she'd just crawled out of the sack.  She said she
wanted to get dressed, and I could wait in the living room.  I told her
we should settle it right then, and she told me she wasn't going to settle
anything until she got dressed and then she went into the bedroom and
slammed the door.  I got thinking maybe I should leave, maybe she was
callin' the cops, or somebody else, so I picked up the extension in the
living room, but nobody was on the line."

     "She didn't attempt to call anyone then?"  Hutch clarified.

     "No.  She came about five minutes later, and she had on jeans
and some kind of puffy-sleeved shirt--"

     "A poet shirt?"

     "I don't know.  I guess.  White, and kind of ruffly at the neck. 
And she'd combed up her hair.  She was sort of cute.  I could see how
she'd be competition for Janice.  I love my sister but she's not much to
look at.  Anyhow, I told her she better call it quits with Freddie, and
that it was over."

     "How did she react to that?"

     "She said that it was none of my business, and that if Janice
indeed knew the score, they could all sit down and talk about it."

     "What was your response to that?"  Hutch asked casually.

     "I told her that my sister was my business, and that no cheap
hippie whore was gonna screw up a thirty-year marriage.  I told her she
better back off Freddie and end it with him, or else."

     "Or else...?"

     "I figured I'd slap her around a little, throw a scare into her."

###

     "Son of a bitch," Blair muttered under his breath, his grip on
Jim tightening a little more.  Starsky's arm moved from the back of the
chair to Blair's shoulders.  

     "We don't have to listen to this now, kiddo.  I can get you a
transcript."

     "I need to hear this," Blair protested.  "I need to hear it from
him."     

###

     "Is that what you did then?"  Hutch asked.

     "Not right away.  She said she didn't appreciate threats and told
me to leave.  I told her I wasn't goin' anywhere until this thing was
settled.  That was when she went to the desk that was against the wall
in the corner of the room, and opened a drawer.  Honest to God, I
thought she was goin' for a gun.  I didn't have anything like that with
me, and I didn't want to end up with a bullet in my guts.  I grabbed her
from behind and we started struggling.  I swear to God that woman was
all elbows and knees, and I couldn't settle her down."

     "How did you finally manage it?"  Hutch asked, calmly taking
notes as Jensen talked.  

     "I finally slugged her and she fell--it dazed her a little, but
before I could get a hold of her again, she grabbed that vase and hurled
it at me.  Bitch barely missed taking my head off with it."

     "So you killed her?"  Hutch surmised.

     "No.  But I was pissed off, and I grabbed her when she tried to
make a run for the front door.  We struggled, and one thing led to
another, and the next thing I knew...she was dead."

     "Sounds like you've skipped a few of the salient points of the
story, Jensen.  We both know she didn't just *die*.  And I don't buy that
you've got traumatic amnesia."

     "She was lashing out at me and I was trying to get control of
her, and at some point, I ended up grabbing her by the neck with both
hands, since it was the only way I could get a good hold on her and
push her back so she wasn't smacking at me so hard."

     "You make a habit of grabbing women by the neck?"  Hutch
spat out derisively.  

###

     "Watch it, Blondie, don't piss him off," Starsky said quietly.  "If
he gets too testy, I better go in there."

     "Wouldn't want to offend a murderer," Blair grumbled, wiping
his eyes with the hand that wasn't squeezing the life's blood out of Jim's
trapped hand. 

     "Not when he's confessing, you don't," Jim said simply.    

###

     "...or do you wanna hear what I have to say?"  Jensen
challenged angrily.

     "I'm all ears, Jensen," Hutch responded mildly.

     "I guess I had a tighter hold on her than I thought, because she
started choking, and by the time I realized what I was doing, it was too
late."

     "You didn't realize you were strangling her until she was dead," 
Hutch clarified, deadpan, the disbelief plain in his voice.  

     "I guess I knew but I didn't mean for it to go that far.  She was
struggling and I was just tryin' to get her to calm down and stop
fighting me, and I was afraid she was gonna get away and go to the
cops, and with my record, I knew I'd be in for it if I got arrested again. 
I swear I didn't mean to kill her.  All of a sudden, she went limp, and
her eyes were just...*staring* back at me... all wide and surprised, and
at first, I thought that's all it was, that she was staring at me, but then I
realized she was *dead*.  I let go and she just...collapsed there.  I didn't
realize I'd been holding her up by the neck until I let go."

###

     Blair turned and buried his face against Jim's shoulder and
cried.  Jim's arms came around him then, and Starsky stood up, running
a hand over Blair's back in a comforting motion.

     "Get him outta here, now," he said quietly.

     "They're...not...done," Blair managed.

     "You are for tonight, kiddo.  I'm pullin' rank on both of you. 
Come on."  Starsky ushered the two men out of the interrogation room
and steered them to a break room across the hall.  "There's a lock on
the door, and a coffee pot in there.  Take your time.  I'll fill you in
when it's over."

     "I need to hear all of it," Blair protested weakly, still leaning
into Jim's support.

     "That's what transcripts are for, Chief.  We'll get all the facts,
but you don't have to hear it all now."  Jim guided Blair into the break
room, and Starsky headed back for the observation area where they had
been sitting.   

###

     "...was kind of messy, so I figured I better do something about
it.   I thought if it was at least neat, it might take a couple days before
anybody thought something had happened.  I figured maybe nobody'd
figure that anything happened right there, you know, if it was neat like
before."

     "So you tidied up?"

     "I cleaned up the broken vase, set up a couple things that got
knocked over...I don't remember exactly.  I tried to wipe stuff off I had
touched, but I couldn't figure out everything."  He snorted and shook
his head.  "I never thought about the damn pieces of the vase.  I put it
in the trash out back, under some papers and stuff."
     
     "What did you do with the body?"  Hutch asked.

     "There was nobody outside, on the street, and the lights were
out just about everywhere nearby.  There was a light in the house
across the street, but I didn't see anybody near the windows.  So I
picked her up and carried her out to the car and put her in the trunk."

     "Any special reason you left her in a landfill?"

     "It was the only place I could think of that wasn't locked up that
was still secluded...it seemed pretty...*anonymous*...you know, hard to
trace.  So I dumped her there and then took off."

     "Then what?"

     "Then nothing.  I went back to Bakersfield."

     "What about your sister?"

     "She was in San Diego."

     "We've established that.  When did you tell her about Naomi?"

     "I didn't.  She didn't know."

     "I find that hard to believe."  Hutch continued to stare
unwaveringly at the other man until he looked away.

     "I told her when the cops started questioning Freddie and
searching the ranch.  She told me to lay low and maybe it would blow
over--nobody had any reason to suspect me.  I think she wanted me to
confess if Freddie didn't get off the hook on his own."

     "Did you plan to comply with those wishes?"

     "Not if I could help it."  Jensen ran a hand through his hair. 
"Look, I'm not sayin' I'm some sort of boy scout here.  But I never
meant to kill anybody, and if I had it to do over again, I wouldn't've
gone near that house.  But one thing just lead to another, you know?"

     "And a woman ended up dead."

     "I thought she was going for a gun."

     "Right," Hutch said, nodding.  "Which is why it was necessary
to strangle her to death?"

     "I didn't mean for it to go that far."

     "Okay, Jensen, I think that about wraps it up for now.  We'll get
this transcribed, and you'll have the chance to review it and sign it." 
Hutch took the tape out of the recorder.  

     "Am I under arrest?"

     "Just sit tight.  Someone'll be in to handle the formalities."  

     Hutch walked out of the interrogation room and let out a long
breath.  Starsky met him in the hall.  

     "I hope Blair wasn't listening in on all that," he said, gesturing
with the tape.

     "Too much of it, but he didn't want to leave.  I guess we oughtta
pick up sis."

     "Accessory after the fact and obstruction of justice for
openers?"  Hutch asked, making a note on the pad he had with him.

     "That'll work.  Hey, what was in the drawer, anyway?"

     "There was a small can of pepper spray in there," Hutch
responded.  "Remember we found one in the bedroom night stand, and
one in Naomi's purse?"

     "I guess she spent enough time alone she wanted to feel safe."

     "Yeah," Hutch said softly, nodding.  "I'll send somebody out to
the ranch.  I want to make sure everything goes smoothly with Jensen's
booking."

********

     "Drink this."  Jim sat back down next to Blair, handing him a
glass of water.  The tears had subsided, but Blair was a deathly white,
the only color in his face the contrast of the healing bruises.  He was
silent for a long moment, then covered his mouth and stumbled past
Jim, running out of the room.  "Blair!"  Jim called after him, up and out
of his chair right behind his fleeing partner.  

     Blair darted into the men's room, and as Jim entered the room
behind him, staggered into the nearest stall to be violently sick to his
stomach.  A moment later he emerged, walking a bit unsteadily until
Jim got a hold of his arm and steadied him.  

     "I keep thinking about what it would feel like...his hands on her
throat, and she couldn't breathe or call for help," Blair began somewhat
helplessly, his voice weak with the shock and grief hearing the killer's
confession had brought to the surface.  

     "You know Naomi wouldn't want you to dwell on that, baby." 
Jim pulled Blair into a close hug and rubbed his back gently.  "I'm so
sorry, honey."

     "It's...so easy...for you...and my dad...to hear things like that
about her..."  Blair managed, shuddering a little. 

     "We both read the coroner's report, Blair.  That, together with a
lot of years of hearing a lot of confessions--we knew what to expect." 
Jim paused.  "We both knew Naomi and loved her for our own reasons,
and when we found out what happened to her, it was horrible.  I think
we had a more vivid picture of it in our minds prior to Jensen's
confession, that's all."

     "She never would've had a gun in the house," Blair said
resolutely, pulling back a little.  "You know how she felt about guns
and violence."

     "Whatever she did, it spooked Jensen, and that's the significant
thing here."  Jim cupped Blair's cheek gently.  "Think you'll be okay
now?  Stomach settled down a little?"

     "Yeah, I'll be okay.  Just..."  Blair hesitated a split second, then
wrapped his arms tightly around Jim again.  "I just needed this again."

     "We've really got the right guy this time, Chief.  It's over."  Jim
held Blair tightly against him.  "It's gonna be okay, baby.  We've got
him."  

     "I can't get the picture out of my mind," Blair muttered, his
voice breaking badly before tears took over again.  

     "You should have never heard that, sweetheart.  There was no
need."  

     "I needed to know...how she died.  To understand
what...happpened.  Jim...she wasn't.... just because she was
with...Frederick..."

     "Shhh.  It's okay, baby.  It's okay," Jim soothed.  "I liked your
mom, and I cared about her.  I don't think anything bad about her."  Jim
rested his head against Blair's, running his hand up and down the
shaking back in a gentle motion.  "You can't always control who you
love, and people make mistakes.  Sometimes love makes you do things
you know aren't right on some level...and she wasn't having an affair by
herself.  Stanford was a big boy.  He knew what he was doing."  Jim
was quiet a moment.  "You said yourself your mom believed in the
whole free love, hippie culture mentality.  Maybe she honestly didn't
see anything wrong with them sharing that."
     
     "She wouldn't've done it unless Frederick had acted like he
wanted out of the marriage or something."  Blair took in a couple of
shuddering breaths.  "She only had one other relationship with a
married guy the whole time I was alive," Blair said, wiping at his eyes. 
"And he was miserable and trying to get a divorce, which didn't
ultimately pan out, so she broke it off."  He backed away a little from
Jim.  "My mom wouldn't have been constrained by the legality of the
marriage when it came to loving someone, but she never would have
come between a couple who loved each other.  To her, the love was
sacred, but the marriage...not necessarily.  She didn't believe in
marriage--at least not in conventional civil ceremonies.  If people were
in love and wanted to be together for life, she always felt like that was
enough.  If the love wasn't there anymore..."  Blair shrugged.

     "Let's go see if your dad or Hutch has any news for us, huh? 
They're probably getting the technicalities taken care of with booking
Jensen."  

     "Okay," Blair agreed, walking out of the restroom with Jim,
more than a little grateful when Jim reached down and took a hold of
his hand.  The little contact was all the strength Blair needed to keep
going.

********

     Starsky was typing something into the computer when Jim and
Blair approached the desk.  He pulled off his glasses and sat back in the
desk chair.  

     "Well, we're holding Jensen, and the DA wants to review the
confession and the evidence to decide how to charge him.  Hutch and I
want murder one, but I got a sinking feeling the DA's going for second
degree.  If he goes for manslaughter, Jensen won't be the only one
going up for murder."

     "They wouldn't do that, would they?"  Blair asked.

     "Well, if I had to guess, this is how I see it playing out.  Or how
it should play out, really.  The DA charges Jensen with murder one. 
There're some fairly reasonable explanations that a jury might believe
in regard to it not being premeditated.  Yeah, he admits to planning on
using some intimidation tactics, and we know he already assaulted his
ex-wife by partially strangling her, but those things actually work
against us.  He's not denying that he intended to go there, and that type
of assault is something he's done before--only he stopped short of
murder.  He didn't take a weapon with him."  Starsky rubbed his eyes. 
"I see a plea bargain."  He put his glasses back on and opened the file
folder.  "I see the DA charging him with murder one and then working
with Jensen's attorney to get him to cop a plea to second degree.  No
trial, no fuss, no muss, tidy conviction."

     "If what Jensen said is true, he's guilty of second degree," Jim
said, sitting against the edge of the desk.  "But that allows for parole at
some point."

     "True, but Jensen's in his 40's.  If he gets twenty years right
now, he won't be a big threat to society when he gets out.  Given the
brutality of the crime--"  Starsky paused, closing his eyes briefly as
Blair sank down into a chair.  "I'm sorry, kiddo.  Shop talk--I'm used to
just puttin' it out there."

     "It's okay," Blair said, nodding.  "It's just hard to hear."

     "You doin' okay?  You look like hell."

     "Thanks, Dad."  Blair smiled slightly, and Starsky returned it. 
"I'm okay."

********

     With the case finally wrapped up, Fordney, Jensen and Janice
Stanford all in custody for their various roles, Blair finally felt a slight
sense of inner peace.  The lawyers had yet to work out all the
technicalities, and he had little doubts that a few things would be
sacrificed in the name of plea bargains, but based on the strong
evidence against the three accused, it was likely the DA would play
hardball and hold steady on at least the most serious charges.  

     The first night that wasn't occupied with case business, the four
men received a dinner invitation to the Dobeys'.  The retired police
captain and his wife were anxious to finally meet Starsky's son, and
Jim and Blair both had to admit they were anxious to meet the man
Starsky and Hutch seemed to consider their "third partner".  

     The Dobey residence was a neat, attractive two-storey home on
a quiet suburban street with a carefully manicured lawn and
landscaping which was the obvious result of much loving attention by
the two retired occupants.  As the Torino pulled up in the driveway, a
portly black man with curly graying hair made his way out to the car.  

     "Sneaky Pete finish up the engine work for you, Starsky?" 
Dobey greeted as Starsky got out of the driver's seat first, followed by
the car's other three passengers.  "I thought I was having flashbacks,"
he joked.

     "A few weeks ago, actually.  I just started takin' it out on the
road.  Decided it wasn't much good to me under a tarp in the garage." 
With Blair walking up behind him now, Starsky flopped an arm around
his son's shoulders.  "Harold Dobey, meet Blair Sandburg, heir to the
Starsky throne," he announced, and Blair laughed, shaking hands with
Dobey, who smiled readily at the introduction.

     "Must get his looks from his mother's side," Dobey needled,
then he became serious again.  "Blair, I'm sorry about your mother. 
Very tragic case."

     "Thanks, it was.  I'm just glad we got the creep behind bars. 
Doesn't change anything, but at least he didn't get away with it."  Blair
turned to Jim.  "This is my partner, Jim Ellison," he said, stepping aside
so the two men could shake hands.  

     "And that's my partner over there you remember Ken
Hutchinson?"  Starsky joked.  
     
     "He was always a smart ass," Dobey said of Starsky, laughing
affectionately.  "Edith's got hors d'oeuvres and wine for us in the living
room, so why don't we head inside?"  

     The four of them filed into the house, through the foyer and into
the large, pleasant living room.  A coffee table was set with cheese and
crackers and a few other small plates of snacks, one or two looking a
bit the worse for wear.

     "I see we missed the beef rolls again," Hutch commented,
checking out the plate which only bore two rather shriveled beef rolls--
thinly-sliced roast beef wrapped around cream cheese and green
onions.

     "You're late," Dobey groused a bit defensively.

     "You said six o'clock, Cap'n," Starsky reminded.  "It's only
6:10."  Starsky looked at the other man inquisitively, and Dobey
cleared his throat.

     "Edith's in the kitchen.  I'll get her.  Excuse me."  Dobey headed
down the hall toward the kitchen.  

     "He seems really nice," Blair opined, as he and Hutch pounced
opportunely on the last two beef rolls.  
     
     "Don't let him fool you he knew how to kick some serious ass
in his day.  Ours, occasionally," Starsky said, smiling a bit devilishly.

     Feeling intense pangs of guilt, Blair took a bite of his beef roll
and gave the second bite of the little treat to Jim.  Hutch suffered no
such pangs as he finished up his snack.

     "Some people know how to share," Starsky protested, to which
Hutch snorted a little laugh.  

     "They're still in the honeymoon phase, Gordo.  Give 'em a
couple more years and it'll be every man for himself at the buffet
table."

     "I figured we'd need a refill on the beef rolls," Edith Dobey
announced as she entered the room, carrying another small plate full of
the little goodies.  A tall woman in her late sixties, Edith's dark hair
was also streaked with gray, and she had the same pleasant demeanor
her husband did.  Dobey, who followed her out of the kitchen,
introduced Jim and Blair.

     "It's wonderful to meet both of you.  Blair, Dave has told us so
much about you, I feel like I know you already."

     "Well, thanks, but he brags a lot," Blair said, chuckling.  "I
don't know how much of it I can live up to."

     "All of it," Starsky said, nodding once in confirmation.  "If you
haven't done it yet, you will."

     "Why don't we all sit down?"  Edith suggested.  "Harold, would
you serve the wine, dear?"

     "Of course.  Wine, everyone?"  With four nods of confirmation
from the guests, he poured the wine and served it.  When all were
seated again, he said, "How do you think this case is going to shake
down?"  He directed the question at Starsky and Hutch.  Hutch
shrugged slightly before responding.

     "I think Starsk called it pretty well--Jensen is getting threatened
with first degree murder, but since the DA is partial to second degree
as the charge we can get a conviction on, they'll probably plea bargain
it down to that.   His sister Stanford's wife we don't really have
evidence of conspiracy with her, so she'll most likely get off the hook
on obstruction of justice and withholding evidence.  I'd like to see them
go for accessory after the fact, but I'm not sure how far the DA'll push
it."

     "She knew about it long enough to cooperate with the police. 
She was protecting a killer.  That should earn her the accessory
charge," Jim said, sipping his wine.  "She had ample opportunity to
come clean."

     "What about that lunatic who kidnaped Blair?"  Edith asked.  "I
was shocked when Harold told me he wasn't the one charged with the
murder," she added.

     "We were too," Hutch said.  "Everything pointed to him.  He
was stalking both Blair and Naomi, he had a violent history with the
victim..."  Hutch shook his head.  "But he didn't kill her, and honestly,
killing her, or Blair, wouldn't have fit in with his twisted plans.  He
needed them alive for that.  In any event, he won't be seeing the light of
day for a good long time.  He's up for kidnaping, aggravated assault, a
host of B&E charges--you name it."

     "Maybe Blair would like a break from discussing the case,"
Edith suggested mildly.  "Blair, why don't you tell us a little more about
your work at the University.  Dave said you're almost finished with
your doctorate?"

     The rest of the hors d'eouvre hour passed with pleasant
conversation until the group moved to the dining room for dinner. 
Edith presented a lovely spread of homemade foods, including
delicious baked chicken, potatoes, homegrown green beans, and fruit
salad.  By the time the Oreo cookie pie was served, the guests were all
making token protests about how they would never find a way to fit it
in--which, of course, they all did.  

     "So, Jim, do you do much undercover work up there in
Cascade?"  Dobey asked, leaning back in his chair with his coffee.

     "Not as much as I used to, but we still do some on occasion.  I
did a lot more when I was on Vice."

     "One'a these days, I wanna hear those stories," Starsky said,
grinning devilishly.  "I always said we shoulda worked Vice, Hutch."

     "And miss all the glamour of working Homicide?"  Hutch
retorted, chuckling.

     "You two saw plenty of glamour in your day.  Mr. Marsha or
whoever the hell you were," Dobey tossed at Hutch, who choked a little
on his coffee.

     "I think it was Mr. Marlene, Cap," Starsky retorted, chortling at
Hutch's discomfort.  
     
     "You should talk.  I wasn't the one giving out the bad perms."

     "You weren't exactly turnin' those old gals into runway models
either, buddy."

     "Is somebody going to fill us in on this?"  Blair asked, smiling
at the exchange.

     "I did a lot of things in Vice, but I never had an undercover
identity named Marlene.  This I gotta hear," Jim said, his curiosity
piqued now.

     "We went undercover as hairdressers, okay?"  Hutch responded
defensively.

     "And that was before I knew how appropriate that cover was,"
Dobey added, and Starsky laughed out loud at the politically incorrect
jab from their former boss.  "I was going to send them under as
ballerinas next, but I couldn't get tutus in their sizes."

     "Yeah, well, Hutch looks better in basic black and pearls
anyway," Starsky added, still laughing.  Hutch had to chuckle in spite
of himself now. 

     "I guess that cover was better than the little old Jewish couple
routine.  Trust me on one thing--you don't *ever* want to see Starsky in
drag as his mother," Hutch added.

     "Oh, yeah?  We had to put a mustache and shaggy white hair on
you 'cause there was no way in hell you were gonna pass for a Jew any
day of the week.  That's what I get for havin' a partner who looks like
an escapee from a Swiss Miss carton.  I get stuck playin' the little old
lady."

     "Why is that mental image not taking shape in my mind?"  Jim
asked, laughing.

     "You should've seen granny over here goin' after the bad guys
and trying to keep his stockings up at the same time."   

     "Oh, well, gave 'em an interesting story to tell in the cell block,
anyway."

     "Not half as interesting as the story those guys in the
laundromat had to tell.  So, Jim, have you ever busted anyone wearing
nothing but a towel and your holster?"

     "Just me," Blair said, which brought a hearty laugh out of the
group.

     "Besides Blair, I can't say I have," Jim responded finally, still
chuckling.  "What happened?"

     "There were some creeps holdin' up a laundromat, and my
partner over here decides he should just stroll in there like a dummy
with a load of laundry to get closer to the action.  Strange as it may
seem, we didn't have a laundry bag with us at the time, so one of us had
to strip and hand over his clothes to come up with a laundry bundle. 
Guess who drew the short straw."

     "Oh, man, what'd you do?"  Blair asked, laughing.

     "I was hidin' behind the building, and I spotted a clothesline in a
yard nearby, so I darted over there and grabbed a towel.  I was
supposed to give Hutch a couple minutes and then bust in.  So I got
into the towel, and busted in.  Beat havin' to bust in without it."

     "Yeah, if you thought that old lady was screaming then, think
what would have happened if a naked cop had jumped through the door
to rescue her," Hutch said, snickering.

     "How're things going with Taylor?"  Dobey asked.  He was
greeted with an exchanged look and a little silence before Hutch spoke
up.

     "Taylor's a good man, overall.  About the best you can expect
with the administration being what it is now."

     "Not exactly a glowing endorsement.  You could have done a
lot worse, you know.  A by the book cop wouldn't have let you two
keep on working together."

     "For that, we're really grateful to him," Starsky responded. 
"He's a good guy."  

     "I think we're coming to that crossroads where we're not ready
to hang it up but not really enjoying playing politics anymore," Hutch
said honestly.  

     "So why don't you do a little of both?  You could still stay
involved with the serial killer task force if you were retired.  That
oughtta keep you busy."

     "We could get licensed to carry weapons as private citizens--we
did it before, Starsk," Hutch said, nodding a little.  

     "You think they're still going to give us the same privileges and
authorizations on that task force if we're retired cops?"  Starsky asked.

     "You'd probably have to work with a police contact to get
certain warrants, tests run, things like that, but you're generally working
in collaboration with a local PD anyway--just like that case you worked
on in Cascade when you met up with Blair and Jim."

     "I guess I was figuring they wouldn't want us if we were retired
from active duty," Starsky said.

     "I think you should call Hilliard," Dobey referred to the FBI
agent who coordinated the multi-state task force.  "Run it by him.  I
would think you'd be more valuable because they wouldn't have to go
through the song-and-dance of 'borrowing' you from active duty in
another department every time they want you to work a case."

     "Great idea, Harold, thanks," Hutch said, smiling.  He had
finally moved on to calling Dobey by his first name several years after
the captain's retirement.  For Starsky's part, Dobey remained
affectionately called "Cap" or "Captain"--and the retired cop didn't
seem to mind that one bit.  

     "Are you two going to be staying in California for a while?" 
Edith asked Jim and Blair.

     "We haven't really decided how long we'll be here yet," Jim
said.  "We want to be sure the case is wrapped up, but once it is, I'm
going to have to get back to work, and Blair has someone covering his
courses at the University, but eventually, he's going to need to get
caught up and back in action."

     "I hope we'll be here another week or so.  I really missed out on
getting here for a visit over Thanksgiving, like we had planned, and I
want to make this visit count while I'm here.  One thing I learned from
all this is never to let an opportunity to spend time with the people you
love, pass you by--not for anything."

     "I think we all learned that lesson the hard way from this,
kiddo," Starsky said sympathetically.  "So remember you've still got to
fit in that trip to New York during Hanukkah so you can be smothered
by 10,000 overexcited Starsky cousins and one *very* excited
grandmother who didn't think she was gonna get to *be* a grandmother
in this lifetime."

     "I'm looking forward to it," Blair said, smiling across the table
at his father.  "I can't wait to meet her--and everybody else.  I never had
a lot of relatives, so this'll be pretty cool."

********

     "I had a nice time tonight," Blair said to Hutch as the two men
happened to end up in the kitchen at the same time before turning in
for the night.  Hutch was downing a couple of vitamins, and Blair was
looking for some tea.

     "So did we.  The Dobeys are good friends," Hutch commented,
leaning back against the counter.  "I know you've both got lives back in
Cascade, but I'm hoping you'll have a few more days to spend out here
with us before you head back."

     "Yeah, I think we will.  I'm not ready to leave just yet."

     "You know, I was thinking..."  Hutch led the way into the living
room, and opened the decorative doors that were on the front of an end
table.  "I've got a few candles, a little incense, a couple meditation
books in there.  If you want to meditate while you're here, feel free to
help yourself.  I never thought much about it until now, but you
probably don't have anything with you."

     "No, I really don't.  Thanks."  Blair smiled.  "You've always
been into meditation?"

     "Well, ever since it was cool," Hutch joked, sitting on the edge
of a nearby chair.  Blair took a seat on the couch.  "I started during the
late 60's, probably about the same time your mom did.  At first it was
just an experiment, but I found out it really helped me clear my head,
relax, see things a bit more clearly.  I never could get Starsky into it for
more than ten minutes at a time.  I remember once or twice managing
to get him to sit down and give it a shot, and I could tell he was ready
to climb the walls pretty quickly."  Hutch chortled a little.  

     "Jim's tried it with me, too, and he can make it for a while, but
then I know his mind starts darting around to all the stuff he wants to
be doing, or should be doing, so he doesn't last long at it either."

     "Looking inside yourself is an experience sometimes.  Not
always a good one, but a valuable one, I think."

     "Yeah, sometimes it's downright scary.  I know I don't want to
do it right now.  What I feel about Jensen...what I want to do to
him...that's not something I want to look at up close."

     "Don't blame yourself for that, Blair.  That's the most natural
feeling in the world.  She was your mother, for God's sake.  If someone
did that to my mother, I'd kill the son of a bitch with my bare hands and
dance on his grave, and I don't have to meditate to figure that out.  Not
that I'm advocating you do that."

     "I know what you mean."  Blair sighed.  "If it would bring her
back, or *change* anything, I'd do it.  But in the end result, she'll still
be gone."  Blair paused.  "Is my dad okay, really?"

     "Okay how?"  Hutch frowned, straightening a little in his seat.

     "When he chased Jensen, he got this pain in his chest, and he
said it was just old pain from the shooting, but it looked like he was
having a heart attack."  Blair swallowed.  "It scared the hell out of me."

     "It's happened before, and it *is* from the shooting.  Scared me
too the first time it happened.  We were on a foot chase, about three
months after Starsky went back on active duty.  The only bad thing
was, *he* didn't know what it was either.  So he was panicking, I was
panicking...I thought he was gonna die and he was pretty sure he was
too."

     "Isn't that bad for him?  I mean, if it's something to do with his
lung capacity, isn't he putting too much stress on himself if he's in pain
like that?"

     "He's got a lot of scar tissue, and he had extensive surgery in
that whole part of his body after the shooting.  There's no getting away
from pain like that.  I still have problems with my shoulder from a
bullet I took."

     "I know.  I was shot in the leg--it passed through my thigh--and
man, on a rainy day, I still feel it a *lot*."

     "Well, put that up in your chest and then run more than you
should when you're your dad's age, and you'll have chest pains too. 
You won't be dying, but you'll sure be uncomfortable."

     "You're sure it's nothing more serious?"  Blair persisted.

     "I'm sure.  I won't give him credit for it, and if you repeat this to
him, I'll deny it under pain of death, but he's healthier than I am." 
Hutch laughed a little.  "If I didn't love him so much, I'd resent him."

     "But everything's okay with you, right?"

     "I'm fine--his bloodwork just always comes back a *little* bit
better, and I never hear the end of it.  My family has some inclinations
toward bad numbers in a few things, so eating right, the vitamins, all
that--keeps my readings in a good place.  Don't worry about us, Blair. 
We've got a few miles on us, but our engines are still performing."

     "I didn't mean it that way--"

     "I'm not offended.  Obviously Starsky and I couldn't have kids,
so I guess I'm not used to someone other than the two of us worrying all
that much if the other one bought the farm.  I don't mean to make that
sound pathetic--it isn't.  We have some good friends, and we have each
other, which is the important thing."

     "Sometimes Jim and I feel like it's just us, you know?  Like a
little world of two?"

     "Being in a relationship with another guy in this society does
that to you.  You have a few good friends who accept you as a couple,
if you're lucky, and aside from that, you spend your time with each
other.  You can't be a couple in public the way other couples are, you
don't get invited to a lot of social events because of the date you're
going to bring...it's a lonely road, and sometimes a dangerous one..." 
Hutch took in a long breath, but then smiled again, "...and there's only
one person on God's earth I would have traveled it for.  I wouldn't trade
one second of my life with your dad for fifty years of marriage with
anyone else."

     "How do you guys do it?  I mean, I see other couples who have
been together twenty years or more, and they look so...*bored* with
each other.  Or they don't talk, or they aren't romantic anymore..."

     "I don't think there's a secret to it.  It comes from how you feel
inside.  Starsky's the other half of my heart.  Loving him has never
required any effort on my part.  As for him, I never had to question
where I stood, or how he felt.  Starsky is a person who loves very
intensely and with all his heart and soul.  All that passion he has for
things goes into the way he loves somebody.  I think we were just
blessed to find our other halves.  I don't think you can fake romance in
a marriage.  It's there or it isn't."  Hutch smiled.  "I don't think you and
Jim have anything to worry about in that department."
     
     "Me either," Blair said, grinning.  "But now I can consider I
have an expert opinion to back me up."

     "That's one nice thing about getting old.  You become an expert
on some things," Hutch said, chuckling.  "I better turn in.  The old man
gets grouchy if I wake him up and then he can't go back to sleep and
keeps me awake for two hours."  Hutch stood up.  "Oh, just a word of
warning.  Starsky was serious about inflicting Disco Night at Huggy's
on you and Jim.  It's tomorrow night.  Brace yourselves."  Hutch started
back toward the bedroom.

     "Hutch?"

     "Yeah?"

     "I'm not sure when you find your dad and he's married to
another guy, what exactly that *makes* the other guy...I'm not saying
this right..."

     "If you call me your 'stepmother', I'll shoot you."

     "No," Blair responded, laughing, "I wasn't gonna make that
mistake.  I'm not doing this very well, but I was trying to say that...I'm
glad you're my dad's partner and...I'm glad to have you for a relative,
even if I don't know what title to give you."

     "I think we can call it 'family' and leave it at that," Hutch said,
smiling a little.  "Meeting up with an adult child this late in the game is
a real crapshoot.  Starsky's had some real letdowns... people he's lost,
your Uncle Nick turning out to be nothing better than a street
hood...let's just say I think that it's very lucky that you turned out to be
who you are.  I'm glad he didn't get another heartbreak.  Family's so
important to him, and with his father's death, and Nick...things haven't
gone well in that department.  It's about time his luck changed."

     "He's had a good marriage the last twenty years.  That's nothing
to sneeze at in the luck department."  

     "We both got lucky on that one.  Well, I'm going to turn in.  See
you in the morning."

     "Sleep well," Blair responded.

     "You too.  Oh, about those shakes you make?"

     "Yeah?"

     "Do you ever get used to the smell?"

     "Just don't breathe too deeply when you drink it."

     "Make a double batch in the morning, will you?  I chickened
out on the last one."

     "Will do," Blair responded, smiling and disappearing into the
guest room.

********

     "They made a deal," Starsky announced, hanging up the phone. 
Jim, Blair and Hutch were still seated around the table, finishing
breakfast.  It was near nine.

     "Well?"  Blair prodded.

     "Jensen is pleading guilty to second degree murder.  His sister
is getting off the hook on the accessory charge--that was an unofficial
part of the deal with Jensen."

     "But I don't get it.  He admitted to killing her--" Blair began, but
Hutch cut him off.

     "He didn't admit to the intent.  All he admitted to was
manslaughter--all that was tangible from his confession was
involuntary manslaughter and aggravated assault.  He claimed that
killing her was an accident.  So getting a guilty plea for second degree
is really pretty good for the home team."

     "Janice Stanford is getting a withholding evidence charge. 
She'll probably get probation, maybe community service.  The
accessory charge basis was a little shaky anyhow.  It wasn't as if she
helped him destroy evidence," Starsky sat at the table again.  

     "What about Fordney?"  Jim asked.  

     "He wanted the aggravated assault reduced to assault and the
stalking charges dropped in return for pleading guilty to the kidnaping
and B&E's," Starsky said.

     "Oh great," Blair grumbled, slumping back in his chair.  

     "Yeah, well, people in Hell want ice water, too.  I think those
were the DA's exact words.  The deal he's going to offer Fordney is
kidnaping and aggravated assault, and drop the B&E's and the stalking,
since they're going to be worth less time anyway."

     "So Fordney's not even going to get nailed for stalking my
mother?  For harassing her?"

     "We don't have tapes of the phone calls, and only hearsay
evidence of the harassment.  We know he contacted her but we have no
proof of what he said.  We can't prove the B&E charges this far after
the fact in most of the instances of the photos, except for one time he
admits using the key over the door to go into the loft.  I think they're
smart to go for the solid stuff and put him away."  Jim paused.  "Look,
Chief, I know it's not what you want, but a prolonged trial isn't going to
solve much either."

     "It just feels like because she's dead, she's getting cheated.  This
nut was stalking both of us for *years*."

     "During which time he never approached you personally, and
rarely approached your mother until the last little while--oh, and one
time ten years ago in a public place.  Look, Blair, plea bargains are
annoying as hell, but they serve a purpose," Hutch concluded.

     "Yeah.  Saving money."

     "Saving money is part of it from the DA's perspective, but also
there's the wear and tear on the witnesses, and the risk of a jury doing
something inexplicable.  It's not unheard of to forge full speed ahead
with a trial and then have the jury let the guy off because they liked his
lawyer's closing argument.  Or because they didn't sympathize with one
of the witnesses or the victim, for that matter.  Or because a key piece
of evidence ends up in question.  This is a sure thing," Starsky
explained, returning to his seat at the table.  "There's no conclusion we
can get on this case that's gonna make you totally happy.  We just don't
have the evidence for charges like first degree with special
circumstances--which is what I had hoped for.  As for Fordney,
anything short of locking him in a room with Jim and me for ten
minutes or so is a letdown for me."  He patted Blair on the back.  "I
wish there was some way to resolve this situation that would make you
feel better, but from a legal standpoint, we did pretty damn well."

     "There's just one thing," Blair said, his voice tight and
controlled.  "My mother is *dead*.  Forever.  Jensen took her life away
from her.  She doesn't get parole.  She won't come back in ten or fifteen
years.  And Fordney...this guy stalked her and invaded her privacy and
badgered her repeatedly on the phone and he gets *nothing* for that. 
Like what she went through isn't worth anything."  Blair tossed his
napkin on the table and slid his chair back, heading for the back of the
house.  

     "Blair!"  Starsky called after him, but Hutch grabbed hold of his
partner's arm before he could follow his son.  

     "Let him go, Starsk.  We can't change this and maybe he needs a
few minutes to cool off."

     "For what it's worth, I think we got a good resolution," Jim
agreed.  "But it's a resolution that doesn't take much into account
Naomi's pain and suffering, or the inescapable fact she's dead."  He
stood up and took a last drink of his coffee, then carried his plate to the
sink.  After rinsing it, he looked out the kitchen window, spotting Blair
walking along the beach.  "I'm going to go out and talk with him."

     It was a crisp day on the water, with the sun peeking in and out
from behind fluffy white clouds.   There was a light breeze, and Jim
could imagine that a ways up the Coast at home in Cascade, it would
be downright chilly.  In a few more weeks it would be Thanksgiving. 
While Naomi didn't normally make it a point to be "home for the
holidays" for all the traditional occasions, Jim wasn't looking forward
to watching Blair weather the first series of special occasions without
his mother alive *somewhere*.  Thanksgiving would be a bitter
reminder of the trip they let themselves miss because of work and class
commitments back home--Blair's family reunion that would never
happen now.  

     Blair was standing still now, dressed in his jeans and a plaid
shirt, hair loose on his shoulders, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. 
Walking up behind him, Jim took a gentle hold of his shoulders.  

     "You okay?"  he asked.

     "No."  

     "I'm sorry, Chief.  I wish there were something I could say, or
something that could happen, that would make this easier for you."

     "I didn't spend a lot of time with my mom once I was out on my
own."  Blair sighed.  "Thinking back, I didn't spend *loads* of time
with her before that.  She had a lot of friends, and boyfriends and
things she did...  I spent a lot of time with my nose buried in a book.  I
just feel like now that she's gone, there's this huge *loss* of something
that I never really had.  All the time she had left, the times we might
have spent together...just *once* seeing both my parents in one place at
one time. *Just once*," Blair repeated, his voice shaking a little. 
"Jensen took her life.  He grabbed her by the neck and...and..."  Blair
covered his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut as tears started falling. 
"It's not getting any easier, Jim," he said brokenly, turning and
accepting the waiting embrace.  

     "I know."  Jim slid a hand up into Blair's hair and massaged
lightly.  The motion had always seemed to relax Blair, and right now,
his body was as taut as a bowstring.  "Nobody expects you to be over
this, baby."

     "It's all so...*cold* and *detached*.  It's...it's lawyers...and plea
bargains...and...*deals*.  And my mom's dead and nobody seems to
fucking care about that!!"  Blair accentuated his point with a light
punch of his fist on Jim's back. 

     "I care very much, and you know your dad and Hutch both do
too.  We had a choice of being the family or being the cops on the case. 
We couldn't act like both."

     "Nobody's ever going to...hear about...my mom," Blair said
sadly.  "She's a statistic in a report, a name on a piece of paper.  She's
part of a plea bargain, not a person."

     "Jensen will have a sentencing hearing.  Do you want to make a
victim impact statement?  Say something on behalf of your mom?"  Jim
waited until Blair pulled back a little and looked up at him.

     "Yeah, I do.  I need for somebody to know about her.  To know
who she was, and to know what...it means...that she's dead.  For no
good reason."  

     "We'll be at Jensen's sentencing hearing, honey.  We'll take a
couple of photos of Naomi, and we're going to let that judge know who
she was, and how she died, and how cruel and needless and wrong it
was."

     "Maybe they've already plea-bargained in asking for a light
sentence," Blair said dismally.

     "That's possible.  If that's the case, there's not much we can do."

     "I've been thinking a lot about Frederick, too," Blair said,
sniffing and wiping at his eyes, starting to walk slowly along the shore. 
Jim took his hand and walked with him.  "They knew each other all my
life.  All that time, he was married.  But Frederick was like my mom's
soulmate, you know?  They confided in each other, they meditated
together sometimes...this whole business about them having an affair--
it makes it sound cheap and sordid...they loved each other for *years*. 
My mom never said much about it--she never talked to me much about
the specifics of their relationship, but I always knew he was there for
her, but in a weird sort of way.  He had his wife and she had other
lovers and yet in the end, it was the tie between them that mattered. 
They were best friends.  I guess at some point it got...it took another
turn."  

     "You didn't say much about their relationship before."

     "I know, and I should have.  I feel guilty about that.  Maybe if I
had made it clear how much was between them, Frederick wouldn't
have ended up dead.  Maybe he wouldn't have been suspected of killing
her.  I honestly didn't believe they were having an affair exactly.  I don't
know what I thought, looking back."

     "A lot of people loved your mom, Chief.  Many of them were
on the suspect list.  Losing her put poor old Harold in ICU, but we still
investigated him.  The evidence was there against Stanford, and a lot of
things added up.  They added up wrong, but they still made him look
pretty damn guilty."

     "I hope they're together.  I think that would make her really
happy."

     "I hope so too."  Jim put his arm around Blair and pulled him
close, as Blair's arm fastened securely around Jim's waist.  

     "I wish I could talk to her.  Know what she really thinks of all
this."

     "She'd probably tell you to let it go, sweetheart," Jim said
gently, truly feeling that Naomi, of all people, would have advocated
Blair moving on and accepting the outcome of the case, and not letting
the anger eat away at him.  

     "Yeah, she probably would.  I'm trying.  I really am.  I
just...*can't* yet."

     "This is a hard case to let go.  Legally, Jensen's guilty of second
degree murder.  He went there to line her out, maybe intimidate her,
and things went too far.  Truthfully, given the assault on his ex-wife,
maybe he's really only guilty of voluntary manslaughter.  We're never
going to see into his head to know what he felt at the moment when
intent had to form.  The lines get blurry between second degree and the
lesser charges.  In that regard, the plea bargain is a victory for the good
guys, because a jury is a guessing game at best.  You've got twelve
people, twelve chances for a point of view to come in and fuck up the
whole conviction.  At the same time, I feel like we let Naomi down not
sending him to death row."

     "Maybe it seems like her death should have been more
significant to the person who killed her..."  Blair wiped at a couple new
tears with his free hand.  "It should have been more than just an
accident.  More than just...*oops*."  Blair looked out at the water as
they kept walking.  "Her death was a *mistake*, Jim.  This is so fucked
up even I don't understand it, but it's worse somehow to know he didn't
even really plan on it.  He just did it, just like that, like she was no
more important than to just *take her life*..."  Blair shook his head.  "It
was so damned...*brutal*.  Doesn't that mean anything?"  Blair asked,
looking up at Jim through wet, puffy eyes.

     "It will when he's rotting in prison."  Jim squeezed Blair's
shoulders as Blair's head slumped on Jim's shoulder.  

     "I know this isn't exactly a romantic moment or anything," Blair
began, "but I..."

     "Hey."  Jim stopped and turned to face Blair.  Taking the
troubled face in both hands, he leaned in for a long, deep kiss.  Pulling
back, he smiled slightly.  "There're some real interesting rock
formations over there.  Out of view of the house."  Blair's smile was
faint but grateful as he slid his hand back into Jim's and walked with
him across the sand to the sanctuary created by the rock formations on
the shore.  

     The only clear view from this little shelter of the rocks was the
ocean itself and a small stretch of the private beach.  Jim knelt in the
sand and Blair mirrored the position.  Without hesitation they began
kissing, Jim's hand sliding into Blair's hair as the kiss deepened,
tongues tasting one another.  Blair moaned in the back of his throat as
their mouths remained joined, Jim's hands fumbling with the buttons of
the plaid shirt Blair wore.  Opening it, Jim pushed the garment off
Blair's shoulders and broke the kiss to move his mouth to the already
hardening nipples.  Slowly, carefully, he licked and sucked each of the
taut little nubs until Blair's little gasps of pleasure were almost
continuous, Blair's hands gripping at Jim's shoulders.  

     Blair was letting him take the lead--in fact, was insisting on it
by his own lack of aggression.  Jim paused and moved back from Blair
long enough to remove his own shirt, pausing to spread it and Blair's on
the sand.  Smiling at the little makeshift bed, Blair lay back on it, then
slid his arms around Jim, pulling him down into another searing kiss. 
Jim's hands slid down Blair's body to the waistband of his jeans,
slightly trembling fingers working at the button and zipper.  He never
stopped kissing Blair as he opened the fly and eased jeans and boxers
over his hips.  Breaking away reluctantly, Blair kicked his shoes off
and raised up while Jim slid the garments down Blair's legs and tossed
them aside.  

     "I'm gonna have sand in my boxers, man," Blair said, smiling,
unconcerned, running a hand up and down Jim's arm as the larger man
crouched there, unzipping his own jeans now.

     "Guess you won't be able to wear them, then," Jim responded,
gripping Blair's hand and kissing it.  Taking in the sight of Blair laid
out on the beach there, naked, hair fanned out partially on the shirts
and partially in the sand, his feet on the ground, knees bent and spread,
Jim felt his breath catch in his throat.  "I never get tired of looking at
you, sweetheart," he said softly, moving down for a long kiss before
raising up again and removing his jeans and underwear, shoes and
socks, tossing them on the pile with Blair's things.  Moving back
between the parted thighs, Jim kissed, licked and nosed the tender skin
on the inside of them, smiling as Blair writhed in pleasure at the
teasing stimulation, the scent of his arousal heavy in the air the closer
Jim came to the erect shaft waiting there for attention.  

     Prolonging the sweet torture a bit longer, Jim bypassed the
needy cock and turned his attention to licking and sucking at the heavy
balls, then pushing Blair's thighs upward to give himself better access
to the tender skin of Blair's perineum.  

     "Jim...inside," Blair moaned, spreading his legs wider in
invitation, taking a hold of his knees and pulling them back to more
fully expose his center.  

     "I don't have anything with me, baby.  Nothing for lube," Jim
looked up at Blair from between the raised legs.  The thought of
plunging into the tight little hole being offered to him was almost
overpowering, but without any lubrication, it would be more pain than
pleasure, especially for Blair.  

     "Use spit when it's time.  Meanwhile, move up here and let me
get you ready," Blair instructed, grinning wickedly.  

     "Spit isn't a good lube, sweetheart," Jim said, kissing Blair's
thigh.

     "I'm not a virgin anymore, Jim.  Come on."

     "All right, baby.  But first things first."  Jim moved down again
and pushing up on Blair's thighs, darted his tongue into the little
pucker.

     "Oh, God," Blair groaned, his fingers flexing uselessly in the
sand, searching for something to clutch as the waves of pleasure
washed over him.  

     Jim licked and stretched and probed, his tongue a wet invader
preparing the tight passage thoroughly for what was to come.  Then he
raised his head and offered a finger to Blair, who took the digit in his
mouth, liberally coating it with his own saliva, holding Jim's hungry
gaze as he treated the hostage finger to the kind of stimulation Jim's
rock-hard cock was longing for.  As Jim pulled his hand back, Blair
released the finger with a wet "pop".   Then the finger was in him,
opening him more fully, massaging and relaxing him, coating him as
best it could.   Probing deeper, it brushed over the little nub there, and
Blair let out a loud moan of pleasure.  

     "Up here," Blair groaned, pulling on Jim's shoulders.  Jim
moved up on all fours, straddling Blair's face, hoping he could hold out
through having that hot, sexy mouth wrapped around his erection
without coming right then and there.   Restraining the almost
unbearable desire now, he pumped gently in and out of Blair's mouth,
groaning as strong hands kneaded his buttocks, fingertips dancing over
the hidden opening.  

     "It's gotta be now, baby.  I'm not gonna last," Jim gasped,
pulling back, then leaning in for one last, passionate kiss before
moving down and spreading Blair's legs wide.  He lined up his saliva-slicked 
cock with Blair's center, and carefully began easing inside. 
Blair was breathing a little more heavily as he worked at relaxing and
accepting the large invader, his eyes closed tightly, a look of
concentration on his flushed face.  "Everything okay, baby?"  Jim
managed, afraid to open up his senses to really feel this unobstructed
contact with Blair's body.  Not even the thin barrier of lube between
them now...just enough saliva and precum to make the entry smooth, if
not slippery.  

     "Feel you, lover...oh, God...every inch..."  Blair eyes opened as
Jim was fully sheathed.  He clutched at Jim's biceps, pulling him down
for more kisses, his body still adjusting to the bulk inside him.  

     "You feel so good," Jim managed between kisses.  

     "Move, Jim.  Make love to me for real," Blair gasped, flexing
his internal muscles and dragging a ragged groan out of Jim before he
moved up and began pumping in and out of the hot channel, their cries
of pleasure mingling and being carried on the wind and underscored by
the sounds of the water lapping the sand.  

     Jim took Blair's straining cock in his hand and pumped it in
time with the increasingly rapid thrusts.  This was pure heaven, moving
inside Blair, feeling the slick walls exert a kind of pressure and
stimulation on him that was usually somewhat obscured by the layer of
gel.  

     "Harder," Blair panted, his legs wrapping around Jim's hips,
hands falling away from Jim's biceps and landing palm up in the sand
over his head.  

     Jim lurched forward and sucked hard on a taut nipple, then on
its mate, his cock thrusting in and out of Blair rapidly now, nailing his
prostate on most every stroke.  Blair was screaming now, incoherent,
grabbing at the shape shifting sand, frantically looking for some
stronghold in what was an unbearably intense storm of sensation.  The
his whole body arched and spasmed, and his muscles frantically
gripped at Jim's cock, his climax overtaking him and bathing both their
chests and bellies before he slumped back on the sand, spent, while Jim
shuddered and thrust even more wildly through the waves of his own
orgasm.  

     Finally sated, he carefully pulled out of Blair's body, guiding
Blair's legs back down from around his hips.  Blair shifted onto his side
with a little groan, and Jim took the cue to spoon up behind him,
wrapping him in a tight embrace.  

     "We should have waited till we had something, baby," Jim said
softly, kissing Blair's shoulder and stroking him from knee to hip.  

     "I felt every inch of you, every move...sometimes it hurt a little,
but it was *amazing*.  Like nothing I ever felt before."  Blair looked
over his shoulder.  "It was so good, love.  I needed it this way.  Hot and
intense and...and obliterating everything."

     "Hey."  Jim kissed Blair's cheek.  "I know this didn't all turn out
exactly the way you wanted it to, honey, but we did pretty good all in
all.  The best we could do."

     "No more talk about the case.  Just hold me a while, okay?"

     "Okay."  Jim did as he was told, holding Blair there in silence,
the only sounds coming from the waves caressing the shore.  "I love
you," he said softly, nuzzling Blair's neck, insinuating a knee between
Blair's.  

     "I love you too," Blair sighed, smiling and looking back at Jim. 
"Mmmm...I like that."  Blair straddled the knee, liking the nudging
against his sensitive balls. 

     "We should go back to the house pretty soon."

     "I s'pose."  Blair closed his eyes and suddenly, the warm body in
Jim's arms felt boneless.  

     "Blair?''  he whispered.  Smiling, he realized Blair had dozed
into a wonderful, sated, lethargic nap.  The lines of grief were absent
from the sleeping face, and Blair seemed utterly oblivious and at rest. 
Not wanting to disturb that state for anything, Jim relaxed himself, and
before long, gave in to his own inclination to doze.

********

     When Jim and Blair made their way up to the house almost an
hour later, it was empty.  There was a note on the refrigerator from
Starsky, indicating that they'd gone downtown to find out what was
going on with Fordney's plea bargain and to tie up some loose ends
with the paperwork.   The promise--or threat, depending on one's
perspective--that tonight was still "Disco Night" at Huggy's ended the
note.

     "Guess we're on our own till about six," Jim said, reading the
note.  Blair stood behind him, arms wrapped around him, head resting
against Jim's back.  "Wonder what we can do to kill all that time?"

     "We'll think of something," Blair muttered, letting a hand trail
down to gently squeeze the bulge of Jim's jeans.  

     "How about a shower first?"

     "How about a bath?  That garden tub in there is big enough for
both of us."  Blair was grinning when Jim turned to face him.  

     "It's good to see you smile," Jim said, leaning in to kiss the
smiling mouth.  

     "Just for a while today, could we...not talk about what's
happened, and just...be together?  I feel really selfish and terrible to
want this now, in the middle of everything, but I really feel like I need
to get away.  I know I'm running away from everything but I don't care. 
I need to for a while.  Does that make any sense?"

     "Perfect sense."  Jim pulled Blair into a tight hug.  "Blair,
you've mourned for your mom, and you will for a long time to come, I
know that.  You've lived this case day in and day out and heard more
details than any loved one should hear about a crime like this.  You
have nothing to feel guilty about for walking away from it for a few
hours."

     "When you make love to me, for just that little space in time,
this *pain* in my chest goes away.  It's always there the rest of the
time, but for those few minutes when we're making love, that's all that
matters--the love--not the pain and the sorrow and the loss and the
*anger*..."  Blair pulled away and walked over to the counter, leaning
on it heavily.  "This anger could eat me alive, man.  I don't know how
to cope with it or process it or put it in perspective.  Fordney's only
getting punished for what he did to me.  You know what?  I don't care
about that.  It was scary and painful and ugly, but what matters most to
me is what he did to my mom.  And he's not paying for that at all."

     "Jensen is."  Jim took a hold of Blair's shoulders.  

     "Yeah, Jensen is.  Second degree.  He'll get out on parole."

     "Could have gone down to manslaughter.  At that rate, he'd
have ended up in prison a couple years and that'd be it.  If it's any
consolation to you, Chief, this case ended very well from a legal
standpoint.  But from the standpoint of the family of the victim, it
sucks like a Hoover," Jim concluded, and Blair actually snorted a little
laugh at the metaphor.

     "Everybody's doing some jail time.  Well, probably everybody
but Janice Stanford.  I guess that's a good thing."

     "Yeah, it is.  Come on.  Let's try out that garden tub for a while,
huh?"

     The two men spent long minutes soaking in the soapy water,
bathing each other.  Jim used the hand-held shower massager to wash
the sand out of Blair's hair, and Blair returned the favor.  Blair
surprised Jim by reaching out of the tub and picking up a tube of KY
he'd placed next to it before they started bathing.

     "We've got lube now."  He handed it to Jim.  

     "Aren't you sore?"  Jim frowned a bit, taking the tube.  His cock
was already hard, and the thought of taking Blair again was making it
stand to full attention.  

     "A little.  But I want you anyway.  Just start out slow, okay?"

     "I don't know, Chief..."

     "He knows," Blair said, grinning and reaching a water-slick
hand down to pump Jim's straining shaft.  "Come on, lover."  Blair
turned around on all fours, then rested his chest against the side of the
big tub, resting his head on his folded arms.  He thrust his rear out
invitingly, spreading his legs.  Jim was a goner.

     He rose up on his knees out of the water, drying off his hands
on a nearby towel and squeezing some of the gel onto his fingers. 
Carefully, he probed the little pink hole hidden between the wet
cheeks, picking up on Blair's indrawn breath as his finger slid inside
the tender passage and began stretching and lubricating it.  

     "Still sure about this, baby?"  Jim asked gently, leaning forward
and kissing Blair's back as he worked the finger around inside him.  

     "Oooh, yeah," Blair said, arching his back a little.  

     "Somebody's rushing things," Jim teased, purposely pulling his
finger out a bit.

     "C'mon, Jim..."  Blair groaned and wriggled his ass, trying to
drive the finger deeper.  For now, though, Jim liked the shivering
arousal he was getting from Blair by just massaging the sensitive
passage.  The electric jolts from his prostate were something Blair was
going to wait for, just a little while longer.  

     He pulled the finger out and added more lube, then slid the two
fingers inside again, rotating and scissoring and stretching.  

     "Oh, baby, you're beautiful," Jim breathed, loving the way Blair
was shamelessly rotating his hips in unison with the stretching fingers. 
"This is what you like, isn't it?"

     "Do it, Jim...  God, just *do it*!"  Blair groaned, then humped
the side of the tub. 


     "Bad boys who hump the tub don't get what they ask for," Jim
teased.  

     "Good boys who don't hump it don't get what they ask for
either," Blair ground out.  "Do it, man!"  

     "Tsk, tsk," Jim scolded, pulling out the two fingers and
returning, finally, with three.  "Tell me what you want, baby," he
whispered against Blair's ear, massaging him from the inside.

     "I want you inside...oh, God, Jim," Blair was riding the fingers
shamelessly now, trying to get them to go just that little bit deeper... 
Suddenly, Jim let one long finger graze Blair's prostate, dragging an
unbridled shout from him.  "Please...*now*."  Blair was moving a little
too enthusiastically on the fingers now, and Jim figured if he were
going to actually give Blair what he wanted before he came from just
the finger-fucking and playing around, it would have to be now.  

     "If it hurts, baby, stop me," Jim said, his voice serious now, not
teasing, as he withdrew the fingers and coated his straining cock.  

     "If you don't fuck me, Jim, I'm gonna die of sexual frustration!" 
Blair ground out, and Jim actually chuckled at that.  

     "Point made, Chief."  With that, Jim slid carefully but quickly
into the slick passage, finally fully-sheathed inside Blair for the second
time that day.  "I think I died and went to heaven," Jim whispered
against Blair's ear, savoring the feeling of the warm, wet buttocks
pressed against his groin.  "Love you so much, sweetheart," he said,
trailing kisses down Blair's neck to his shoulder, letting his well-used
passage get used to the stretching of being filled again.  

     "Mmmm," Blair moaned, wriggling a little on the cock that
impaled him.  "Let me have all you've got, lover," he said in a husky
voice, squeezing Jim with his internal muscles.  

     Pushed over the edge by the combination of words and
sensations, Jim began pumping vigorously in and out of the slick
passage, hitting Blair's prostate on most of the more intense strokes. 
Water splashed all around them and over the sides of the tub.  Jim sat
back on his heels and took Blair back to sit on his lap, deepening the
penetration and speeding up his thrusts.  Blair's damp hair was against
Jim's shoulder, his voice coming out in incoherent grunts and cries of
pleasure.  Jim reached down and gripped the rigid cock with one hand,
letting the other rub over Blair's chest, rolling and pinching his nipples.  

     As Blair's body began to tense up, Jim backed off in his
pumping of the needy cock.  

     "Not yet, baby.  I'm not done with you yet," Jim growled in
Blair's ear, smiling at the scream of frustration mixed with titillation. 
"You...wanted it long...and hard, baby.  We're just... getting started,"
Jim managed between labored breaths as he kept up the speed of his
thrusts.  He abandoned the pebble-hard nipples and Blair's cock, and
used both of his hands to capture both of Blair's.  After a couple of
well-aimed thrusts at Blair's prostate, Jim tugged on the ringed earlobe
with his teeth, then ran his tongue along the shell before giving Blair
the final words that would send him to his climax.  "You're not going to
get touched anywhere else now.  You're going to come just from my
cock in your hot little hole."  With that, Jim pushed up and Blair took
the cue to go back on all fours, bracing his hands against the tub to take
the final strokes.  He let out an almost animal howl like nothing Jim
had ever heard out of him before, and then he was climaxing, his
muscles spasming wildly around Jim's cock, dragging cries of pleasure
out of his lover as Jim joined him and they came together.

     Miraculously, they somehow landed on their sides in the water,
still joined.  Jim raised his head and surveyed the damage to the
bathroom and groaned.  

     "Hope they've got lots of towels," he said softly.  Blair chortled
at that.  

     "How can you think about towels?  Call an ambulance.  I'm
gonna die."

     "If you do, we'll go out together, Chief."

     "That's not all bad, either," Blair said, a bit more seriously than
Jim expected.  He pulled Blair's body close against him and just held
him that way for several long minutes.  

     "I should move, honey."  

     "Couldn't you just leave it there?"  Blair asked, knowing it was
going to hurt when Jim pulled out.

     "'fraid I need it back, baby."  Jim smiled and kissed Blair's
cheek.  "Squeeze my hand.  This might smart a little."  Jim pulled out
carefully, and got a good squeeze to his hand at the same time, along
with a little groan.  

     "You think it would be too obvious for me to take a pillow
along to Huggy's tonight?" Blair asked, grinning over his shoulder.

     "I'm sorry, Chief.  I never should have gone at it like that--"

     "I never came that hard in my life, Jim.  Don't apologize.  I
needed it."

     "Come on.  I'll put you to bed and put a little ointment on you,
okay?"

     "Mmhm," Blair agreed amiably, but didn't move. After a quick
wash up, Jim carefully washed Blair's butt and his center, then nudged
him to turn over and gently washed the lax, sticky cock and the rest of
Blair's spattered groin and belly.  

     After toweling each other off, Blair waited in bed while Jim
slipped out to the kitchen and picked up a few goodies for them to
share.  He returned with two bottles of cold spring water and two sliced
apples.  Before launching into their treats, Jim attacked the bathroom
floor with a load of old towels he'd taken from the laundry room,
figuring used ones were good enough to soak up the water on the
bathroom floor.  Satisfied he hadn't left the bathroom in such an
atrocious state, he left the wet towels in the tub and, grabbing the tube
of ointment out of his shaving kit, returned to the bedroom.  

     Blair was sprawled on his stomach on the bed, hair drying
naturally in the air and springing into fuzzy curls everywhere, one
closed fist near his face, the other arm flopped over Jim's side of the
bed.  He snored softly into the pillow.  Just as Jim was about to cover
him and opt not to wake him, Blair stirred and looked up at him
sleepily.

     "Hi," he said, grinning.  

     "Hey, you want to sleep a while, baby?"  Jim sat on the edge of
the bed and caressed Blair from shoulder to thigh, finally letting his
hand rest on the well loved backside.  Blair seemed to shiver a little
under the touch.  

     "You promised me ointment," Blair said, still smiling.

     "I always keep my promises, sweetheart."  Jim patted Blair's
butt gently and stood as Blair grabbed a pillow and stuck it under his
stomach, then spread his legs.  Jim gave in to his first inclination and
leaned down to kiss the slightly swollen little pucker that was exposed. 
Feeling the warmth from the somewhat irritated flesh, he parted the
cheeks even more aggressively and set about soothing it with his
tongue.  

     "Love you," Blair sighed.  Jim finished his licking and then
ended with another kiss.  

     "Love you too, baby.  Are you real sore?"

     "I'm in no hurry to sit down, but being sore is kind of sexy, you
know?  Every time I move I think about doing it with you."

     Jim carefully worked the soothing ointment into Blair's center.  

     "Thinking is all we're going to be doing for a while, sweetheart. 
You're a little swollen.  Damn it, Blair, you should have stopped me."

     "Why?  Jim, it was great.  I loved every minute of it.  I thought
you could tell," Blair added, looking over his shoulder with a grin.  "It's
kind of like a hangover.  Nobody likes puking but they like the partying
that gets them there.  Only this is better, because hangovers don't give
you hard-ons every time you wiggle your butt."

     "You're really okay?"  Jim asked, his finger carefully rubbing in
the ointment, probing deeply to surreptitiously examine Blair for any
tearing.

     "You oughtta know, man.  You're the one back there playing
doctor."

     Busted, Jim smiled and withdrew his finger, patting Blair's
bottom just a bit harder this time.  

     "Okay, you win.  I'll drop it," he said, leaning forward and
kissing each of Blair's buttocks.  "Today was incredible, sweetheart." 
He kissed and nuzzled the soft flesh again, then purposely nuzzled and
kissed between Blair's cheeks and down to his perineum.  Blair groaned
pleasurably, but his cock wasn't leaping to attention, and neither was
he.  "I never made love like that with anybody."  He moved away from
that sweet, intimate spot and planted a parting kiss at the base of Blair's
tailbone.

     He sat on the bed and leaning against the headboard, gathered
Blair into his arms while the two of them quietly fed each other the
apple slices and sipped at the water.  

     "Thanks for giving me what I needed today," Blair said quietly,
nibbling on a piece of the apple.  

     "It was rough, but I managed to deal with it," Jim said, smiling
and accepting the bear hug he got from Blair, who then insistently
pulled him back down into the bed for more heated kisses and caresses. 
The two men were barely dressed and ready by the time their hosts
arrived home near six that evening.  

********

     Huggy's had been completely transformed.  There was a
mirrored ball giving off its reflective light, the music of the Village
People boomed out of the impressive audio system, and a surprising
number of the patrons had shown up in disco-era outfits.  Blair had
almost expected they'd draw strange looks when Starsky showed up
there in his light suit with the black shirt, but it was apparent that he
wasn't the only Travolta imitator wandering around the club.  Hutch
had opted for a pair of heather brown pants and a wheat colored
sportcoat.  Blair had gone a bit more casual, wearing a pair of black
jeans and a cranberry colored shirt, his hair loose on his shoulders. 
Jim, whose wardrobe options were similarly limited based on what
they'd packed, wore a pair of nearly new, dark blue jeans (his initial
choice of khakis had been vetoed by Blair before they left the
bedroom) and a sapphire blue shirt.  

     "This is like going back in time," Blair said, smiling as he took
in the scene.  "You guys hung out a lot at places like this in the 70's?" 
he asked as they took their seats at a reserved table not far from the
dance floor.  Blair shifted a bit uncomfortably in his chair, and grinned
at Jim, his face turning a nice shade of pink.  Under the table, Jim gave
Blair's thigh a lecherous little squeeze in response, smiling back at him.

     "We spent a few evenings on the dance floor," Starsky said,
looking around for a waitress.  Before long, Gwen appeared, wearing a
flame red dress and strappy, sparkly silver heels.  "Huggy know you're
walkin' around unescorted lookin' like that?"  Starsky teased.

     "Now how'm I going to pick up any good-lookin' men with him
hanging around?"  she protested, holding out a hand to Starsky.  "Think
we ought to show these wallflowers how it's done?"

     "I think that's a great idea," Starsky responded enthusiastically,
taking Gwen's hand and heading toward the dance floor.  As the two of
them got in the spirit of dancing to a booming version of "Disco
Inferno", Hutch just smiled and shook his head.  

     "You don't seem to be too into this," Blair said, smiling at the
energetic display of dancing from Gwen and Starsky.  

     "Let's just say that when disco died, I saw no reason to re-animate it."  
Hutch flagged down a waitress and ordered a pitcher of
beer for the table.

     "I'll drink to that," Jim grumbled, watching the sea of writhing
bodies on the dance floor.  He had the sinking feeling in his gut that
Blair would want to be out there at least once before the night was
over, and had an even more dismal feeling that Blair would not be
assuaged by finding another partner.

     "C'mon, Jim, you can't tell me you never tried disco," Blair
goaded.

     "Do the math, Chief.  What do you think was stuffed down my
throat at the prom, homecoming, and any other dance I had the
misfortune of attending in high school?"

     "I don't believe the captain of the football team was a
wallflower," Blair said, grinning as if he'd discovered just the piece of
information he was looking for--the damning evidence that Jim did,
indeed, even know *how* to do a few of these steps.  

     "Part of the image was sitting back and letting the ladies come
to me," Jim said, smirking a little as Blair pointed into his open mouth
with his finger in a gagging gesture.  

     "How about you, Hutch?  You didn't go all through the 70's
without ever getting out on the dance floor."

     "No, I did my share.  It was fun, looking back, but you know,
that was then, this is now."  He paused while the beer was served.  Jim
did the pouring honors.  "It's fun to come here, hear all the old music
again.  It takes you back.  I mostly went out dancing back then to pick
up women, and since that's not an issue, the dancing doesn't seem too
important.  I was less of a dancer than an opportunist," Hutch admitted,
taking a drink of his beer.  "It was the best way to break the ice with a
woman.  'Would you like to dance' comes across better than 'what's
your sign, baby'," Hutch concluded, laughing.  

     "I see Starsky stole my wife again," Huggy said, pulling up a
chair to join them.  

     "I think she stole him, Hug," Hutch corrected, chuckling.  

     "I couldn't help but notice that three outta four ain't dancin',"
Huggy chided.

     "We needed to bolster ourselves first," Jim said, taking a drink
of beer.  "And Starsky was the only one who managed to find a
woman," he concluded with a laugh.  As he glanced at Blair, he noticed
his partner wasn't amused by the last comment.  In fact, his expression
was somewhat blank and unreadable.  

     "We don't have some kinda mixed couple rule around here. 
Hutch oughtta know that."

     "Starsk always drags me out there at least once, but only for the
slow ones.  Gwen's definitely got more stamina--and motivation--for
the fast numbers than I do."

     "Oh, man!"  Starsky groused as he returned to the table with
Gwen, the other men all rising slightly until she was seated in Starsky's
chair.  He found himself another from a nearby table.  "I suppose this
means we're all washed up for tonight?"  he said to Gwen, inclining his
head in Huggy's direction.  

     "Who's minding the store, hon?"  Gwen asked Huggy.

     "Anita."

     "We're okay a while then," she said, quenching her thirst with a
glass of beer from the pitcher.  

     "You two looked really great out there," Blair said, seeming to
shake off his funk.

     "Thanks, kiddo."  Starsky downed a few gulps of the beer. 
"You wanta get some snacks or somethin'?"  he asked the group.

     "We just had dinner two hours ago, Starsk," Hutch countered.

     "Oh, come on, that broiled fish thing?  Last time you and Blair
pick the restaurant.  Jim, you gotta be gettin' hungry," Starsky said, and
predictably, Jim nodded.

     "I could eat.  What's good?"

     "Everything," Huggy spoke up.

     "How about one of those sampler plates with all the hot
appetizer stuff on 'em?"  Starsky was up out of his chair, flagging down
the waitress.

     "He's afraid he didn't get enough fat, cholesterol and essentially
worthless calories at dinner," Hutch grumbled.  

     "I'll dance it off.  If you're so health conscious, you better get off
your dead butt and get out there on the dance floor with me."  Annoyed
that the waitress didn't see him, and telling Gwen to stay put, Starsky
got up and went to the bar to place their order.  Jim could see him
make a detour past the DJ's set up and speak to the man a couple
moments before returning to the table.  Hutch's back was to this little
chain of events, so Jim said nothing to tip him off to Starsky's
activities.  

     "How about dancin' one dance with me before Travolta comes
back?"  Huggy said to his wife.  Gwen laughed and stood up readily,
heading out to the dance floor with her husband.  

     "Food's comin' up," Starsky said, sitting down again.  "Oh, hey,
now there's one we gotta dance to, Blondie.  Come on."  Starsky was up
again, pulling Hutch by the hand toward the dance floor.  The first
strains of "Could This Be Magic" were playing, but it sounded just a bit
different than Barry Manilow's version.  Still, Hutch seemed to be
persuaded to follow his partner, obviously convinced this was one of
the slow songs on the "approved" list.  

     Jim watched, a little dumbfounded, as these two seasoned
fiftysomething cops seemed to lose sight of the other dancers, the fact
they were the only male-male couple on the floor--in fact, they seemed
to lose sight of everything else but each other.  Their eyes locked on
each other, and with slight smiles tugging at the corners of their
mouths, they started moving with the steady disco beat of Donna
Summer's dance version of the love song.  

     Expecting the two men to be clumsy or awkward--and basically
stunned that they were out there dancing at all--Jim was surprised to
see them progress through a series of very smooth, coordinated moves
as if they'd rehearsed the routine for days.  Both obviously knew a few
of the sometimes surprisingly complex disco steps, and when they'd
part and then come back together, they usually changed who was
leading--and neither seemed to notice.  The changeover seemed as
natural as breathing.  

     Starsky pulled Hutch in closer so their bodies were still moving
to the beat, but pressed together from chest to toe, and smiled, then his
mouth was moving as he was obviously singing along--serenading his
lover--with the lines that seemed to mean the most to them both. 

//I could love you, 
Build my world around you, 
Never leave you, 
'til my life is done, 
Baby, I love you.  
Come, come, come into my arms, 
Let me know the wonder of all of you.  
Baby I want you now, now, 
Now and hold on fast, 
Could this be the magic, at last?//  

     Before he'd release Hutch to finish their little routine, he stole a
kiss, and then grinning devilishly, relinquished his tight hold so they
could finish the dance.  

     When it was over, they had quite a piece of the dance floor to
themselves as a few of their more practiced moves had drawn the
attention of a lot of the younger patrons who were just out there
enjoying the music but not really familiar with any of the old dance
steps.  Walking back to the table, arms casually around each other, they
took their seats again.  Hutch took a long drink of his beer.

     "That was dirty pool, babe," he said, leaning over and kissing
Starsky on the mouth, right there in front of God and everybody.  

     "You didn't look like you minded too much," Blair said, smiling
at his father and Hutch.  He'd seen honeymooners less interested in
each other than these two were after twenty years as lovers.

     "That was the song we had playin' on the stereo the first time
we--"  

     "Starsky, for God's sake, there are a few things your son doesn't
need to know about us, okay?"  Hutch was chuckling as he spoke,
taking much of the sting out of the words.

     "Sorry, Blondie.  Just takin' a stroll down memory lane--and
stopping off to jump in the bushes with you," Starsky teased, noticing
his beer was empty and helping himself to the rest of Hutch's, laughing
at the other man's exasperated expression.  His smile fading, he pinned
Jim with an intent gaze.  "There are worse things than being open about
your relationship--like missing out on some of the best moments of
your life," he added, then looked back at Hutch, smiling to break the
rather pointed tension of his last comment.  "I never woulda taught you
how to dance if we'd been shy."

     "Taught me...isn't this a little revisionist history, here, partner?"
Hutch challenged, raising an eyebrow.  

     "The waltz doesn't count.  I taught you to tango, and I taught
you how to do more than the funky chicken out there on the disco
floor."

     "I'll have you know that I was doing just fine on the disco floor
without your help."

     "Oh, yeah, sure you were.  Provided you didn't have to dance
*with* the lady, and you didn't get too close to the speakers.  I seem to
remember giving a certain someone a few pointers on technique after
that case we worked with Lizzie."

     "And I seem to remember someone else with two left feet at the
first black tie fund raiser we had to attend for the PD."

     "That's what I got me a classy partner for--knows all the dances
the rich old farts do."  Starsky grinned.  "Besides, we turned it into a
new sport--full contact waltzing," he said, nudging Hutch, who just
curled his lip and turned a nice shade of pink.  

     "You're really base, Starsky, you know that, don't you?  It didn't
help that you couldn't keep your mind out of your pants long enough to
learn a few basic moves," Hutch sparred back.

     "My mind was in your pants, babe, not mine."

     "You're impossible."

     "Hey, you wanna dance to this one?"  Starsky suggested as a
slow love song started playing.

     "A little full contact waltzing, maybe?"

     "If you play your cards right," Starsky retorted, grinning as they
got up and headed out to the dance floor.

     Blair took a drink of his beer and the waitress served the
appetizer plate and took the pitcher back for a refill.  

     "Whew!"  Gwen fanned herself as she and Huggy returned to
the table, both sitting down and exhaling from their prolonged turn
around the dance floor.  "You know, that was easier twenty years ago,"
she joked.

     "I see the happy couple's back out on the floor again," Huggy
said, laughing and shaking his head.  "Well, they earned it.  God knows
they've paid some dues for it."

     "How do you mean?"  Blair frowned.  "You mean because
they've been together so long?"

     "No, I mean 'cause it ain't easy bein' gay anyplace, but you
oughtta try it in a PD--well, Jim, you know what I'm talkin' about."

     "We've gotten the cold shoulder from some people.  Fortunately
we haven't had any full-blown harassment problems, but anything's
possible.  We aren't really *out* officially--just with our friends."

     "Well, neither are they.  They didn't take out any weddin'
announcements, but it didn't matter.  When they bought that house
together, they took some really nasty shit from their so-called
colleagues.  A bunch of 'em beat the hell outta Hutch in the alley
behind my old place downtown."

     "God, I didn't know that," Blair said, going a little pale.  "What
happened?  Did they get 'em?"

     "Nope.  They had masks on, they all alibi'd each other--and
there were more guys than just them who'd been pickin' on Starsk and
Hutch--so nobody could be real sure who it was.  They picked a time
when Starsky was outta town--his mother was sick.  Which was real
smart because the only thing that saved 'em was that he didn't know
who to kill when he got home.  Hutch was in the hospital about a week,
and off work about three weeks.  He was on desk duty almost two
months--his arm was broken in two places."

     "Aw, man," Blair said, slumping back in his chair, tossing aside
the fried zucchini slice he'd been planning to eat.  

     "I think this place is sort of like a safe haven," Gwen said,
smiling as she watched the two men out on the dance floor.  "We get a
nice crowd in here, and for our part, they know they're among friends. 
They really only have a few at the PD who've known them for years--
especially after Dobey left.  I think the PD was stuck with two guys
with incredible arrest records and some reputation from Hutch's
seminar work and their task force connections, and didn't want the
legal hassles of firing them for their sexual preferences.  Al Taylor is a
good man--he used to come in to Huggy's old place all the time when
he was first starting out on the force--so it doesn't surprise me that he
took over where Dobey left off--kind of protecting them from getting
split up or harassed too much.  But you can't protect anybody from
everything."

     "Must be lonely.  We were lucky to have a very good group of
supportive friends who didn't turn on us because we got together," Jim
said, glancing at Starsky and Hutch as they were bickering about
something, and laughing together, then obviously agreeing to stay
through one more borderline song--one that had a backbeat but didn't
require too much fancy footwork.  Starsky loved to dance, and Hutch
loved Starsky.  Hence, they stayed out on the floor for one more
number. 

     "At least they didn't get roughed up any more than that, but I
think that's because they're almost never apart.  I think it made Starsk
real paranoid to go anywhere without Hutch.  I think that trip on
Father's Day he took to visit you was the first time he's gone someplace
and left Hutch here.  Hutch sometimes goes somewhere to speak at a
seminar, but Starsky usually goes along, or if not, he doesn't mind
staying on his own.  But he almost never leaves Hutch."

     "I think Hutch was getting tired of hearing from us over that day
or so he was gone.  He made us swear to check in on him *multiple*
times," Gwen said, smiling.  

     "What a shitty way to live," Blair said, shaking his head.  "We
haven't evolved, we've *devolved*.  There're documented cases of
homosexual coupling in the animal kingdom, and you don't hear of
other animals attacking them because of it.  It's amazing what new lows
our so-called 'higher species' can reach."

     "Yeah, but think how miserable they woulda been tryin' to make
it with somebody besides each other?"  Huggy said, chuckling.  "They'd
tell you it was all worth it.  Hutch told me that the first time he
regained consciousness after getting nearly beaten to death over it."

     "Nobody should have to live in fear and isolation because of
whom they love.  It's just...man, it just sucks."  

     Jim watched as Starsky and Hutch made their way back to the
table, wondering if their ears were burning, having been such a hot
topic of conversation while they danced.  After all 
they'd gone through, despite the shunning and the harassment by their
colleagues, the general isolation and paranoia that had haunted them,
here they were, dancing together in a night club, thumbing their
collective nose at the world, too in love *not* to do the things other
couples do, even if society wanted to hate them for it.  And there was
Blair, sitting there fiddling with a piece of fried zucchini, looking
longingly out at the dancers. //The same man who was good enough to
take in frenzied passion on the beach, who was good enough to make
love with all afternoon,  wasn't good enough to dance with in a public
place?// Jim thought back of his remark about not being able to find a
woman for a dance partner, and of Blair's desolate expression, and
kicked himself inwardly.  

     "Excuse me."  Jim stood up.  "Restrooms?"  he asked, and
Huggy pointed in that general direction.  "Be right back, Chief."  Jim
patted Blair's shoulder and walked away from the table.  He was
surprised to be intercepted halfway to his destination by Starsky, who
had slipped up to the bar to talk to Anita, the club's assistant manager,
who was also a longtime friend.  

     "My son's good enough to screw but not good enough to dance
with?"  he challenged.  Jim found it unnerving to hear his own self-recrim
ination coming out of Blair's father's mouth.

     "Just back off, Starsky.  First off, it's none of your business, and
secondly--"

     "What's my business is that my son's sittin' there at that table
like the ugly chick on prom night while everybody else dances.  In case
you didn't notice, with all those extra-sensory, hyper-sensitive *radar*
senses you've got, he's miserable.  That's my business."

     "Secondly, I've got the situation under control.  But I don't
appreciate you sticking your nose into our relationship.  I know you
love Blair, and that's great, but so do I, and what goes on between us is
just that--between us."

     "You hurt my boy, you deal with me.  He's had enough hurt to
last him a good long time. He doesn't need more of it from you."

     "I don't have any plans to hurt Blair.  So back off.  If I want
relationship advice, I'll ask for it."

     "Oh I forgot.  You fucking know everything.  Let me clue you in
on something, Ellison.  I've been in the trenches of bein' with another
man for the last twenty years, and there's lotsa times where you have to
stay underground because it's just too damn hard or too damn
dangerous to do anything else.  But once in a while, in a place like this,
you get a chance to act like any other couple out there.  You're gonna
get some funny looks, but nobody's gonna beat you up or kill you over
it.  Take it from one who knows--your chances to show Blair he's not a
dirty secret are gonna be few and far between.  Don't let your own
hang-ups take those chances away from you."

     "Huggy told us what happened to Hutch," Jim said.  "I know
you guys haven't had it easy."

     "Huggy's got a big mouth," Starsky said, his adam's apple
bobbing once.  

     "Look, I don't know why we're having this argument.  I'm not
used to this whole... *gay* thing yet.  I'm not used to who I love being a
big *social issue*.  I'm trying, but it's not easy--you know that better
than I do.  But for me, it's not easy dealing with the stares and the
remarks I can hear that no one thinks I can hear...  Do you know what
it's like to hear someone call Blair a long-haired faggot and not take
them apart?  Or to hear some of the disgust people express when I do
something as simple as take a hold of Blair's hand in a restaurant? 
Ugly, hateful things even *they* don't expect we can hear.  Sometimes
I downplay how I act around Blair in public because I just can't deal
with that all the time."

     "I'm sorry I jumped you.  I just don't like seeing Blair feelin' so
lousy while everybody else is havin' a good time."

     "I'm gonna fix that right now.  Truce?"  Jim held out his hand,
and Starsky shook it, snorting a little laugh.  

     "Truce."  Starsky headed back for the table while Jim walked
over to talk to the DJ.  A few minutes later, he rejoined the group. 
When the next song stopped, a few familiar notes wafted out into the
room.  

     "C'mon, Chief, I can handle this song," Jim said, standing.  It
wasn't the most romantic invitation Blair had ever gotten, but he was
out of his chair in a heartbeat, following Jim out to the dance floor. 
"Sorry it took me so long, sweetheart," Jim said softly, tucking a strand
of hair behind Blair's ear.  

     "Better late than never," Blair said, beaming up at Jim happily
as the first words of The Bee Gees' "How Deep Is Your Love" reached
them.  Jim pulled Blair closer, the soft curls tickling the side of his face
as they swayed to the music.  As much as he hated to give the older
man credit, Starsky had been right about one thing--these moments to
do something like a normal couple would do were rare treasures, not to
be wasted on any stupid bout of self-consciousness.  He had to smile as
he focused on a passage from the song, the one that made it so perfect
for Blair.

//I believe in you 
You know the door to my very soul 
You're the light in my deepest darkest hour 
You're my savior when I fall 
And you may not think 
I care for you 
When you know down inside 
That I really do...//

     When the song ended, and another one began with a slightly
faster beat, Blair moved back and started to walk, somewhat
resignedly, back to the table--as if the clock had just struck midnight
and their coach was headed for pumpkinhood.  He obviously didn't
expect Jim to stay out on the dance floor with him to a song like "Kiss
You All Over".  

     "Hey--am I that lousy of a dancer?"  Jim challenged, grabbing
hold of Blair's hand.  

     "I didn't think you'd want to--"

     "I do want to," Jim said, making it a point to look Blair directly
in the eyes, then he smiled.  "I want to dance with you, and when we
get home," he pulled Blair in close, then whispered hotly against his
ear, "we'll talk about the 'kiss you all over' part?"

     "Just talk?"  Blair responded, pulling back with a big smile on
his face.  

     //Yeah, that smile was worth a little uneasiness and a few
stares.// Jim smiled himself and pulled Blair into a tight hug before
they started moving with the music again.

     The rest of the evening passed with a mixture of dancing,
conversation and snacking.  Blair made the mistake of lamenting the
fact he didn't really know any of the actual disco steps, which prompted
both Gwen and Starsky to volunteer their services as dance instructors. 
It was getting late, and after all the different combinations of dancers
who had emerged from that table, the other patrons were completely
uninterested in which conglomeration would end up out there next.  By
the end of the evening, Jim and Blair had spent some quality time on
the dance floor together, Starsky had dragged his reluctant partner out
there more often than even he'd thought possible, and Blair actually
knew how to do the Hustle.  All in all, as the tired group returned
home, they considered the evening a success.  

******** 

     Blair sat on the grassy slope, looking out through the trees at the
ocean.  Starsky was uncharacteristically silent and still beside him, and
it occurred to him that their more reserved partners would probably
have savored any moment in which both of them were silent and still at
one time.  They'd brought flowers up to the site where they'd scattered
Naomi's ashes, Blair's last stop before Jim's and his flight left later that
afternoon. 

     The resolution of the case was less than what he'd hoped for, as
part of Jensen's deal to plead guilty to second degree murder was that
the prosecution not argue for a stiff sentence.  In light of that
stipulation, Blair's opportunity to make a victim impact statement
disappeared.  Fordney entered a guilty plea to the kidnaping and assault
charges, while the stalking and B&E charges were dismissed.  Despite
their best efforts on the case, it was inevitable that all the guilty parties
would be eligible for parole in their lifetimes.  Blair took solace in the
fact that there was nothing preventing him from appearing at every one
of Jensen's or Fordney's parole hearings.  One way or another, he'd be
his mother's voice.

     "I've been wanting to talk to you about something, Blair,"
Starsky said quietly.

     "Sounds serious."

     "It is.  In a good way, I hope."  He was quiet a minute.  "That
'unknown' on the 'father' line of your birth certificate bothers me.  I'd
like to do what's necessary to change that.  I need to ask down at the
courthouse, find out what kind of papers we need, but I'd really like to
do that.  If that's okay with you."  Starsky paused.  "It's not exactly
going to make you rich or anything, but I just want you to know that
you're on one of my life insurance policies, and in my will."

     "Dad...I don't know what to say.  You know you don't have to do
that."

     "I know I don't *have* to.  You don't have to change anything
about the birth certificate if you don't want to.  I just wanted you to
know that *I* wanted to."

     "I'd really like to change it," Blair said, smiling at his father.  "It
means a lot to me that you want to, and the money doesn't matter,
but...thanks for including me."

     "Hey, don't discount the money.  Someone once told me that
whoever said 'money isn't everything' probably didn't have any." 
Starsky grinned and Blair had to laugh at that.  

     "I'm really gonna miss you, Dad," Blair said, his face becoming
serious again.

     "Not for long."  Starsky nudged him with his shoulder. 
"Hanukkah, remember?"

     "I won't forget.  I'll make arrangements as soon as I get home.  I
just miss being able to, you know, just stop in and visit or call you up
so we can get together or something.  I wish you weren't so far away."

     "We're going to have some more free time pretty soon."  Starsky
put his arm around Blair's shoulders.  "We're going to retire, but stay on
the task force.  I want to talk to Jim about joining us.  He'd be a
fabulous asset to the project, and I think Banks would let him take time
out to work with us once in a while."

     "Maybe that means you could come to Cascade and stay with us
once in a while?"

     "We'll make it a point to get together more often, Blair.  I think
we all learned that from this tragedy.  That we're never too busy for
family."

     "It still hurts a lot to think about her," Blair said quietly,
fidgeting with one of the flowers in the bouquet that lay next to where
he sat on the grass.  Starsky squeezed his shoulders a little tighter.

     "I know.  It's still pretty fresh, kiddo."  Starsky sighed and
looked out at the expanse of ocean and sky visible through the trees. 
"Violent, sudden death is probably one of the hardest things to
reconcile.  It wasn't a death that ended a long life, it wasn't a death that
ended some great suffering...  That was the hardest part...still *is*...
when I look back at my dad's death.  He was healthy, young, in the
prime of his life."  Starsky moved his arm away and got up, walking
closer to the edge of the bluff.  "They never caught the shooter.  They
caught the guy who set it up, even figured out which crime boss
ordered the hit.  The actual shooter just...*vanished*.  My theory is he
got smuggled out of the country.  At any rate, I'll bet you anything he
never even thinks about my dad, even once during the day.  He
murdered my father over forty years ago-- probably one of God knows
how many other murders.  So while there's not a day that goes by that
Ma doesn't remember, or that I don't remember when I pass his photo
in the hall at home, it doesn't matter to the son of a bitch who shot
him."

     "Jensen just ended her life in a fit of anger.  Hell, maybe he
planned it.  I don't know.  But it was so senseless."

     "A waste of a human life.  I know."  Starsky walked back to
where Blair sat and sat across from him in the grass.  "Try to think
about her, and about the good things.  Not about how she died.  You
know more than you should have ever heard about that, Blair.   But she
was so full of life--the energy that woman had just...*radiated* from
her like the sun.  That kind of a life force doesn't end.  It just moves on. 
Hey, before we go back, I want to show you somethin'."  Starsky stood
up again and offered Blair a hand, pulling him up.  

     He led the way to the shade of a big old tree, one Blair
remembered shading more than one picnic he'd shared there with his
mother and often some of their friends.  On the ground in front of it
was a good-sized rock, planted firmly in the earth.  Attached to the
rock was a bronze plaque: "In loving memory of Naomi Sandburg.  Her
smile was as bright as the sun that shines through these leaves."

     Blair looked at the plaque a moment, then crouched to run his
fingertips over it, taking in a couple of shaky breaths as tears rolled
down his cheeks.  

     "It's beautiful.  Your idea?"  Blair asked.

     "It's from Hutch and me.  He asked about having a tree planted
in Naomi's name, and I got to thinking how you said this was her
favorite spot to sit when you came up here...  He helped me come up
with the right words.  He was always better at that."

     "I felt sort of bad there wasn't a place...something that marked
her passing.  I knew she didn't really want the whole cemetery thing. 
She wanted the kind of ceremony we had, the way things were done. 
But still, it was sort of empty, you know?  Like there was no real place
to go to...*commemorate* her.  This is so perfect."

     "I'm glad.  You think she'd approve?"

     "Oh yeah.  Definitely."  Blair smiled.  He walked over and
picked up the bouquet and laid it in front of the rock.  

     "We should probably get back," Starsky said, checking his
watch.

     "Yeah, I know."  Blair sighed and then looked at his father with
a sad smile.  "Never enough time," he said, shrugging.

     "So you make the most of every moment.  Naomi did that.  She
lived every moment of her life.  I think if we can all learn that from
her, it'll be a great tribute."

     "You really loved her, didn't you?"

     "I really did," Starsky said, smiling.  "And that love created you. 
So no matter what else your mom and I did, we got one thing right."

     "Thanks, Dad."  Blair hugged his father, and the embrace was
returned.  "Guess we oughtta go, huh?"

     "'fraid so," Starsky agreed, and the two of them started down the
path back toward where they had left the Torino.  

     The wind gently rustled the leaves of the big tree, and the sun's
smile made the bronze of Naomi's name glow softly in the shade. 

********
THE END