'Tis Pity She's a Whore

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Justice is fled to heaven, and comes no nearer.

John Ford, 'Tis Pity She's a Whore

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'Mrs. Mackenzie? I'm David Starsky.'

'Good morning, Mr. Starsky. I'm pleased to meet you.'

'This is my partner, Ken,' Starsky continued. 'Can we buy you coffee?'

'Thank you. You're very kind.'

The coffee shop they chose was crowded, but they found a table in a quiet corner. Mrs. Mackenzie was in her sixties, but looked younger. She did not have a blue rinse. Her hair looked naturally brown, peppered with gray. She wore jeans, and a red pullover sweater. Clearly, however, she was a wealthy woman. Her shoes and purse were Gucci, and the sweater was cashmere. She'd driven to the meet in a Mercedes. Starsky had nudged him, and whispered that was his car, but in dark blue. Retirement had warped Starsky's brain, if he thought Hutch was buying a blue Mercedes.

'I have a confession to make, Mrs. Mackenzie,' said Starsky. 'The poster, and the message in the paper, contained a small lie. The girl in the picture, is not my sister.'

'No? But why would you lie about such a thing, Mr. Starsky?'

'My partner, Ken, is a police officer. I offered to put up the posters as a way of asking for information without making some of his information public, and possibly tipping off the guilty parties.'

'I see,' said Mrs. Mackenzie.

Hutch took out his badge, and pushed it across the table, surreptitiously. Mrs. Mackenzie studied it, and pushed it back.

'For now,' said Hutch. 'Anything you say is off the record. Are you aware of the Missing Women Task Force?'

'Yes,' said Mrs. Mackenzie, slowly. 'I don't know what help I can give you, though. I'm not sure why the Task Force exists. I mean, the women who are supposedly missing are prostitutes. Don't they often disappear, for many reasons? Why the fuss about these particular women?'

'Because of the circumstances,' said Hutch. 'The women are prostitutes, yes. But they weren't transients. They weren't homeless, or friendless. They had friends, relatives, room-mates. Children, even. People who loved them, and depended on them. And they disappeared from one specific area of town, suddenly, without warning. They went to work, saying goodbye to their friends. They said, 'I'll see you later tonight,' but they never came home. Never called, or wrote, to say they were sorry, but they had to leave, and please forgive me. Their friends all tell me, this isn't like them. Not all prostitutes are irresponsible, Mrs. Mackenzie. They're not incapable of love.'

'No, no. Of course not. I would never suggest such a thing, and now I understand your concern, I'll do what I can to help. I'm not sure what I can do, however.'

Starsky pulled a picture of Maddy Burns out of his jacket pocket, and passed it over to Mrs. Mackenzie.

'A little over a year ago, you gave this girl a ride, late at night, out in the canyons, correct?'

Hutch smiled, and sighed, and leaned back in his chair. This was more like it, he thought. Starsky was right. He couldn't be a cop. The risk was too much. But, if they could work together like this, occasionally, maybe life wouldn't be so bad.

'That's right, Mr. Starsky. I remember it, vividly. A young woman, walking down that canyon road, so late at night?'

'Tell us the whole story,' said Starsky.

'I'll try,' said Mrs. Mackenzie. 'There's more than one reason why I remember that night. My grand-daughter was having her first baby. My first great-grand-daughter.'

'Congratulations!' said Starsky, with a grin.

'Thank you, Mr. Starsky.'

'Call me David,' said Starsky, with that charm that turned most women's knees to water. Mrs. Mackenzie was no exception, it seemed, and she actually blushed a little.

'David,' she said. 'My grand-daughter, Kristal, went into labour unexpectedly, and I wanted to be at the hospital for the birth. I was driving through the canyon....'

'Which canyon?' Hutch asked.

'Yucca Canyon,' said Mrs. Mackenzie.

'Yucca?'

'Yes. It's mostly hippies, and artists now, but we lived there, my husband and myself, for many years. After my husband died, people tried to convince me to move out. They're all weirdoes out there now, I was informed. But I love it, and I want to stay in my own home for as long as possible.'

'Do you live there alone?' asked Hutch.

'No. I have my staff. A housekeeper, and a gardener.'

'Good,' said Hutch. 'Go on.'

'As I said, I was driving down the canyon, on the way to the hospital. There are a number of very sharp curves on that road, and I was being careful. Thank the Good Lord, because suddenly, just past one turn, she appeared in my headlights. Startled, like a deer. Walking along the road, her hair all mussed, carrying her shoes. I know it wasn't wise, the state of the world being what it is, but how could I leave her there? I pulled up, opened the door as fast as possible, barked out an order to get in, and drove off as soon as she did so. Just in case she had an accomplice, you know? She didn't. She was tired, and scared, and she looked as if she'd just been raped. That's what I thought, at first, and I offered to drive her to the hospital. She said, no. It was nothing like that. Was she a prostitute?'

'Yes,' said Hutch. 'She had a frightening experience out in that canyon.'

'I could tell,' said Mrs. Mackenzie.

'Could you show us where you picked her up?' asked Starsky. 'Approximately, I mean.'

'I can show you exactly where I picked her up,' said Mrs. Mackenzie. 'I'm getting old, David. But not that old.'

'Old?' asked Starsky. 'You? If I weren't already taken, I'd be dating you, myself.'

'You naughty boy! Come on. I'll drive you out there, show you the spot, and bring you back here. That should be easier than having you follow me, don't you think?'

Yes, thought Hutch, amused. And you get to chat with my lover on the way. 'You sure it's no trouble?' he asked out loud.

'Oh, Lieutenant. This is the most exciting thing that's happened to me in years,' she answered.

****************************

The canyon was deep and mysterious, and the road had many a hair-pin curve. Hutch tried to imagine walking along it alone, late at night, carrying his shoes. His imagination was all too vivid.

'Here we are, gentlemen,' said Mrs. Mackenzie. 'That's the exact spot where I found your friend.'

'She said she'd been walking for some time,' said Hutch. 'But what does that mean? How long is "some time", when you're alone and scared, in the dark? An hour? Two hours?'

'We could bring her out here. See if she remembers any landmarks,' said Starsky.

'We could,' Hutch allowed. 'But I don't want to, unless we have to. She says she remembers few details. You're sure you don't know of a tree like the one she described?' he asked Mrs. Mackenzie.

'I'm sure, Lieutenant, and I'm sorry. But I can ask around. Make discreet enquiries.'

Hutch smiled, but said firmly, 'If you make enquiries, be sure they're very discreet. Say that you remember such a tree from your childhood, and wonder if it was real. Don't make too much of it. Don't, in any event, refer to it as The Hanging Tree. And don't ask around about trailers. We really don't know who might be involved in this case. It could be someone who's lived here all his life, just like you. Someone you trust.'

'Roger that,' said the lady, with a smile. 'I read detective novels, and watch police shows on TV,' she added.

'Oh, yeah?' asked Starsky. 'I'm a Technical Advisor for a new show coming out this fall. It's called Crime and Punishment.'

'I'll be sure to watch for it faithfully,' said Mrs. Mackenzie.

*********************************

'Hutch, Hutch, Hutch! Listen to me. Are you listenin' to me?'

'Yeah,' said Hutch, sulkily. He glared out of his side of the Torino.

'Good,' said Starsky. 'Pay attention, then. We can't go charging into that canyon, ripping up the bushes, until we find this trailer. Did you see the size of that piece of real estate? It'd take us years. And in the meantime....'

'In the meantime, there might be a girl there, right now, in danger of disappearing forever. And what's with this "we", Kemo Sabe? You're not going in there to hunt for that trailer, in any case.'

'Oh. I see. I'm gettin' the brush off, am I?'

'Starsky!'

'Oh, no. Don't "Starsky" me. Just listen. You got a big Task Force waitin' back at Metro, for something useful to do. Sic 'em on that damned canyon. Let them do the dirty work. That's what they get paid for, isn't it. You get paid for using your brains, now. Right?'

'When did you become so cautious, Starsk?'

'When Gunther's goons shot me,' said Starsky.

'Starsky. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to suggest....'

'Oh, Hutch. For God's sake, don't look so stricken. I'm okay, but I learned I'm not a boy no more. I can't go running around, jumping over fences. We both been shot too many times, Hutch. It's time we quit, and let someone else have all the fun.'

'All the fun?' asked Hutch.

'Well, not all the fun,' said Starsky. 'I reserve certain fun activities for myself.'

'Like what?' asked Hutch.

'Like shoppin' for a car, with you. What'd you think of that Mercedes, Hutch? Wasn't it somethin' else?'

'Yeah. Something really expensive,' said Hutch.

'Not if you buy one that's been previously owned,' said Starsky. 'See, I know you like used cars. But a used car doesn't have to be a heap of junk. Take the used cars they have at this place.' He drove into a very exclusive used car lot, as if by accident. Their elegant sign announced that they sold previously owned Ferraris, Thunderbirds, Jaguars, and, yes -- Mercedes.

'Starsky. Surely, you're not serious. Are you?'

'I'm always serious. It's time you got serious. You need a serious car that's worthy of you, like I said. Something beautiful, and tough, and long-lasting, and dependable.'

'You shoulda been a used car salesman,' said Hutch.

'Quit stalling, and get with the program,' said Starsky. 'Look at that one, there.'

Hutch sighed, and climbed out of the car, to face his doom.

**********************

'It's a beautiful car, Hutch. I'm glad you bought it. Aren't you glad you bought it?'

'I don't know,' said Hutch. 'It's expensive. What'll people think?'

'What'll people think? Who cares what people think? It's a used car, like recycling, or something. Besides, if you wanna convince them the Commish is your boyfriend, you gotta look the part.'

'Very funny.'

'Hey, it's your turn.'

'My turn? You keeping count?'

'Yup. C'mon. Your turn.'

'Okay,' said Hutch. 'You asked for it.'

"I asked if I got sick and died, would you
With my black funeral go walking too,
If you'd stand close to hear them walk or pray
While I'm let down in that steep bank of clay.

And, No, you said, for if you saw a crew
Of living idiots pressing round that new
Oak coffin -- they alive, I dead beneath
That board -- you'd rave and rend them with your teeth."

'Hutch! Hutch, for fuck's sake!'

'What? You don't like my love poetry?'

'Not much, no. But I know who wrote it, so I win.'

'Oh, yeah? Who wrote it?'

'John Millington Synge. I read all his poems, but that's not my idea of love poetry.'

'No? Wouldn't you do that? I would, I think. I'd go crazy, if I saw them lay you in the ground.' He reached out, and touched the scars on Starsky's chest. They were fading, and covered over with hair, by now. But they were still there.

Starsky laid his hand over Hutch's. 'I'd do the same,' he said. 'Which is why I want you to be careful. Let the grunts do the grunt work. Like we did, when we were grunts. Now, I won the challenge....'

'Did you, indeed?'

'I did indeed. So, I get to pick.'

'Something from the book?' asked Hutch.

'No. Something from Starsky's growing repertoire. Roll over!'

'Yes, sir, Mr. Starsky, sir.'

'Knock it off. Mmm. I love your ass.'

'Do you, indeed? How much?'

'This much,' said Starsky, pressing his erection against Hutch's hip.

'That's a lot,' said Hutch. He opened his legs, in an invitation that Starsky couldn't refuse.

*** The End ***

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