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They went to meet Grace Keller in Sam's car (much to his relief), which had been outfitted at the police garage with a siren and other appropriate accoutrements. Parson's Park was a small place, with a fountain, walkway and playground for children. Hutch headed for the fountain where a distinguished-looking woman was waiting for them.

Sam was astonished by Grace Keller. She was older than he had expected, and possessed all of the air and assurance of a leader of society. She was dressed in a beautifully tailored light cream suit dress that set off her complexion. Bright dark eyes regarded the two men as they approached, and she languidly waved away a grey-haired man dressed in a chauffeur's outfit. He backed away a few feet, leaving the three of them to privacy.

"Thank you for coming, Detective Hutchinson," the woman said.

"Hello, Grace," Hutch nodded, ignoring the slight look of displeasure at the use of her first name. "This is Mike Jennings, who's working with me," he introduced Sam.

"How do you do Detective Jennings," Grace smiled at Sam.

Sam nodded and said "Ma'am."

"Huggy said it was important, Grace," Hutch prompted.

Grace shrugged. "To business, then," she agreed. She reached into the white purse she was carrying and pulled out a large, wide gold bracelet. Diamonds glittered in the sun as she handed it to Hutch. "Do you recognize this?"

Hutch examined the bracelet, then handed it over to Sam. "Should I?"

"If it's the one I think it is it should match the description of the bracelet taken about two months ago by the so-called 'Specialist'."

Sam looked carefully at the bracelet, trying to remember the description of the items taken in a jewelry store robbery two months ago. The 'Specialist', he remembered, was the name of a thief who had been active for more than fifteen years in California. He was known for hitting jewelry stores, getting into their safes and departing with any uncut stones. In all those years he had never taken anything else, except occasionally money. Then recently there had been a string of identical robberies in the city but this time some of the finished pieces had been taken as well. And in the last robbery, a night watchman had been killed. "This does look like the bracelet taken from Fordham's," Sam told Hutch.

"What do you have to say about this, Grace?" Hutch asked.

Grace nodded at the bracelet. "One of my employees brought me that. They aren't supposed to accept expensive gifts from clients, you understand." Hutch looked skeptical, and Grace smiled sweetly. "Of course I recognized it. I'm not involved in anything like that, Detective Hutchinson, as you well know. I contacted Huggy so we could have a private talk about it." She looked at Hutch steadily. "The word is that you're a straight person to deal with."

"Who gave the bracelet to one of your girls?"

Grace shook her head. "You know I can't tell you that. My business depends on discretion."

"You have possession of stolen property; we could book you right now. Your 'business' would be closed if we have to start investigating," Hutch warned.

"Of course," Grace said impatiently. "Don't you think I understand that? If necessary, I will relocate. But perhaps we can work together on this so that I don't have to be involved and my business stays as it is."

Hutch considered her. "What do you have in mind?" He asked finally.

"I cannot tell you who it is," she said. "But if you wanted to put someone in undercover at my place, that person might be able to discover his identity. We would have to agree, however, that no word about my involvement would come out. I would be as shocked as anyone that the police had put someone in my place of business."

"It'd be a lot easier if you'd just tell us," Hutch said reasonably.

"I have my standards," Grace said with dignity. "You may not agree with them, but they are mine. I don't finger my own clients."

"Why are you willing to help on this?" Sam asked. "I mean why come to us with this information in the first place?"

Grace hesitated, her eyes dwelling thoughtfully on the figure of her chauffeur. Finally, choosing her words with care, she replied, "Suffice it to say that I have a great personal desire to stop the activities of the man who had that bracelet." She looked from Hutch to Sam and back. "Are you willing to follow my plan?"

Hutch nodded. "Yes, if our Captain agrees. We'll send someone to you this afternoon."

"Thank you, gentlemen, I believe we have an agreement." Grace nodded graciously, then turned and walked in a stately manner to her waiting car. The chauffeur opened the door and helped her in.

Sam and Hutch turned toward their own vehicle, discussing the plan for apprehending the jewel thief. Sam suggested that Linda would be a good choice for the undercover agent. Hutch disagreed, vehemently.

"Why?" Sam asked, settling in behind the wheel. "What's wrong with Linda?"

"She's not an undercover officer," Hutch said. "She doesn't have enough experience."

"Well how can she get experience if she isn't sent out on cases?" Sam asked reasonably.

"We'll find someone else."

"She told me yesterday she's up for promotion. Don't you think she's capable of doing the job?"

There was a short silence. "It's not that she's not capable..."

"Then what is it?"

"It could be dangerous," Hutch said.

Sam looked at him. "Everything in police work could be dangerous," he pointed out. "What she's doing right now could be dangerous. Why don't we ask her if she's willing to take the risk? This is her dream."

Hutch sighed. "All right," he agreed, reluctantly. "We'll ask her."

When they located Linda at police headquarters, Hutch tried to sell the dangers of the job first, to discourage Linda. She, however, was ecstatic at the opportunity and couldn't stop saying thank you to both of them. Hutch gave it up, shaking his head and smiling. He offered to go to Captain Dobey first, to convince him that Linda was the right person for the job. Sam took Linda off to the cafeteria for an early lunch, hoping to calm her down before Dobey called for her.

Over sandwiches, chips and pop the two chatted like old friends, and Sam found himself liking this young, ambitious policewoman very much. She explained that she grew up with three older brothers, so she learned to assert herself early. By the time they realized that several of their friends were interested in their sister, and began taking a proprietary air with her, she was well able to put them in their places and go out with whomever she pleased. The family sounded very close, and Sam thought wistfully of his own sister.

Gradually, Sam brought the conversation around to Hutch, and found the opportunity to ask some of the questions he had been saving from the night before.

"Suicide?" Linda exclaimed, loudly enough to turn some heads. She looked around, and lowered her voice. "You've got to be kidding."

"That's what I'm worried about," Sam insisted. "You said yourself he's shutting himself off from his friends, and he's drinking too much..."

"I haven't noticed him drinking," Linda countered. "And you haven't been here long enough to know anything about that anyway. Who've you been talking to?"

"Just some people," Sam said vaguely.

"Well you might be careful who you talk to. There are some people around here who don't like Hutch."

"One of them is a close friend," Sam said, thinking of Huggy.

Linda gazed at him, then sighed. "I don't know about that," she admitted. "I know that whatever he's doing on his time off, it's not affecting his work." Even as she said the words, however, an arrested expression stole into her eyes.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Well," Linda said slowly, "I did hear that he...he went in on an arrest without any backup last week. And it ended up a shootout."

"Not the wisest decision," Sam commented.

"No," Linda agreed, her eyes falling.

"He seems to have a lot of friends around here," Sam said, shaking his head. "They've been asking me about him because he won't talk about anything except business."

Linda was looking at her hands, twisting her fingers nervously. "He's always been rather reticent about his feelings." She gave Sam a wry smile. "Macho male types are pretty common around here, you know." Then slowly she shook her head, the smile dying. "But this is different. I used to be able to read him, but now, ever since the funeral, I haven't been able to read anything. He's just...closed up." Linda's concern was palpable to Sam. "And I don't think there's anyone close enough to break through to him now. There was a woman last year, Gillian. She might have done it, but...she was murdered. Starsky's the one who pulled him through when Gillian died. Who's going to pull him through now?"

"Yet you're so sure he wouldn't commit suicide?" Sam asked softly.

She nodded her head, emphatically. "I'm as positive of that as I am of anything in my life," she said.

"Why?"

She gazed up at him, her hands stilled. "Because of Starsky," she said bluntly.

"What?" Sam asked, not understanding.

"Because of Starsky," she repeated. "Hutch knows what Starsky would think of him killing himself. He can't do anything for his partner now, but he can keep faith with him. Look, why do you think he's holding on to Starsky's car? He knows Starsky would want him to find the right person for it. Friendship like they had isn't bound by life and death," she said intensely. "It's a commitment of honor. There's no way Hutch would commit suicide. He's not going to break faith when it's all he has left.

Sam was silent for a long time, thinking about what she had said, then a small smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Honor and faith," he said. "That's not something you hear a lot about these days."

"It's what we live our lives by," she said quietly. "And what do you think he was telling that kid about yesterday?" Linda's gaze suddenly shifted to something behind Sam, and a smile broke out on her face. "Hutch," she called, "what'd Captain Dobey say?"

Hutch walked over to the table and pulled up a chair to sit down. "What else could he say after I turned my persuasive charm on him?" he asked with a grin.

Linda shrieked and Hutch winced, but he threw a wink in Sam's direction.

That afternoon Sam and Hutch were traveling again in Sam's car, on their way to the city courthouse where Hutch was to testify in a preliminary hearing. They had left Linda in Captain Dobey's office, going over the plan for her undercover employment at Grace Keller's establishment. Hutch and Sam had both wanted to be Linda's backup for the assignment, but Dobey decided to call in a combined team of homicide and robbery detectives for the case. As he was driving, Sam was thinking that he was getting the hang of this police business when suddenly the radio crackled at them with the call he had been dreading.

"All units in the vicinity of Lincoln and 73rd, a 211 in progress at George's Grocery."

Hutch reached for the microphone. "This is Zebra 3, we are in the vicinity and responding to the 211."

Sam looked over at Hutch with some panic as Hutch reached for the flasher to attach to the roof of the car.

"Go two blocks and take a right," Hutch told him, not knowing that there was more to the panic than not knowing the neighborhood. Sam nodded, flipped on the siren, and floored the pedal.

When they were close to the store Hutch had Sam turn off the siren and he removed the flasher. They rolled to a quiet stop near the grocery store. From the outside everything was peaceful. Sam and Hutch moved cautiously toward the front of the store, Sam following Hutch's lead and drawing his gun. George's Grocery was a small old-fashioned neighborhood store. On one side was a parking lot, on the other a dry cleaning shop. Hutch carefully maneuvered himself around the corner of the front of the building and peered through one of the large front windows. He drew back immediately and moved closer to Sam around the corner.

"Looks like two men, with guns and ski masks. I can see a store clerk and a couple of customers over to the far side. You go around to the back entrance. I'll go in the front, as if I were a customer."

Sam nodded, and hurried to the back of the building. Adrenalin was kicking his heart rate up to nearly choke him. He had just rounded the corner when he heard gunshots. Sam raced to the service entrance door, praying it was unlocked. It was, and he dashed inside, trying to remember all the police movies he had ever seen. He found himself in a large storage area, with boxes and crates of food and other supplies. No one else was in the vicinity so he worked his way up to the main part of the store. Cautiously, Sam went through a curtain that separated the storage area from the rest of the store, his gun at the ready. He didn't see anyone, but he heard voices from the front of the store, and among them he heard Hutch. Sam hurried up an aisle of canned goods, and peered around the corner to assess the situation.

"Hey Mike," Hutch called, catching sight of Sam. "Cuff 'em for me, will you?" Hutch was standing with his gun trained on the two would-be robbers. One was on the floor with his hand clasped to his shoulder, the other was next to him, his hands raised to the back of his head. A store clerk and four customers were milling around in the background. Breathing a sigh of relief, Sam pulled out his handcuffs and headed toward Hutch.

By this time other police units had begun to arrive. They came in to take charge of the robbers while the few customers began talking and comparing notes--interested observers of the whole affair, now that the shooting had stopped.

"He was really something," one elderly man commented to Sam, nodding toward Hutch who was talking to the store clerk. "Coming in here with guns blazing--just like in the movies!" The man laughed and said it would give him a great story for the grandkids when they next visited. Sam nodded, and agreed, and waited until the business details had been taken care of and he and Hutch were walking back to his car. Then he started yelling.

"Just what the hell was that?" Sam asked Hutch as they reached the car.

Hutch turned to him. "What was what?" He asked, but there was a tell-tale blush starting to rise.

"Going in there 'with guns blazing'. Someone could have been killed! Any of the people in there--or you yourself!"

"No one was," Hutch objected. "I knew what I was doing."

"We're supposed to be working together," Sam reminded him. "You told me to go in the back while you went in as a customer. You didn't give me a chance to even get to the back door before opening up like Rambo."

"I acted as I read the situation," Hutch started to say, but Sam overrode him.

"What are you trying to do?" he asked furiously. "Commit suicide?" The words were out before he could stop them, and they brought him up short.

"Of course not!" Hutch denied angrily.

"Then what? You don't trust me to hold up my end? Is that it?"

"It's not a matter of not trusting you," Hutch began, a certain weariness entering his voice.

Sudden understanding flared in Sam's eyes. "No," he agreed, his voice softening "It wasn't a matter of not trusting me. You took on all the risks in there because you don't trust yourself. You were afraid of letting me down, weren't you?" There was a strained pause as their eyes met, then Hutch looked away. "What would you have done in that situation if I'd been Starsky?" Sam asked deliberately.

Hutch's eyes jerked back to Sam's, their expression a combination of anger and painful vulnerability. Then he yanked open the car door, refusing to answer, and got in.

Sam nodded to himself; he knew the answer. And instead of going around to his side of the car he crouched down beside Hutch. "Listen," he said. "For better or worse we're going to be partners now. And that means sharing the dangers. It's not fair for one partner to take all the risks, while the other one stays safe. You know that's not what being partners is about."

Hutch closed his eyes.

Sam hesitated, then reached a hand out to lay it on Hutch's arm. The muscles were tight under his fingers. "I know what you're blaming yourself for," he said treading carefully. "But I don't blame you for what happened. And," he paused for a heartbeat, "I don't believe Starsky would, either." Sam waited, holding his breath, wondering how hard he could push their fragile relationship.

"No," Hutch finally said, very softly. "That's the problem." He let out a long sigh.

When it starts to give, push a little more, Sam thought. "Hutch, how do you think I'd feel if you got killed while I was safe in the background?"

Hutch turned his head to look at him, and in that gaze Sam saw the despair he had been living with for three weeks. Sam kept his eyes up through sheer force of will and it was Hutch who broke the look, closing his eyes and turning away.

"You're right," Hutch said in a quiet, tired voice. He glanced at Sam. "I'll work on it, okay?" he asked, not offering any promises.

"Okay," Sam agreed, choosing to accept it as one anyway.

Hutch took in a deep breath and changed the subject. "Isn't it about time we went to the courthouse?"

Sam looked at him, not sure what, if anything, had been decided. But he nodded and pulled himself up, saying, "Yeah, definitely."

It was as they were driving away from the grocery store that Hutch suddenly said, "Mike? Who's Rambo?"

They parked in a lot next to the city courthouse, a large modern building of white stone. Sam tagged along with Hutch, curious about the proceedings. At the hearing everything went as expected and the suspect was bound over for trial. As Sam and Hutch headed out of the building, their shift at an end, Sam brought up the topic of dinner. Hutch was mentioning a place that Sam might like to try, when he broke off at the sight of a man leaving an office further up the hallway.

Sam turned his head to see what Hutch was finding so interesting. He saw an impeccably dressed middle-aged man, with light brown hair and very light grey eyes. "Why, Detective Hutchinson!" the man called out in a tenor voice. "How nice to see you again."

Beside him Sam felt Hutch stiffen, and he tensed, not understanding the situation. In a very cool voice Hutch acknowledged the greeting. "Cameron."

The man called Cameron smiled gently, and moved down the hallway to Hutch. He was accompanied by a short man with dark hair and a nervous manner, and by two large men with the look of professional bodyguards. "I was so sorry to read about your partner," Cameron said. "I was thinking of sending a card but, well, Theo here thought it wouldn't have been in the best taste, under the circumstances." Cameron sighed. "How are you getting along, my dear Hutch?"

"Better as soon as we bring you down, Cameron," Hutch answered shortly.

"Always so polite," Cameron murmured. He looked inquisitively at Sam. "And who do we have here?"

"Mike Jennings," Hutch said briefly. He turned to Sam and said, "This is Vernon Cameron, Mike. A sleazy two-bit drug dealer." He smiled at Cameron, with no humor.

Beside Cameron, the nervous man stirred as if to object, but Cameron silenced him with a gesture.

"Not 'sleazy'," Cameron corrected, holding out a hand to Sam, "And definitely not 'two-bit'. How do you do Mr. Jennings." Sam took the hand and murmured something indistinct.

"Last I heard you were having some difficulties with your 'clients' back east Cameron," Hutch said.

A beaming smile spread across Cameron's face. "All taken care of, my dear boy. Merely a slight misunderstanding. Well, well," he continued, surveying Sam. "Are you by any chance his new partner?"

Sam nodded, guardedly.

"Hmmm, better looking than the other one, don't you think?" Cameron asked at large. "And better manners too, no doubt. How lovely. Perhaps the loss was your gain after all, my dear Hutch."

Hutch's jaw clenched with an almost audible snap, and his expression changed to such fierce antagonism that Sam reached out an arm to restrain him, although Hutch hadn't moved. The suave man merely looked slightly bewildered. "My dear Detective Hutchinson I assure you I meant no disrespect. How can the truth be disrespectful? I'm just trying to find something good for you in this situation."

The fierceness dimmed in Hutch, like a light reaching the end of its power. "Get the hell out of my sight, Cameron," he said in a tired voice.

Cameron studied Hutch, then signaled for his men to precede him down the hallway. "Of course; I seem to be upsetting you. Never let it be said that I am insensitive! I will remove myself and leave you to each other. Good day." And with a last, charming smile, Cameron moved off in the wake of his men.

"What was that all about?" Sam asked Hutch. But the other man was silent, watching as Cameron and his party disappeared down the hallway.

"We're not on the best of terms," Hutch finally said distantly, his eyes bleak. "He's...getting a lot of pleasure out of this." He turned to Sam. "Look," he said, "I...uh...I have some things I have to do. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam said, but Hutch was already walking rapidly away.

"What was all of that about?" Al suddenly asked from behind Sam. Sam jumped, not expecting anyone to be there. "Take it easy Sam," Al advised, "it's just me." The hologram was dressed fairly conservatively today in a pink shirt, dark slacks and white tie. He was holding his ever-present cigar in one hand and the handlink in the other.

"Al!" Sam said, glaring at him, "why do you do that to me?" He started down the hallway himself, heading for the exit to the courthouse. Al fell into step beside him.

"Do what?" Al asked innocently. "It's not my fault you're not paying attention when I come around."

Sam shot a look at Al, not caring if anyone noticed he was talking to thin air. "You take perverse delight in scaring me!" He accused.

Al shrugged. "Well," he said, "I learned long ago to take my delights where I can get them." They arrived at the parking lot by the courthouse and Sam got into his car, wondering what Hutch had done about transportation. Al joined him in the car. "What's eating you, Sam?"

Sam sighed, then looked sideways at his friend. "It's this whole situation," he confessed. "I just don't know if I can do any good here."

"You're doing the best you can, Sam," Al comforted.

"It's not good enough," Sam insisted. "There are things going on here that I don't understand. Linda says he couldn't possibly commit suicide, yet we know he does in three days..."

"Two," Al interrupted mildly.

Sam sighed. "Two days. And meanwhile he's throwing himself into danger like he's the last superhero in existence. Which seems suicidal, but I don't think it is."

"What danger?" Al asked, suspiciously. "What happened?"

Briefly, Sam told him about the grocery store. Al's reaction surprised him. "Damnit Sam," Al said heatedly. "I told you to be careful!"

"Me?" Sam squeaked. "It wasn't me who was in any danger! What's wrong with you, Al?"

"I don't trust this guy, Sam," Al said. "He's a loose cannon right now and he could get you killed."

"He's more likely to get himself killed," Sam said, dispirited. He stared at the courthouse, then suddenly pounded his hand on the steering wheel in front of him in frustration. "Damnit, Al. Why couldn't God, Time, Fate or whatever have put me here three weeks ago? He doesn't need me now--what he needs is his partner."

"Well, he doesn't have his partner anymore," Al replied harshly.

Sam stared at Al, startled by his vehemence. Any hasty words he was about to say died on his lips when he took a good look at his friend. "What's going on Al? You were on edge last night--and now this. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Al denied, but he fixed his eyes on the handlink.

Sam considered his partner, and the answer came to him. "You think he was responsible for what happened, don't you Al?" he asked in a voice compounded of comprehension and disbelief.

Al still didn't look at him. "I don't know," he muttered.

"Al, he was locked in a room!"

"He wasn't there when his partner needed him." Al said curtly, turning back to Sam.

"It wasn't his fault!" Sam said fiercely.

"I know!" Al agreed, surprising Sam. He rubbed at his forehead. "I know that," he repeated more quietly.

"Al," Sam reached for his friend, his expression wistful. "I need your help. I like this guy; he's a good man. I don't want anything to happen to him and I'm afraid something will. Please help me to keep him safe?"

As Al met Sam's gaze, some of the tension went out of him. "All right, kid," he said, his eyes softening. "I'll trust your instincts, any day. What can I do?"

Sam nodded, and smiled at his friend. "I was wondering," he said, "do you know where that asylum is located?"

"Yeah, sure--why?" Al asked, surprised.

"Because I want to go out there. Now."

"What's the point of this, Sam?" Al asked, not for the first time, as they arrived at the old Ashton Asylum. They were out quite far from the city--it would be another 5 years before the suburbs began expanding into this country. The man and hologram walked to the large brick building that was the old asylum. It was built in the shape of a long rectangle, rising to three stories, with the entrance in the middle after a flight of entry steps. Some of the windows, of assorted shapes, were boarded up while others were broken. Trash was caught in the overgrown shrubbery along the front of the building, adding to the neglected feel of the place. "This is creepy," Al commented, looking around.

"I'm not sure, Al," Sam said, answering his first question. "I just wanted to get a look at this place. Maybe we'll find something that'll help." Sam's voice trailed off as he gently pushed open the sagging front door.

"I don't think it's such a good idea to go in there Sam," Al said, hanging back.

Sam ignored him and went inside. Al hesitated, grimacing, then poked at the buttons on the handlink and joined his friend inside. The interior was gloomy, the only light coming from the few windows still unboarded and the open front door.

"Where was the room Hutch was in?" Sam asked.

"On the second floor, to your right," Al replied. He followed Sam through a door leading to a hallway and staircase. Sam glanced into rooms as they passed, many still containing assorted pieces of furniture.

"What do you know about this place, Al?" he asked. "How long has it been abandoned?" He started up the staircase.

Al consulted with the handlink. "It was first a private asylum, built in 1909 by a guy named Ashton. It was taken over by the state in 1930. The state abandoned it in 1965 and put the property up for sale some years later, but no buyers until...uh 1980." Al was quiet for a moment, then murmured to himself, "Ashton...Ashton Asylum...," as if he were trying to remember something.

"Which room was it?" Sam asked as they reached the top of the stairs. Two hallways stretched out before them, one running back along the length of the building, the other leading to the right. Al indicated the right hallway, then pointed out the room to Sam as they rounded the corner. It was a small room, bare of any furniture, with only one small window. Sam walked over to the broken window and looked out. The view was of the back of the property and the ruins of the auxiliary building. Sam peered down toward the ground and shivered a little.

"Ashton Asylum," Al said in a voice of recognition. "Now I remember!"

"What?"

"Oh, geez Sam," Al said urgently, "we've gotta get out of here--this place is haunted!" He headed back to the door, jerking his head for Sam to hurry up.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"I heard about this place. It was on TV once--you remember that show 'Unsolved Mysteries'...naw, you don't remember that, of course you don't. But, look, they reported on this place, and it's haunted."

"Who haunts it?" Sam asked, smiling.

Al gave him an exasperated expression. "Who do you think? We're only standing in an old asylum. Who knows what happened here?" He looked around nervously. "And," he added as his thoughts jogged his memory, "there was a cop who committed suicide..." he trailed off, looking at Sam round-eyed.

"He's not going to do that," Sam said fiercely. "And this place is not haunted."

"He might not be here," Al said, still looking worried, "but that doesn't mean all those other ghosts aren't!"

Sam shook his head, sighing. "Have Ziggy run a check on this place and its 'haunted legend'," he said, walking around the room to examine it. "Maybe there'll be something there for us. And in any case you're a hologram, remember? No ghost can touch you so you can stop acting so...so..."

"So...so...what?" Al demanded, momentarily diverted.

"So terrified!" Sam said. "Okay now look, Hutch was in this room, pinned by gunfire..." Sam's voice broke off as he checked out angles from the doorway.

"I am not terrified," Al muttered.

Sam ignored him, "And the door closed...." Sam walked back to the door to look at it. "Hey, Al," he said suddenly, "look at this."

"I'm not terrified at all," Al was still muttering. "Look at what?"

Sam was examining the hall side of the door, looking carefully at the bolt lock. "This lock, look how easy it is to slide." He demonstrated to Al.

"So?"

Sam looked at him. "So, it's been oiled. What's a well-oiled bolt lock doing in an abandoned building where everything else is falling to ruin?"

"Well..." Al paused, looking perplexed.

"Look," Sam continued, crossing the hall to another small room, "look at this one." He tried the action on the bolt, and after some struggle managed to move it, with loud protest from the bolt. He looked meaningfully at Al.

Al looked from one lock to the other. "So," he said, gesturing with the handlink, "someone oiled that lock, expecting to use it."

"Maybe someone planned to lock Hutch in here," Sam concluded.

"Or at least lock someone in. Or maybe they just wanted to lock something in. So what, Sam?"

"I know it's flimsy," Sam began, "but listen, what if someone planned to bring those two here, separate them, and kill one of them."

Al looked very skeptical. "That's awfully complicated for something that's really simple. Why go to all that trouble when the guy could've just shot them? Why run the risk to lock up one, and then get the other and drag him into that auxiliary building?"

"I just think there's some questions here," Sam said, starting off down the hallway and back toward the stair.

Al followed along, pondering. The handlink chirped at him, startling him so much he almost dropped it. He sighed in exasperation and then punched at the buttons to see what Ziggy wanted. His expression changed as he read the data. "Hey, Sam," he called, catching up with Sam at the bottom of the stairs. "There was more to that story than I told you."

"Which story?" Sam asked, preoccupied.

"The haunted one," Al said with unnecessary emphasis. "Yeah, now I remember! That's what made it such an interesting feature on that show. There was more than one unsolved mystery associated with it."

"What?" Sam prompted, as Al fell silent, still peering at the handlink.

Al looked up at him. "There was a body found here in 1993, when they were finally starting to develop the property. It was never identified."

"Was the cause of death determined?"

"Yeah, he'd been beat up and shot in the head. They were figuring a robbery, or a mob hit or something."

"When had he died?"

Al shrugged. "The best they could figure was that the body had been buried here for about 15-20 years. There wasn't much left besides bones."

"15-20 years...so that was around the same time as Hutch and Starsky..."

"Yeah, that's the point they made in that show," Al interrupted excitedly. "Some people were speculating that maybe Hutch had killed this guy and that was why he committed suicide."

"Where was the body found?"

"Uhh," Al took a moment to orient himself. "Northeast corner," he said. "Out back."

The two men headed out through the back entrance to the main building. Al, dividing his attention between the handlink and the surroundings, located the ground where the body was found, in a sheltered area beside the back entrance steps.

"Do you suppose...it's here now?" Al asked somewhat nervously as Sam examined the area.

Sam shook his head, "No, I don't think...." he broke off, then continued in a curiously restrained voice. "Al, have Ziggy run a check on the body and cross it with any records available on Starsky."

"What?" Al asked, staring at him. "Why?"

"Just a hunch," Sam said. "Humor me, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Al agreed. He fiddled with the handlink and said to the air, "Gooshie, I want Ziggy to run a check..."

Sam turned to look across the back lot of the asylum, at the burned out shell of the auxiliary building, thinking hard about oiled locks and bodies that were conveniently blown to unidentifiable bits.

Al disappeared to prod Ziggy as Sam headed for his apartment. He was convinced there was more to the events at the asylum than Al had told him. And maybe that would be the way he could help Hutch. Sam made a sandwich for himself from the meager fixings in Mike Jennings' refrigerator, then tried to read a book as the evening wore on. But he was restless, wanting Al to come back, and wanting to know what Hutch was doing. Waiting was a hard thing, and he wasn't very good at it--he wanted to be doing. That thought triggered something that had been pushed into his subconscious. Something that had happened that day, or been said--something he had wanted to think about.... Sam gave up after a few moments. He was too fidgety to pull up subconscious thoughts. The clock on the television showed 10:45--and Sam made a decision.

He reached for the telephone and dialed Hutch's number. If Hutch was home he'd make up an excuse for calling so late, if not...well at least he'd know. There was no answer at Hutch's place. Sam put the receiver down, thinking, then pulled out a matchbook he had picked up from The Rafters. He dialed the number for the restaurant and asked for the colorful manager.

"Huggy," Sam said, when he heard the other man's voice on the phone, "This is Mike Jennings. Listen, Hutch had kind of a rough day, and I called his place just now but he's not home. Have you seen him?"

"Yeah, Mike, I'm glad you called," Huggy replied. "As a matter of fact Hutch came into my place about an hour ago. And I think he should be leaving, if you know what I mean."

Sam nodded, his fears confirmed. "I'm coming down," he told Huggy.

When Sam arrived at the restaurant, Huggy met him and indicated Hutch sitting at the bar, a gap between him and the other people there.

"He'd already been drinking before he got here," Huggy said quietly. He looked at Sam with concern. "I haven't seen him this bad since...well, since Starsky died. What happened?"

Sam, his eyes on the isolated figure at the bar, let out a soft sigh. "He keeps being reminded of what he's lost," he explained softly. He glanced at Huggy. "You remember that fist you told me about? It's around his heart." The two men shared a look then in silent agreement headed toward the bar, and the detective.

Hutch looked around as the two men approached, his eyes bleary. He gazed from Sam to Huggy, then back again. "What do you want?" he asked, his words slurred.

"I think it's time for you to be heading home," Sam suggested gently.

"You called him, huh?" Hutch asked Huggy. "Well I don't need any h-help." He swayed on the barstool.

Sam reached out for him, "Come on Hutch, "he said, "let's go home."

Hutch shoved him away. "Keep away from me," he snarled, and for the first time there was open hostility in his voice. "I don't want any help. Not from you, or anybody." He stumbled to a standing position, still glaring at Sam. "You're not my partner, you hear me? You're not! I don't want any partners...I don't..." and his voice broke off as he staggered against the bar.

Huggy moved in to steady Hutch. "C'mon now," he said softly. "C'mon now, we're just trying to help."

Hutch stared at him, then at Sam, looking perhaps for a face that wasn't there. Then the hostility slowly drained from him and he muttered, "Sorry. I'm sorry."

Huggy helped Sam get Hutch to his car and told him where Hutch lived. They were quiet on the way to Hutch's apartment; or maybe Hutch had passed out, Sam wasn't sure.

When they arrived, however, Hutch was alert enough to take most of the responsibility for getting himself up to the second-floor apartment, although he seemed to be fading fast. Sam helped him inside, and got his jacket and shoes off, then steered Hutch for the bed that was screened off from the rest of the large apartment. Hutch collapsed on the bed, murmuring "Thanks, Starsk," before he was out.

Sam studied Hutch for a moment, his expression bleak as he listened to the steady breathing. Then he quietly returned to the main room of the apartment, and went looking for the makings for tea. He had decided he was going to stay with Hutch tonight.

Some minutes later he was sitting in a comfortable chair in the living area of the apartment, meditating while he drank tea. He was thinking about friendship and partners, and suddenly, in his head, he heard his own voice saying It's not fair for one partner to take all the risks, while the other one stays safe. Sam's breath caught--he felt like he was in free fall, with vertigo swirling his senses. He stared unseeingly across the room, wondering for the first time just what Al was feeling each time Sam ended up in a dangerous leap. Sam had been furious with Hutch for leaving him out of the action earlier in the day--putting him in the position of bystander while Hutch met all the dangers. The fury stemming from terror at the thought of a death he could have prevented. How would it be if he had to watch his friend, his best friend, in danger of losing his life and not able to help in any way except by talking? Wasn't that what Al was going through? He knew Al loved him and worried about him--wasn't that why he was always telling Sam to be careful? But what Sam had never considered before was Al's reaction if Sam died during a leap. He had always assumed Al would just go on as he was. But now he heard Al's voice, with undertones he had missed before: He wasn't there when his partner needed him.

Sam's stomach twisted into knots, and his eyes fastened with something like horror on the divider blocking Hutch's bed. It wouldn't be like that, he thought to himself, trying to be comforting, Al's tough; he's lost people before and survived. His thoughts shied away from the manner of the survival. He knows the risks involved, and he wouldn't blame himself if I died.

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