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Hutch walked out of the liquor store, put his notebook and pencil away, and leaned against the Torino next to his partner. “It wasn’t your intimidation factor after all.”
Starsky seemed to drag his attention back from wherever it was and looked at him. “What wasn’t my intimidation factor?”
“The reason why Mr. Washington doesn’t know who robbed him. I suspected your glower yesterday, when we first interviewed him, had put him off.”
“I’m not that scary.” Starsky got the puppy dog look on his face that always melted Hutch’s heart. “Am I?”
Hutch put his arm around Starsky’s shoulders. “Not when you don’t want to be. And, apparently, you weren’t scary at all during our initial interview. Today, Mr. Washington admitted he never saw the guy’s face. Came up behind him, stuck what he thinks was a gun in his back and told him to close his eyes.”
“So, of course, Mr. Washington did exactly that.”
“Yes, he did. Therefore, no description.” Hutch smiled. “I think he was too embarrassed, yesterday, to tell us he had his eyes closed the whole time.”
“Swell.” Starsky rolled his shoulders and straightened up from his lean. “We’ll ask Huggy to keep his ears open for anyone spending money he shouldn’t have.” He started around the front of the car and got behind the wheel while Hutch climbed in on the passenger’s side.
“What was that look on your face when I came out of the store?” Hutch asked as Starsky started the engine.
“What look?”
“The one that said you were lost in thought and the thought was grim.”
Starsky sat for a moment, letting the motor run but not putting the car in gear. “Remember the red ribbon thief?”
“Carl.”
“Yeah. Well, I saw him steal half a dozen oranges from the bin outside the grocery store down the block.”
“And you didn’t let me know before chasing him?” Hutch asked. “Your ankle must be bothering you again.”
“I sat out the last of the pick-up game with those snitches this morning. Remember?”
“I do, now.” Hutch mentally replayed the encounter. “I thought is was because we’d gathered all the information we were going to get from those guys.”
“The ankle had started acting up and I didn’t want to chance having it fail me completely. So I sat out the rest of that circus. And… I let Carl go.”
“We know where he and Cassie live, don’t we?”
“Yeah, we do.”
Hutch gestured out the windshield. “If he’s stealing again, we need to find out why.”
“Guess so.” Starsky dropped the gear shift into Drive. “I don’t want to bust the kid but…”
“Half a dozen oranges could lead to worse things.”
Hutch scanned the storefronts and pedestrians as Starsky drove the four blocks from the sites of the liquor store robbery and the fruit heist to the not-quite-seedy apartment building where they knew Carl and his twin sister lived with their mother.
Starsky parked in a vacant spot, plugged the meter, and joined Hutch on the sidewalk. “Last time we checked, the kids were doing okay in school and their mom seemed to be getting along in the job her neighbor found her with that company that cleans office buildings.”
“That was a few months ago, Starsk. Anything could have happened since.”
Starsky grimaced. “Keep cheering me up, Sunshine.”
“Trying to be realistic, that’s all, partner.”
Reaching the third floor, Hutch followed Starsky to #305. Starsky pressed the button next to the door jamb. Inside, an irritating buzz sounded.
“I prefer door bells, myself,” Starsky muttered.
After only a few seconds, a dead bolt was thrown and the door was opened a crack. A blue eye and tousled head peeked through. “Yeah?”
“It’s us, Carl, Starsky and Hutchinson. You need to let us in.”
“Okay.” The voice was reluctant and the door was opened slowly.
The room they entered was small and furnished sparsely but everything was neat and appeared clean. Beyond a short counter, a tiny kitchen held not a single dirty pot, pan or dish. In a chipped porcelain bowl next to the sink were the purloined oranges.
Carl backed away, his eyes downcast. His sister, Cassie, came out of what was undoubtedly a bedroom. “What’s he done,” she asked in a quiet voice.
“Nothing too serious.” Starsky moved over toward the thrift store couch. “Why don’t we all sit down for a minute?”
“I can’t leave my mom too long,” Cassie said. “She’s real sick.”
Hutch exchanged a charged glance with his partner. “Has she seen a doctor?”
“We’re Jehovah’s Witnesses.” Cassie’s tone sounded much too adult for her eight years. “We don’t believe in medical intervention,”
“Sit for just a minute, then,” Hutch said, gently, taking a seat next to Starsky. “And tell us what’s been going on.”
The kids both sat in the big, worn armchair on the other side of the stained coffee table.
“Things were great for a while,” Carl began.
“After Mrs. Williamson found that job for our mom,” Cassie continued.
“We’ve been going to school…” Carl said.
“Our grades are good,” Cassie interrupted, with pride.
“I ain’t stole nothin’ in months!”
“Haven’t stolen anything,” Cassie corrected.
“But mom got sick a few days ago and hasn’t been able to work.” Carl took his sister’s hand. “We ran out of money so I couldn’t pay for the oranges.”
“I know citrus is what she needs, though,” Cassie went on.
“May we see her?” Hutch asked.
“She’s asleep,” Cassie replied. “I don’t want to wake her.”
“We won’t. I only want to feel her forehead, listen to her breathing.” Hutch gave them his most winning smile. “We want to help.”
“We’re cops, Carl. Remember? Helping people is what we do.”
After only a moment, the kids led the way into the bedroom.
Their mother was lying in the bed, propped up against pillows in an obvious attempt to make her breathing a little easier. As it was, every breath sounded raspy and difficult.
Hutch laid the back of his hand gently against the woman’s forehead while he listened. “What have you been doing for her?” Hutch asked Cassie, keeping his voice down.
“Soups and tea,” she replied, equally quietly.
“Until we ran outta stuff,” Carl whispered.
Hutch caught Starsky’s concerned gaze. “I don’t think it’s pneumonia yet. At least, I hope not. But I believe we could use Huggy’s expertise.”
“Good idea! I’ll bet his Aunt Celia has a remedy.” Starsky turned to Carl. “Do you guys have a telephone?”
Carl shook his head while Cassie answered. “We can’t afford one.”
Starsky turned toward the bedroom door. “I’ll find a phone booth and call Huggy.”
The four of them went back to the living room and Starsky headed for the front door. As he reached for the knob, the door was opened by a woman who, Hutch thought, looked like she might have fallen off a watch fob. She was tiny and trim, with wiry silver hair, a house dress that dragged the floor over scruffy slippers, and arms so thin they were nearly skeletal. Her eyes, though, were a fierce, blazing blue behind just-too-damn-appropriate granny glasses. She pocketed the keys in her hand and glared at Carl. “I haven’t seen you two or your mom in days, Carl. You got trouble, right? Why didn’t you knock on my door?” She shifted her gaze to Starsky, then Hutch. “And just who are you?”
Starsky, only a little surprised, held out his hand. “Detective Starsky, ma’am.” He gestured toward Hutch. “That’s my partner, Detective Hutchinson. We’re police officers.”
She ran her scorching visual inspection over them, clearly unimpressed. “You don’t look like cops.”
Hutch tried his most ingratiating smile. “Would you, by any chance, be Mrs. Williamson?”
She closed the door behind her, still studying them. “I am. I live across the hall. Known these good children and their mom for three years. What’s your business here?”
Starsky was plainly embarrassed. “Well… uh… I witnessed Carl, here, steal some oranges and we came to see --”
“What?” She caught Carl’s arm in her claw-like fingers. “You promised, boy! You said you’d never steal anything again!”
“I know, Mrs. Williamson,” Carl moaned. “But mom’s so sick, and we ran out of money, and Cassie said mom needs oranges --”
“What do you mean she’s so sick?” Ignoring both Starsky and Hutch, she started toward the bedroom, towing Carl with her.
Hutch stepped into her way, trying not to appear threatening or aggressive. “Let’s all wait a minute, okay? Mrs. Williamson? Please sit and let Carl explain. Cassie?” He turned to the obviously anxious girl. “Why don’t you go make sure your mother’s still comfortable.”
Undoubtedly glad to have something positive to do, Cassie left the room.
Hutch guided Mrs. Williamson and Carl to the couch, while Starsky sat in the chair and Hutch perched on the arm.
Apparently, Mrs. Williamson’s patience was something akin to Starsky’s because she turned immediately to Carl. “Why didn’t you let me know your mom was sick, Carl?”
“She said not to bother you, ma’am. She thought she only had a cold.”
“What about her job?” the old woman asked.
“Cassie and I went to her boss, Mr. Abernathy, and explained mom wasn’t feeling well and he said he’s been so pleased with her work, she could take as much time as she needed.”
Mrs. Williamson nodded. “Joe Abernathy’s a good soul. But you and Cassie should have come to me, Carl.”
The boy’s shoulders slumped. “I wanted to but mom…”
She put her arm around him. “I know, son. You mom’s a stubborn woman. However, I’m here now and you’ll do as I say, so we can get your mother well, again.” She shoved Carl to his feet and, pulling the keys out of her pocket, found the one she wanted, and handed it to the boy. “You know where I keep my cheese grater?”
Carl shook his head. “I never even heard of a cheese grater, Mrs. Williamson.”
She waved that off. “In the drawer next to the sink in my kitchen. It’s a square metal thing with holes in all four sides. You can’t miss it. Bring it, and the jar of Vick’s Vapo Rub out of the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. We’re going to make your mom some orange zest tea and put a poultice on her chest. She’ll be right as rain in no time.” She urged him toward the door. “Go on, now, boy. Your mom needs us.”
Headed for the door, Carl pulled something out of his pocket and showed it to Starsky. “I’m taking good care of Albert, Detective Starsky. Like I told you I would.”
Starsky smiled and gave the kid a salute. “Never doubted it for a minute.”
As Carl left, Mrs. Williamson turned her attention to Hutch and his partner. “As you can see, officers, Cassie, Carl and their mom are in good hands. I’ll make sure the oranges are paid for and that this family has enough money to tide them over until Marilyn can get back to work. We’re Jehovah’s Witnesses and our membership takes care of each other. Now that I know what’s going on, I won’t let anything more that’s bad happen to these good people. You can leave them with me and get back to whatever it is you do, which is taking care, I assume, of others.” She rose, offering her hand to Hutch.
He took it, gently, almost afraid to grip the fragile fingers. “Yes, ma’am, that’s what we try to do.”
She shook Starsky’s hand, as well. “Good. I know Cassie’s appreciative, as her mother will be, just as soon as we let her know how helpful you’ve been. Good day to you, gentlemen.”
With that, she hurried toward the bedroom.
Hutch opened the door for Starsky and followed him out of the apartment.
Downstairs, they went outside. Nothing had changed on the street but, somehow, Hutch felt as if the sun was a little brighter, the sky a little bluer. He walked to the passenger’s side of the Torino and got in.
Starsky moved around and climbed in on the driver’s side. He started the engine but didn’t make any move to pull into traffic. “Ya know? Sometimes, when we meet a good neighbor like Mrs. Williamson, I don’t hate this job quite so much.”
“I know what you mean. Almost makes --”
“Zebra Three, Zebra Three,” the radio intruded. “You need to get over to the south entrance of Cloverfield Park. Officer Michaels reports a one-eight-seven.”
Hutch picked up the mic but, before he answered, he looked at his partner. Starsky’s expression mirrored his own rueful sadness. “And, with that, we’re back to reality.” Clicking the mic, he told Dispatch, “This is Zebra Three. We are responding.”
END