© by Elsa
The bottle of wine tasted well and was empty by the time Starsky -on the other side of town- was heading for home.
“As much as I enjoy your company and I hate to be a spoil sport… I’m going to bed,” Nancy announced, in vain trying to hide yet another yawn. She looked like she could use some sleep. “I haven’t slept very well the past few weeks.” She gave Hutch a tired but brave smile and stood up to get a blanket and a pillow from a closet in the hall. She also had a little bag of toiletries amongst which a tooth brush and a razor blade.
Hutch began to install himself. Nancy went to the kitchen to put the glasses in the sink.
A shriek and a loud, panicked cry came from the kitchen.
“Huuuuutch! Huuuuuutch!”
In two steps the blond officer was in the kitchen, hand on his gun, finding a shaking, pale Nancy standing in the middle, holding on to the kitchen table. He looked around and registered what was in the small, cosy kitchen. No one. No intruders. No danger.
“Nancy?” Protectively, he put his arm around her.
“Hutch!” she could hardly talk and pointed with a shaking hand to the refrigerator. “He’s been here…”
Hutch opened the fridge door. Inside sat a melon. A photo was pinned to it. Hutch took the melon from the fridge and looked in awe at the picture. It was a shot of the three of them, entering the restaurant. It was taken from a distance, judging by the blur of the background. They’d been followed and observed. A shiver ran down his back.
Then his fingers felt something else – another photo, pinned to the back, one he hadn’t seen the moment he spotted the first one.
The photo took his breath away.
It was a close-up of Starsky, taken as he looked over his shoulder when they entered the restaurant. The photo wasn’t attached to the melon with a pin, but with a scalpel blade, exactly in the middle of Starsky’s forehead. The meaning of it was as clear as if it stood there in neon letters.
Starsky…“Hutch,” Nancy said, taking deep breaths to get her wits together, “you need to warn Starsky.”
Hutch’s mind raced through the implications and possibilities. Vaughn had been in here, most likely when they had been in the library. How could he have developed and printed the photos this quickly? He needed to have access to a photo lab or a dark room. Maybe he did it himself, which was the most probable explanation.
He’d been in here. He must have her key.
He’d followed them. He must have a car.
He’d photographed them. He must have a sophisticated camera.
He’d made a statement. He wanted to get Starsky out of the way.
*~*
Starsky parked the Torino outside his apartment and took the stairs, when a loud crash, steel against steel as one car hit another, screamed through the quiet night.
Shit – no…! The Tomato… My car… My baby…!In a step Starsky turned around and ran outside.
The spade that hit him against his head instantly knocked him out. Vaughn swung it at him with all the force he could muster. Starsky didn’t stand a change. Distracted by his car being hit by another, the curly haired man never knew what hit him.