December 12th- Lies and Other Crimes Part Four by DPPatricks

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Click here to read Part 2
Click here to read Part 3

As he’d been expecting, Hutch was called into Thompson’s office the next morning, and stood at attention in front of the imposing desk, waiting to see how his boss’s strategy would play out. It didn’t take long.

“So, you’ve run my daughter out of town. Is that correct, Mr. Foley?” Thompson’s icy sneer was top quality.

Hutch forced himself to cower slightly. “She said she’d only be gone over the weekend, sir. One small bag was all she took.”

Thompson glowered for a while before leaning back in his big chair and letting a patronizing smile soften his expression. “If she hadn’t done it before, I’d be concerned.” He leaned forward and pushed a button on his intercom. “Bring us two coffees, Shirley.” He sat back and motioned Hutch to sit in the guest chair. “Any idea what brought it on?”

Hutch didn’t reply immediately, giving the impression, he hoped, of still being utterly unknowing about everything that had happened.

After a light knock on the door, the secretary came in, handing a mug of coffee to Thompson and one to Hutch before leaving and closing the door behind her.

Hutch took a swallow. “No, sir. We had dinner, as usual. Talked about the pageant… the wedding…” He made sure his face showed only innocent confusion. “She began telling me about… Jeff… Am I supposed to remember who that is, sir?”

Thompson waved a hand negligently. “Not until you remember everything else.” He drank some coffee. “Jeff Dayton was Marcie’s first husband. They were high school sweethearts. Everyone knew they’d marry.”

When he didn’t continue, Hutch prodded. “And…?”

“It didn’t work out. Jeff was my warehouse foreman, before you, and he and my son, Cliff, didn’t get along.” He straightened some papers on his desk. “I had to fire him.” He smiled slightly. “Jeff, that is, not Cliff. And since Jeff and Marcie were turning out to be incompatible as a married couple, Jeff decided to leave for greener pastures. He never contested the divorce.”

Hutch spread ‘bland’ all over his face. “Have I worked for you ever since, sir?”

“Oh, you were already working for me, Ken. I just promoted you once Jeff was gone.”

“And Cliff? Where is he?” Hutch made sure it sounded like a casual question.

“He’s…” Thompson was clearly having difficulty with an answer. “No longer here.”

Hoping he wasn’t over doing his subservient role, Hutch put a slight quaver in his voice. “I haven’t caused any problems between you and Marcie, have I, sir?”

Thompson waved the words off. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Hutch finished his coffee and stood up. “I’m grateful for the job, Mr. Thompson, and I’ll get back to it now, if that’s okay. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Don’t mention it. I expect Marcie will call us both today, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, sir.” Hutch left the office and put his empty cup on the corner of Shirley’s desk. “Thank you.”

She dimpled at him but he ignored the come-on and went back out to the warehouse to continue his duties. His co-workers gave him false smiles and lots of space.

The final pageant rehearsal that night was strained on everyone’s part but Hutch and his partner never let on that they noticed. They chatted with their supposed friends and played their parts. Pam was grim-faced, a snarling Mary to Starsky’s complacent Joseph.

While they waited for Stella to take their costumes, Hutch whispered, “Word around town is you’re sleeping at the station.”

“Seemed the safest thing to do,” Starsky replied. “Otherwise, I’d probably strangle her.”

Hutch turned a pleasant face on the scowling Stella and handed her his robes. “Be of good cheer, Stella. This’ll all be over very soon.”

“‘Til next year,” she growled.

“Look on the bright side.” Starsky handed her his burlap garment, “It’ll look great on your resume.”

“What resume?” Muttering, “Why would I need a resume?” she turned away.

Starsky couldn’t hide a small smirk. “I’ll bet the women’s prison will be tickled when she shows up. A person with her experience to handle the costumes for all the plays they put on? She’ll be a shoo-in for the job.”

Hutch smothered a chuckle.

On Saturday morning, Starsky agreed to meet Sheriff Wharton and Pam at the diner, to ‘hash out your differences,’ as Wharton had said on the phone.

When they were seated and the waitress had poured their coffees and taken their orders, Wharton made a conciliatory gesture toward Starsky, on his left, and Pam, on his right. “I can’t have my two favorite people arguing, now can I?” He looked at Pam, an expression Starsky thought could almost be fear on his face. “What seems to be the problem, honey? Tell your ol’ dad what your hubby’s doin’ wrong.”

Starsky’s already-low opinion of the man took another few steps downward but he kept his disgust inside and watched Pam consider her response.

“He doesn’t satisfy me anymore.” She actually pouted. “He’s always too tired, or has a headache. That’s a chick excuse! Not something I’d expect from him.”

Wharton was clearly uncomfortable but lifted a ‘what do you say to that’ hand toward Starsky. “That sounds like a reasonable complaint to me but I really don’t want to be in the middle here, Dave. You and Pam can work this out between you… peacefully… can’t you?”

“I’m sure we can, Sheriff.” Starsky sent Pam a placating look. “Let’s take the rest of the weekend to think about things, and see where we are on Monday. Okay?”

“You’ll be staying at the station, I suppose?” Her question sounded more like an accusation.

Wharton put a hand on one of each of theirs. “I think that’s for the best, sweetie. Both of you can cool off and let things smooth out.” He took his hand off Starsky’s but patted hers. “You’ll see, honey, everything’s going to be fine.”

“Whatever you say, Daddy.”

Starsky could feel her fury and smiled inside; two, three more days. He really couldn’t wait to put cuffs on this bitch.

Wharton didn’t look pleased but then Starsky had never seen him appear anything except worried. And, truthfully, he found himself unable to wish either of them anything other than misery. As far as he was concerned, they deserved it.

Hutch spent all day Saturday wandering the town. Everyone knew that Marcie had run away again, and platitudes he now knew to be utterly insincere flowed from each person he encountered.

“You shouldn’t feel badly, Ken,” Mrs. Mosely, the librarian, said when he stood next to her at the meat counter in the mom ‘n’ pop grocery store. “We’ve all known Marcie since she was born, of course, and she was never the most stable person.” She laughed quickly and patted his arm. “Once you’re married, of course, that will change. She and Jeff were quite happy.” She looked away and a flush crept up her neck. “Until they weren’t, of course.”

Hutch paid for his purchases and carried them to Marcie’s house, exchanging pleasantries with everyone he passed. And now he understood why their strained faces and empty words had been bothering him for two months. There wasn’t an honest, genuine feeling behind any of their eyes. Every ‘Good morning,’ or ‘Good afternoon, Ken,’ grated on his frayed nerves. Still, he returned each greeting with innocence.

Mark, the young gardener Marcie had hired, was pruning the winter-dead flowerbed in front of her house. “Couple o’ days to yourself, huh, Ken?”

Hutch stopped at the bottom of the front porch steps and waited for Mark to elaborate. He wasn’t about to give this kid any encouragement but wanted to hear what another conspirator had to say.

Mark flushed. “I mean… my sister told me Marcie’s done another bunk.”

Hutch put his left foot onto the first step, rested the bag of groceries on his knee, and waited, his gaze never leaving Mark’s eyes.

“No offense intended, Mr. Foley. That’s just what I heard.”

Hutch left his grim expression in place and started up the stairs. “You might want to question some of the things you hear, Mark.”

Hutch walked inside as Mark’s voice assured him, “Yes, sir, Mr. Foley. I’ll do that.” Leaning back against the closed door, Hutch desperately wanted to talk to Starsky. The two months’ of yearning for something, someone just out of reach, had gouged a deep hole in his psyche; one he knew only his partner could fill.

He walked to the kitchen and put away the things he’d bought. “There’ll be time,” he told the empty room. “Starsky and I’ll have all the time in the world when this is finished. We just need to get through the next couple of days.” He opened the fridge, took out a beer and uncapped it. Cocking it toward where he wished his absent friend was standing, he sighed. “Right, Starsk?”

CHAPTER FIVE

On Sunday morning, with everyone pouring out of the church, and Starsky leaning against his patrol car at the side of the building, a fine looking white Cadillac convertible cruised up Center Avenue and stopped in front of the sheriff’s office just down the street.

Sheriff Wharton, Thompson, and Pam, plus most of the rest of the town’s residents drifted in that direction.

Hutch, coming out at the tail end of the congregation, rested a casual hip against the police car next to Starsky. “This is going to be interesting.”

“Huggy leading the cavalry,” Starsky said, sotto voce. “Don’t you just love it?”

Hutch wanted to cheer but kept his face expressionless. He knew his partner could hear the emotion in his voice, though. “He sure is a sight for sore eyes.”

Huggy Bear, exuding grand panache, exited the yacht-length vehicle, scurried around to the passenger’s side and handed Marcie out. By this time, the street was crowded with spectators, waiting to see what this colorfully-dressed, skinny black man and their town’s First Daughter had to say.

Huggy spotted the sheriff, in his knife-creased uniform and, taking Marcie’s hand, approached with a cheery smile splitting his face. “H. B. Brown’s the name, sir, location scout for motion pictures and television.’’

Hutch nudged Starsky and they edged to the back of the arc of interested townspeople. 

“I am about to put your charming little community on the map, Sheriff,” Huggy said, loudly enough for all to hear. Turning back to the car, he handed Minnie out of the back seat before facing Wharton and Thompson. “My assistant, Miss Kaplan, and I met the exquisite Ms. Thompson in Los Angeles yesterday and she told us all about your mountain hideaway.” Huggy spread his arms. “I simply had to come and see it for myself.” He turned slowly in a circle, supposedly studying the buildings and people. “This is all just too… too… well, too picturesque! You must allow me to bring a production company up here… film all your lovely houses… your quaint businesses… Why, your people may be entertaining the actresses of Charlie’s Angels in your own homes!”

Murmurs and whispers spread like wildfire. “What did he say?” “Charlie’s Angels?” “Farrah Fawcett?” “Jackie Smith?” “Here?” “Oh, my God.”

Thompson’s raised voice cut through the chatter. “We’re not… interested.”

“Now, don’t be hasty, Mr. Thompson. You are Mr. Thompson, aren’t you, sir? Marcie described you to perfection but we haven’t been formally introduced.” Huggy stuck out his hand.

Thompson took it but let go immediately. “I don’t care what my daughter told you, Mr. Brown, Thompsonville isn’t interested in being a location for any Hollywood production.”

“But you have no idea what you’d all be turning down, sir.” Huggy gestured around at his listeners. “Your residents could be looking at thousands of dollars in rental fees for their homes. Even more for their businesses.”

At the word, ‘thousands,’ louder murmurs could be heard.

“Let’s just ask everyone, okay?” Huggy caught the eager eyes of as many people in the front row of his audience as he could. “Why don’t we all gather someplace so that I can tell you what my various clients may be able to offer. Why, Spielberg and Lucas are personal friends of mine and they’re always looking for out-of-the-way places for their location shoots.”

Huggy glanced at Marcie, who had stayed back with Minnie. “Is there any place in town, Ms. Thompson, large enough to accommodate everyone?” He looked around again. “And I do mean everyone. Don’t leave anyone out, please. You should all know how much your town could gain, collectively and individually, from a big-budget production company.” He waved his colorful arms around again. “Not to mention the thrill of seeing yourselves on the big or small screen. The pay is excellent, by the way, for stand-ins and non-speaking parts. Production managers are always looking for local residents to fill those roles.”

Marcie put on a convincing smile and looked at her father. “I really think they should hear Mr. Brown’s proposal, Father. The community center is large enough, isn’t it? Even if some people have to stand?”

Before he could respond, Huggy continued. “Bring all the children, too, please. Minnie and Ms. Thompson can keep them entertained while we discuss the potential money you’ll all be making.” He gestured toward the Cadillac. “The trunk is packed with cookies and sodas.”

More positive-sounding murmurs made the rounds of the crowd and the children began jumping up and down. “Cookies, cookies!” “They’ll spoil your dinner!” “But, Mommmm!” “I wanna meet Charlie! We only hear his voice!” “It’s John Forsythe, Bobby, I’ve told you that!” “Maybe. But I wanna meet him anyway, whoever he is!”

 It was clear that Wharton and Thompson, despite their initial disapproval, weren’t going to be able to deny the ground-swell of greed and childish enthusiasm they heard and saw building.

Marcie smiled at the eager faces around her. “Gather all the kids and adults who aren’t already here. Minnie and I will take care of the children in the reception hall downstairs until the rest of you have had a chance to hear Mr. Brown’s ideas. He sure convinced me.”

That endorsement sealed the deal as far as everyone within hearing distance was concerned.

“Go find Old Sam,” someone shouted. “Drag his sorry ass down here. Can’t have him saying he missed out on this opportunity.”

“Don’t forget Roger Mosely, either,” someone else said. “He always goes to sleep in his La-Z-Boy on Sundays.”

“Get everybody!”

Starsky approached a glowering Sheriff Wharton. “Should I go roust Stan out of bed, sir?”

“Might as well.”

As Starsky got in his patrol car and drove away, Hutch took Thompson aside. “Why don’t I run up to the plant, Mr. Thompson? Abe shouldn’t miss this.”

Thompson looked put-upon but seemed to be trying to make the best of things. “I don’t suppose anyone’s going to try breaking into the place today. Sure, go ahead.”

Hutch ran up the hill to Thompson Pharmaceuticals and woke Abe, who had been sleeping behind the desk in the reception area. “Come on, Abe, Mr. Thompson said you’re to lock up and come down to the community center. Some sort of celebrity’s arrived in town.”

Still half-asleep, Abe locked the door after them and tried to keep up with Hutch’s long strides. “What kinda celebrity?”

Hutch hurried him along. “No idea, but they’re talking about Spielberg, Lucas, and Charlie’s Angels.”

Abe stopped in his tracks. “From what I read in the gossip rags, big-shot directors like that probably never even heard of those gals.”

“That can’t be true.” Hutch put determination in his voice. “Somebody said everybody in show business knows everybody else! Let’s hurry!”

Starsky, with Stan in the passenger’s seat, drove out of a cross street and stopped to pick them up. 

“What’s this I hear about Farah Fawcett?” Stan asked, apparently not fully awake.

When they got to the community center, Abe and Stan hopped out and hurried inside. Hutch figured they were both already counting the money they were going to make. He and Starsky remained on the front steps, casually herding the stragglers into the large room.

When it appeared as if everyone who was going to show up already had, Starsky opened the trunk of the patrol car and took out a shovel. Moving to the doors, he inserted the shaft through the vertical bronze door handles so that no one could exit.

Dobey, Babcock, Simmons and other BCPD officers, uniformed and in plain clothes — flak vests bulging under shirts — materialized from around corners. They were accompanied by members of the Highway Patrol and sheriff’s department personnel from nearby counties. Everyone converged on the community center.

“Ah…” Hutch said. “The cavalry.”

“Wonder where they left their horses?” Starsky asked with a smirk.

Dobey actually bounded up the steps, stopping on the landing to stare at them. “I can’t tell you boys how glad I am to see you. When Ms. Thompson showed up Friday morning it was like every member of Metro had had their fondest Christmas wish granted.”

Hutch knew if he tried to say anything, he’d be sure to stammer, but Dobey held up his hands, palms outward. “Now, don’t go gettin’ swelled heads or anything, we were all just really glad to know you were alive.”

Hutch figured his partner was as choked up as he was, and made do with a simple nod.

“Edith said to give you her love and to tell you she’s already cooking your welcome home feast.” Clearly unable to contain his emotions, Dobey threw his long arms around their necks and pulled them into a three-way embrace.

When he finally stepped back, he turned to stare at the closed double doors and Hutch thought he was probably trying to get his normally stern face back on.

Hutch had to swallow the lump in his own throat before he could address his BCPD friends at the bottom of the steps. “Do Starsky and I assume that all other exits are covered?”

Starsky was flush-faced. “Don’t want anybody leavin’ ‘til we’re good an’ ready.” His tone of voice was grim but Hutch heard, and could see, the bubbling high spirits underneath.

“I think the prisons call it lockdown, Starsky,” Babcock said.

Dobey turned back and, at his gesture, Starsky removed the shovel and threw it aside. Dobey pulled both doors open and strode into the standing-room-only crowd.

On the small stage at the front, Thompson and Wharton stood to the side while Huggy was front and center. “And meals!” he crowed. “The caterers serve food you won’t believe!”

Heads turned to stare at the imposing black man striding up the aisle. Expressions were blank, initially, but became concerned, then afraid, as cops of all ilk poured in through the front, side, and rear doors. Hutch and Starsky closed the front doors as soon as all law enforcement personnel had entered and spread out around the walls. Shoulder to shoulder, they stood there and stared down the town’s residents.

Huggy, grim satisfaction on his face, stepped aside as Dobey climbed to the stage and armed officers leaped up, bracketing Thompson and Wharton. Dobey stared visual daggers at the town’s two most important men before gesturing to the uniforms on either side of them. “Cuff ‘em. I’ll get to the formal charges in a minute.”

As the officers did as ordered, Dobey turned to the audience. He stared at the faces for a long time and Hutch wondered whether he was at a loss for words, or simply attempting to find ones adequate to his fury.

“You kidnapped two of my detectives. You buried their memories so that they believed the lies you told them. You kept them here against their will. You are all, every one of you, guilty of such heinous crimes, I’m going to ask the District Attorney to think up some new charges when you come to trial. For now… I’ll tell you this. You are under arrest.”

He motioned to the officers lining the walls. “Get ‘em outta my sight!”

Hutch followed Starsky to the front, where Pam was screaming epithets at the officer attempting to restrain her.

Starsky held out his hand to the uniform. “Can I borrow your cuffs, please?”

Looking only too pleased to pass this particular arrest to someone else, the officer did as requested and stepped back.

Hutch was afraid that Pam might attack his partner, but Starsky didn’t give her a chance to do anything except sputter as he grabbed her wrist, spun her around, and secured the manacles behind her back. “Pamela Wharton…” He leaned over her shoulder and lowered his voice. “You are under arrest. The charges will be determined, eventually. And I am going to enjoy every minute of my testimony against you.” Turning her over to the officer, Starsky smiled at Hutch.

Hutch threw his arm over his partner’s shoulders. “Let’s go congratulate Huggy on his fine performance.”  

EPILOGUE

The celebration in the squad room was like nothing Starsky could ever remember. Even his ‘Welcome Back’ party, after Gunther, hadn’t been quite this raucous. Everyone had feared for his and Hutch’s lives, and having them both back seemed to double the good feelings.

Several small Christmas trees topped filing cabinets, each decorated with as many lights and ornaments as they could hold. Food was plentiful and Edith Dobey made sure no one’s plate stayed empty for very long. Every once in a while, Starsky noticed her glance at him or his partner, probably to assure herself that they were really there. Her smile, each time Starsky caught it, was more glowing than before.

Babcock sidled up, a cup of punch in his hand. “So, what’s the word, Starsky?”

Hutch joined them. “Be specific, Babcock. Where would you like him to start?”

Simmons walked up. “How about the main perps? Wharton and Thompson?”

Knowing Hutch was longing to vent at least some of his pent-up emotions, Starsky passed the ball. “You tell ‘em. I’m all talked out.”

Hutch’s expression was very nearly feral. “The D.A.’s having a whole new book printed up so he can throw it at each of them.”

Babcock lifted his glass in salute. “Good! Send ‘em up to spend the rest of their miserable lives with their miserable sons!”

Starsky clinked his punch cup against Hutch’s. “Our sentiments exactly.”

“What about Thompson’s daughter, though?” Babcock asked. “Is she going to be charged?”

Hutch shook his head. “With her complete cooperation and testimony, a deal’s been struck. Probation only.”

Starsky picked up the thread. “Her ex-husband came back and the local authorities, along with the D.A., have approved their re-opening Thompson Pharmaceuticals.”

Hutch’s face showed relief. “They’ll probably get married again, and keep the company going.”

“Apparently,” Starsky added, “it was a good one. Before Thompson’s son got into trouble that is, and he and the sheriff talked the townspeople into the conspiracy.”

“And them? The townspeople?” was Simmons’s next question.

“Probably some jail time, for the most heavily-involved,” Hutch said.

“Probation for the rest.” Starsky shrugged because it really was enough for him. “The state and county need the company and hope Marcie and Jeff, as well as the employees who aren’t going to jail, will be able to make a go of it.”

“What about the doctor?” Babcock wanted to know. “The one who came up with that stuff they gave you?”

“Ah…” Hutch raised the index finger of his right hand. “Therein lies an interesting…” He looked at Starsky. “What would you call it, partner? Solution to the problem?”

Starsky snickered but knew it didn’t hide his dissatisfaction. “A damn get-outta-jail-free card is what I call it.”

When Babcock and Simmons returned blank stares, Hutch explained. “It seems the Department of Defense has stepped in and spirited the good Doc Morris into one of their covert divisions, presumably to divulge the secret of his compound only to them.”

“And all his research notes went with him.” Starsky sighed and forced himself to let it go. “We got everybody else, though. We damn sure got everybody else!”

Babcock stared at Starsky for what seemed like a long time. “I’ve heard stories about what the Wharton daughter was like….” He raised his eyebrows. “Would you like to enlighten us, Detective?”

“Come to the trial, Babcock,” Starsky replied. “That’s all I’m going to say here.”

Babcock accepted the answer with good grace. “Sorry you had to go through all that guys, but you did good!” With a last click against Starsky’s and Hutch’s cups, he drifted away.

“Thompsonville, California, huh?” Simmons eyed each of them, as if making sure they really were okay. “Not on my vacation destination list, I’ll tell you that.” Shaking his head, he followed his partner.

Dobey, an arm around Edith’s waist, approached and Starsky smiled at both of them. These were two people he and Hutch had counted on more times than he could remember, even with all his faculties back in full force. He exchanged tight hugs with each of them, while Hutch waited to do the same.

“So, Hutch…” Dobey began, once his arm was firmly back around his wife. “It’s my understanding that you haven’t been very fond of Christmas, up to now. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir,” Hutch admitted before he draped his arm around Starsky’s shoulders. “But I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“The Grinch relents!” Starsky shouted. “That’s cause for serious celebration in my book. Drink up, everybody! It’s my mother’s punch recipe and she guarantees cheerfulness with no hangovers!”

While cups were re-filled and clinked together, Starsky shared a long look with his partner. “Merry Christmas, Hutch.”

“Merry Christmas, Starsk.”