When the last of the mourners had filed out of the funeral home
for the night, Naomi's spiritual advisor and a number of her other
friends gathered in a circle on the floor near the casket, candles lit, to
begin their group meditation.  Hutch joined Blair in participating in the
event, while Jim and Starsky slid over to police headquarters to check
on John Fordney.    

     "Blair seems to have a better handle on things today," Starsky
commented as he drove Hutch's car toward police headquarters.  

     "He's pretty resilient.  It doesn't surprise me," Jim said, smiling.  

     "I wasn't really convinced when we first ran into each other that
I thought you were good enough for my kid," Starsky said, a slightly
devilish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

     "So is the jury still out on that?"  Jim asked, looking through the
list of notes he'd made during the day, including several names he
wanted to run through the police database.

     "You're good to him and you make him happy.  That's all
anybody can ask out of a marriage.  No two people are perfect.  God
knows Hutch and I can take a chunk of each other once in a while
when we have a fight, but the love's always there."

     "Blair likes harmony--in that respect, he's a lot like his mother. 
But don't let that sweet face fool you.  He's got a temper on him you
don't want to be on the wrong side of."  There was a tone of admiration
in Jim's assessment.

     "Must be my genes floating around in there."

     "You and a flower child are definitely not a combination I'd
expect to find together."

     "So we produced a sweet, harmonious kid with a Starsky
temper who rides with cops.  Poor kid," Starsky added, chuckling a
little.  "What was that jerk's name you wanted to check out?"  Starsky
asked, his expression becoming more serious.

     "John Fordney.  I just had a bad feeling about him."

     "John Fordney," Starsky repeated.  

     "What is it?"

     "How did this guy say he knew Naomi?"

     "From way back--that they ran with the same crowd in the
flower child days, I guess."  Jim tucked his notepad in the breast pocket
of his suit coat.  "What's wrong?"  He picked up on not only Starsky's
dire expression, but a change in his heart rate.  

     "Let's just run the check first.  It could be nothing."

     "But you don't think it's nothing."

     "Naomi mentioned a guy named 'J.T.' who knew her about the
same time I did.  She didn't have good things to say about him.  I'll just
be interested to see what good old John's middle initial is."

     "Maybe we're onto something here then."

     "Yeah, maybe."  Starsky's troubled expression didn't change as
he pulled into a parking place and the two men headed into the
building.

     John Trent Fordney turned out to be what he said he was--a
financial planner working for one of the area's largest brokerage firms. 
He was 54 years old, and the only police record he had was for a
marijuana charge when he was 22, and a couple of speeding tickets in
the last ten years.  His nickname at the time of his arrest on the pot
charges was "J.T."

     "You want to tell me what you know about this character?"  Jim
prodded, leaning back in the desk chair, watching the older man as he
hit the computer key to print off the information on Fordney.

     "This isn't something I want Blair to know about."

     "If it has to do with his mother, it seems like he's got a right."

     "There are some things that just don't need to be told.  This is
one of them."  Starsky pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.  

     "If we investigate our buddy J.T. at any length, chances are
good he's going to find out anyway."

     "During the course of the weekend when Blair was conceived,
Naomi was with three men.  Me, a friend of hers who was driving the
van they took there...and a loser named 'J.T.'."

     "She said he was a loser?"

     "She said he raped her," Starsky said bluntly.  Shaking his head
then, sadly, he added, "And she was too afraid of finding out that Blair
was a product of that...she avoided looking into his paternity at all.  She
told me before that none of the three options were what she wanted for
her son--not a cop, not this other guy who was just a friend she got
physical with a time or two, and not the guy who forced himself on her. 
But I don't buy that.  Naomi was a good person.  She would have never
denied me the chance to know I *had* a son.  It isn't as if I would have
taken him away from her.  And if she were friends with this other guy, I
don't buy that she would have hidden it from him either."

     "You think it was solely the fear of finding out it was J.T. that
made her evade the whole issue."

     "Yeah, I do."  Starsky pulled the sheet of paper out of the
printer.  "Which is why I'd like to find this son of a bitch and rip his
fucking head off with my bare hands."

     "We can't keep this from Blair.  You realize that, right?"

     "How do you tell your son that his mother was raped?  That she
thought he might be--" Starsky shook his head.  "No."

     "And if this prince killed her, we're going to just overlook it so
we don't have to level with Blair?  You're forgetting something else
here.  You've told me, and I don't lie to Blair.  Not about something like
this."

     "Even if finding out is going to destroy him right now?"

     "There's no easy way for him to hear this, and no good time. 
We can't wait to investigate this case until Blair recovers from the loss. 
If we held up murder investigations until loved ones recover, we'd
never solve any of them."

     "This isn't just any murder investigation we're talking about
here."

     "No, you're right, it's not.  But if we treat it as any less than an
official investigation, and start sugar-coating it to make it easier for
Blair, we're not only doing Naomi a disservice, but when he gets his
head together, Blair'll be the first one to be pissed off at us for
sheltering him instead of moving forward with this.  I think we need to
question this guy, find out about his whereabouts the night of Naomi's
death-- see if we can get enough on him to test him to find out if he
was the one with Naomi the night she died."

     "After he raped her, I don't think she'd sleep with him."

     "Maybe not willingly."

     "The M.E. said that she wasn't raped."

     "No, what she said was that she couldn't be sure--there was no
explicit evidence that the sexual intercourse was violent or forced.  But
there are other ways to force a person that wouldn't leave physical
damage behind."

     "I think I should be the one to tell Blair about this.  I knew
about it first, and if there's any chance he isn't going to hold it against
me for not telling him sooner, it'll come with my telling him now."

     "That's fine.  I understand that."  Jim nodded, then started
leafing through his notes.  "Let's run a few more of these names
through."  

********

     "That was a lovely meditation, Blair.  I'm sure Naomi's spirit
was with us tonight," Frederick Stanford said.  The tall man with the
thick gray hair which brushed his shoulders bestowed a radiant smile
on Blair.  An attractive man nearly sixty years of age, he was dressed in
a pair of jeans and a brightly colored shirt that looked as if it might be a
handmade Native American garment.  

     "I think she's still close by," Blair said, casting a look back at
his mother's still countenance.  

     "You are only saying good-bye to her mortal confinement,
Blair.  Her spirit is free now, free to seek a higher truth, and a better
place."

     "I believe that too," Blair said, nodding.  "Thank you for
organizing this for her."

     "I wouldn't have done anything else.  Naomi was one of our
brightest lights.  We will look to her now for a higher spiritual
guidance," he concluded as his wife, a woman about his own age,
joined him.  She was a tall, large-framed woman with graying black
hair caught loosely in a braid.  "Well, we should be going."

     "You're all coming to the service Sunday, right?"

     "Of course.  Naomi's friend, Rachel, will be playing the violin. 
I hope that will be all right?  I realize you've made arrangements for the
scattering of the ashes, but I thought perhaps you would be at a loss for
finding someone to provide a bit of music."

     "Thanks.  I really hadn't thought of that.  Everything happened
so fast...and we came from out of state..."

     "This is a hard time to be clear-headed in making plans."

     "Fred, we should be going.  I think the others would like to
leave, and we're driving," Mrs. Stanford cut in abruptly.

     "It *is* getting late," Blair said, attempting to smooth over what
seemed to be an awkward moment between the couple.  

     "Be at peace, Blair."  The older man embraced him quickly,
then stepped back.  "Naomi was very in tune with her spirit, and I feel
sure she is at peace now."

     "Thank you.  I think so too."  Blair smiled slightly as the couple
walked away.  

     "Someone got up on the wrong side of the futon this morning," 
Hutch commented as he joined Blair.  

     "My mom always said that Mrs. Stanford wasn't a very willing
or enthusiastic participant in all this.  She used to complain about the
'negative energy' she felt when Frederick's wife joined the group for
their meditations."  Blair shook his head.  "I see what she meant."

     "Hope you guys haven't had to wait for us too long," Starsky
said as he and Jim arrived back in the room.  

     "The meditation just ended.  Find anything?"  Blair asked
immediately.  

     "A few things that bear investigation.  Let's head home and we
can talk about it there, huh?"  Jim suggested.

     "You want a few minutes on your own before we leave?" 
Hutch asked Blair, as this would be the last opportunity to view Naomi.

     "Yeah, I think so."  Blair looked over at Naomi, then nodded.  

     Starsky approached the side of the casket, plucking a single red
rose from a nearby arrangement and laying it on the pillow next to
Naomi.  He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her cheek.  

     "Thank you for our beautiful son," he said quietly, then with a
last touch to her folded hands, he stepped back and walked with Hutch
out into the hall.  

     Jim moved forward and also placed a little kiss on the dead
woman's cheek.  "I never met anyone quite like you, Naomi--you were
one of a kind.  I promise I'll take good care of your son--even if he *is*
hanging out with the pigs because of me," Jim added, smiling, and
Blair chortled a little, even though it was getting watery.

     "I won't be long," he said to Jim.

     "Take your time, honey.  I'll be right outside."  Jim hugged his
lover tightly, then with a little kiss to Blair's forehead, he moved back
and walked out of the room.

     "We're going to find out what happened to you, Mom," Blair
said tearfully, resting his hand on top of hers.  "I'm trying so hard to
think of your spirit on another plane, to think of all this as a natural
progression, like you always said.  But there was nothing natural about
this.  It was wrong!  Dammit, there's no good to find in this, and I know
you'd have some answer for that."  Blair sniffled and wiped at his eyes. 
"You believed in a purpose to everything...  I'm sorry, Mom, but I can't
find one for this," he sobbed, giving in to his tears.  "I don't know how
to say good-bye and walk away...  I know it's time but I don't want to
go."  He paused, then breathed, silently amidst his tears, "Jim."

     Neither Starsky nor Hutch understood why Jim suddenly stood
up from the grouping of chairs where they sat and hurried back into the
room, but his reaction to the little plea was instantaneous.  

     "Come here, baby."  Jim pulled Blair into his arms as the sobs
came harder.  "It's okay.  I'm right here."

     "I can't say good-bye.  I thought I knew ... all this stuff about her
going ... to a better place and...and...  Now I just can't walk away."

     "This is what you always think of when you think of your mom--this 
physical image, this body--that was what held your mom's spirit
while she was here."  Jim swayed a little, patting Blair's back.  "Try to
think about it like the house where your mom used to live.  It holds a
lot of good memories, but it's empty now, and Naomi is free of it--free
to explore someplace new and exciting--and you know how much she
loved to do that, right?"

     "Yeah," Blair admitted through his tears.  

     "This body is cold, and it's empty now.  You don't have to say
good-bye to your mom, just to...her *old house*.  But she's always
going to be with you, sweetheart.  In your heart and your memories,
and she's going to be watching out for you."

     "I know.  It's just hard," Blair said, regaining a little of his
voice.

     "I know, honey.  It's okay."  Jim released Blair as he pulled back
a little, moving back toward the casket.  He said nothing, but simply
leaned down and kissed his mother's cheek, then stepped back.  

     "I'm ready to go," he said, turning resolutely away from the
casket and looking at Jim.

     "Okay.  Come on, sweetheart."  Jim slid his arm around Blair's
shoulders and guided him out of the room.  

     "You okay, kiddo?"  Starsky moved forward immediately when
Blair emerged from the room and hugged his son.  

     "I will be," Blair said tightly, keeping a barely achieved control
on his emotions.  

     "I'll tell Mr. Chandler we're going home."  Hutch walked into
the funeral director's office and gave the man the all clear to close
down for the night.  

******** 

     "What did you guys find out at the station?"  Blair persisted as
soon as the four of them walked into the house.  

     "We ran checks on a lot of names, Chief.  We don't have to deal
with all that stuff tonight."  Jim stood behind Blair, hands on the other
man's shoulders, rubbing a little.

     "Okay, what aren't you both telling me?"  Blair turned around
and pinned Jim with an intent gaze, which then moved to his father.  "If
you think it's easier on me not to level with me, you oughtta know by
now that you're wrong," Blair said emphatically.

     "Can't argue with that logic," Starsky said, sinking into his
favorite leather chair in the living room.  Jim and Blair sat on the
couch, and Hutch stretched out in his own chair, letting out a long
breath.  "I don't have any proof, but I think John Fordney is a lead
worth pursuing.  Your mother knew a guy named J.T., and apparently
he was a real jerk.  Now if this guy is 'J.T'--and the age and the back
story fits--and he was still hanging around trying to get close to her
now, it's possible that things didn't go well...*again*, and he retaliated."

     "She never mentioned him," Blair said, frowning.  "How did she
know him?"

     "They were part of the same social circle, I guess.  Back in the
late 60's," Jim added.

     "What did she say about him?"  Blair asked Starsky, who
shifted a little uneasily in his chair.

     "He was interested in her, but she wasn't interested in him."

     "That's it?"  Blair prodded, looking over at Jim, who seemed
distinctly uncomfortable.  

     "You can tell him or I will," Jim spoke up, knowing Blair well
enough to know that being shut out of the loop was causing him more
stress than knowing the truth.  

     "Tell me what?"

     "This 'J.T.' character was part of the group that traveled together
to the music festival where I met your mom," Starsky began.  "He
was... apparently during the ride back from the festival, there was
some...drug use going on, and Naomi was pretty laid back, and he came
on to her, and she wasn't alert enough to really fight him--"

     "You're saying he raped her?"  Blair leaned forward on the
cushion where he sat.  

     "Yeah, I'm afraid so, son.  I didn't want you to have to know,
least of all right now."

     "I'll kill that son of a bitch."  Blair was out of his seat and
pacing, his angry statement startling the other men somewhat.  "You
know where he is?  Arrest him!"

     "We can't arrest him for that, Chief.  The victim is dead, and the
statute of limitations expired a long time ago."

     "So it's okay what he did to my mother?"  Blair demanded.

     "No, it's not okay, and we're going to pursue this investigation
to the best of our abilities.  I think this guy is a good suspect, but we
can't just go get him because of something that happened thirty years
ago."

     "Oh, man."  Blair dropped into the cushions of the couch again. 
"Oh, God."

     "Chief?"

     "If he...if he...raped her...if it was during the festival..."  Blair
looked up at his father, a look of horror spreading across his features. 
"She thought it was him, didn't she?"

     "She was concerned that it might be, but there was no way to be
sure without tests," Starsky replied honestly, shaking his head.  "She
didn't want you to know because she didn't want you to worry about it,
or feel badly about it, or...or to worry that it changed anything about
how much she loved you.  Because it didn't.  She simply didn't want to
risk knowing that, because she did love you so much, and she was
afraid it might affect how she felt if she knew."

     "It had to affect her anyway," Blair said sadly.  "How could it
not?  Every time she looked at me, wondering if I was his--"

     "She didn't feel that way, Blair.  She told me that as long as she
didn't know for sure, she figured there was a 2 to 1 chance it wasn't
him, and she was okay with that."

     "I used to ask her when I was little, you know...and every time I
did that, I reminded her..."

     "Hey, Chief, that's a natural thing to be curious about, and little
kids are curious anyway.  Especially smart little kids."  Jim slid his arm
around Blair and squeezed his shoulders.  "You didn't do anything
wrong by asking questions, and Naomi coped with what happened to
her the best way she knew how."

     "How long have you known?"  Blair looked back up at his
father.

     "Since before the paternity test.  She told me when I went to
talk to her about it."

     "You never said anything."

     "It wasn't my secret to tell, Blair.  It was up to Naomi, and she
didn't want you to know.  There was no point--it was only going to
make you unhappy."

     "I can't believe you never told me.  Something this significant
about my mom...you knew and you never said anything."

     "That's precisely the point.  It was about your mom.  It was her
past, her business.  She never wanted to judge you based on who your
father was.  She wanted to love you for yourself, as you are, without
that entering into it.  It wasn't up to me to break her confidence and tell
you something she chose not to tell you for over thirty years."

     "How are we gonna nail this guy?"

     "I think we should question him--based on the fact that he
visited the funeral home.  The element of surprise might be to our
advantage, not to tip him off that we already know what their history
is."  

     "I agree with Jim."  Hutch straightened a bit in his chair.  "If we
go in there and start hurling accusations, we're going to have an uphill
battle from day one.  I like this guy as a suspect--I think we have to
handle him carefully."

     "Think you can be part of the investigation and keep a lid on it? 
If not, it would be better for you not to be present when we question
Fordney," Starsky said.

     "You better question him on your own, because if I see him
again, I'll kill him with my bare hands."  With that, Blair stormed down
the hall and into the guest room, slamming the door behind him.  

     "That went well," Starsky slumped back in his chair.

     "What did you expect?"  Jim retorted.

     "That," Starsky replied honestly, gesturing toward the hallway.

     "I'll talk to him."  Jim stood up.  "Let's plan on paying Fordney a
little visit after the service tomorrow, if Blair's okay."

     "Sounds like a plan to me," Hutch concurred.  "I think we'll call
it a night too.  Tomorrow's going to be another miserable day."  

     "You guys are going to be able to join us for breakfast with the
Cascade contingent, right?"  Jim asked.

     "We're planning on it," Starsky responded.  With that, they
headed for their respective rooms.

********

     "For what it's worth, I think you did the right thing--not telling
Blair before this what you knew about this J.T. character."  Hutch
turned off the light and slid down in the bed.  His partner was lying on
his back, staring at the ceiling.  

     "Yeah, well, he still thinks I betrayed his trust not telling him.  I
just wish Ellison hadn't pushed the envelope with telling him
*tonight*."

     "Would it have been easier tomorrow?  Or the next day?" 
Hutch let out a long breath.  "No matter when you told him, he was
going to be upset, babe.  You can't get around that."  

     "I still didn't like dumpin' it on him now."

     "This is a bad situation, no matter how you look at it."  Hutch
shifted on his side and ran his hand over his lover's hairy chest.  "We're
all doing the best we can to get through it.  Blair's messed up right now
with everything he has to cope with, but when he comes around a little,
he'll understand that he should be appreciating you honoring his
mother's confidence rather than being pissed off that you didn't tell
him."

     "I hope you're right...oohh, yeah, that feels good," Starsky
purred, sighing and enjoying the sensation as Hutch pinched and rolled
a hardening nipple between his fingers, then leaned forward to begin
sucking it in earnest.  

     Hutch straddled his partner and worked on bringing both
nipples to hardness with his tongue, then started trailing his lips along
the line of hair that led to Starsky's navel.  He teased it with his tongue,
nibbling gently on the rim with the barest hint of teeth.  Taking his cue
from Starsky's groans and the burgeoning erection nudging his chin,
Hutch moved down and engulfed it in his mouth.  

     "Oh, yeah, babe...God that's good," Starsky encouraged, sliding
his fingers into the soft blond hair, relaxing into what promised to be a
long, slow blow job.  The only thing better would be...  "Ride me,
babe," Starsky gasped between thrusts into the eager mouth that was
pleasuring him.  In a moment, the wet heat was withdrawn, and Hutch
snagged the lube from the bedside table.  He squeezed some out on his
fingers and made a prolonged show of sliding two long fingers in and
out of himself, groaning at the stimulation, his erect cock bobbing up
and down with each impaling thrust.

     "You want some'a this?" he teased.

     "Get up here."  Starsky grabbed onto his partner's hips, steering
him up so he could lower himself on Starsky's straining arousal.  In one
long, smooth thrust, Starsky was sheathed inside his lover's body. 
"Yeah, babe, that's it," he urged, pumping Hutch's cock in time with
their movements.  

     "You can do...better than...that," Hutch managed between
downward strokes.  "Remember the prostate, Starsk?"

     "Yeah, I remember," Starsky teased back, purposely denying his
partner that particular stimulation a while longer.  Nailing Hutch's
prostate was a sure fire way to make him come, and come fast. 
Starsky, for his part, was enjoying a nice long ride.  

     Hutch leaned forward and they began kissing, their bodies
keeping up the pistoning motion of sex.   Hutch pulled his mouth free
and reared back again.

     "Come on, Starsk, fuck me!"  he ground out, and at that
moment, Starsky thrust up hard, impacting with his lover's prostate and
making him forget himself and let out a scream of pleasure that most
likely traversed to all corners of the house.  

     "You...wanna get...fucked, huh?"  Starsky challenged, grinning
wickedly, the expression finally faltering as he gave in to his own
moans of pleasure.  He started thrusting harder, faster and deeper, and
Hutch was matching his motions with equal enthusiasm.  

     "Yeah, that's it, give it to me," Hutch ground out, just before his
body tensed up, his internal muscles giving Starsky's cock the workout
that always pulled him over the edge.  Spurting his completion over
Starsky's hand and belly, Hutch fell forward, bracing himself on his
hands while Starsky made a few more fevered thrusts into the tight heat
before filling his lover, and then melting into the mattress in a spent
heap.

     "One of the best, babe," Starsky opined, grinning sleepily.

     "Well, I'm sure Jim and Blair know what I thought of it," Hutch
responded, laughing a little as his face turned red.
     
     "Love making you scream, blondie," Starsky teased, regretting
the loss of unity as Hutch moved up, breaking their union.  The two
men kissed again, Hutch lowering himself to lie on top of Starsky, still
straddling him a little, keeping their lax, sticky cocks close together.  
"Wanna go for round two?"  Starsky flexed his eyebrows.

     "Starsk, come on, it's late."

     "What's the matter, you old fart?  No foam left in your
firehose?"  Starsky slapped Hutch's ass loudly.

     "Maybe you could make this a little noisier, Gordo," Hutch
retorted, referring to the loud butt slap.

     "Yeah, like they never make any noise at home."  He let a
devilish finger trail down between Hutch's cheeks, finding his sensitive
center and probing it.  After a few minutes of just relaxing and
enjoying the sensation of the questing finger, Hutch slid his hand down
Starsky's stomach until it brushed against the returning firmness.

     "You're getting hard again," Hutch observed, taking Starsky's
cock in his hand and pumping it.  

     "Looks like I'm not alone."  Starsky pushed his finger deeper
into Hutch's ass, rubbing the sensitive walls.  "Wanna fuck you all
night, babe."  Hutch's response was a hungry, open-mouthed kiss, a
prolonged duel of tongues that imitated the motion of Starsky's probing
finger.  

     Hutch moved away then, getting on all fours on the bed,
lowering himself to elbows and knees.  Occasionally Starsky went on a
real testosterone trip, and the man's stamina would have been the stuff
of legends if Hutch had elected to share the information with anyone
else.  As they got older, both men usually found plenty of satisfaction
in one good round before lights out, but every now and then, with the
right incentive, they still demanded just a bit more out of their bodies
than a one time shot.  Hutch had teased Starsky in the past that he did
all but beat his chest and jump around scratching his armpits when he
insisted on topping both times, but despite the slightly sore ass he'd
have in the morning, Hutch had no complaints.  He'd get his payback
via a few complaints, which would earn him the rimming of a lifetime
by the next night...

     Introspection was cut short as Starsky moved up behind him
and slid in to the hilt in one fast thrust.  Never losing the fast pace, he
started pulling out and shoving back in, their flesh slapping together,
Hutch grunting in pleasure with each stroke, the bedsprings squeaking
in that wonderful way that only comes with one activity.  

     "Oh yeah...come on, babe, scream for me," Starsky goaded,
falling into a pattern of staccato groans as he took his pleasure in a
series of passionate thrusts, finally angling to hit Hutch's prostate on
each stroke.  Soon he had the other man muffling shouts into a pillow,
which suited Starsky just fine--it raised Hutch's ass even higher, letting
him go still deeper.  His ass was thrusting back wantonly, wiggling
from side to side, the display sufficient to bring Starsky to his own
climax as he labored to make a few more hard thrusts into his lover
before they collapsed together on the bed.

     "They're going to find us dead like this someday," Hutch
groaned, his breathing labored.

     "If I die with my cock up your ass, I'm already gonna be in
heaven, babe."

     "Who says it'll be *your* cock up *my* ass?  Maybe it'll be you
on your back with your legs around behind your head somewhere."

     "I never put my legs behind my head."

     "Then you aren't trying very hard."

     "You were in your thirties when you almost did that, Hutch. 
You do that now, and you'll be that way permanently."  Starsky
chuckled.

     "Do you mind pulling out before you do that?"  Hutch groused. 
Despite his irritable tone, he flexed his internal muscles again,
squeezing Starsky's flaccid cock.

     "In the old days..."

     "In the old days, I'd have thrown you on your back and fucked
you silly."  

     "Wait a minute--you didn't--" Hutch moved so quickly that his
partner didn't know what to make of it, when he found himself pinned,
on his back, with Hutch straddling him, impossibly hard cock standing
straight out from his body.  

     "You're swift, Gordo.  What was your first clue?"  Hutch moved
down on the bed.  "I saved number two for paybacks.  Now raise 'em
and spread 'em," he said, eagerly awaiting the spectacle of Starsky on
his back, naked, knees up to his chest, legs as far apart as humanly
possible.  Seconds later, his wait ended.  

     Grabbing the tube of lubricant, he coated his fingers and shoved
two into the eager, exposed hole, stretching aggressively, though two
orgasms had loosened Starsky up enough to be ready for most anything. 
After coating his shaft, he slid inside the tight passage, Starsky's legs
hooking over his shoulders.  

     "Ugh...yeah...fuck me, babe," Starsky was relaxed and languid,
his cock slightly hard. 

     "Oh, yeah...feels good, lover," Hutch said, thrusting in and out
rapidly, hoping that he could make the impossible happen and wring a
third climax out of his somewhat lethargic partner.  For his part,
Starsky was just sprawled there, enjoying the ride.  "Can't hold
out...any longer..."

     "Go for it, lover.  I'm not goin' for three."  Starsky pulled Hutch
down for a kiss.  "Love you," he said against the other man's full lips.

     "Love you too, babe.  More than ever," Hutch responded,
smiling just before his body gave in to his climax, and he filled his
lover, then slumped into his arms as Starsky hastened to shift his legs
to accommodate Hutch's post-orgasmic body slam.  

     "You still alive?"  Starsky asked the pile of blond hair on his
chest.  It nodded once.  "Good enough."  Starsky yawned, and enclosing
his partner's spent body in his arms, drifted off to sleep, too completely
wasted to worry about anything.

********

     "Starsky was only honoring your mom's wishes, sweetheart,"
Jim said gently as he worked on giving Blair a back rub, hoping it
would alleviate some of the nervous tension that seemed to have seized
the younger man's muscles.  

     "I just really don't like deception.  She should have told me."

     "I understand how you feel, Chief, but what would it have
solved?  She didn't want to know.  That was how she coped.  If she'd
told you, you'd have wanted to know."

     "But I had a right to know."

     "No arguments there."

     "I just wish I could talk to her about it," Blair said, his voice
shaking a little.  "It's so...final.  I can't ask her, we can't have a talk...I
can't understand her feelings because she can't tell me what they were
anymore."

     "I know, honey," Jim said soothingly, rubbing gently over a
tense shoulder.  Blair hadn't seemed to notice the wild sounds of
wanton sex down the hall, and Jim was just as glad.  Sex definitely had
healing properties, but as tumultuous as Blair's feelings were about
everything at the moment, he wasn't sure how the younger man would
have reacted to hearing his father and Hutch bouncing the bed like wild
animals.  For his part, Jim was finding that listening to other people
have marathon sex wasn't helping him keep his own mind on a loftier
plane.  Giving Blair a back rub with the perfect ass nestled between
Jim's legs wasn't exactly helping either.  

     "I think it's a lost cause, man."  Blair sighed.  "I feel like
bouncing off the walls here.  I hate this.  I just wanna *hit* somebody." 
Jim moved back and let Blair up, the suggestion surfacing in his brain
of just what they could do to work off that excess energy.  "Why didn't
she tell me?  Why didn't she go after the guy later?"

     "How, Chief?  Think about it--a hippie having sex with another
hippie in the back of a van, under the influence of various drugs--who's
going to believe that's rape, even if it is?  She had a lot of biases against
her, and then when she became pregnant, she probably didn't want to
risk someone taking you away from her because she ended up looking
like an unfit mother."

     "It's just not fair."

     "No, it's not.  There's nothing I can say to that.  It sucks, and it's
wrong.  If this Fordney jerk had anything to do with her death, we
*will* nail him."

     "But if all he did was rape her, he gets off scot free?"

     "You said it yourself, baby--it's not fair."  Jim sighed and got up
off the bed, moving up behind Blair.  "But at least before she died, she
knew the truth, and she knew that your father was a good man, and
someone who loved you.  And she knew that you were the product of
love, and not violence."

     "I just can't stop thinking about how alone she must have felt,
how...hopeless.  And then all these years, she was still alone with that
secret.  I just want to kill him, Jim.  I don't like feeling that way, but it's
how I feel."

     "Not too many people would feel differently about someone
who attacked their mother.  But you know Naomi would be the first
one to want you to let this go as much as you could.  She'd tell you it
was in the past, and just negative energy to concentrate on it now."

     "I guess I owe my dad an apology, huh?"

     "I'm sure he understands how you feel, Chief.  But it probably
wouldn't hurt."  Jim kissed the back of Blair's head.  "You want to turn
in?"

     "Not yet.  Go ahead.  I think I'll go out in the living room and
read or watch TV or something.  I just can't settle down and sleep." 
Blair paused.  "And I love you more than life, but I just don't want to
make love."

     "I understand, sweetheart.  Do what you need to do.  Come to
bed in a while though, huh?"

     "I will."  Blair lingered for a gentle but prolonged kiss, then
slipped on his robe and went out to the living room.  

********

     Starsky made his way slowly out to the living room, wondering
how many brain cells had died in order to make him give his back the
workout he'd given it the night before.  The tingle in his ass was a nice,
even arousing sensation, but the stiffness in his back was making him
walk like his old Aunt Rose.  He wondered how Hutch would feel
when he once regained consciousness.  As usual, they would be yin and
yang-- Starsky couldn't stand up, and Hutch most likely couldn't sit
down.

     He was startled to see Blair lying in Starsky's favorite chair,
book open on his chest, glasses oddly askew as if he'd fallen asleep
with them there.  

     "Hey, kiddo," Starsky whispered, sitting on the chair's ottoman,
touching his son's arm.  "It's five-thirty," he told the younger man as he
stirred.  "Why don't you try getting a couple hours' sleep in a real bed
before breakfast, huh?"

     "I must've dozed off.  What time...?  Oh man."  Blair
straightened up, looking at the clock on the wall.  

     "Come on.  At least go to bed for a little while."

     "Yeah, okay."  Blair blinked a time or two and stood up,
removing his glasses and tucking them in the pocket of his robe. 
"Dad?"

     "Hm?"  Starsky paused on his way to the kitchen.

     "I'm sorry I jumped all over you last night.  I know you did the
right thing by not telling tales behind my mom's back.  I was just
upset."

     "Thanks.  I'm glad you feel that way.  I really did want to level
with you, but I felt the choice was hers, and she made it..."  He
shrugged.

     "You were right to respect that.  I'm glad she had someone to
confide in that she could trust.  I'm going to go stretch out for a while." 
Blair turned and headed for the hallway.

     "Blair?"

     "Yeah?"

     "We'll find a way to nail Fordney.  Don't worry about it."

     "I hope so," he said, nodding a little before continuing back to
the guest room.  

     Starsky poured two glasses of orange juice and headed back for
the bedroom.  Hutch was stirring around now, rallying and leaning up
on one elbow to accept his glass of juice.

     "You realize we're too old for that," he said.

     "For orange juice?"  Starsky countered, sitting a bit carefully on
his side of the bed.  Hutch grinned evilly.

     "As I was saying..."  He took a drink of the juice.  

     "I notice you're not sittin' up in a big hurry," Starsky needled.

     "Don't hold your breath.  I'm going to roll out on the floor and
get up from there."  Hutch laughed, and Starsky joined him.  

     "I wasn't too rough, was I?"

     "I'm fine, babe.  Just sore in a good way."

     "Good," Starsky responded, smiling, looking more than a bit
relieved.

     "Now my back is a whole other issue."

     "Tell me about it."  He paused.  "I talked to Blair this morning. 
He seems okay with things--he isn't mad anymore about my not telling
him."

     "He shouldn't be.  You were in a no-win situation.  And it wasn't
your place."

     "You know, you still look really sexy when you first wake up in
the morning," Starsky said, grinning.

     "Oh no.  Just back off, Starsk."

     "It was just an innocent comment, babe," Starsky retorted, his
voice dropping an octave, anything but innocent.

     "Uh-huh, sure.  Just like 'where's the lube' is an innocent
question," Hutch countered.

     "All right, so I have a dirty mind.  So shoot me."

     "I will if you climb me again this morning."

     "I *was* just going to offer you a great blow job in the shower,
but now I'm hurt."

     "The only way you're going to be hurt is if you renege on that
offer," Hutch threatened, maneuvering himself out of bed.  Two naked,
slow-moving men headed toward their bathroom.  

     "I feel like I should have one of those bright orange triangles on
my ass this morning," Starsky opined.  Laughing, they headed into the
bathroom to start their prolonged shower.

********

     Starsky, Hutch, Jim and Blair met up with the Cascade
contingent for breakfast in the dining room of the hotel where the out
of town visitors were all staying.  No one would have identified the
brightly-clad people as mourners, but it had been Blair's request that for
the memorial service, everyone wear something cheerful.  Naomi had
once remarked that if death was a passing over to a higher spiritual
plane, dressing in black and wearing long faces at a memorial service
seemed...*wrong* somehow.  Since she hoped that her own service
someday would be a celebration of life, and a celebration of the
beginning of another spiritual journey, she had made it clear to Blair
that she didn't want any memorial to her to be filled with people
dressed like undertakers.

     "I wish I'd had more of a chance to get to know your mother,
Blair.  She seemed like a fascinating woman," Megan commented,
taking a sip of her orange juice.  "It sounded as if she'd traveled to just
about every country in the world."

     "Maybe not quite *every* one, but quite a few," Blair
responded, inwardly relieved that the conversation was centering on his
mother's life, rather than the investigation of her murder.  At the
moment, that topic turned his stomach almost as completely as the
grief itself.  "She was partial to a couple spots in India, where her
spiritual advisor was."

     "I thought that was Stanford," Simon interjected.

     "Him too.  She had more than one.  When she was with the holy
man in India, she said she actually levitated."  Blair smiled and shook
his head.

     "I wish I could have introduced her to my dad," Megan said,
nodding.  "Those two would have been perfect for each other.  Your
mom was into the Tarot, I suppose?"

     "That's an understatement," Blair responded, chuckling.

     "So was Stanford her local guru?"  Hutch asked.

     "More or less.  She met with his group a couple times a week
and they'd do a group meditation, or they'd sit around and have a
discussion.  They were good friends for a lot of years."

     "His wife seemed a little...chilly," Megan commented.

     "My mom kept saying she got bad vibes from her--that she was
a distraction when they had a meditation.  I guess he sort of drags her
into all this stuff, and she's not necessarily all that interested in it."

     "Did you have a chance to talk with the rest of Stanford's
group?"  Simon asked Jim.

     "Most of them.  A couple of them arrived late, just before the
meditation, but we'll catch up with them after the service tomorrow."

     "Have there been any other similar crimes in the area recently?" 
Bill asked, seeming a bit unsure if case questions were welcome at the
gathering.  Still, at a table full of cops, he didn't anticipate that the
avoidance of the subject would last long.

     "Not recently.  There was a case with some pretty startling
parallels about ten years back," Starsky explained.  "I don't see it being
the same guy--personally I think he's dead."

     "One of our key suspects in that case died several years ago. 
Starsky always believed he was the one.  That leaves two other viable
suspects.  We're trying to find out if there's any tie between them and
Naomi.  Judging by some of the other evidence in those cases, it was a
good bet that he knew his victims."  Hutch paused.  "Naomi had a lot of
friends and acquaintances, so getting acclimated with those alone will
take some time.  We might be overlooking yet some key people who
had a good working knowledge of who her current friends were and
what her current schedule was like."

     "What about that Harold guy?"  Henri asked.  "I can't wait to
meet him.  Sometimes those real smooth, quiet corporate types are the
worst ones."  Henri paused a moment, then looked down the table at
Bill Ellison, who had actually caught Blair's eye at the comment and
just smiled, continuing with his breakfast undaunted.  "No offense."

     "None taken.  Try harder next time," Bill retorted, still smiling
slightly.

     "That's a dangerous challenge with this bunch, Dad," Jim
cautioned.

     "I think I can hold my own, Jimmy, but thanks for the warning," 
Bill said, still a tinge of humor in his voice.  "Who is this guy exactly?"

     "Harold?"  Blair clarified.  "He was my mom's current
boyfriend.  She was living with him, and he seemed to be really hung
up on her.  He proposed twice, but she kept turning him down.  I think
she was fond of him, but he wasn't too exciting."

     "Harold...?"

     "Bloomfield," Blair added.

     "He's an investment broker, right?"  Bill persisted.

     "Right."

     "Does he have any ties to Bloomfield & Church?"

     "His dad started the company, and Harold took over his
interests.  You've dealt with them before?"  Blair asked.

     "Several times.  My company used them to manage its portfolio
for a while, and I've had them handle a few private investments--large
matters.  We primarily dealt with a guy named Fordney for the
corporate issues, and I worked with Richard Church for my own
investment projects."

     "You remember the Fordney guy's first name?"  Starsky asked, a
little chill running up and down his spine.

     "John, I believe."  Bill frowned as Blair choked on his coffee
momentarily.  "What is it?"

     "John Fordney, if he's the same one, was an old...acquaintance
of Naomi's."

     "I don't think he's with their company anymore.  The last time I
attended a shareholders' meeting, the presentation was made by some
guy named Maxwell."

     "Could be an interesting twist on things."  Starsky avoided
additional comment, figuring John Fordney wasn't pleasant breakfast
table conversation.

     "Fordney's a suspect then, I take it?"  Steven spoke up.

     "At the risk of sounding cliched, *everyone* is a suspect at this
point.  We've got a lot of possibilities and a lot of leads, but nothing
solid yet," Hutch responded.  

     "If utilizing some private investigators or outside laboratories or
technicians would be helpful at any point, get in touch with me," Bill
stated.  "We don't want this to sit on a back burner because of budget or
manpower issues."

     "We won't be letting it sit on a back burner," Starsky replied, his
tone a bit defensive.

     "I didn't mean to imply that you would, but there are only two
of you who are officially within your jurisdiction, and we all know that
major metropolitan police departments investigate a lot of homicide
cases, so one can't continuously remain top priority officially.  I think
I've heard Jim lament that once or twice."

     "Once or twice," Jim admitted, smiling. 

     "If you find yourselves with more leads than you have time to
personally pursue in a timely manner, I would be happy to finance
some additional manpower--private investigators of your choosing, of
course."

     "Thank you," Blair said, his smile very sincere.  

     "Don't mention it, Blair," Bill replied.  

     "If there's anything any of us can do...we can't stay very long,
but we'd be glad to do some preliminary legwork," Ryf offered.

     "Can you give these guys some sort of departmental *blessing*
and send them out to question people today?"  Steven asked Starsky
and Hutch, who exchanged looks.  

     "We could do that.  It would certainly move us through our list
quickly with some dependable help," Hutch said, nodding.
     
     "As soon as we finish up here, let's head back out to our place
where we have the contact information and we'll organize and get
started," Starsky added.

********

     Blair sighed and looked over the top of the book he was
reading.  Jim's father was in a similar position, sitting in the corner seat
of the couch and reading a copy of "The Wall Street Journal". 
Something about that made Blair smile, thinking how stereotypical it
all seemed--Jim's father reading a paper that was one giant financial
page.

     "Well, they've been at it over two hours," Bill commented,
checking his watch when he noticed the two eyes focused on him.

     "I really don't like this.  I should be out there with them."

     "These people have to be free to say the good things and the
negative things, Blair.  Jim explained all that, and he was right.  There
might be some people who wouldn't be comfortable talking frankly in
front of her son."

     "I guess not.  I just feel so...*useless* sitting around here and
killing time when I could be out there...*doing* something."

     "Waiting is the hardest job, in my opinion. I've never been good
at it."  Bill laid the paper aside.  You want to go for a drive?  Get out of
the house for a while?"

     "What if they call?"

     "You have a cell phone, right?"

     "Yeah, that's true."

     "I'll leave a note for Steve."  Bill got up and headed into the
kitchen to borrow the message pad there.  Steven had made a golf date
with an old friend of his for that afternoon, and was currently making
his way around a nearby course, and would probably stay for a couple
beers after the game.  

     The two men got into Bill's rented Lincoln, and started out. 

     "Where're we going?"  Blair asked, fastening his seat belt.

     "I have no idea," Bill responded, adjusting the air conditioning. 
"What do you want to do?"

     "I'm not really in the mood to do much of anything."

     "City this size, there's got to be some museum somewhere
exhibiting something you haven't seen yet."

     "Probably.  Look, I really appreciate what you're trying to do,
but I just--"

     "Then quit moping and use that head of yours for something
besides a hat rack.  You've been out here before.  What did you do
then?"

     "Uh, well, we went to Disneyland, but I'm *really* not in the
mood for that," Blair said.

     "I think I can live with the disappointment," Bill dead panned. 
"What else?"

     "I don't know."
     
     "Have you been to the Civic Center--where they have those
vendor booths?  I took Grace there ages ago."

     "Olvera Street?  Yeah, that's pretty cool," Blair said, actually
feeling a little spark of interest at the thought.  

     "I should pick up a couple souvenirs for Sally."

     "That's the place for it.  When I was there with my mom a few
years ago, we..."  Blair swallowed and leaned back in the seat.  "We
found a lot of really interesting stuff," he concluded quietly.

     "I should have taken a pack mule when I went with Grace.  That
woman could accumulate more merchandise in a shorter span of time
than anyone I've ever seen."  Bill paused.  "What do you think?"  He
didn't want to push Blair into going somewhere that made him more
unhappy than he was, but he still felt the diversion would do him good,
and that maybe the kid was drowning in so much sympathy and
coddling that he wasn't even trying to come out of it.  

     "We can go there."

     "I didn't realize that your father and Hutch were...more than
police partners," Bill said, keeping his eyes on the road.

     "They've been together as life partners about twenty years now,
and they've been best friends for almost thirty."  Blair was quiet a few
minutes.  "Does that bother you?"

     "That they're together?  Why should it?"

     "I mean, the whole same sex couple thing?"

     "If you mean does it still bother me that you and Jim are
together that way, then yes, sometimes it does.  I'm not going to lie to
you, Blair, because I think you're smart enough to see through that
anyway.  Life isn't easy for gay men in this culture, aside from any
personal feelings I have on the subject.  I wasn't happy to know my son
was going to be swimming upstream all his life, and I know damn well
it can adversely affect his career, aside from all the personal dangers."

     "I know all that.  I guess I wondered about your personal
feelings."

     "Well, I can't picture it.  I don't understand it.  Jimmy never
showed any signs of being... *different* that way.  Myself, I can't even
envision having that sort of relationship with another man, and I don't
know what makes other people do it."  He shrugged.  "I can't say it's the
life path I'd have picked out for Jim, but then I probably wouldn't have
picked out police work for him either.  I'm still proud of him though--
proud of his honors and of the kind of man he turned out to be."

     "I really do love Jim.  He's everything to me.  I mean, this isn't
some sort of kinky thing we're doing for kicks.  He's my whole life."

     "I can see that.  I never had that experience in a relationship, so
if Jimmy's found that with a man instead of a woman, I guess I can't
condemn him--or you--for taking the chance.  I think you're a good
man, Blair, and I know Jim's happy.  I always wanted what was best for
my boys-- success, a good home life...I think Jim has both, so even if it
came about in a manner I don't exactly understand, I don't plan on
arguing the point with him."

     "I'm glad you feel that way.  Just for the record, I understand it
seeming weird, or grossing you out a little.  I think that's kind of
natural.  Plus, society isn't even accepting it now, and it was even more
blatantly against it when you were growing up.  Those attitudes don't
disappear overnight."

     "No, they don't.  I'm glad you can understand that.  I might not
really *get* what's beteween the two of you, but for what it's worth, I
want you to know that Steven and I consider you part of the family, and
we want you to know that we're here for you as much as we are for
Jim."  Bill chuckled.  "Which hasn't been as much as I'd have liked in
past years, but things are getting better now.  I also know that's no
small thanks to your influence.  It would be a little hypocritical for me
to enjoy my reconciliation with Jim and at the same time, shun the
person who facilitated it."

     "Thanks--for everything you said, and for all that credit, but I
think Jim was ready to be in touch with you again on his own.  He just
needed something to push him."

     "Yes, I agree--and I'm looking at it," Bill concluded, smiling. 
Blair had to laugh a little at that.  

     "I guess I do push a little sometimes."

     "Sometimes?"  Bill echoed.

     "Hey!  Just exactly what *does* Jim say to you about me?"

     "Oh, look, I think that's Olvera Street right up there," Bill said,
pointing out the windshield, forcing back a smile.  

     Olvera Street proved to be a lengthy diversion once they
launched the activity.  While Bill occasionally asked himself silently
why he'd volunteered to troll up and down a noisy street lined with
vendors, it was having the desired effect of getting Blair's mind off his
grief for a few minutes as he picked out a few things for Jim, and at
least one item for everyone who was visiting, as well as a few things
for his father and Hutch.   Bill picked up a couple of handmade candles
for Sally, as well as a small silver necklace he thought she would enjoy. 
Blair's last purchase was a soft, handmade throw in dark, subtle colors
of green, brown, and burgundy.

     "I think it'll look good on that leather couch in your study," he
said to Bill as they deposited the purchases in the back of the car.  At
Bill's slightly surprised expression, he added, "I really had a good time
today.  I didn't think that was *possible* right now, but I feel a lot
better.  This is just a...thank you present."

     "It should look fine in the study.  Thanks," Bill added, smiling a
little as he closed up the back driver's side door and got into the driver's
seat.  Blair got into the car, and they started back toward the house.

     "You think the others are back yet?"

     "I don't know.  They had a pretty long list of suspects to check
on.  Steven's probably back."

     "I wanted to thank you again for bringing everybody out here. 
Yesterday...I felt so bad...and when you all just showed up there, I felt
like I could make it.  I mean, Jim is my lifeline and my strength, and I
couldn't do any of this without him, and my dad and Hutch have been
great--but seeing everybody from home, and...being accepted by Jim's
family, it's really important to me."

     "Jimmy seems happier than I've seen him in a long time, and
that's worth a lot to us.  You must be doing something right."

     "I'm trying," Blair responded, smiling.  "He makes me happy
too."

********

     By early evening, the house was the scene of an information
exchange, with ordered in pizzas sitting around in open boxes as the
detectives laid out their information for those who hadn't been along
for the ride.  It was also their first chance to exchange information
among themselves.  

     "I had an interesting chat with Harold.  He's back home," Hutch
noted.  Starsky had gone to see John Fordney, and Jim had been sent
along to ensure that he didn't kill the man with his bare hands.  The
wisdom of sending Jim along as the calming influence was
questionable, and Hutch knew it, but he'd still felt that one of the three
of them should be interrogating Bloomfield, and neither Naomi's son's
lover or her son's father seemed like the right man for the job.  "He's
planning on attending the service tomorrow, against doctor's orders. 
This time around, he was more willing to answer questions."

     "I'm surprised he let you in the door," Starsky said, chewing on
a piece of pizza.  "After what happened at the station--"

     "He said that he understood we were just doing our jobs, and
that while he was not pleased that it had taken such a toll on his health,
he was glad to see that we were following up on the case so
passionately.  At any rate, he said that Naomi had been receiving some
strange phone calls in the last few weeks--she seemed agitated with the
caller, and then she'd hang up.  She kept telling him it was a
telemarketer or some other similar nuisance call, but he suspected it
might be something else.  He said he had no proof that it *was*
anything else."

     "He never listened in?"  Simon questioned.

     "Not according to him.  Besides, he was apparently with her in
the room when this person would call, so he couldn't really covertly
check it out.  Now we all know what pests telephone solicitors can be,
so there isn't any proof that it wasn't what she said it was, but we now
have enough to subpoena Harold's phone records for the last couple of
months."  Hutch made a notation on what appeared to be his "to do"
list, with a wicked little grin on his face.

     "John Fordney worked for Harold Bloomfield, but left
Bloomfield & Church about six months ago," Jim began.  "He claims
he hasn't spoken to Naomi in the last ten years or so.  He said he didn't
socialize with Bloomfield at all, and didn't know anything about the
fact he was dating Naomi."

     "But here's where it gets interesting, folks," Megan spoke up.  "I
took a little trip over to Bloomfield & Church, and guess what Harold's
assistant told me?  John Fordney, whom she kept referring to as 'J.T.',
attended the company's diamond jubilee celebration just six weeks ago--
they invited folks from other firms-- and she even had a snapshot.  Isn't
this sweet?"  Megan handed Blair a snapshot.  "As you can see, Naomi
and Harold are seated at that table right there--looks like they were the
ones Gina was photographing--Gina is the assistant--but take a look at
the man standing off to the side, right behind Naomi's chair.  Look
familiar?"

     "Oh, man.  That's him all right," Blair said, swallowing hard and
trying to ignore the little flash of pain at seeing the photo of his mother. 
"This looks like it's from the same event as that photo of Naomi and
Harold that was on the dresser at his house."

     "So we already know that Mr. Fordney is not being straight with
us," Megan summarized.  

     "Did this Gina mention any interaction between 'J.T.' and
Naomi or Harold?"  Starsky asked.

     "Not that she recalled.  She just knew he was there, and when
she snapped the photo, he was right behind Naomi.  If he knew her well
enough to pay his respects, he certainly would have recognized her
from that distance, or picked up on her voice--he couldn't have gotten
so close without knowing she was there, and noticing who she was
with," Megan opined.

     "And Naomi was getting the funny phone calls for the last few
weeks," Hutch added, nodding.  "Interesting."

     "We had an interesting chat with Naomi's spiritual advisor,"
Henri spoke up.  "He said her aura had changed in recent weeks, and
that she wasn't..."  He flipped open his notebook to find the quote,
"exuding the usual positive energy."  Rolling his eyes a bit, he
continued.  "I'm not too sure what all that has to do with anything, but
he said he thought something was weighing her down, making it
difficult for her to achieve her usual level of...whatever it is they try to
achieve."

     "His wife even mentioned that Naomi had seemed a little
quieter the last time or so she saw her, like something was on her
mind," Ryf added.

     "I just talked to her on the phone...God, not even a week ago--it
had to be, like, Monday.  She seemed okay then.  She was a little
quieter, I guess, but honestly she wasn't all that excited about the whole
Harold situation, so I figured she was just kind of bored.  She didn't
sound upset.  Why wouldn't she say something if she was being
harassed by this asshole?"  Blair got up and started pacing.  "Why didn't
*Harold* do something?"

     "He couldn't do much if she didn't tell him, Chief," Jim said. 
"We don't have any evidence that Fordney was harassing her.  At least,
not until we get our hands on Harold's phone records, which is first
thing on the agenda after Naomi's service."

     "I don't understand the connection between Naomi and this J.T.
person," Megan spoke up.  "I know they were hippies together back in
the 60's, but why would he harass her now?"
     
     There was a prolonged silence, and Starsky finally spoke up.

     "They were involved very briefly in the past, and she refused his
advances, and he wasn't happy about that."

     "He raped her," Blair said bluntly, sitting against the back of the
couch, not looking at the rest of the group.  "The son of a bitch raped
my mother and had the fucking gall to show up at the funeral home
after he probably put her there!"  Blair shouted, tears constricting his
voice.  Jim was on his feet and beside his distraught lover in seconds,
but Blair shrugged off the arm that went around his shoulders.  "I need
some time."  Blair walked briskly down the hall and into the bedroom,
closing the door.

     "My God," Megan said softly, leaning back in her chair, visibly
deflated.  "I'm so sorry for asking that."

     "We should have leveled with all of you at the outset, when you
offered to help," Starsky said.  "I should have leveled with my son a
long time ago, but it wasn't something Naomi wanted him to know."

     "It happened in 1968, and we don't really know how much, if
any, contact Fordney had with her since that time."  Jim paused. 
"Except for the fact he claimed that he ran into Naomi at a party about
ten years ago, spent some time with her there, and then didn't see her
again until last night."  Jim shook his head.  "But that doesn't add up in
my mind.  Naomi wasn't the type of person who could have a peaceful,
social encounter with someone who raped her."

     "Women's reactions to rape aren't always predictable," Megan
said.

     "That's true, Connor, but we're talking about Naomi Sandburg
here."  Simon shook his head.  "That woman had a temper on her, and I
have the feeling she wouldn't have been friendly with Fordney.  I'm
with Jim--it feels wrong."

     "Shit, what was that?"  Starsky and a couple others lurched at
the sound of something crashing and breaking in the back of the house. 
A moment later, there was another crash.  Jim was on his way down the
hall, with Starsky, Hutch and the rest of the group close behind him. 
He opened the door to the guest bedroom and barely missed being hit
by a flying vase.  Before Jim could move forward, Starsky let out a
bellow that startled everyone.  Including Blair.  "That's enough!"  he
shouted at his son, who froze with his hand on the bedside lamp. 
"Don't even think about it," he said firmly, moving past Jim and
stepping over the debris.  "What the hell's the matter with you
anyway?"  he demanded.

     "That's pretty fucking obvious, Starsky," Jim snapped back.

     "So this is going to nail Fordney?  You breakin' up some things
and yelling and stomping around in here?"  Starsky challenged.  

     "It was working for me," Blair shot back, regaining a little of
his equilibrium.  He was breathing heavily, his face was red and
streaked with tears, a mask of angry grief.  

     "Give us a few minutes, huh?"  Starsky turned to the rest of the
group.  All but Jim left immediately.
     
     "Chief?"

     "I'm fine," he retorted tersely.  

     "If you need me, let me know," he said, knowing that Blair
understood that meant any signal, no matter how soft, would be heard.

     When the door to the room closed, father and son stood staring
at one another.

     "It's a little late to start playing disciplinarian with me," Blair
said, picking up part of the shattered vase.  "I'll pay you for the
damages."

     "I don't care about the stupid vase.  Or that statue.  But the
bedside lamp was a gift from your grandmother, and if you'd broken
that, I'd have been forced to kick your ass out the front door onto the
lawn."

     "Then I'm glad your precious lamp survived.  That's the all
important issue here."  Blair sat heavily on the side of the bed.

     "The important issue here is that you're slowly self-destructing
over here, and breaking a bunch of stuff isn't going to help."

     "Nothing is going to help.  Don't you understand that?  Don't
you understand how fucking *useless* all of this is?  What if we nail
Fordney?  Huh?  So *fucking* *what*??  Is it going to change what he
did to her?  Is it going to bring her back to life?  Is it going to give us
back thirty years that he stole from us because she was afraid to find
out who my father was?  Is it going to change the fact that she was
haunted every day of my life with the possibility that I might have been
the worst kind of...of...*curse*--the product of her rape, there,
demanding her care and her time and..."  Blair shook his head, tears
coming again.  "Nothing matters, Dad.  Nothing we're doing matters.  It
isn't going to fix anything."

     Starsky stood there, a bit puzzled at how to answer such utter
despair.  He sat next to Blair on the bed, and for a moment, both men
were silent.  

     "I'm sorry about breaking everything," Blair said, wiping at his
eyes.  "I didn't mean to do that.  I didn't even think about it.  I couldn't
stop myself.  I was just so...I just need to...*hit* something.  To break
something.  I need to get my hands on Fordney.  He ruined my mom's
life, and he probably killed her.  And no matter what we do to him, it
won't fix that."

     "You could have never been a curse, kiddo," Starsky said
gently.  "No matter how you came to be."

     "Think about it.  If you were a woman...how would you feel to
look at a child every day of his life and wonder...wonder if he was
carrying around the DNA of the man who raped you.  To wonder if he'd
look like him someday.  To wonder if that...trauma...created a
*person*.  A living reminder."

     "Your mother loved you.  She never felt that way."

     "All my life, I wondered about my dad.  Who he was, where he
was...why he didn't care anything about me.  I never really could
believe that Naomi had no idea, and I didn't believe that she'd hide the
fact she was pregnant from a guy unless he was...someone like J.T.  I
figured that my father cut and ran when she got pregnant, and that he
didn't care.  Didn't want a kid.  And all that time, out there somewhere,
not that far away, was this guy who would have wanted me in his life. 
Who would have taken me places and done things with me...who
would have *wanted* me around.  Somebody I could have gone to stay
with when Naomi was living with some guy I couldn't stand, or when
she wanted to go on a retreat or something.  Somebody I could have
counted on.  God, this sounds so selfish, and I'm so...hurt inside about
what he did to her.  But you know what?  I just don't know what to do
with all this...*anger* about what he did to me.  To us."

     "Believe me, son, I know how you feel."  Starsky sighed tiredly. 
"Hutch sent Jim with me to keep me from killing the son of a bitch."

     "He sent *Jim* along to keep you calm?"

     "Yeah, go figure," Starsky responded, snorting a little laugh. 
"Hutch wanted to finesse more information out of Harold, and Hutch is
definitely the 'finesser' in our partnership, so he went to talk to him,
while Jim and I talked to Fordney."

     "I would have figured the two of you as lethal weapons paired
up for that mission."

     "Ellison's a sneaky bastard, I'll hand him that.  He was so damn
charming with that guy that I almost asked them if they wanted to be
alone.  Now I know why Hutch pegged him as the man to talk to
Fordney.  Guess all that Covert Ops stuff paid off."

     "Jim's used to undercover work, to having to be something he's
not to get a job done.  I guess it makes sense he could tap into that for
this."

     "There's no way to go back and get the past and change it. 
There's stuff we all regret, and stuff that happened that wasted a lot of
our precious time--that's true for most people walking around.  All you
can do is try to make the most of now.  We got screwed out of thirty
years of your life, and there's nobody in this world that's angrier about
that than I am.  If I'd known, I'd've been there when you were born. 
I'd've had you come for visits, coulda taught you how to pitch--though I
think I woulda let Hutch teach you how to play golf--his swing's
better,"  Starsky added, and Blair laughed a bit, breaking some of the
tension.  "Sometimes I think about all the things I would have done
with my son, all the things we could have learned from each other, and
I really just want to smash something.  I'm angry at myself for loosing
track of your mother, angry at her for not finding out which one of us it
was, angry at Fordney for what he did to her, angry at God for letting
the whole damn thing go down that way.  Ever since I found out, I've
had all this anger and no place to put it.  I understand how you feel,
Blair.  I really do."

     "So how do you deal with it?"  Blair asked, looking at Starsky
with sincere desperation, and also with a look of questioning that the
older man treasured.  It wasn't often that his almost-Ph.D., 30-year-old
borderline genius son looked up at him, needing his guidance.  For that
instant, Starsky could almost envision the little boy he'd seen in
Naomi's photographs, all big eyes and wild curls, turning to his dad for
advice.

     "Well, I have it figured this way.  There're no guarantees in life,
and nobody ever said life was s'posed to be fair.  I learned that the hard
way a few times, watching people I loved die for no good reason--my
dad being shot down like a dog on the street by mobsters, then the
shooting that just about ended my career--not to mention my *life*,
Hutch getting so sick once that nobody thought he was gonna live,
including me if I was honest.  Which I never was with him back at the
time, but he knew anyway.  He always knows."  Starsky smiled slightly. 
"All that crap isn't fair.  But the world, fate--whatever you want to call
it--it doesn't owe you anything.  Shit happens, and life doesn't owe you
nothin' in terms of how it turns out.  So I figure that I could have gone
my whole life without ever knowing you were out there, without ever
getting the chance for us to meet.  I guess I'm tryin' to focus on the fact
that *didn't* happen, that I know you now, rather than the fact that I
didn't get to meet you sooner."

     "That's a good way to look at it."  Blair nodded.  "I guess
thinking about it that way helps."  

     "Good.  You gonna be okay now?"

     "Yeah, I think so."

     "The lamp safe?"  Starsky nodded toward it, and Blair laughed.  

     "Yeah, it's safe."  Blair was silent a moment, still smiling. 
"Thanks, Dad."  He hugged Starsky, who returned the embrace with a
tight squeeze of his own.  "I mean, thanks for being my dad--for still
wanting the job and being so good to me."

     "It doesn't matter how old you get, or how many degrees you
can hang on your wall--you remember that your dad's always here if
you need him, huh?"  Starsky said as he felt the little shudder of
unsteady breath from Blair.  "I don't care if I'm 95 years old and you
have to use the jumper cables to get me movin' again--I'm always gonna
be here for you."

     "I think you were right.  Maybe we're pretty lucky."

     "I think so too, kiddo."  


********

     When Starsky left the bedroom, he detoured to the kitchen to
get a drink of water.  Bill Ellison was out there, getting refills on beer
for a couple of the guys in the living room.  

     "Welcome to the wonderful world of fatherhood," he said,
taking the bottles out of the refrigerator, then pulling a third one out
and handing it to Starsky.  "Is he okay?"

     "As okay as he can be.  He needs some time on his own.  I think
the hardest part of all this is not being able to *do* anything that really
helps him.  Of course, by the time I found out about Blair, he was
already an adult, so my days of being able to be my kid's big hero and
fix all the hurts were sort of passed."

     "Unfortunately, sometimes you can't even do it when you have
them with you."  Bill opened a bottle and took a drink out of it.  Starsky
was a bit surprised by that.  William Ellison didn't strike him as a "beer
out of the bottle" sort of guy.  "And sometimes you could, but you miss
the chances because you let yourself get too focused on other
things...that in the long run, don't matter as much."

     "Sounds like the voice of experience," Starsky said.

     "In a sense, I don't know as Jim and I have all that much more
common ground than you and Blair do.  Maybe in some ways, we have
less.  We have a lot of less that ideal history between us--most of it my
fault.  At least you're starting with Blair with a clean slate."

     "I'd have given anything to have a chance at being around when
he was a kid."

     "You probably wouldn't have wasted as much of that chance as
I did," Bill responded, taking another drink of his beer.  "I thought I
was doing a good job with the boys at the time."

     "That's all parents can do.  My dad wasn't a saint.  I probably
would have had my share of screw-ups if I'd had Blair all his life.  Too
bad kids don't come with owner's manuals."

     "That would have helped," Bill said, chuckling.  "I better take
these out there before they come after them," he added, snagging a
bottle out of the refrigerator to replace the one he'd started drinking.

     "Bill?"

     "Hm?"  Bill stopped at the kitchen door.

     "Maybe it's not so much what you did then as what you do now
that matters."

     "I hope you're right."  He turned and walked back out into the
living room.

********

     "Should I throw my hat in the door first?"  Jim asked, poking
his head inside the bedroom.  Blair was sitting up in bed, reading,
having showered and changed into his robe about an hour earlier.  It
was almost one in the morning.

     "I'm sorry about earlier," Blair said right away, taking off his
glasses.  "I'm having trouble with this whole thing with Fordney, and
I've been taking it out on everybody else--especially you."

     "And the vase."

     "Yeah, there's that," Blair admitted, smiling a little.

     "You really don't have anything to apologize to me for, honey." 
Jim closed the door behind him and went to sit on the side of the bed.

     "More so to our friends.  I mean, they come all the way here
from Cascade, I pitch a fit and hide in my room until they go home.  I
couldn't face them, you know?  I didn't want all the questions...or
maybe I just didn't want to know they were all wondering...I mean,
people know that Starsky's my father, but still, you know, figuring this
J.T. guy was a contender.  I don't know.  It's all so damned *personal*. 
I probably shouldn't have blurted it out, but I couldn't handle all the
euphemisms anymore."

     "You want to pause to take a breath or two, Chief?"  Jim teased,
patting Blair's leg.  

     "Breathing is good," Blair agreed.  "I'll apologize to everybody
tomorrow for ducking in here."

     "I don't think anyone took offense at it.  This is a rough time."

     "Starsky said you really schmoozed Fordney."

     "He's a snake in the grass.  Mealy mouthed asshole who talks a
lot and doesn't say much.  Get him relaxed enough, though, and he'll
back himself into a corner--like he did with telling us he hadn't seen
Naomi for the last ten years or so--which tells us he had been in touch
with her between their initial acquaintance and now."

     "If he's the guy on Harold's phone records, then what?"

     "Then we bring him downtown for official questioning, and we
get warrants and start looking for physical evidence."

     "I don't know what I hope anymore--that it's him, or that it's not
him."

     "No matter who it is, it's going to be hard to confront them the
first time, knowing they're the one."

     "Go grab a shower.  This bed is a drag all by myself," Blair said,
flexing his eyebrows.

     "Be back in a flash."  Jim headed into the bathroom.

     When he'd finished his shower and walked out of the bathroom,
towel around his hips, he was stunned to see Blair lying on the bed,
nude, the covers turned back to leave him completely exposed.  

     "Make love with me?"  Blair asked, smiling softly.

     "You have to ask?"  Jim grinned and tossed the towel aside,
climbing onto the bed.  He carefully lowered himself on top of Blair,
covering the lush mouth with his own, kissing him deeply.  "Look at
you," Jim said, smiling as he pulled back a little.

     "What?"  Blair was grinning back now, the smile a rare and
wonderful sight in a sea of grief and misery.

     "How'd I get so lucky?"  Jim kissed Blair again, nipping at the
still smiling lips before withdrawing.

     "I'm the lucky one."  Blair ran his fingertips lightly down Jim's
cheek.  "I couldn't make it without you."

     "Me either, baby."  Jim slid his arms around Blair and held him
tightly.  When he moved back a bit this time, the two men began
kissing again, more intensely this time, tongues sliding together, hands
roaming slowly over exposed flesh, little moans of pleasure breaking
the kisses.  What their mutual humping lacked in creativity, it more
than made up for in closeness, intimacy and affection.  Never leaving
each other's arms for a moment, they loved to climax, then tugged the
sheet over their cooling bodies, deciding to risk the stickiness they
might regret in the morning.

     "I love you," Blair whispered as he started drifting toward sleep. 
Burying his nose in warm curls, Jim smiled, and kissed Blair's cheek.

     "I love you too, sweetheart."  He paused a moment.  "I promise
you everything will be okay.  We'll solve this case.  I know it won't
change what's happened, but we'll get justice for Naomi.  I promise you
that."

     "I know.  And I know I'm gonna make it because I've got you."

     "You'll always have me."  

********

     A woman with short blonde hair wearing a long blue dress
stood on the grassy hill among the other mourners, playing "Dust in the
Wind" on a violin.  Naomi had brought Blair to this spot on numerous
sunny days for picnics when he was child, and it remained one of her
favorite picnic spots.  In this clearing that was reached by a significant
climb up a hill and a walk along a winding nature trail into the trees,
there was a perfect view of the ocean. 

     Harold was brought to the spot by a diligent private nurse who
navigated a wheelchair up a prolonged but smoother trail that bypassed
the hill climb, the same path chosen by a number of attendees who
elected not to take the more strenuous way up.  Jim, Blair, Starsky,
Hutch, Simon, Megan, Rafe and Brown followed the steeper path Blair
remembered taking many times over as a child.  

     Naomi liked bright colors, and her loathing for the tradition of
wearing black to funerals was honored by all the mourners.  Everyone
was dressed in something that sported a dash of bright color.  For the
more conservative, it might be a flashy tie--Starsky had not let the
moment pass without wearing the one Blair had sent him for Father's
Day--for others it was a vibrant shirt or blouse.  Blair wore a
handwoven shirt of various shades of blue and green that Naomi had
bought for him, neatly tucked into a pair of soft, slightly faded jeans. 
Jim wore a solid, light blue shirt and tan pants.  The other men in the
group all wore various semi-casual clothing, and Megan added a flare
of color Naomi would have approved of in a bright, floral printed silk
blouse she purchased the day before, once Blair had mentioned the idea
of wearing something bright to the service.  

     The group that gathered on the hill shared reminiscences about
Naomi, anecdotes and impressions about her and the way she had
touched their lives.  A few friends of hers read poetry--some original,
some from among Naomi's favorites.  Finally, at the conclusion of the
service, holding the urn, Blair made a brief final statement.  

     "Friends were very important to my mother.  All of you here
know that.  She surrounded herself with people she felt exuded positive
energy.  If you were a friend of Naomi's, it was because she saw
something special in you, and because you had a sort of...*light* about
you.  She would be really pleased with the beautiful remembrance
you've all helped to create for her here today.  Poems and songs, funny
stories, laughter--she always hated traditional funerals, because she
thought it was the start of a new spirit journey, and the only reason for
sadness at a funeral was if you felt the spirit was going somewhere
negative or bad."  Blair swallowed.  "I can't agree with that.  I feel sad
today.  I hate good-byes, and this is probably the hardest one I've ever
had to say.  And I feel sad because my mother's journey into the next
realm didn't begin peacefully, or even naturally.  There's no way to
erase that sadness.  No way to see only joy in that.  But she was right
about one thing--the greatest pain is what we feel at losing her.  I do
believe that she is on a higher plane now, and in a better place.  My
mother spent her life on a spiritual journey, and it always fascinated
her.  I know that she's fascinated now, wherever she is, following this
new path.   So I mourn that she left her earthly path before her time,
and that she left all of us who love her so much.  But, Mom, I know
you're going to be okay, and that you'll find your way to the light,
whatever it ultimately really is, and whatever lies beyond it."  He
opened the urn and scattered the ashes, then stepped back, grateful for
the embrace that was waiting for him in Jim's arms.  

     Naomi's musician friend played another selection on the violin
as the mourners said their goodbyes and some agreed to join in the
dinner that was being served at Huggy's following the service.  Blair
made a point to find Harold before he was wheeled back down toward
the place where the cars had been parked.

     "How are you feeling?"  Blair asked, and Harold nodded.

     "Better.  Though I admit there are times I would just as soon not
feel better.  Naomi was everything to me.  Without her, surviving this
just means more time I have to spend missing her."  Harold looked
much older than 66, his color an odd grayish white, his whole posture
speaking of grief and defeat as he slumped slightly in the chair.  

     "You know she'd want you to fight to get better and to take care
of yourself.  I know that my mom wasn't willing to settle down and do
the marriage thing, but she wouldn't have stayed with you this long if
she didn't love you.  You accepted her free spirit a lot longer and better
than a lot of guys, and that's why she could stay.  You could let her
have the freedom to love you without putting chains on her.  Thanks
for being so good to her."

     "You don't think I'm the one then?"  he asked, and Blair knew
he was referring to the murder suspicion.

     "Truthfully?  No, I don't.  I trust my mom's judgment.  If you
were capable of that, she would have left you a long time ago."

     "I hope you'll stop in for a visit one more time before you have
to go back to Washington."

     "I will.  Get some rest and follow doctor's orders, okay?"

     "Will do.  Thank you, Blair.  Your kindness has meant a lot to
me."

     "You loved my mom, and you were good to her.  That carries a
lot of weight with me.  Take care of yourself," he said, before he joined
Jim and the others in heading back down the hill.

********  

     "At least Fordney had the decency not to show up here today,"
Hutch commented to Starsky as they made their way along the buffet
table Huggy had prepared in his banquet room for the funeral dinner.  

     "I doubt decency was a factor.  The questioning probably made
him nervous."

     "You think he's the guy?"  Hutch probed, taking a piece of
chicken to finish off his loaded plate.  His selections, however, were
healthier than his partner's.  "You could take a few lessons from Blair
in food choices."

     "Just watch them when they sit down to eat.  Half of what's on
Ellison's plate'll end up on Blair's and anything that looks interesting
off Blair's plate'll end up on Ellison's.  So if you'd loosen up a little and
take some stuff I liked, I wouldn't have to put all the bad stuff on my
plate."

     "I don't know if I even want to follow that line of reasoning,"
Hutch commented, waiting impatiently as Starsky procured one more
piece of fried fish for his own plate.  Returning to the table, they
observed that while Blair wasn't eating much, exchanges had already
taken place, and the other two men's plates looked as if they'd run into
each other in the buffet line.  "Okay, you win," Hutch admitted, glad to
accept a chunk of Starsky's lasagna to enliven his own conservative
plate.  He handed over a baked chicken leg to his partner.  

     The group ate amidst congenial conversation, many recalling a
few more humorous or personal anecdotes about Naomi.  Huggy
circulated among the two long tables of diners, personally hosting the
dinner and riding herd on a couple of his wait staff to make sure the
service was impeccable.  As he was about to leave the room after one
of many recognizance missions, Blair followed him to the doorway and
stopped him there.

     "Huggy, I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done. 
The dinner is great, and that first night we arrived...you've been a really
good friend--even though you didn't know us at all before the other day,
and I appreciate it.  I know my mom would have too."

     "Don't tell them I said this, but there's not too much I wouldn't
do for those two jokers," he said, nodding toward Starsky and Hutch,
who were currently arguing over Hutch's fork surreptitiously raiding
more of the cheese-laden lasagna off Starsky's plate.  "Any son of theirs
is a friend of mine."

     "Thanks," Blair said, smiling.

     "And of course, *son-in-law* as well."

     "I wasn't very together with making arrangements, so if you
hadn't stepped in with this dinner, we'd probably all be going through
the nearest drive-thru window right now."

     "I'm happy to help out.  How're you doin'?"  

     "Better.  When it first happened, I didn't think I could handle it. 
The way it happened...my mom was such a non-violent person
herself...I can't remember her ever willfully hurting another person. 
And I know a lot's going to be made out of her lifestyle, and the fact
she dated actively, and that's hard to hear all the time."

     "She was a pretty lady who turned a lot of heads and she didn't
have a ball and chain.  Not too surprising she was popular."

     "Yeah, well, you know how the whole 'blame the victim' thing
gets rolling..."  Blair shrugged.  

     "I've heard that complaint from your old man more than I want
to," Huggy said, rolling his eyes.  

     "I gotta ask you something," Blair said, lowering his voice
confidentially.  "Who was 'Soon Henry'?  My dad told me to ask you." 
Blair smiled as Huggy started to laugh.  "I mentioned something about
playing the ponies a little back home, and he said, 'ask Huggy about
Soon Henry'."

     "Come with me.  I've got a little something in the rec room
downstairs I think you might find of interest," Huggy said, leading
Blair with a gesture of his arm.

********

     Jim walked out of the darkened restaurant into the midday sun
with his father.  Steven was still inside, and Blair had disappeared into
the bowels of the building with Huggy about thirty minutes earlier. 
Whatever diversion Huggy had found, Jim was grateful, because Blair
desperately needed a distraction today of all days.  

     "I wanted to thank you again for doing this for Blair--bringing
everyone out here.  I know it meant a lot to him," Jim said.

     "I know it did.  He seemed glad we'd all come, and he
mentioned it again when we were killing time yesterday."

     "Yeah, well, I appreciate that too.  This has been a horrible time
for Blair, and having our friends here, and you getting him out of the
house for a few hours yesterday--it's really been helpful."

     "I still can't honestly say that I get it--how you can...why you
two are..."

     "You mean why we're together as a couple?"  Jim helped out. 
His father nodded.  

     "It's not for lack of trying, Jimmy.  I just admit that I don't get it. 
But that isn't really important.  What matters is that you've made your
choice, and Blair's a good person and you're happy together.  God
knows after that miserable excuse for a marriage I had with your
mother, I'm not exactly qualified to give out advice on choosing the
right partner."

     "It's okay that you don't get it.  What matters most to me is how
you treat Blair--and it means a lot to me that you've accepted him, and
that you've shown him that.  He really needed that right now."

     "How do you really think the case is going?" 

     "Well, Fordney is a viable suspect, that's for sure.  We're going
to get a hold of the phone records and see if he's the caller who was
harassing Naomi.  If he was, coupled with their past, and his lie about
not having seen her and not knowing she was with Harold, I think we
have a good case to launch a full investigation--complete with
warrants, and bringing the creep down to headquarters for official
questioning."

     "What would his motive be after all these years?  I could have
understood it if it had happened back at the time of the rape--maybe he
was angry about being rejected, or afraid she'd turn him in.  But why
now?"

     "Maybe he was still hot for her and she still wasn't interested. 
Maybe it was a rivalry thing with Harold.  The woman who worked for
Bloomfield didn't seem to know the total story of why Fordney left.  So
maybe it was a revenge situation.  The field is pretty well open."

     "I don't envy you.  Should be a tough case."

     "And it's not even officially mine.  Don't get me wrong--Starsky
and Hutch have been great about divvying up the work, and making
this a team effort rather than calling all the shots, but this is still their
home turf, and I'm used to organizing an investigation and handling it
my own way."

     "You know, over the course of the time I was in the driver's seat
at the company, probably the hardest thing was massaging the board of
directors and the major stockholders.  You could have the best plan in
the world laid out, and just get one of those semi-retired old windbags
disagreeing with you, and the whole thing ended up in the toilet."  

     "Semi-retired old windbags on the board, huh, Dad?"  Jim
needled.  The elder Ellison laughed.

     "It's only fair that after spending fifteen years being bedeviled
by them that I got the chance to do it to my successor.  The half-assed
idiot."

     "Which is probably what the board used to say about you."

     "At least I knew how to analyze a financial statement without
taking off my shoes and socks first.  But I digress," Bill held up a
forestalling hand, and Jim had to laugh.  "At any rate, my point was
that railing against the other people you have to get around to get the
job done only sabotages your project.  Try not to get too bogged down
in not being in charge.  Wanting to be the top dog is in your genes, I'm
sorry to tell you, so I know how you feel."

     "I never would have guessed," Jim retorted with a good-natured
sarcasm.

********

     Monday morning found Starsky, Hutch, Jim and Blair buried
beneath the print outs of Harold Bloomfield's telephone records. 
Having split the information between them based on phone number--
there was a cell phone, a home phone and two business lines--the four
of them each pored over a particular line's record.  John Fordney's
numbers were foremost on their minds, but any calling pattern that
might fit with the times Naomi received the harassing phone calls
would give them a new lead to pursue.  

     "I think we've got something here," Starsky said, highlighting
with a yellow marker another entry on his print out.  "We've got one
number that shows up twice per week, and another number that shows
up once, always between 6 p.m. and 8 p.m.  The twice a week number
is on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and the once a week number is on
Fridays.  Unfortunately, it's not Fordney's home phone--wait a second. 
Jim, read me the cell phone number off Fordney's card."

     "555-3671," Jim responded.  

     "Bingo."

     "You're kidding--man, it can't be that easy," Blair said, leaning
over to look at the number his father had discovered.  

     "Sometimes it is, kiddo.  Not all criminals are known for their
intelligence."

     "That's the once a week number," Hutch said, frowning.  "This
other one doesn't match any of his numbers."

     "None that are on his business card, and not his home phone,
but he could have another line somewhere at his disposal," Jim said.

     "You think we've got enough to subpoena his phone records?" 
Hutch asked Starsky, who leaned back in the chair and sighed.  

     "I think we need to talk to Harold again.  He may recognize this
other number, and he also can tell us if these look like times when the
harassing calls came in.  I'd like to have something else on our side
when we ask for that subpoena."

     Harold was more than happy to meet with the detectives now
that they seemed to be following leads that didn't point to him as
Naomi's killer.  As the five of them sat around the dining room table in
the house Harold had shared with Naomi, the older man reviewed the
phone numbers in question.  

     "That's really very odd."  He frowned when he looked at the
numbers.  "Would you excuse me just a moment?"  At the nodding of
heads, Harold rose and disappeared into his nearby study, rifled
through some papers, and returned with a small leather portfolio where
he stored business cards.  "I know that number, but if it's the one I'm
thinking..."  He sorted through the cards, and finally found what he was
looking for.  An old card of John Fordney's, from when he worked for
Bloomfield & Church, with the number on the printout written in
pencil on the back.  "This is Fordney's old home phone number.  He
changed his number shortly before he left our firm."

     "Why exactly did he leave the firm?"  Jim asked.

     "He was asked to leave," Harold replied, shaking his head.  "His
big conflict was with Dick Church, but I backed the decision to let him
go."

     "Maybe we should talk to Mr. Church."

     "That could prove difficult.  He died about three months ago--heart attack."  
Harold expelled a long breath.  "Dick felt Fordney
mishandled some accounts.  It wasn't outright embezzlement--at least
not that we could prove, but he was up to something.  He was able to
account for everything when he was pinned down, but something just...
*smelled* wrong about it.  Putting that together with a couple incidents
of what we considered unprofessional conduct with clients, and he was
strongly encouraged to find employment elsewhere.  Which he did,"
Harold added.  
     
     "Why the phone number change?"  Jim asked.

     "He added a second line into his house for his modem.  He said
he'd gotten so many telemarketing and nuisance calls on his old line
that he was going to use that for the modem, and get a new, unlisted
home number."

     "So as far as you know, this number would still belong to John
Fordney?"  Hutch clarified.

     "As far as I know, yes."

     "Fordney said he was unaware of your relationship with
Naomi,"  Starsky said.

     "That's a damn lie.  He attended our diamond jubilee event six
weeks ago.  It was a clerical error that he ended up on the invitation
list.  We were inviting people from a number of area businesses, and
his company was on the list, so he ended up being invited."

     "What happened when you ran into him?"  Blair asked.

     "Very little, really.  We spoke cordially, and he said something
to Naomi along the lines of, 'great to see you again', and then he asked
her something about getting together sometime, which I thought was
damn gutty, but he passed it off that they were old friends.  Naomi was
polite, but she never cracked a smile at the guy, and she barely
answered him.  And you know how uncharacteristic that was for her.  I
asked her about it later, and she just said he was someone she had
known many years ago who was interested in dating her at the time, but
she'd always turned him down.  She laughed then and said she planned
on keeping it that way.  But it wasn't long after that the phone calls
started."

     "I've written down some times here," Starsky said, sliding a
piece of paper in front of Harold.  "Does this resemble the pattern of
harassing phone calls, to your recollection?"

     "Yeah, pretty much.  Well, I can't be sure of the daytime calls,
because I wasn't home through the day most of the time.  I'm partially
retired, but that actually only means I don't have to clear my schedule
with anyone anymore.  I usually am out on business all day anyway. 
Naomi was on her own quite a few hours of the day.  But these night
calls fit--and it was usually Tuesdays and Thursdays."

     "You never overheard any part of these calls?"  Jim asked.

     "I heard Naomi's side, and she sounded like she was dismissing
a salesman or something.  But her demeanor was different.  They
seemed to make her very tense, and she'd retreat off into the bedroom a
few minutes later and meditate."  Harold shook his head.  "I should
have just listened in.  I didn't want to violate her privacy, but fat lot of
good that does her now."

     "My mom would have appreciated you respecting her space,"
Blair said, smiling a little.  "She was very open, very...*generous*, but
if someone she was living with had been spying on her, it wouldn't
have lasted."

     "Maybe if I'd listened in, I would have known something was
wrong.  What comes next?"

     "We subpoena Fordney's phone records, bring him in for
official questioning at headquarters, hopefully get search warrants for
his residence and his vehicles," Hutch explained.

     "What if you don't find anything?  If this is the guy--"
     
     "Let's not put the cart before the horse here, Mr. Bloomfield,"
Starsky interrupted.  "We have to *look* for the evidence before we
worry about what to do if there isn't any."

     "If there isn't any, then it's possible he's not the right guy.  If he
did it, there's bound to be something that turns up," Hutch opined.

     "I should have stepped in, demanded to know who was calling
her.  I didn't want to push her...I know she thought about leaving at
times, and I felt like pushing her that way, intruding on her, would have
driven her away."

     "The caveman routine wouldn't have worked with my mom. 
She would have been gone."

     "But now she's gone for good.  I'd rather she left me and was
still alive than to know I might have sat back while her killer harassed
her by phone."

     "We'll keep you posted on this, Mr. Bloomfield," Hutch said,
rising.  The other men followed his lead, all of them walking out to the
house's small foyer.  

     "If there's anything else I can do, please call me.  I'll cooperate
in any way I can."

     "Thank you.  We'll keep that in mind," Starsky responded.

********
     
     John Fordney's telephone records confirmed that he was indeed
the person who called the Bloomfield-Sandburg residence on the
occasions noted.  He was less than receptive on this second visit from
the police, as the other employees of his current investment brokerage
were more than a bit curious as to why the return visit.  He did agree to
go voluntarily to headquarters for questioning, but insisted on having
his attorney present.

     Over his objections, Blair was excluded from the questioning
process, both because of his personal involvement, and the fact he was
not a cop.  While that rule was sometimes bent--liberally--by Simon,
the Bay City P.D. was not inclined to follow suit.  So, occupying
himself with looking for any other patterns in Bloomfield's or Fordney's
phone records, he waited not-so-patiently while Jim, Starsky and Hutch
went to question Fordney--and his lawyer.

     "Mr. Fordney, we have a couple of points we'd like to go over
again from your original conversation with us," Starsky began, opening
his notebook as if to refresh his memory.  "You mentioned you last
spoke to Naomi Sandburg ten years ago."

     "That's right," he said.

     "You haven't seen or spoken to her since then?"  Jim
interjected.  

     "Uh..."  Fordney seemed uncertain, and glanced to his attorney.  
     
     "You are free to refuse to answer any questions, J.T.," the older
man with the thick white hair replied.  His client, a man of average
build in his mid-50's, with receding brown hair, nodded, then looked
back at the cops.  Apparently determining that lying was making him
look worse, he gave an answer.

     "The diamond jubilee dinner for Bloomfield & Church went
right out of my mind when we spoke before.  I never even thought of it. 
I only spoke to her briefly," he said, shrugging.  "I meant we hadn't
really had a conversation in ten years."

     "How do you explain all the calls to the Bloomfield residence?" 
Hutch asked.

     "I don't.  I prefer not to discuss that at this time."

     "So this is selective cooperation?"  Jim clarified, a sarcastic
smirk on his face.

     "Detective...Ellison, is it?  As my lawyer just explained--"
     
     "I'm fully versed on suspect's rights, Mr. Fordney.  I don't need a
refresher course."

     "Then don't try to force me into providing information I don't
wish to provide."

     "J.T., let's keep this civil," the attorney warned as Fordney's
voice rose a bit.  

     "When was the last time you spoke to Harold Bloomfield?" 
Starsky shot back.

     "At that party," Fordney retorted, barely taking time to think.

     "But yet you called his home regularly during the weeks that
followed.  Now if you weren't calling to talk to Harold Bloomfield, and
you haven't spoken to Naomi Sandburg in ten years, and then only once
since at the party, who exactly were you conversing with at their
residence at least three to five times per week?"

     "I would advise you not to answer any further questions, J.T."

     "Okay, so I called to talk to Naomi.  I liked her, I wanted to see
if there was any chance she'd like to get together.  Bloomfield was
pretty old and pretty boring for a woman like her, and I figured maybe I
could show her a good time--we could go out for old times' sake."

     "And you found it necessary to call her multiple times each
week in order to make the same invitation, over and over again?"  Jim
asked.

     "No comment."

     "You said you were meeting with a client the night of October
15th.  Did you realize that the phone number you gave us was not a
valid one?  We've been unable to contact Thomas Smith--and of
course, given his last name, we weren't able to narrow the field enough
to locate him on our own.  Would it be possible for us to get valid
contact information from you so we can verify your alibi?"  Hutch
asked.

     "I gave you the number he gave me."

     "You must have an address on this guy, as well as other
pertinent information, if you're handling his finances," Starsky spoke
up.

     "My client records are confidential."

     "They won't be if we get a warrant for them, sir," Hutch pointed
out.  

     "Then I suggest you do so, gentlemen.  This little Q&A is over,
unless you're planning on charging my client," the attorney spoke up,
rising from his chair.

     "Not at the moment, but that could change.  Mr. Fordney, I
would strongly suggest that you cancel any out of town travel plans. 
We can make that official if necessary," Starsky said.

     "One thing you should be aware of, Mr. Fordney.  We know
about your past history with Naomi Sandburg.  Refusing to cooperate
with us now is only making matters worse for you."  Starsky pinned the
other man with an intent stare.

     "Meaning what exactly?"  Fordney challenged.

     "Q&A's over, remember?"  Hutch responded, smiling slightly.

     "If you have evidence to discuss here--"

     "Until an arrest is made, disclosure rules don't apply, counselor. 
Furthermore, your client knows what we're talking about, so don't
waste your breath," Starsky concluded, folding up their file on Fordney. 

     "I don't know what kind of crap you've heard, but it's probably
the old routine she used to pull all the time that someone forced
himself on her," Fordney spat out angrily, his face reddening a bit. 
"Anytime she got laid when she was high, she'd run around whining
that someone had forced her.  Shit, nobody had to force her.  That
woman's legs were like the local 7-11--open 24 hours a day."

     "You son of a--" Starsky made a nearly successful lurch across
the table before Jim caught him, but even Ellison didn't succeed in
restraining him.  Starsky had Fordney by the shirtfront, slammed
against the wall of the interrogation room before both Hutch and Jim
could move fast enough to reach him.

     "What's the matter, detective?  You had a piece of the action
too and thought you were something special?"  Fordney goaded.

     "Don't let him bait you, Starsk.  Let him go," Hutch said.

     "You had better unhand my client, Starsky," the lawyer
admonished.  

     "You listen to me, you moth--"

     "Starsky, back off, come on!"  Hutch managed to get between
the two men, pulling his pugilistic partner off the suspect.

     "You're goin' down for this, Fordney!"  Starsky shouted as
Fordney's attorney ushered him out of the room.

     "Well, that was productive," Jim said, dropping into a chair.

     "Don't hand me that crap!"  Starsky shot back angrily.  "You're
the last person to start lecturing me about losing my cool."

     "What's that supposed to mean?"  Jim asked, frowning.

     "The name *Slater* ring a bell with you?"  Starsky retorted.

     "Come on, Starsk, back off.  Just because you can't beat up on
Tyler isn't a reason to pick a fight with someone else."

     "Blair's life was in danger.  You're his father.  I would think that
would seem like a valid reason for shooting a serial killer.  And I am
*not* going to defend myself to you for that--*again*."  Jim was on his
feet now, pacing.  

     "That's old news," Hutch shook his head.  "You already chewed
each other's asses for that when it happened.  Let's just stop this train
before it gets rolling.  The last thing we need is to have them send
uniforms in here to break up a brawl between three allegedly mature
cops."
     
     "Somebody oughtta teach that son of a bitch a lesson!"  Starsky
shouted.

     "Me or Fordney?"  Jim asked, his jaw twitching just a little with
a barely contained grin.  The statement threw Starsky off the warpath
slightly, and after a brief pause, he smirked.

     "Both of you."

     "I can think of a way to deal with him," Hutch said to Starsky,
inclining his head to indicate Jim.  "A little one on one at the range."

     "With targets, or is this a challenge for a duel?"  Jim responded.

     "How about we turn Fordney loose in the range and we see
which one of us can nail him first?"  Starsky suggested.

     "Think paper, buddy," Hutch added, dropping into a chair
himself now.  

     "What do you say?  A little target-shooting contest."  Starsky
flexed his eyebrows.

     "You're serious about this?"

     "Sure, why not?  Unless you're afraid of being shown up by an
old fart," Starsky goaded.

     "On the contrary.  I'd hate to come in as a guest on your turf and
blow your doors off," Jim challenged, smiling.

     "We'll see about that, hot shot.  You and me, at the range, in
say, thirty minutes?"

     "I'll be there."

********

     Blair was typing something into Starsky's computer when the
other three men returned to the desk.  Twenty-five years on the force
had earned the two men each a cubicle of sorts amidst the din of the
bullpen, though both could usually be found in one or the other's work
area.

     "What happened with Fordney?"  Blair turned away from the
computer and took off his glasses.

     "He's the one who made the calls, which we knew, but he
finally admitted it, but he claimed he was just trying to renew an old
friendship with Naomi.  He pretty much got caught up in his lie about
not having seen her in the last ten years," Jim summarized.  "Then
things more or less degenerated to mud-slinging. *But* I think we've
got enough now to get all those warrants we want.  Which is why
Hutch is getting back on his phone," Jim inclined his head toward
Hutch's work area.    

     "What happened in there?"  Blair persisted.

     "Your father came close to killing the bastard with his bare
hands.  Not that he didn't have it coming," Hutch said as he rejoined the
group.  

     "Not close enough."  Starsky let out a long breath.  "He's an
arrogant slimeball with an overpaid mouthpiece lawyer.  I never could
stand jerks like that."

     "What did he say that set you off?"  Blair asked.  "Did he admit
to something?"

     "Not really.  He was just making some crude remarks.  My
guess would be to deflect us from going after him."  Jim shook his
head.  "Antagonizing the cops is a new approach to getting yourself off
the hook."

     "I've got to get a hold of somebody down in forensics before we
get together," Starsky said to Jim.  "I'll meet you there."

     "Your dad and I have a little competition planned at the
shooting range."

     "They were discussing using Fordney as the target, but his
attorney would probably object."  Hutch smiled before the ringing of
his own extension drew him back to his desk.  

     "What really happened?"  Blair asked Jim, who sat down in a
chair next to Blair's. 

     "We were pushing Fordney around--verbally--and he made a
crude remark about Naomi that got Starsky's dander up and he grabbed
Fordney and shoved him up against the wall.  Which was what we all
wanted to do, but I think we were hoping to *not* give that overpriced
lawyer something to sue for."

     "What did he say?  Was it about the case--I mean, something
that might incriminate him?"

     "It was essentially about his history with Naomi--that it had
been consensual," Jim rephrased the remark in the best manner he
could think of, and it seemed to work, because Blair merely looked
angry, but not quite as homicidal as his father had a few minutes
earlier.  

     "I'm not surprised."

     "We were alluding to knowing about his past with Naomi, and
he was very quick to jump in and say that it wasn't forced."

     "What's the deal with this shooting contest?"

     "Friendly competition, that's all."

     "Man, Jim, you know you can beat anybody at a firing range."

     "I won't use any of my abilities above and beyond the normal,
Chief.  I'm not interested in cheating your dad."

     "I didn't mean you'd do it on purpose, Jim.  I know you better
than that, love," Blair's endearment was barely a whisper, but he knew
sentinel ears would catch it.

     "You want to come along and cheer me on?"

     "Oh, man, put me in the middle, why don't ya?"  Blair said,
laughing.

     "It'll be a good test of your diplomatic skills."

********

     Headphones in place, Blair watched as the paper target moved
into position, and Jim took aim.  He emptied his clip, clustering the
shots close around the heart-region of the figure.  

     "Nice shooting," Starsky commented, moving into position
himself, getting a fresh target in place.  Blair watched his father's entire
demeanor change as he raised the weapon, his face taking on an
intensity unlike his relaxed expression of moments earlier.  Without
taking excessive time to line up his shot, he emptied his clip into the
paper form as well.  

     If the two men had been in an official competition, the judges
would have been hard-pressed to call a winner.

     "Nice work," Jim said.  

     "You want to go for two outta three?"  Starsky suggested.

     "I'm game if you are."

     "You're awful quiet back there, Junior," Starsky teased his son,
who was watching the competition with a slightly unreadable
expression.  He smiled then, seeming to come out of his funk, and
shook his head.  

     "I am *not* getting in the middle of this one."

     "Smart kid."  Starsky laughed and backed off as Jim got ready
to take aim again.  

     The next two shooting attempts from both men proved fairly
close in precision, Starsky having the leading edge in one, Jim having
the better pattern in the second.  

     "Want to call it a draw?"  Jim suggested.

     "We could be here all night otherwise," Starsky replied,
chortling.  "Better go see if Hutch got those warrants."  Then he
paused.  "How often do you go to the shooting range?"  he asked Blair.

     "Uh...almost never, unless I go along with Jim.  I don't carry a
gun."

     "And this is okay with you?"  Starsky asked Jim.

     "It's Blair's choice."  He shrugged off the intent gaze.  "I won't
pressure him to do something he isn't comfortable with.

     "I know he doesn't carry a piece, but I figured you'd at least
insist he knew how to handle one."

     "He does.  We went to the firing range a couple times, and I
taught him how to shoot."

     "I'm still here, guys," Blair spoke up, objecting to their third
person discussion.  "I know how to shoot, but I don't want to carry a
gun, so why would I go to the shooting range?"

     "If Jim goes down, and it's up to you to grab his piece and
defend yourself, or him, and you can't hit the broad side of a barn,
you're going to wish you'd practiced a little."  Starsky handed Blair his
gun.  "Come on, kiddo, reload and take a shot at it."  He handed Blair
the spare clip and waited, watching as his son just stared at the two
items.  "You *do* know how to load it?"

     "Jim taught me how to do that.  I just don't do it too often."  

     "We could do this another time," Jim said, resting a hand on
Blair's shoulder.

     "Look, if you're takin' my son out in the field to do police work,
and you're willing to take that risk without him being armed, there's
nothin' I can do about that.  But by God if he has to pick up a gun in an
emergency, I want to know he can use it without blowing his own head
off."

     "He's not a child, Starsky.  If he wanted to go to the shooting
range, we'd go."

     "You're doing it again," Blair said, exhaling.  "I'm not dead, nor
am I five years old.  I'm an adult, and I'm standing right here." 
Somehwat annoyed, he fumbled a bit clumsily through loading the gun,
and then aimed it.

     "Try moving your hand just a little."  Starsky repositioned
Blair's hands to his satisfaction.  "It's just a paper target, son."  Starsky
frowned at the unease that was written all over Blair's face.  Finally, the
younger man squeezed the trigger, then emptied the clip, his shots
finding the target's upper body most of the time, two shots going off
wildly to the side.  With each firing of the gun, he lurched a bit at the
noise and the backward kick of the weapon.

     "You did all right, Chief."

     "Thanks, Jim, but you and I know I suck with this thing."  He
gestured a little with the gun.  

     "That's because you shoot like a woman," Starsky said.  "You
jump every time the gun goes off."

     "Excuse me, Starsky?"  A woman's voice startled the three men. 
A tall woman with short, neatly styled blonde hair, wearing jeans and a
blue sweater, approached them.  She appeared to be in her late forties.

     "Oh, come on, Lizzie, you're not gonna take offense at that, are
ya?"

     "Starsky, you're a male chauvinist asshole.  You've been one for
twenty-five years, and you ain't never gonna change.  But I love you
anyway.  Now get me target up here so we can show your kid how a
real woman fires a gun."  She paused, smiling and turning to Blair. 
"Lizzie Thorpe," she said, extending her hand.  He shook it.

     "Blair Sandburg.  This is my partner, Jim Ellison," he
introduced Jim, who also shook her hand.  

     "Lizzie rides herd on the Vice Unit.  Made captain two years
ago," Starsky explained.  

     "Must be a real challenge," Jim said.  "I worked Vice, and that's
one division I wouldn't want to be in charge of."

     "It has its moments.  Actually, Mr. Politically Incorrect over
here and his partner really helped show me the ropes when I was
starting out.  Saved my butt on my first major undercover assignment."

     "And a fine butt it is too, Lizzie," Starsky twitted as she loaded
her weapon.  

     "I oughtta report you to the chief, you jerk," she said, laughing
and shaking her head.

     "Do you two always get along this well?"  Jim asked.

     "On a good day," she responded.  Taking aim, she unflinchingly
unloaded her gun into the target, her shots almost as precise as
Starsky's and Jim's.  "Hm.  Passable," she said of her own performance.

     "Pretty damn good, I'd say.  For a girl," Starsky added.  

     "You know I could hang *you* on that hook next time," she
retorted, and he just laughed.  "Now, we need you to shoot without
flinching," she said to Blair.  "Reload."

     "I really don't feel like this right now, guys," Blair said, taking
the weapon and clip lethargically.

     "Humor me.  You're the only kid I've got.  I don't want you
pasted to the sidewalk because you couldn't handle one of the tools of
the trade, okay?"  Starsky persisted.

     "Okay.  One more try."  Blair reloaded the gun.  

     "Now when you shoot, you know you're going to feel that little
kick back, and there's gonna be noise," Lizzie said, "but nothing's
coming out the back of the gun at you, and as long as you keep it
pointed away from you, you're not going to get hurt.  And if you end up
firing this thing, it's going to be for a good reason, and you're not going
to have to feel bad about it, okay?"

     "Okay," he said, nodding.

     "You're practicing here to be prepared for an emergency, not to
go out and shoot people."

     "Okay," he said again, taking aim at the target.  

     "Remember to expect the noise and the force, and squeeze the
trigger nice and slow and steady."

     Blair fired his first shot, which wasn't terribly better than the
others, but he didn't flinch quite as badly.  

     "Focus on the target," she coached.  "Would you rather aim at
his shoulder?"

     "I hit that anyway, when I'm trying for the heart.  Should I just
say I'm aiming at his shoulder?"  Blair teased, actually smiling a little.

     "No, really aim at it, and let's see if you can keep it on the
paper.  I'm getting the impression you're shooting at the heart, and not
wanting to hit it.  Am I right?"  She raised both eyebrows, and Blair
just stared at her, a little slack-jawed, and nodded.  "Okay then.  The
important thing is that you come away from this able to shoot what you
aim at.  Now try it, really aiming for the shoulder," she added, smiling.

     Blair resumed his stance and fired again, the shot catching the
edge of the form's shoulder.

     "Good.  Try to move in just a little.  Between the edge of the
shoulder and the edge of the heart area."

     Blair fired the remainder of his shots, not perfectly, but with
better precision than before.  

     "I guess I'm not going to win any prizes anytime soon," Blair
said, taking off his headphones and Starsky's gun to him.

     "You're doing fine, Blair.  If we had round bulls eye targets, you
would be doing just great.  I don't think you like shooting at human
forms."

     "I don't."

     "There you have it, Ellison.  Stick a bulls eye on a couple
haystacks out in a field and then take him out to practice his shooting. 
He'll do fine."

     "Yeah, well, if he has to fire in an emergency, he ain't gonna be
shootin' a haystack, Lizzie," Starsky spoke up, holstering his weapon.

     "If he needs to shoot someone, all he needs to know is how to
hit what he aims at.  He's a civilian, Starsky.  Don't brow-beat him into
acting like a cop."

     "He wasn't doing that," Blair spoke up in defense of his father. 
"He was worried about me not being able to use a gun if I had to.  And
he was right about that.  I should work on it, just in case."

     "It's not something we need to worry about right now, Chief." 
Jim rested his hands on Blair's shoulders as he stood behind him.  "I
think we ought to get upstairs and see what's up with the warrants."
     
     "Thanks, Lizzie," Blair said, extending his hand to shake hers
again.  "I learned a lot from this."

     "Good.  I'm surprised though."  At Blair's puzzled expression,
she smiled.  "According to the proud father over here, you already
know everything."

     Starsky turned a nice shade of pink as she chortled and walked
away.  

     "Nice meeting you both," she called back.

     "You too."  "Same here."  The responses came in unison from
Jim and Blair.  

     "Hutch woulda beeped me if he had anything yet," Starsky said
as they started upstairs.  Just then, Starsky's pager beeped.  "Speak'a the
devil," he said, checking it and smiling.

********

     Armed with warrants for Fordney's house, car and office,
Starsky and Hutch were reluctantly convinced to go to each site as a
team, including Jim on every search.  Puzzled at Blair's insistence that
they shouldn't split up--their initial desire being to swarm on all three
spots at once--Hutch finally caved, admitting that Jim *did* appear to
have an uncanny ability to spot obscure evidence.

     The first stop was Fordney's house, where they confronted a
somewhat dazed-looking woman who had apparently been napping
when they arrived.  She explained that she was Fordney's cousin,
visiting from London, and that she'd just arrived a couple hours earlier. 
A pretty young woman with long dark hair and a pleasant manner, her
smile soon faded when she realized why they were there.  Faced with
the warrant, she let them in and went to the phone to call Fordney.

     The two storey house kept the four men occupied for some
time, while reaching Fordney was keeping his cousin busy.  Several
attempts had proven fruitless, and she was now frantically flipping
through his address book for ideas.

     Starsky and Jim were going over the master bedroom with
almost microscopic intensity, examining each item from each drawer,
shimmying under the large bed, crawling to the back of the walk-in
closet, and generally leaving havoc in their wake.  

     "Oh, dear God," Starsky's voice came in a strained, shocked
tone, muffled from his position inside the closet.

     "What?"  Jim froze, watching as the other man, on his hands
and knees, backed out of the closet holding his chilling prize.  It was a
small box of photos.  Photos of Naomi in every conceivable situation. 
"Surveillance photos," Jim said, chilled by the way Fordney had
captured Blair's mother in so many situations, some social, some
mundane, some when she was alone, many of her with other men--even
photos of her with Jim and Blair in Cascade.

     "Go find Blair.  I don't want him to find anything in this house. 
I'm gonna get the crime lab folks to tear this place apart."
     
     "Right."  Jim was up and out of the room in a flash, in full
agreement with Starsky that such a horrific discovery was not one that
Blair should make.  He was immensely relieved to find the object of
his affections talking to Fordney's cousin in that easy going, charming
way of his, probably pumping her for more information than the cops
would get out of her in a three-hour interrogation.
     
     "What's up?"  Blair asked Jim as he approached the area where
the two were standing, not far from the stairs.  

     "Outside," Jim said, taking a hold of Blair's arm.  After they had
hurried out the front door to the porch, Jim told his puzzled partner,
"We got him, Chief."

     "What?"  Blair's eyes bugged.  "How?  What did you find?"

     "Photos of your mom."

     "Oh my God."  Blair's face drained of all its color. 

     "Nothing unpleasant, sweetheart," Jim said gently.  "Naomi was
very much alive and well and unaware of the camera in the photos of
her we found.  It does look as if Fordney has been following her and
stalking her for some time.  How long she's known about it, we can't be
sure.  But he has...*surveillance* type photos of her."

     "Excuse me," Hutch's voice interrupted them.  "We've got the
crime lab team on their way over.  This look familiar?"  Hutch held up
a plastic bag that contained a burgundy scarf.

     "It looks like...was there a tag on it that said it was made in
India?"

     "Nepal, I think," Hutch said, examining the bag to try and see
the label on the scarf.

     "It's hers...my mom's."

     "We need an APB out on Fordney," Hutch concluded, heading
back into the house.

********

     After spending an exhausting day nitpicking their way through
every inch of Fordney's house and office, the four men ended up back
at the precinct, while the manhunt continued for Fordney.   The search
had unearthed no further evidence except for Naomi's scarf and the
photographs, as well as a camera containing an undeveloped roll of
film.

     Late that evening, the four men sat around a conference table,
sorting through a pile of Fordney's personal papers, all of which
appeared mind-numbingly mundane.  The contents of the desk in the
study and the safe in the master bedroom were on the conference table
to be searched and analyzed for any additional tidbits of evidence. 
They were interrupted with a visit from one of their colleagues who
had found out that Starsky's son was finally in the building during one
of her shifts.   A slender black woman with curly hair and glasses
tapped on the door and entered the room.  

     "You were supposed to bring your boy downstairs to meet me
as soon as he got here," she said, perturbed.  "I'm waiting for my
apology, Starsky."

     "How about I ditch the blond and we go out dancin'?"

     "Toy with a girl's heart, why don't ya?  Besides, I hear he gets
mean when he gets jealous," she nodded toward Hutch.

     "You hear right, Minnie.  Behave yourself," Hutch said,
smiling, without looking up.  Then he looked up at Starsky.  "I'll deal
with you later," he said, tipping his glasses and looking over the top at
his partner, who turned an appropriate shade of red.  

     "I guess you've suffered enough for this."  She smiled a little
wickedly.  "Or you will," she added, winking at Hutch, who was still
chortling as he continued to work.  

     "Minnie Kaplan, I want you to meet my son, Blair Sandburg. 
This is his partner, Jim Ellison."

     "I don't know if I should shake your hand or ask to kiss your
ring," she said, shaking hands with Blair, then with Jim.  

     "Minnie," Starsky admonished.

     "He brags a little," she said to Blair, as if it were a news
bulletin.  "You still just have the one Ph.D., right?"  she clarified
jokingly.

     "Actually, I don't have that yet, but I'm close.  What are you
telling these people?"  Blair looked over at Starsky, smiling.

     "Just that my kid's a genius with a bunch of letters after his
name and a whole slew of articles in journals none of them would
understand."

     "Oh, and you would?"  Minnie challenged.

     "Didn't say that, Min.  But hey, my boy's a genius--you can't
blame a guy for showin' that off a little."

     "Blair, I'm really sorry about your mother," Minnie said, her
whole demeanor becoming serious.  "She was a lovely lady--Starsky
showed me a photo, and had such nice things to say about her.  I felt
like I knew her."

     "Thanks," Blair said, smiling slightly.  "Most people who met
her, liked her.  I wish she could have met everybody around here."

********

     With a suspected killer on the loose, the Bay City P.D.--and its
guests--found themselves knocking on doors and questioning contacts
from Fordney's address book late into the night.  By three in the
morning, all four men arrived back at Starsky and Hutch's place,
winded.  

     "Nothin'," Starsky grumbled, falling into his favorite chair.  

     "Not quite nothing, Starsk.  We did get a couple other locations
to investigate tomorrow."  Hutch yawned as he settled into his own
chair.  Blair went into the kitchen, his mind set on a cup of the herbal
tea Hutch had pointed out to him his first day there.  His father
definitely had Jim's taste in foods, but fortunately, Hutch was willing to
share his reserves of natural foods, herbal tea and various other healthy
edibles with his partner's son.  

     "We should have just gone up there tonight," Jim said, referring
to the fishing cabin Fordney co-owned with a colleague.  It was remote,
and the route was dangerous to navigate even in daylight.  But in the
dark of night, with the rain that had begun to fall, it would have been a
suicide mission--unless, of course, you had Sentinel navigating
abilities.

     "Oh, I forgot," Starsky said.  "You have microscopic vision that
picks up trace evidence from 100 yards away.  Well, us old mere
mortals with aging eyeballs have to wait for the weather to lift." 
Starsky rubbed said eyeballs.  "God, I'm shot.  I'm turnin' in."

     "We're going up there at first light, Starsk," Hutch said.

     "Don't remind me."  Yawning, Starsky ambled toward the
bedroom.  "You comin'?"  he asked his partner wearily.

     "In a few minutes."

     "Yeah, well don't wake me up."  Starsky continued on his way
to the bedroom.

     "You guys want anything?"  Blair called out from the kitchen as
the teapot whistled.

     "No, thanks, Blair.  I better go keep the old man company. 
We'll start out about seven, if that's okay?  Unless you want to drive
and let us sleep in the back seat," Hutch added, chortling.

     "Not a problem," Jim said.

     "Seven's fine, Hutch," Blair added.  "We all need a few hours'
sleep, Jim."

     "I just don't want someone to tip him off."

     "Jim's right."  Hutch stifled a yawn and ran a hand through his
fine blond hair.  "Six?"

     "Six it is," Jim agreed.

     "Right," Hutch nodded tiredly, heading back toward the master
bedroom.

     "They're older than you are, Jim," Blair said, returning with two
cups of the herbal tea.  It was on the tip of Jim's tongue to refuse it, but
he accepted the cup anyway.  It might help him unwind.

     "They're not exactly ready for the rest home yet, Chief."

     "Hutch told me more about my dad's shooting.  It happened
right before they got together as lovers.  He was shot three times, and it
really tore him up.  I guess the recovery and rehab were a real
challenge, and he's still got some aches and pains.  Hutch said he lost a
little lung capacity too--they had to really fight to get him back on the
force, and he's had to work hard to build his physical strength up."

     "I didn't know it was that serious."

     "He died once, but they revived him."  Blair took a drink of his
tea.  "It could explain why he gets a little cranky when he's tired, or
why he tires out a little faster that he looks like he would."  Blair shook
his head.  "He's really competitive with you for some reason, and I can't
figure it out exactly.  But I don't want him to die trying, so don't bait
him, okay?"

     "I didn't bait him, Chief."

     "I know, but you guys tend to lock horns, and I know sometimes
it's his fault--he says something sarcastic and it pisses you off."

     "Maybe it's an age thing, or a physical prowess thing--I mean, if
he's had a setback with that shooting, maybe he's more competitive
about proving himself in comparison to another cop--especially one
who's younger or that he perceives as physically stronger."

     "They know something's up with your senses, man.  And I don't
know what to do about it."  Blair ran a hand over his face and sighed. 
He looked more fatigued than Jim ever remembered seeing him look
before.  

     "When you feel the need, level with your dad about it."  Jim
took a swallow of the tea, pleasantly surprised at the taste.  Apparently
Hutch had a lower threshold for misery than Blair did when it came to
the flavors of his herbal tea choices.  

     "I won't do it unless I have to, Jim.  But thanks for giving me
the option."

     "Realistically, you'll have to tell him eventually.  He's not going
to buy this 'closed societies' cover story forever where your diss is
concerned."  Jim sighed.  "Truthfully, Hutch is probably going to pin us
down for an answer before your dad does."

     "I know."  Blair took another drink of his tea.  "I knew this was
gonna happen, the more time we spent with them.  I'm really sorry,
Jim."

     "Nothing for you to be sorry about," Jim said, patting the
cushion next to him.  Blair sat and snuggled up against him.  "There's
no reason to worry that your dad or Hutch are going to use the
information against us.  I trust them."

     "Me too.  And there aren't too many people I'd trust with *your*
life."

     "Starsky already threw himself in the path of a bullet for me, so
I guess he's proven himself."

     "He didn't want me to face the pain of losing you.  I never
thought I'd see anybody love anybody the way you and I do--but my dad
and Hutch--Hutch is just the world to my dad, and vice versa.  It's really
good to see that *last* all these years."

     "Lets us know what we have to look forward to," Jim said,
kissing Blair's forehead and squeezing his shoulders.

********

     Four tired men piled into a Chevy Suburban borrowed from the
Bay City PD and headed for the remote fishing cabin John Fordney 
co-owned with a business associate.  Jim volunteered to drive, and on
three hours or less of sleep, no one fought him for the job.  Hutch rode
shotgun with the map, the two morning people handling the navigation
while Starsky and his son alternated between snoring and backseat
driving.

     "Does Coperski ever use this place?"  Blair asked as he noticed
the terrain was getting rougher, and figured the three hour drive to the
cabin was drawing to a close.  Sam Coperski was the cabin's co-owner,
another financial analyst.

     "He said he hasn't been up here in years--mainly uses the place
as a tax write off," Starsky responded.  "Fordney apparently agreed to
take over the maintenance at a point about five years ago, and I don't
think Coperski's been up here since."

     "I can see why," Hutch commented, taking in the rough terrain
ahead of them.  "This *path* they labeled a road wouldn't even be safe
in a regular passenger car."

     Finally, the rugged terrain, dense underbrush and pathetic
excuse for a road brought them to a small cabin, which was nestled
among heavy foliage.  Its exterior was a dull gray that spoke of white
paint left to peel and discolor with the elements.  A large screened
porch covered the front of the house, with a couple of unstable-looking
wood steps leading up to it.  

     "Looks like nobody's home," Starsky observed, taking out his
weapon and checking the clip.  "You see any signs of life?"  he asked
the rest of the group.

     "No one's in there," Jim announced, getting out of the truck.  

     "We can't be sure of that just because there's no vehicle visible,"
Hutch said, getting out of the truck a bit more hesitantly than Jim had. 
Starsky and Blair were close behind them.  

     "You want to tell us why you're so sure?"  Starsky prodded.

     "When we get back to town, we'll explain everything, okay?" 
Blair said to his father, who frowned briefly.  

     "Then there *is* something going on?"

     "Jim has some above average capabilities when it comes to his
senses.  If he says no one's in there, they aren't, unless they're dead and
have no discernible heartbeat."

     "You're saying he'd be able to hear a heartbeat on a guy in there,
out here?"  Hutch asked, his eyes widening a bit.

     "That's precisely what he's saying, and I don't hear anything
except for a lot of bugs in the foliage, so let's get in there and have a
look around."

     Forcing the lock on the screen door required little or no effort,
and then once inside the murky porch, Jim moved back slightly and
kicked in the solid front door.  

     "*Po*lice, we're comin' in," Starsky said, then shrugged at the
puzzled looks of the others.  "If they ask us in court if we announced
ourselves..."

     "Now that the legalities are covered," Jim mumbled.  Blair was
the first to scan the small living room with his large flashlight, but
before long, his was joined by three other beams.  

     "The damn bushes are so thick that they cover most of the
windows," Hutch groused, testing a light switch that he assumed
wouldn't work.  He was stunned when the room filled with a dim
yellow light from a single grimy bulb in the ceiling.  "I thought you
said the place was empty," Hutch needled, inclining his head toward
two rats who scurried behind a threadbare sofa.

     "You wanna show them the warrant?"  Jim retorted, drawing a
chuckle from the others.  

     "Bedroom's back here," Starsky said, moving down a very short
hall and turning on another light switch.  "Oh my God," he said faintly,
drawing the other men down the hall to where he stood.  

     The bedroom was papered with news articles and a myriad of
photos.  All the photos featured Blair, or Blair with Jim or someone
else, most of them appearing to have been taken with a zoom lens
when Blair was unaware.  

     "Surveillance photos again," Hutch said, moving into the room
first and examining the wall coverings more carefully.  "The articles
are mostly about cases you've been involved with through the PD, and
there are some campus newspaper items from Rainier, and from
Washington State."

     "I got my Master's there...God, he must have been watching me
that whole time."

     "Looks like he's been at it longer than that, Chief," Jim said,
pausing at the wall near the door.  "You couldn't have been more than
sixteen years old when this was taken."  Jim tapped the wall with his
knuckle, indicating a picture of a much younger Blair, in a t-shirt and
jeans, curly hair halfway between short and long, glasses in place,
sitting on a bench engrossed in a book.

     "That looks like the area outside the student union at Rainier,"
Blair said with a little shudder.  

     "He must've put two and two together about your birth date--and 
come up with *five*."  Starsky scanned the walls.  "Sick son of a
bitch.  First he rapes Naomi and then stalks her, and then he stalks her
kid."

     "Oh, God," Blair backed away from one of the walls, his eyes
widening.  

     "What is it, Chief?"  Jim was at his side in a moment, and
shared the chilled feeling.  Blair had encountered a series of photos of
*interiors*.  The interior of what looked like a cramped apartment,
which Blair identified as the apartment he'd lived in as an undergrad at
Rainier, a second, slightly more attractive one-room apartment that was
his home during his time at Washington State, the warehouse he'd been
living in when he met Jim, and finally, several interior shots of the loft,
including everything from Blair's old room--both as a bedroom and in
its current form as a study--to the loft bedroom they now shared.

     "He's been inside *every place* I ever lived," Blair said,
stunned.

     "He's obviously a class A stalker, and a good one at that," Hutch
surmised, shaking his head.  "You suppose Naomi dropped the bomb
on him that Blair wasn't his son--"

     "And he went berserk?"  Starsky nodded.  "It fits.  If he was
walking around all these years thinking that Blair was his, and then
suddenly, he's not--there's no telling how far over the edge that could
push a headcase like this guy."

     "Why didn't he ever contact me?"  Blair asked.

     "He probably didn't know how much Naomi had told you about
him, about the circumstances surrounding their encounter...maybe he
was afraid you'd reject him based on that,"  Jim said, shrugging.  "Who
knows?  The guy's obviously crazy."

     "Oh, man."  Blair leaned against the back of a straight chair that
sat in front of a small desk.  "What if he killed her because of me?"

     "You had no control over this, Chief.  If he did, it was a chain
of events set in motion before you were born."

     "We better go over the rest of the place.  I'll call back into
headquarters to get the forensics folks out here."  Starsky headed out to
the truck to radio in their findings.

     "You think she was killed here?"  Jim asked Starsky and Hutch,
still watching Blair, who was leaning against the chair, his head down,
his eyes closed.  

     "Yes," Hutch said simply.  "This would be the logical spot--remote, private."

     "That explains it," Jim said, sighing.  "I've been smelling the
perfume Naomi wore since we got here."

     "Why didn't you say something?"  Blair looked up, his eyes
moist, though no tears fell.

     "I wanted to be sure it wasn't my imagination--my senses
playing a trick on me."

     "She must've been so scared...she had to know for a good long
time what he was going to do to her when they got here," Blair said, his
voice breaking badly.  "Look how long it took us to get up here."

     "Don't do this to yourself, Blair," Jim said softly, taking a hold
of Blair's shoulders.  "Not here, not now.  Let's wait outside, huh?"

     "For three hours, Jim?  That's how long it'll take the crime lab
folks to get here."  Blair looked around the room, then pushed away
from the chair where he'd been leaning and walked out into the living
room.  

     "Why don't you take the truck and take him home?"  Starsky
suggested.  "We've got things under control here."

     "What if Fordney shows up?"  Jim asked, frowning.

     "I blow his motherfucking head off before he gets through the
front door," Starsky stated simply.  In that moment, Jim had no doubt
the other man would make good on his promise.  

     "I still don't think we should leave in the only functional
vehicle--at least not until back up gets here."

     "The county sheriff is sending out a couple deputies.  They
should be here in about twenty minutes or so.  When they get here, take
Blair home.  We'll finish up here," Hutch said, still looking at his
pocket watch.  "You know, it's funny," he said, closing the watch.  "I
never put much stock in what Blair said about finding the killer not
meaning much--it's always meant everything before.  Now...it's just like
so much information, and it really doesn't mean a damn thing, does it?"

     "It doesn't give my son his mother back and it sure as hell isn't
making him feel any better," Starsky agreed dismally.  "But at least we
can track this bastard down and put him away so he doesn't kill any
other innocent woman."

     "Let's hope," Jim said, heading out of the room to find Blair.

********

     The ride back to town was a reasonably silent one, with Jim
driving and Blair staring out the passenger window.  Starsky and Hutch
were going over the house with a fine-toothed comb, soon to be aided
by the forensics experts.  Jim wondered why Fordney had dumped
Naomi's body in a landfill when he had such a logical burial ground in
the surrounding woods, and worse yet, how Fordney had slipped in and
out of their home and taken photos without arousing Jim's suspicion or
leaving a clue for his heightened senses.  The thought that the man who
killed his lover's mother had wandered around their home,
photographing it, and then walked back out again without so much as
arousing his suspicions unnerved Jim greatly.  But then, Jim and Blair
were not the only two people who ever stopped by the apartment and
spent time there.  Catching the occasional odd trace of aftershave or
*scent* of some sort that was out of whack didn't immediately cause
Jim to assume an intruder had been there.  

     "I guess it really didn't solve anything, did it, honey?"  Jim said
gently, sparing a glance at Blair, taking his eyes from the road
momentarily.  Blair sighed, then turned to share a brief moment of eye
contact before Jim looked back at the road.  He laid his hand open,
palm up, on the seat between them, and Jim took it, linking their
fingers.  

     "I'm glad he's going to pay for what he did.  I was resigned to
the idea that what I wanted most was to undo it, and that there's no way
to make that happen."

     "At least he won't hurt some other innocent woman.  We just
have to find the SOB."

     "There's that.  I know he's out there somewhere.  Probably a
long way from here by now."

     "We'll get him.  His description is going out all over the
country.  He's wanted for questioning for murder--a lot of cops out
there are going to want that collar."  Jim paused.  "And I know three
veteran cops and one consultant who want it worst of all--and I'd put
my money on us any day of the week."

     "Yeah, so would I," Blair said, managing a little smile.

********

     "I feel like we should be doing something," Starsky paced
around the living room, his body practically vibrating with frustrated
energy.  "The man who murdered my son's mother is walking around
out there, and we're here--"

     "Starsk, all of Fordney's known hangouts are under
surveillance--all his property, all his favorite places, and any of his
close friends.  We've been going steady since dawn, and it's almost
three a.m.  There's nothing else we could accomplish except to sit one
of the stakeouts, and they'll call if anything develops.  We'll be back at
it tomorrow."  

     Hutch stood up and walked over to his partner, sliding his arms
around him from behind.  Having finally showered and donned their
robes, neither man found he was relaxed enough for sleep.  Given all
they'd found at the house, neither found himself in the mood for
anything else, either.  The gravity of the case and the depravity of their
fugitive was enough to tamp down any little spark of passion.  Standing
there in the living room, Hutch was content just to hold his lover, and
Starsky seemed perfectly content simply to be held.  

     "I'm runnin' outta ideas, Hutch.  I don't know where to look for
him.  We've been everywhere...talked to everybody...it's like he fell
through a hole in the universe."

     "He will turn up, babe.  It just takes time."  Hutch planted a kiss
on Starsky's neck.  "He can't hide forever."

     "You think Naomi told him the truth about Blair and that's what
pushed him over the edge?"

     "I wouldn't be surprised.  I think she'd have denied his paternity
theory even if she wouldn't talk to him about anything else.  She
probably would have delighted in shooting him down on that count."

     "So how'd he get her out there?  Did he just kidnap her from
someplace?  Lure her somewhere?"

     "I don't know," Hutch sighed.  "Probably confronted her
somewhere and overpowered her.  She had enough bruising to support
that concept.  We're still missing Fordney's primary vehicle--his
Navigator.  Forensics will probably find evidence that he had here in
there.  What I don't understand is why he left the body in the landfill
instead of disposing of her out in the sticks somewhere."

     "Takin' out the trash," Starsky said grimly.  "You heard how he
talked about her.  He was sayin' something with where he left the body. 
With the rest of the garbage."  Starsky swallowed.  "We're gonna nail
his ass, Hutch."

     "So he stalks Blair for a lifetime, and never approaches him,
and then...what?  Asks Naomi about it and she shoots him down and he
kills her?"  Hutch figured if Starsky could be distracted into analyzing
the case, he might calm down a bit as the instinct for revenge
resurfaced.  It seemed to work.

     "If he thought Blair knew about the rape, he might have feared
rejection from him if he approached him directly.  So he probably
harassed Naomi off and on when he could track her down, and maybe
finally put the question to her when she had an answer."

     "All she would have given him up to that point were a lot of
empty denials--she didn't really know for sure that Blair wasn't his until
she found out you *were* his father."

     "Maybe she dropped that little bomb on him and he went off the
edge."

     "Might not have been as hard for him to deal with until there
was proof right in front of him that Blair wasn't his."  Hutch sighed,
squeezing Starsky a little.  "You're wound up tighter than a knot, babe. 
Turn around."  Hutch pulled the unresisting body back into his arms
then, Starsky's head on his shoulder.  

     "I hate to break this to you, Blondie, but there's no music,"
Starsky said, relaxing a little already as Hutch started swaying them as
if they were slow dancing.  Meanwhile, long, skillful fingers started
gently working on the taut muscles in Starsky's back.  In response to
Starsky's reminder that they were without music, Hutch started singing
in a soft whisper against his lover's hair.  He could feel the smile
creeping across Starsky's face.  If there was one thing Starsky was a
sucker for, it was Hutch's voice.  

********

     Blair finally gave up on sleep and got out of bed, walking over
to the window and looking out at the moonlit night.  Jim was asleep,
and even though he stirred, and sentinel senses no doubt registered
Blair's absence, Jim was used to his lover's occasional late night
ruminations.  Blair would sometimes get up and read a while if he
couldn't sleep, or make a bathroom run, or just get up and move around
when he got restless, rather than continually flipping around in the bed
like a beached fish.  

     Deciding that maybe a cup of herbal tea would help him relax a
little more, Blair quietly crept out of the room and made it to the edge
of the living room doorway before he heard the soft sound of Hutch's
voice, and froze there.  The last thing he wanted to do was intrude on
the minute degree of privacy his father and Hutch had while their house
guests were there.  Still, curiosity got the better of him, and he peered
around the edge of the wall.  The two men were swaying in each other's
arms, Hutch's hands dancing over Starsky's back in a light massage, the
dark-haired man looking positively boneless and relaxed from the
combination of soothing hands and voice.  Blair couldn't help but smile
as he heard a few words of the song drift his way.  

     "After all these years, we still have each other, one to another,
after all these years, you're still the one, and I'm still here, after all these
years..."

     Withdrawing into the shadows again, Blair leaned against the
wall, then glanced back at the bedroom.  Jim had that way with him
that Hutch seemed to have with his father.  The gentle touch, knowing
just what to say or do to drain all the tensions away...so why was he
standing alone out in the hall contemplating a cup of tea when Jim was
only a few feet away?   Feeling comforted by the mental picture of
himself and Jim, twenty years from now, still in love the way Starsky
and Hutch were, Blair returned to bed with a smile, snuggling under the
big arm that automatically went up for him, then closed protectively
around him as he spooned back against Jim.  

     "Everything okay, sweetheart?"  Jim asked sleepily.

     "Better than just okay, love.  I was just thinking about how
lucky I am."

     "Mm."  Jim was quiet a minute.  "Not as lucky as I am," he
countered.

     "Luckier," Blair returned, smiling and enjoying the silly one-upmanship.

     "More luckier," Jim retorted, smiling.

     "More luckier?"  Blair asked, chuckling.  

     "I was working my way up to 'most luckiest'," Jim said,
yawning.  "Go to sleep, Darwin."  He kissed Blair's ear, because he
could reach it with minimal effort, and settled back down again.  

     "Jim?"

     "Hm?"

     "I love you."

     "I love you too, sweetheart," Jim said softly, one hand coming
up to stroke Blair's hair, sensing that the younger man needed a little
more interaction.  "Turn over, baby."  Jim waited while Blair turned to
face him and then pulled him into a close hug.  "Case keeping you
awake, honey?"

     "I guess.  Just...all these thoughts...I can't make my brain settle
down.  I don't want to think about it, but I can't stop."

     "I know."  Jim rubbed a gentle hand up and down Blair's back. 
"We'll get him, Chief.  I promise you that."

     "It's not so much about getting him...it's just...I mean, I knew
what she went through was awful, but now I know where.  And who.  I
didn't think it could be harder, but it is.  Now that I know what I know,
it hurts *more*."

     "Knowing the details makes it all seem more real, easier to
picture.  Hearing the final details of the death of someone you love is a
horrible, painful thing.  The way this all happened, it's like coping with
a whole new tragedy."

     "I knew you'd understand."  Blair burrowed deeper into the
embrace.  "God, I needed you to hold me so much right now."

     "It's a hardship, but I'll try to do it for you, Chief," Jim quipped,
squeezing him hard enough to make him squeak a little.  "Think you
can sleep?"

     "As long as you hold me like this, I know I can."

     "I love you, my little guppy," Jim whispered in Blair's ear,
smiling as the younger man grinned broadly at the endearment and
tightened his arms around Jim.

********

     "Are you sure Blair's not *your* kid?"  Starsky asked his partner
as he sniffed at the remains of the algae shake in the pitcher that had
been lurking in the refrigerator.  "God, that smells worse than that
chalky shit you usually brew up."

     "That *chalky shit* is responsible for a great deal of my agility,
flexibility and stamina--and Blair left that in there for me to try," Hutch
said calmly, sniffing at the pitcher himself with passing interest.  With
a slight expression of shock, he went back for another sniff.  "That's
bad," he admitted, taking the pitcher and rinsing it out in the sink.  

     "Between the primordial grunts and the funny milkshakes, I'm
beginnin' to think somethin' got mixed up here," Starsky added,
snickering.  

     "They're primordial *sounds*, Starsk.  They help you achieve a
sense of peace and concentration when you meditate.  And, fortunately,
eating habits are *not* hereditary, so there's some marginal chance
your son might have a healthy lifestyle."

     "I ain't doin' so bad for an old guy.  You're still pissed off that
my cholesterol is lower than yours."  Starsky pulled a piece of cold
pizza out of the refrigerator.

     "Starsky, that's almost a week old," Hutch protested.  In
response, Starsky sniffed it.

     "Keeps good, doesn't it?"  He took a large bite out of the
petrified end of it.  

     "Labs make errors all the time."  

     "Three times in a row?  Admit it, Hutch--nature blessed me
with a superior metabolism."

     "Nature blessed you with some superior things, babe, but your
metabolism doesn't spring to mind first," Hutch retorted, swatting
Starsky's rear as he headed for the kitchen door.  The other man just
chuckled and took another large bite of his breakfast before wandering
out on the deck to take in a little fresh air.  He was surprised to see
their two house guests already up and walking along the shore, hand in
hand.  He'd figured they were still in bed, but it was obvious now they
must have slipped out through the patio doors in their bedroom to take
the early morning stroll.  

     Letting out a loud sigh, Starsky sat in the chaise lounger and
nibbled at his pizza.  All these years of police experience, and he didn't
have the faintest idea of where to look for Fordney.  Plus, if he'd gone
ballistic and killed Naomi because Blair wasn't his son, he'd have little
reason to make contact with Blair again.  Even the somewhat
hazardous idea of baiting him didn't hold much water, because Blair
was as good as nothing as bait when he was confirmed to be Starsky's
son.  Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Starsky relaxed into the cushions of the
chair and soaked up the mild rays of morning sunshine.  

     "Orange juice," Hutch said, handing Starsky a glass before
sitting in the other lounge chair.  "I see our houseguest are up and about
already.  I thought they were in bed yet," Hutch said, craning his neck
to see over the deck railing to the two figures who were now walking
back up toward the house, still holding hands.  

     "This might be a good time to ask a few pertinent questions
about Ellison's radar or whatever it is he has."

     "Really, before we get into any more situations where we have
to trust it."  Hutch straightened a bit in his chair as their guests
mounted the steps to the deck.

     "'mornin'," Starsky greeted, finishing up the last of the pizza
slice.

     "Hope we didn't wake you guys up," Blair said, happily
occupying the two-seater swing with Jim, who flopped an arm around
the younger man's shoulders.  

     "We thought you were still in bed," Hutch said.  "Must be all
those stealth skills you picked up in Special Forces," he teased, and Jim
laughed.

     "Yeah, it helps," Jim responded.  "You wanted to know more
about my senses," he said, surprising the other men by having heard
Hutch's comment while they were still well out of normal human
earshot.

     "I might as well take this one from the top," Blair said.  "I didn't
really meet Jim because I was doing a dissertation on closed societies. 
My area of study is primitive sentinels--tribal 'watchmen'.  These were
people who, because of a genetic advantage which gave them
heightened senses, watched over the tribe.  Richard Burton--the
anthropologist, not the actor--was my primary source on tribal
sentinels, and I had made case studies on subjects with one or two
heightened senses, but until I met Jim, I'd never found anyone with all
five."

     "So this is some kind of biological thing?  You said it was a
genetic advantage," Hutch said.

     "Well, that's what Burton thought, and in some cases, it's that
simple--people just have a heightened sense of smell or taste or hearing
or whatever--like people who work for perfume companies or as
professional tasters.  Since I've been working with Jim, we've
discovered that...well, there's another dimension to it...a...spiritual
dimension."

     "So it's more like psychic ability?  Paranormal?"  Starsky asked.

     "You could call it that," Jim said, nodding, figuring it was
easier than going into a prolonged discussion of spirit animals and
shamans.  The fact the other two cops were actually listening to this
with straight faces was progress.  Panther spirit guides would have
been pushing it.

     "Jim's medical testing all comes back normal.  See, when we
met, I was doing my dissertation on sentinels, and a student of mine
who was a nurse at the hospital sort of slipped me some information
from Jim's file when he came in with complaints of his senses doing
weird things.  So I went to the hospital--"

     "And impersonated a doctor," Jim interjected.

     "--and talked to Jim, and convinced him to come to my office--
only he didn't know it was my office--he thought I was referring him to
somebody else."

     "Imagine my surprise when I expected to find some stodgy old
anthropologist behind a mahogany desk," Jim said, shaking his head
and smiling.  "Instead I find this guy bouncing around to some sort of
ungodly grunge music in a loud vest with hair all over the place."

     "I believe the term was 'neo-hippie witch doctor punk'," Blair
added.

     "Thanks, Chief.  Good way to ingratiate me with the in-laws,"
Jim retorted.  

     "Hey, I'm just tellin' it like it is, man."  Blair laughed, then
continued.  "Anyway, he didn't like it when I told him he was a
throwback to a pre-civilized breed of man, so he got a little testy," 
Blair recalled.

     "You sort of asked for that witch doctor remark, didn't you,
kiddo?"  Starsky asked, chuckling.  

     "The long and short of it was, he wasn't buying anything I was
selling, until I pushed him under a garbage truck."

     "Well, that's one way to make your point," Hutch added.

     "I zoned out on a frisbee, of all the dumb things, and I was just
standing in the road in front of a garbage truck when Blair comes out
of nowhere and throws me on the ground.  It ran right over the top of us
both, fortunately, without the tires touching us."

     "You *zoned out* on a frisbee?  I think you're going to have to
back up a little."  Hutch took a sip of his orange juice.  "Hey, you guys
want anything for breakfast while we're interrogating you?" he asked
with a laugh.

     "Coffee is good," Blair said, getting up.  "I'll go make some."

     "Just don't put anything in it that resembles whatever it is you
put in that concoction you left in the fridge," Starsky admonished.

     "You tried that?  Man, I never guessed you'd give it a shot," he
said, grinning.

     "I smelled it.  Damn near passed out."  Starsky shot a
surreptitious look at his partner.  "My days of getting schnockered into
drinking weird shit out of blenders are long over."

     "It's an acquired taste.  No algae in the coffee, I swear," Blair
said, holding up one hand before entering the house and going to work
on the coffee.

     "You must have a real edge in police work," Hutch said,
shaking his head.  "We need a crime lab to come up with some of the
stuff you've come up with off the top of your head--and then they don't
always catch some of the details."

     "How do you get around it in the reports?  We always have had
to document everything, but in the last ten years or so, it's gotten crazy--*everything* 
has to be explained about twelve different ways in case a
lawyer decides to shoot a hole in it," Starsky complained.  

     "It's a challenge sometimes.  Sometimes a case hasn't worked
out smoothly--I mean, eventually, it worked out somehow, but when I
could identify someone I'd seen several hundred feet away, nobody was
interested in listening.  Shortly after my senses came...back *online* so
to speak, a good friend of mine was murdered, and I ID'd the killer--I
wasn't used to judging my distances--I just knew that I looked for the
shooter, and I saw him, and I could ID him.  It was a disaster in the
courtroom, and I ended up looking like a liar.  Fortunately, we figured
out another way to nail the bastard, but it was a real uphill battle."

     "You said they came back 'online'--you didn't always have
this...gift?"  Hutch asked.

     "I guess I always had it.  I had it as a child, but for a variety of
reasons, I repressed it for a period of years, and then when I spent 18
months in the jungle during my time in the Army, they resurfaced, but
for some reason, when I got back to the States, it's like they went
underground again.  Then I was on a long-term stakeout in the woods,
and they started coming back.  I ended up taking time off work and
going in for tests to see what was wrong, and that's when I met Blair,"
Jim said, smiling warmly at the thought of his lover.  "He really worked
some miracles on getting this...*thing* under control and to a point
where I could use it and not suffer from it."

     "So everything's *heightened* all the time, is that it?"  Starsky
asked, frowning.

     "That's where the dials come in," Blair said, rejoining them on
the deck with a tray carrying four large mugs of coffee, which he set on
a table reachable to his father and Hutch, and took his and Jim's coffee
with him and sat down next to Jim.  "The downside of heightened
senses is that ordinary stimuli can drive you up the wall--and stuff that's
just loud or annoying to someone else can be...*crippling* to someone
with Jim's level of sensitivity.  So we worked out a method that
involves a great deal of mind over matter--picturing a dial, and turning
down the dial until the stimulus, whatever it is, is tolerable."

     "And that works?"  Hutch asked, seeming surprised that
something so simplistic could contain something as complex.

     "So far, so good," Jim said, smiling and putting his arm around
Blair again.  "It was his idea."

     "Kind of a shot in the dark, really, but it worked."

     "So you can hear...how far?"  Starsky asked, looking as if the
wheels were turning in his own mind.

     "We only use bugs and other surveillance equipment to humor
the department and hold up in court," Blair said.  "When he opens up
his hearing all the way...man, it's just *amazing* what he can hear,"
Blair explained, his face alight with the enthusiasm talking about Jim's
abilities always seemed to bring out in him.  

     "I don't eavesdrop," Jim clarified.  "At least not intentionally. 
There's an ethical side to all this, and I do my best not to listen in on
things people don't expect I can hear--well, most of the time, anyway. 
Nobody's perfect," he added, chortling a little.

     "You oughtta try Christmas shopping for him," Blair said,
rolling his eyes.  "I have to hide the stuff at a friend's house, and then if
I go to stores that have a certain smell--like a leather place or a food
place--I have to take a shower and wash my hair and wash my clothes
before he gets home, or he'll *know* where I've been."

     "You're exaggerating, Chief."

     "Yeah?  You knew about that meat and cheese box while it was
still in Henri's closet."

     "Busted," Jim laughed.  "Okay, so I *did* pick up on the fact
you'd been to that store in the mall, but you never condone my less
healthful tastes, so I didn't figure it was for me."

     "Then you're like a human tracking dog?"  Starsky clarified.

     "More or less, yeah, that covers it."

     "See, we didn't say anything to you guys right away
because...well, you can figure out how dangerous this could be if
anyone got a hold of the information and could identify Jim.  We've
already had one nut case surface and figure it out.  I haven't quite
figured out a way around it for my dissertation, but I'm hoping to get
some advice on it from Eli--" Blair seemed to realize that the other two
men wouldn't recognize the name.  "Eli Stoddard--he was one of my
mentors, one of the most prominent anthropologists in the field now.  I
need to talk to him about the confidentiality issue, and how to best
handle that, because I'm a little mystified on how to cope with it at the
moment."

     "This would be the kind of thing feds spirit you away in the
middle of the night for," Starsky said, nodding.  "The implications for
intelligence work are pretty staggering."

     "So you guys understand that this has to stay between us?  I
mean, Simon knows, and Jim's family, and now you guys--but it can't
go further than that."

     "Consider it a family secret," Hutch said, smiling before he
finished off his orange juice.  "That doesn't mean, however, that we
aren't going to shamelessly exploit your abilities on this case, and
possibly harass you on occasion when we get stuck on one of our own."

     "I can live with that," Jim responded, smiling at Blair's pleased
expression at the thought of more visits to his dad's place.  

     "Well, we probably better get a move on.  They'd have called us
from headquarters if anything had turned up, but I still wanna be on top
of things personally," Starsky extricated himself from the lounger, and
Hutch followed suit.  

     "You could probably take today off if you want," Hutch said to
their guests.  "We'll call if anything comes up."

     "We'd rather be there," Blair spoke up for both of them, and Jim
nodded his agreement.

     "Okay.  We'll be ready to take off in about a half hour."

     After they had entered the house, and made their way back to
the master bedroom, Starsky paused in the doorway and frowned.  

     "Half hour?"  he asked.  "We already shaved--"

     "Ten minutes to get dressed," Hutch stated patiently.  "After we
spend twenty on something more interesting."

     "Wait a minute, babe," Starsky said, intercepting Hutch's
physical advance with hands on his shoulders.  "I don't think I want an
audience."

     "Who, Ellison?  He said he didn't eavesdrop.  Besides, I'm sure
your son can talk his arm off for the next half hour and he won't notice
a thing."  Hutch backed Starsky toward the bed until he sat down on it
with a plop.  "Now, let's just get this out of the way."  Hutch was on his
knees between Starsky's legs, pushing the robe aside, frustrated by the
presence of the briefs.  Undaunted, he moved back and grabbed the
waistband, Starsky only too happy to raise his butt and cooperate with
discarding them.  In a swift move, Hutch engulfed the stiffening organ
in his mouth, going to work with a firm, determined sucking motion.  

     He loved doing this to Starsky, just like this, watching him lean
back on his arms, head back, chest heaving with the heavy breathing of
passion.  The body was a little thicker now than when they'd first
gotten together, but it was still firm and shaped just the way Hutch
liked it--muscular but not bulging, hairy but not simian, the stomach
flat enough to be sexy but soft enough for nibbling--and teasing after
one too many burritos.

     He grabbed onto the bucking hips now, deep throating his lover
and priding himself on making Starsky forget his inhibitions about
Ellison's hearing and let loose with one unrestrained shout that could
only be attributed to one thing.  His own cock was achingly hard as he
drank down the last of Starsky's completion.  

     Boneless and relaxed, and fully aware of what was coming,
Starsky rolled over onto his belly and pulled his knees up, offering
Hutch unobstructed access to his ass.  He was too languid and happy in
his post-orgasmic daze to trouble himself with returning the blow job,
and sitting around headquarters all day with a persistent tingling
sensation would be good build up for  a head of steam to pay Hutch
back that night.  

     He was surprised to feel Hutch's tongue back there now, licking
teasingly behind his balls, the hot mouth sucking hard enough on the
soft skin of his perineum to make him groan.  Then it darted in and out
of his center, teasing and licking but not really satisfying.  

     "Come on, babe, give it to me," Starsky ordered in a husky
voice.

     "Give what to you, lover?"  Hutch goaded, the smile audible in
his voice.

     "Fuck me, you asshole!"  Starsky shot back in an annoyed, loud
whisper.

     "My love, the silver-tongued romantic," Hutch responded.  "It'd
serve you right if I left you there."

     "Serve *me* right?  You're the one with the ten-foot boner,
Blondie, not me."

     "We'll see about that."  Hutch slid one long finger into Starsky's
anus, and found the little nub lurking in there, rubbing over it twice,
eliciting a stifled groan both times.  "When I'm in you, my cock is
going to fuck that little pleasure button until you scream for me," Hutch
whispered into Starsky's ear.  

     "Promises, promises," he ground out, wiggling his ass.  

     Hutch smiled at the feast presented to him, and coated himself
with lube, then squeezed some on his fingers and gave Starsky a
perfunctory coating of it.  After all these years, neither of them needed
to linger over the preliminaries when they were excited, and he wanted
to get down to business before they really ran late and their house
guests came in the house looking for them.  

     Gripping Starsky's hips, Hutch slid inside the waiting opening
in one long, smooth thrust.  And then he was in motion, pumping hard
in and out of the slick heat, drinking in the display of Starsky wantonly
rotating his hips from side to side to increase the experience, pushing
back against him, his knuckles going white where he held onto the
sheets.  Grinning wickedly, Hutch angled his strokes to hit Starsky's
prostate, dragging the first of several loud, albeit greatly muffled,
moans of pleasure.  His face buried in a pillow now to stifle his shouts,
Starsky endured the nearly blinding pleasure of the vigorous
stimulation to his prostate, his own cock getting hard again.  

     Rising up on all fours, Starsky started rocking back against
Hutch, giving as good as he got in the thrusting department.  The
change in angles seemed to spur Hutch on to riding harder and faster,
and soon they were both moaning and shouting their pleasure, albeit a
bit more hushed than usual.  

     "Come for me, babe," Hutch goaded, pulling Starsky back until
he was sitting on Hutch's cock, riding his lap, thighs wide apart on
either side of Hutch's legs.  A firm hand wrapped around Starsky's cock
and pumped hard, in time with their sex.  

     "Hutch...ugh...yeah, like that...harder..."  Starsky reached back
and managed to twist his head at the right angle for a messy but
passionate kiss.  "Love you, babe," he managed, his voice rattling a
little with their thrusting.  

     For a brief moment in time, Hutch stilled, wrapping his arms
around Starsky and savoring the total unity.

     "I love you too, lover," he whispered against Starsky's ear. 
"Gonna love you forever."

     "Me too," Starsky agreed softly, resting his arms on top of
Hutch's.  

     Hutch picked up his movement again, and slid one hand down
to rub and squeeze gently at Starsky's balls while the other pumped his
cock.  The curly head fell back on his shoulder as Starsky groaned out
Hutch's name, restraining the shout that would normally accompany his
climax.  The flexing muscles massaged Hutch's cock, which spilled its
completion deep into Starsky's body before the two of them went limp,
tumbling onto the bed, spooned together, still joined.  

     "I think our half hour is up," Starsky whispered.

     "Mmhm, probably," Hutch opined languidly.  "I'm still waiting
for it to happen."

     "What, babe?"  Starsky looked over his shoulder, wondering
what Hutch could possibly be waiting for when they were both lying
there, still joined, sticky and sated.  

     "That point in our relationship where the sex isn't exciting
anymore."  Hutch smiled as he nuzzled Starsky's neck.  

     "I figure another fifty, sixty years, I'll probably have had enough
of your pretty blond ass," Starsky teased, flexing his internal muscles.  

     "So that's all I'm good for?  Another fifty or sixty?"

     "Tell you what.  You live to be 120 or whatever age those old
people in that Russian village live to, and I'll rethink it."

     "I'll take that as a challenge."  Hutch hugged his lover close,
easing out of him.  

     "You can do it, Hutch.  All those vitamins and funny potions
you drink oughtta be good for something."

     "Good for keeping you sittin' funny all day," Hutch teased,
patting Starsky's thigh.

     "I think your middle aged spread went straight to your dick."

     "Maybe your asshole is wizening up as you get old," Hutch
suggested.

     "You better watch it, Hutch.  It could be a long, cold winter for
you."

     "Bet I'd last longer than you would without getting any," Hutch
twitted.  "They say the higher your I.Q., the longer you can go without
sex."

     "Hey, there's nothin' wrong with my I.Q.--look at Blair."

     "His mother was smart."

     "Yeah, she liked me, didn't she?"  Starsky retorted, undaunted.

     "She had good taste, anyway," Hutch conceded, smiling as
Starsky turned over and they started kissing, forgetting for several long
minutes that they were supposed to be getting ready to leave.  

     "I don't wanna get up."  Starsky rested his forehead against
Hutch's.  

     "Me either, but duty calls."

     "Better clean up and get movin'."  Starsky sighed regretfully. 
"Next time we take a vacation, let's just tell everyone we're goin' outta
town and stay here instead."

     "I'll remind you of that when you bring home that god-awful
stack of brochures from the travel agent."

********