TORTURED MIND

Beta read by ProvencePuss

CHAPTER ONE

The neon light outside his window flickered on and off, casting red and yellow shadows across the room. It was late but he wasn’t tired enough to sleep. If he slept, he’d only have to wake up again the next morning and face another day. Another day where he’d have to find a reason to keep going, to go through the motions, to live with himself and the choices he had made. David Starsky’s life as he knew it had ended two years, six months, 3 weeks, and four days ago. Now there was nothing left but the empty shell of the man he used to be.

As far as his family and his friends were concerned, to everyone he had known in his previous life, he was dead. Killed in a fiery inferno when his beloved Torino was run off the road and over a cliff, exploding on impact sparking a fire so intense that the body inside had been reduced to little more than ashes, not even enough left to make a positive identification through dental records. Hell, he’d even been to the cemetery and seen his own grave. Something like that leaves an impression on a man, a searing memory burned forever into his soul.

Starsky turned away from the window and rubbed the heel of his hand over the three days growth of beard on his chin. It itched like crazy but he couldn’t seem to find the motivation to shave it off. What was the use? The only women he’d been with since this whole nightmare began had been prostitutes and they didn’t particularly care about his personal hygiene or lack of it. He eased his weary body down on the hard single bed in the far corner of the room. He’d lost track of how long he had been here in this place. One cheap room in another rundown building looked just like the last one and the one before that. He had money in the bank, more money then he would ever need. He was good at what he did and it paid well, even if a little piece of him died with each job he completed. He had sold his soul to the devil and now he would have to pay the price.

Absentmindedly, he rubbed the old scars that decorated his chest and abdomen. Reminders of that day in the parking garage at police headquarters when he almost lost his life in a hail of bullets from a hired assassin’s gun. The doctors had given him figuring he was a goner when he was wheeled into the hospital, technically more dead than alive. They flatly stated that it was a miracle that he had survived long enough to even make it to the hospital without bleeding out on the way. They shook their heads in amazement when he made it through the seven hours of surgery it took to piece his shattered insides back together. When he coded in the intensive care unit eighteen hours later, they called it a miracle when his heart inexplicably started beating again against all the odds.

Two days later, he surprised them all by coming out of his coma, awakening to a world of pain unlike anything he had ever known. For the next two months, he had fought the hardest battle of his life, the battle to survive and recover enough to walk out of the hospital under his own power. He had battled life-threatening infections, two bouts of pneumonia, four additional surgeries, a seriously damaged lung, blood poisoning, and eventually, addiction to the powerful pain medications they pumped into his system just so he could function on a daily basis.

Even after he left the hospital, he needed twenty-four hour care for several weeks. His partner and best friend, Ken Hutchinson, had taken an unpaid leave of absence from work to become his full time caretaker. For the first six weeks, Hutch had fed him, dressed him, bathed him, and even wiped his ass because he was too weak to do it for himself. Then for an additional eight months, Hutch had coaxed him, threatened him, and bullied him into completing his physical therapy sessions. In the end, he had regained most of his stamina, his strength and his muscle tone. But he only regained eighty-five percent use of his left lung, not enough to qualify him to go back to work on the streets as a cop. In a curtly worded letter thanking him for ten years of loyal service to the Bay City Police Department, he was pensioned out on permanent disability due to injuries received in the line of duty.

He had fallen into a deep depression, shoving everyone away who tried to help him, even Hutch. Hutch became the primary target of his rage, his frustration and his violent outbursts in the weeks that followed. Maybe that was what had made him so susceptible when a ghost from his past suddenly appeared at his door. He had spent two years regretting the decision he was forced to make that day.

He often found himself thinking about Hutch, wondering where he was now and what he was doing. Sometimes that was all that got him through the day, the memories he held dear to his heart of their friendship and their partnership on the police force. But, even Hutch would turn his back on him now if he knew what Starsky had become. For the weary brunet, there was no turning back and no hope for the future. He was a man with no soul, an unwilling captive in a situation beyond his control just waiting for death to free him from the living hell his own life had become. Starsky finally let his eyes close and drifted into an uneasy sleep that was disrupted by nightmares that were filled with the nameless faces of the people he had murdered, guilty only of being targeted for elimination on the whim of a higher political power. And Starsky had been hand picked as their executioner.

The first rays of the rising sun were just peeking in through the dirty grime covered window when his screams awoke him from his nightmares. Starsky quickly shoved himself to an upright position, panting heavily as he struggled to calm his racing heart. His face and torso was covered with sweat and his eyes burned with unshed tears. He often wondered if this was how it felt to lose your mind because he knew that he was slowly losing his. He stumbled to his feet and made his way to the tiny cubicle that passed as a bathroom. Stripping off his faded, threadbare jeans and equally faded tee shirt, he reached into the shower stall and turned on the shower, adjusting the spray until it was hot enough to burn his skin.

Stepping into the shower stall, he hissed as the hot water hit his skin, turning his normally olive toned skin red. Lowering his head so the water ran over his tangled mass of dark curls, he stood there and let the water burn away the remnants of his nightmares. Grabbing the washcloth hanging over the shower rod he scrubbed at his body furiously in a futile attempt to feel clean again.

Finally, he stepped out of the shower and walked back into the other room, shaking his head to dispense some of the water that still clung to his curls. Opening the closet, he pulled out a pair of jeans with holes in the knees and a long sleeved light blue shirt with a couple of buttons missing. His choice of attire helped him to blend into the neighborhood without being noticed, even though he was one of the few Caucasians in the city.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he pulled on his old Adidas, one of the few reminders of his old life besides his faded jeans that hung loosely on his slender frame. He’d lost a lot of weight in the past two years as his appetite decreased until he was barely eating enough to stay alive. Maybe eventually he’d manage to kill himself, one way or the other. Lifting the pillow on his bed, he took out the Beretta he kept hidden there. Checking the clip to make sure it was fully loaded, and double-checking to make sure the safety was on, he slid the gun beneath his belt in the middle of his back. Grabbing a thin black windbreaker from the foot of the bed, he shrugged into it, making sure it concealed the gun.

He left his room and climbed down the rickety steps to the front entrance. The building rented rooms by the month, the week, the day or the hour with no questions asked. It was the kind of building where the other boarders looked the other way and minded their own business. Starsky walked to the tiny café on the corner and went inside.

When the pretty oriental girl with long black hair came to his table, he ordered breakfast, speaking in fluent Vietnamese. The girl nodded shyly and hurried off to get his food and coffee. He ate in silence, ignoring the other diners around him. He was just finishing his coffee when the front door opened and a short, portly man wearing a three-piece suit came in. Spotting Starsky sitting alone at the back of the room, the man smiled and nodded slightly. Starsky nodded back and pulled some bills out of his pocket, leaving them on the table to pay for his order. Shoving himself to his feet, he left the café without a second glance at the other man who was standing at the counter ordering a cup of coffee to go.

Darting into the alley that ran between the café and the shop next door, Starsky leaned against the brick wall and waited patiently. Within a few minutes, he was joined by the portly man in the suit.

“You’re right on time, David. As usual.” The man said with a thin smile that never quite reached his eyes.

“Can the small talk, Regan. You wanted to see me. Remember?” Starsky said impatiently. “What do you want?”

“The Major needs to see you.”

“Why?” The request was somewhat unusual. Starsky normally received his assignments through Regan without meeting personally with the Major.

“How am I supposed to know? I was just told to deliver the message. Three o’clock today. The usual place.”

“Tell him, I’ll be there.” Starsky growled, turning to walk away without another word. He blended in with the rest of the pedestrians on the busy sidewalk and headed east, walking slowly, his eyes darting from side to side as he surveyed his surroundings for any signs of danger. It was an ingrained habit from his years on the police force, one that had saved his life numerous times in the past.

He spent most of the morning just walking and thinking, wondering how his life had ended up like this. He was thousands of miles away from home, in a foreign land he had sworn never to return to again. A man without a home, a man without a country, a man without an identity.

Saigon, renamed Ho Chi Minh City in 1976 was the capital city of South Vietnam with a population of over five million people. There were large shopping malls, supermarket chains and million dollar businesses. But there were also red light districts, sex arcades, and areas of the city that were controlled exclusively by the Chinese mafia. It was a city where it was easy to disappear into the shadows without being noticed. A good place to hide right out in the open for a man like David Starsky.

At three o’clock that afternoon, he made his way to a nondescript building on the east side of the city, near the docks. This was the part of town that reminded Starsky of the city during the Vietnam War in the late 60’s when he had been stationed in-country. A naïve nineteen year old scared out of his mind most of the time. It seemed like a lifetime ago and most of the memories from that time in his life were securely locked away in the back of his mind, a place he never visited voluntarily. He had spent too many years trying desperately to forget.

Starsky knocked on a rear entrance to the building. Three raps, a pause than three more raps. The door was opened by a tall, good-looking young man in a military uniform, who looked at Starsky questioningly.

“Sergeant Starsky to see Major Lewis. He’s expecting me.”

The young officer consulted a clipboard hanging on the wall beside the door and then nodded, gesturing for Starsky to follow him. He led the way down a long, dimly lit hallway to a closed door at the far end of the building. He opened it and Starsky stepped inside.

There were four men gathered in the office, three youthful looking men dressed in Army fatigues and an older, more distinguished looking man with salt and pepper hair sitting behind a desk. The older man smiled and looked at Starsky as he slouched into the room. He was accustomed to the brunet’s insolence and had given up trying to reprimand him for his appearance or his behavior. After this meeting, it wouldn’t matter anyway. David Starsky would no longer be a thorn in his side.

“You wanted to see me?” Starsky said gruffly, staring at the other man with a hint of defiance glittering in his sapphire eyes.

“Yes, I did.” Major Lewis acknowledged with a barely perceptible nod to the other men in the room.

Without warning, Starsky’s arms were grabbed and twisted behind his back. He struggled against his captors but they only tightened their hold, forcing his wrists up towards the middle of his back putting a painful pressure on his shoulders.

“What the fuck is this?” Starsky growled, glaring at the Major, his eyes smoldering with barely repressed rage.

The Major nodded again and the two men holding him forced him to a wooden chair sitting in front of the desk. They forced him down into the chair, continuing to hold his arms while the fourth man in the room, snapped a pair of handcuffs around Starsky’s wrists, effectively immobilizing him. Only then did they release him. Starsky pulled at the cuffs angrily, knowing it was useless to try to free himself.

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded again, his voice rising with anger as he sought answers to his questions..

“This Sergeant Starsky is the end of your assignment.” The Major said with a faint smile. “You’ve outlived your usefulness to us.”

“So what now? You gonna kill me? Go ahead. Be my guest. Blow my brains out.” Starsky snarled, “You’d be doing me a favor. Save me the trouble of doing it myself.”

“Nothing so mundane, Starsky…you’re going to take an overdose. A terrible accident committed by an unstable individual.” The Major said smugly.

“You’re nuts.” Starsky growled, glaring at the other man belligerently.

“I was afraid you’d feel that way.” The major nodded at the other three men in the room once more. One of them grabbed Starsky’s head in a headlock, while a second man took an amber colored bottle out of his fatigues. He popped off the lid and poured out a handful of red capsules into the palm of his hand. “All you have to do is take the pills and I promise you, you won’t feel a thing. It’ll be quick and painless.”

“Fuck you!” Starsky spit out, clamping his lips together tightly and refusing to open them as the other man tried to force the pills into his mouth.

The third man instantly squeezed Starsky’s nostrils shut making it impossible for him to breathe. He held his breath as long as he could but eventually had to open his mouth to pull much needed oxygen into his burning lungs. As he gasped in a lungful of air, the man shoved the handful of pills into his mouth and then clamped his hand over his lips so he couldn’t spit them back out.

The next few minutes became a battle of wills as Starsky tried to keep from swallowing the lethal dose of pills and the other man tried to keep him from spitting them out. Eventually, it didn’t matter since the pills began to dissolve in his mouth causing the brunet to gag on the bitter taste. The other man kept his hand clamped over Starsky’s mouth until Starsky swallowed convulsively, reluctantly choking down the pills.

When the other man finally removed his hand, Starsky began to cough and gag. The Major watched him with an amused smile on his face. “If you throw them up, we’ll just have to start all over again.” He said with a smirk.

It wasn’t long before Starsky felt his eyes growing heavy and his body growing weary. He struggled to keep his eyes open, fighting the effects of the barbiturates but it was a battle he knew he couldn’t win. His head fell forward with his chin against his chest as he fell into a deeply drugged slumber.

The Major looked at his subordinates and ordered, “Get his body out of here and dump it somewhere where it won’t be found for a few days.”

CHAPTER TWO

May Ling grabbed her little brother’s hand and pulled him along behind her, ignoring his whining. They had enough food for supper and needed to get home. She wasn’t even supposed to be in this part of town. She would be in trouble if her father found out she had come here to beg for money from some of the American Service men stationed in the area. She turned into an alley that cut through the abandoned buildings, tugging at her brother’s hand.

Her heart jumped into her throat when she saw a jeep pull into the other end of the alley. Some of the uniformed men were nice but some were not. Deciding it was best not to take any chances May Ling darted behind an overflowing pile of garbage and gestured for her brother to be quiet. He may only be five years old but he had lived in the city long enough to know when to do as he was told. Peering around a bag of rotting fruit, May Ling watched as two uniformed men climbed out of the jeep. She watched in silence as they reached into the back seat of the vehicle and pulled out a third man. The man hung limply between them as if he were unconscious or dead. They threw him down on the ground in a tall pile of weeds and then climbed back into their jeep, driving away.

May Ling stayed hidden until she was positive the other men were gone and not coming back. Murders happened frequently in this part of time with the bodies being dumped in secluded locations to keep them from being found. “Stay here.” She ordered her little brother in Vietnamese as she slipped out of hiding. Cautiously, she made her way down the alley to where she had seen the uniformed men throw the other man’s body.

Carefully pushing aside the knee-high weeds, she found the man lying face down in the mud. With a trembling hand, she reached down to touch the side of his neck, startled when she found a pulse. It was slow and barely detectable but it was there. May Ling let her gaze sweep over the slender, almost emancipated body, but she didn’t see any obvious injuries or wounds. He could be one of the local junkies who overdosed on some bad heroin. That happened a lot in this neighborhood too. But that didn’t explain the two military men she had seen dumping the body. He was a Caucasian but May Ling didn’t recognize him from the immediate neighborhood. Rocking back on her heels, she pondered what she should do. Finally, she decided to tell the priest that lived a few blocks away about him and let him take care of it that way she didn’t have to get involved. Her decision made, she returned to fetch her brother and scurried away.

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Father Patrick was a Catholic Priest who had moved to Saigon during the war and decided to stay. He operated a small orphanage for the interracial children in the area, children who had been abandoned by their mothers after they had the misfortune of getting pregnant by one of the Military officers stationed in the area. It was a safe haven for children who would have otherwise died from neglect. Mixed blood children were alienated by their Vietnamese relatives and considered outcasts. When May Ling stopped by his tiny room at the orphanage on her way home to tell him about the man she had found in the alley, he promised to report it to the proper authorities.

After making the appropriate phone calls, he left his assistant in charge of the children and hurried to the alley to see if he could help the injured man until the ambulance arrived. He found him where May Ling had said he would be. Father Patrick knelt beside him and did a quick assessment of his condition. He was still breathing but his breathes were labored and spaced too far apart. If the ambulance didn’t arrive soon it would be too late for this unfortunate soul. His skin was cold and clammy, his lips and finger beds tinged with blue, and his pupils dilated. All clear signs of some kind of drug overdose.

The priest eased the man over onto his back, resting the brunet head in his lap to try and ease the man’s ragged breathing. Father Patrick made sure to turn the man’s head to the side so he wouldn’t choke if he vomited. There were already stains on his shirt and significant amount of vomit on the ground where he had been lying. Father Patrick breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief when he heard the sound of an approaching siren in the distance, saying a silent prayer of thanks to God for his blessed intervention on the stranger’s behalf.

Within minutes, the ambulance and two police cars arrived at the scene. Father Patrick stepped aside and turned the stranger’s care over to the professionals. He told the officers responding to his call what he knew, protecting May Ling’s identity by simply telling them that a young girl had told him about finding the injured man knowing he would help. He wisely decided not to mention the two military men that May Ling said she had seen dumping the body among the abandoned buildings.

The uniformed officer taking the initial report nodded, looking bored with the priest’s report. This sort of thing was far too common in the course of his day. A search of the victim’s clothing didn’t turn up any identification so if he died, he would be just another nameless statistic that the city would have to bury. There were too many others just like him in the city every day to bother going out of the way to try and identify him.

Father Patrick stayed at the scene until the unfortunate man was loaded into the back of the ambulance and driven away, then he returned to his own duties back at the orphanage. He would remember the stranger in his prayers that night, putting his faith in God to protect and care for the nameless young man.

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Doctor Stephanie Barnes was the physician on duty when the young man from the alley was brought into the emergency room at the closest hospital. Immediately recognizing the symptoms of a severe drug overdose, she sprang into action, taking drastic steps to try to save the man’s life. After inserting a tube to assist with his labored breathing, she began pumping his stomach to remove the dangerous toxins from his system before they did anymore damage. She sent his stomach contents to the lab, along with a sample of his blood, to identify the drugs in his body so she could continue with the appropriate treatment. After her emergency care, he was still alive but in a deep coma. He was admitted to the intensive care unit, registered simply as John Doe since his identity was unknown.

As she took a break between patients, she found her thoughts consumed with the young man whose life she had just saved. There was something about him that intrigued her. She wondered if he was somehow connected with one of the military troops stationed in the city. Most of the Caucasians in the city were either tourists, worked for one of the major corporations that had their headquarters in Saigon, or were somehow connected to the military. Very few Caucasians chose to live in Vietnam without a specific reason.

“Hey, Connie…” she called to one of the nurses that had helped her in the emergency room. “That guy we just admitted to the I.C.U., are you sure he didn’t have anything on him to tell us who he is?”

“Just a key.” The middle-aged nurse answered. “For a room at the Yellow Dragon

Hotel down in the red-light district.”

“Get it for me, will ya?”

“Why? What are you going to do with it?”

“I thought I’d have Chang check it out.” Stephanie said, naming her current boyfriend who worked for the local police department. “I’d really like to find out more about this guy. Something doesn’t add up.”

“That intuition of yours again?” Connie said with a smirk, her eyes twinkling good naturedly at she stole a glance at the petite doctor. Connie had been a nurse at this hospital for over ten years and was a good judge of character. She had a lot of respect for Stephanie. The young doctor was compassionate and gentle, caring deeply about the patients under her care.

“Something like that.” Stephanie replied with a tiny smile.

Connie shrugged her shoulders and went to get the key that had been placed in an envelope at the nurse’s station for safekeeping. The envelope also contained a handful of change, a leather throng the patient had been wearing around his neck with a Chinese coin hanging from it, and the two worn rings that he had been wearing on his left pinkie finger. Connie returned with the key and handed it to the doctor. Stephanie slipped it in her lab coat to give to Chang when she met him for supper later that evening when he took his own meal break. She forgot about her new patient as she hurried back to the emergency room to care for her next patient.

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Kim Chang found a place to park and hurried towards the hospital entrance. He was looking forward to spending some time with Stephanie before he had to return to duty. He had met the attractive doctor six months ago when he was shot serving an arrest warrant on a known pimp on his beat. Chang had always preferred Caucasian women to oriental women, finding them more independent and intelligent. He had been dating Stephanie for almost three months and was beginning to think she just might be the one for him. He found her waiting for him in the hospital cafeteria. They both got the daily special as they went through the serving line. Since the hospital served primarily the military personnel in the city, it was operated with more of a western atmosphere than most of the other hospitals in the city and that included the food served in the cafeteria, which was remarkably good for a hospital. Chang led the way to a secluded table near the back of the room and they sat down.

“How are things in the ER tonight?” Chang asked as he took a bite of his fried chicken, savoring the crunchy texture.

“Pretty quiet.” Stephanie told him, as she added a bit of ranch dressing to her salad. “I did have an interesting case earlier…a John Doe. Barbiturate overdose. I was hoping maybe you could try and help me find out who he is.”

“No ID?”

“No. A local priest found him and called it in. Someone dumped him in an alley down near the docks.”

“That’s a pretty rough neighborhood. He could be just another junkie who was hanging out down there looking for a fix.” Chang stated in a matter of fact voice. With twelve years experience under his belt working the roughest beat in the city, he had become jaded over the years when it came to the atrocities he saw every day on the job.

“I don’t think so. There were no obvious signs of that and the amount of drugs in his system suggests an overdose.”

“So maybe he’s just some poor soul who couldn’t face another day.” Chang said. “Decided pills were an easier way to off himself than blowing his brains out.”

“I don’t think that’s it either.” Stephanie insisted, “There were marks on his wrists like he’d been restrained fairly recently and some cuts inside his mouth that could have come from someone holding their hand over his mouth.”

“You think somebody forced him to take the pills?”

“Maybe. Something just doesn’t feel right about this case.”

“What do you want me to do? I can check the missing person’s reports and see if anyone has been reported that matches his description.”

“Okay. He’s between thirty-five and forty, about five feet eleven and weighs 140 pounds. He has blue eyes and brown curly hair. He also has a lot of extensive scarring on his chest and abdomen. Some of it is from surgical incisions but some of the scars are from bullet wounds. I’d say the scarring is at least two or three years old. There are a couple of other older scars from bullet wounds and a couple of scars that look like old knife wounds.”

“Sounds like he’s been doing something illegal for a living…could be he has some outstanding warrants. I can check that too. Anything else?”

“Just this.” she took the key out of her lab jacket and handed it across the table to him.

“This place is a dump.” Chang said with a snort when he read the name on the tag. “Rents rooms by the hour with no questions answered. If he was staying there, I’d say he was probably hiding from somebody…or just didn’t care.” He pocketed the key. “I’ll check it out and see what I can find out…but don’t expect much. He could be from anywhere…even from the states. If he’s on the run, he could be hard to trace unless he has a record of some kind here.”

“I know it’s asking a lot but I’d really like to know. Something tells me there’s more to this case than meets the eye.”

“That sixth sense of yours again, huh?” Chang said with a playful smile.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Stephanie said in an exasperated voice. She smiled to show Chang that she didn’t really mind his good natured teasing. Every since childhood, Stephanie had often experienced unexplained “feelings” that proved uncannily accurate. It was a sense she had learned not to ignore.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Chang promised. “Can you come by my place after you get off?”

“It’ll be late, probably around midnight.” Stephanie warned him. “It could be even later if I get an emergency at the last minute.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind waiting up. I’m off tomorrow so we can spend the whole day together until you have to come in.”

“That sounds great. I’ll be there.” They finished their meal and then Stephanie walked Chang to the front entrance where they shared a brief kiss as they parted ways to return to their respective jobs.

CHAPTER THREE

It was two days before Chang had the spare time to check out the room at Yellow Dragon Hotel. He had been there several times in the past, usually to check out a murdered prostitute or to break up a fight between two of the residents. This was his normal beat and he was familiar with the neighborhood. And the residents were familiar with him. More importantly, they trusted him, sharing information with him that they would never tell anyone else.

Before checking out the room the stranger had rented, Chang decided to talk to some of the permanent residents of the hotel to see if any of them could tell him anything. Unfortunately, nobody he talked too seemed to know much at all about the young man. He had been living there for two months and kept to himself. Nobody was even sure of his name. He was registered as John Reynolds but Chang was certain that was more than likely an alias. He had paid for his room for three months in advance and that was all the desk clerk cared about.

One of the residents, a prostitute named Ty Loy, admitted to having had sex with him a few times since he’d been there. She said he was always well mannered and polite, never demanding anything kinky or violent. He always paid well, above the going rate for her services. But, he had never shared any personal information with her. The only thing Ty Loy could tell Chang was that the stranger spoke fluent Vietnamese and had a New York accent when he spoke English. She also mentioned that he sometimes had violent nightmares, screaming out in his sleep, but she had never questioned him about them. After all, it was none of her business.

After he had finished questioning the residents and the desk clerk, Chang used the key Stephanie had given him to get into the unidentified man’s room. It was sparsely furnished like all the other rooms in the hotel with a single bed, a battered dresser with one drawer missing, and a nightstand. A single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling provided the only light in the room other than what filtered in through the grimy window overlooking the street.

Chang frowned thoughtfully as he looked around the room. There were no personal effects evident, other than a few faded tee shirts and some ragged jeans hanging in the tiny closet. The dresser was empty except for some socks and underwear in the top drawer. Hidden underneath the underwear, Chang found a full of box of ammunition for a .38 Beretta, strengthening his suspicions that the man was involved in some kind of illegal activity.

Chang took his time searching the room, taking careful note of everything he found. There wasn’t much. Besides the ammunition and clothing, he found generic brands of toiletries and hygiene products in the bathroom. Stuffed under the bed, he found a battered, well-worn green duffle bag, similar to the type issued to military personnel. The name and serial number that had been stamped on the bag had been carefully marked out so they were unreadable, further evidence to back up Chang’s theory that the man didn’t want to be identified if he was found.

In a hidden pocket sewn inside the duffel bag, he found a faded, folded photograph of two young men standing with their arms slung around each other. From the description Stephanie had given him of her patient, Chang knew one of the men in the picture had to be the John Doe. The other man was a tall, good-looking blond. Both men were dressed casually in jeans and tee shirts. There was nothing in the picture to identify where it had been taken and there was nothing written on the back except the date 6-22-75. The picture was almost ten years old but obviously it meant something to the man who rented this room. Also in the bag was a faded business card for a Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson, Bay City Police Department, Bay City, California. There was a phone number and an extension listed on the card. A second phone number was written on the back of the card but no name to identify who it belonged to. Chang stuck the business card and the picture into his side pocket. It wasn’t much to go on but it was all he had. The man’s identity was still a mystery. Locking the room behind him, Chang stopped at the front desk to remind the clerk not to rent out the stranger’s room until Chang told him that it was okay to do so.

Returning to police headquarters, Chang spent the rest of the afternoon checking missing person’s reports, open warrants and international alerts but none of them seemed to fit the mysterious stranger’s profile or description. Chang considered getting a set of the man’s fingerprints to see if he could run them through the FBI’s database. That might be one way of identifying him. Besides the fingerprints of all convicted felons, the database also contained the fingerprints of anyone who had ever been in the military, anyone holding a government job, or anyone else who had been required by law to be fingerprinted. Shoving himself back from his desk, he went to another office to see if he could borrow a fingerprint card and ink to take with him to the hospital when he met Stephanie later.

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Stephanie stood beside her patient’s bed and glanced through his chart. His vital signs were strong and regular but the brunet remained in a coma from the overdose. If he had taken the pills himself, he had been serious about killing himself. He had ingested a lethal amount. It was a miracle that he had survived long enough to make it to the hospital. If the ambulance had arrived just a few minutes later, he would have already been dead. Luckily, he had vomited sometime after ingesting the pills which could have helped to save his life by ridding his system of some of the drugs.

With his tangled curls trimmed and combed, his face clean-shaven, and a recent bath, Stephanie noticed that he was a ruggedly handsome man. She was at a loss to explain her strong connection to this stranger but somehow she sensed that he needed her help. She wondered if Chang had been able to find anything out about him. She would find out soon enough when they met later in the cafeteria.

“How’s he doing?” Stephanie asked the day nurse, a pretty oriental named Lotis.

“The same.” Lotis said in a soft, quiet voice, automatically lowering her eyes in deference to her superior. “He’s very strong but still very sick.”

“Yes, he is.” Stephanie agreed with a sigh. Impulsively she reached out to brush a curl back from his forehead, laughing softly when it twisted around her finger. “Keep an eye on him.” She instructed Lotis “And page me right away if there’s any change, any change at all.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Lotis said politely, still keeping her head bowed and avoiding looking directly into Stephanie’s eyes. Although Stephanie had lived here for almost six years, some of the oriental women’s meek natures still bothered her. She knew their submissiveness was part of their culture, the way they were raised by their elders but she still encouraged her staff to consider themselves as equals when they were at the hospital. Some of the women, however, like Lotis, continued to consider themselves second-class citizens. Even though they worked outside the home, in the privacy of their homes, they still bowed to their husband’s whims and demands.

Stephanie continued her rounds, checking on her other patients until it was time for her supper break. She saw Chang already waiting for her at their favorite table. He had taken the liberty of ordering her a bowl of soup, a chicken salad sandwich, and a salad.

“Hi, honey.” She said, smiling as she sat down across from Chang. It had been a long shift so far and she was tired but the sight of Chang’s handsome face always lifted her spirits. Unable to suppress her curiosity, she blurted out, “Did you find out anything about my John Doe?”

“Yes and no.” Chang told her. “He’s been staying in that room for the last couple of months. He’s registered as John Reynolds but I doubt if that’s his real name. There was nothing of a personal nature in his room. No letters, no address books, no pictures.” He decided not to mention the picture or business card he had found in the duffle bag since he still wasn’t sure if they were significant or not. “I did find a box of ammunition in his dresser drawer but no weapon in the room. According to some of the other residents, he kept to himself and didn’t say much. One resident did tell me that he speaks fluent Vietnamese and English with a New York accent. That’s about it, other than the fact that I didn’t find any outstanding warrants or missing person’s reports for anyone fitting his description.”

“Isn’t there anything else you can try?”

“There’s one thing…I can take his fingerprints and run them through the FBI database. If he’s ever been arrested for a felony, held a government job, been in the military, or held a job that required him to have his prints taken, we might get lucky.”

“Can you take his prints while he’s in here?” Stephanie asked, taking a bite of her sandwich and washing it down with a sip of lemonade.

Chang grinned and patted his pocket. “Got a print card and the ink right here. Piece of cake.”

After they had eaten, Chang accompanied her to the ICU where he prepared to take John Doe’s fingerprints, starting with his left thumb print. He frowned as he rolled the man’s fingertip over the surface of the card and stopped. He lifted the brunet’s hand and studied the pads of his fingers intently.

“What is it?” Stephanie asked anxiously when she saw the frustrated expression on Chang’s face.

“His fingerprints have been surgically altered so they can’t be used to identify him.”

“Why on earth would somebody do that?” Stephanie asked, arching her brows in a surprised gesture.

“The only other person I’ve ever seen who had it done was a international hit man who worked for the highest bidder.” Chang said grimly. He looked at the unconscious brunet and muttered under his breath. “Who the hell are you, buddy? And what the hell have you been up to?”

“Surely you can’t be suggesting that he kills people for a living.” Stephanie said in disbelief.

“I’m not suggesting anything.” Chang said offhandedly “But I intend to find out who the hell he is if it’s the last thing I do.” He thought about the faded business card in his pocket. He decided he was going to call Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson in Bay City, California as soon as he could. With the time difference between Vietnam and the United States, he would have to wait until the following evening to make his call since there was almost a fifteen-hour time difference between the two countries

CHAPTER FOUR

“Lieutenant,” the young officer said shifting nervously from one foot to the other. “There’s a call for you on line three. The switchboard said it’s an overseas call.”

“Thanks.” Ken Hutchinson said, slipping into his Captain’s empty office so he could take the call in private. He frowned, wondering why someone was calling him from another country. None of his friends, acquaintances, or family was traveling abroad at the moment. Settling down at the desk, he picked up the phone and punched the button for line three. In a crisp professional voice he said, “This is Lieutenant Hutchinson. May I help you?”

“Lieutenant Hutchinson?” a man said, his voice sounding as clear as if he were calling from a few blocks away instead of somewhere thousands of miles away. “My name is Kim Chang and I’m a detective with the Police Department in Saigon.”

“Saigon?” Hutch said, even more puzzled then before. “Excuse me, Detective Chang, but I’m at a loss here. Why are you calling me? I’m not involved in any cases that have a connection to Saigon. Are you sure that you have the right number?”

“Lieutenant, I understand your confusion.” Chang said smoothly. This man was the only lead he had to the mysterious John Doe in the hospital. “Just give me a minute to explain.”

“Go ahead. It’s your dime.”

“I’m hoping that you might be able to help me identify a man that was recently admitted to a hospital here. He’s listed as a John Doe and he may or may not have voluntarily taken an overdose of barbiturates.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re calling me.” Hutch said mildly. He found himself what could be so important about a John Doe half way across the world that would lead a police officer from Viet Nam to bother calling him.

“The only thing I’ve been able to find out about the man so far is that nobody seems to know him very well, his fingerprints have been surgically altered to discourage any attempts at identification, he has numerous scars from old bullet wounds and other injuries indicating to me that he’s been involved in something dangerous, and I found an old business card in his room with your name on it.”

“I still don’t see how I can help you.” Hutch said “I’ve been a cop for over twelve years. Half the felons and the snitches in this town probably have one of my cards.”

“This man is about thirty-five to forty years of age with brown hair and blue eyes, one hundred and forty pounds.”

“That’s not much to go on and that description still fits a hell of lot of people.” Hutch pointed out with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“I realize that. What if I faxed you a picture of him along with my phone number at the station? Then you can call me back if you recognize him.”

“I suppose I could do that. One question though…aren’t you going to a hell of a lot of trouble just to identify a John Doe?”

“Let’s just say I’m doing a favor for his doctor who happens to be a very close friend of mine. She feels that the overdose may not have been accidental.”

“Okay.” Hutch said with a sigh of resignation. “Send your picture and I’ll let you know if this guy rings any bells when I see it…but no promises. You know how it is.”

“Yes, I do know but I’d still appreciate your help. My gut tells me that this guy is either on the run or he’s hiding from somebody. Either way, the cop in me wants to find out just who the hell he really is.”

“I can understand that.” Hutch admitted. “Do you need the address to mail that too?”

“Is it the same one that was on the card? 3641 North Fifteenth Street, Metropolitan Division, Bay City Police Department.?”

“Yeah.” Hutch said “Mark it attention Lieutenant Kenneth Hutchinson, Homicide Division.”

“Tell me, how long have you been a Lieutenant? The card I found said it was Sergeant Hutchinson.”

“I’ve only been a Lieutenant for about six months.” Hutch told him

“Then I guess congratulations are in order on your promotion.” Chang said with a slight chuckle.

“Thanks. I’ll be watching out for that picture. Good-bye, Detective Chang.” Hutch said, disconnecting the call. He sat there for several minutes, deep in thought. He wondered who the John Doe that Detective Chang was so interested in really was. He had a feeling there was more to the story than the other man was telling him. Maybe the picture would jog Hutch’s memory when he saw it. Or maybe not. There was no way of knowing how the mysterious John Doe had gotten hold of one of his old business cards.

Hutch sighed heavily as he shoved himself to his feet and left the Captain’s office. Although he still worked for Homicide, these days he did most of his investigating from his desk, leaving the street work to the younger, more ambitious detectives on the squad. Although Hutch sometimes missed the excitement and thrill of working the streets, most of the time, he was relieved to be out of the direct line of fire.

After Starsky had almost been killed in the parking garage downstairs, Hutch had spent almost a year nursing his partner back to health, refusing to work with anyone else in the meantime. Then the department decided that Starsky was unfit to return to duty and Hutch had seriously considered quitting the force himself. Before he could finalize that decision, Starsky had been killed and Hutch had come dangerously close to losing it himself. They had been more than just partners, more than just best friends, they had been more than brothers. Their lives had been so intertwined for so long, that Hutch didn’t want to go on living himself without Starsky at his side. He had spent almost a year trying to climb into the bottom of a bottle and another six months clawing his way back out.

Unable to find the courage to kill himself deliberately, he had tried drinking himself to death only to find that didn’t work for him either. When he was suspended for punching a superior officer after the man made a derogatory comment about Starsky, Hutch found himself forced into rehabilitation by the department. It was either that or be brought up on felonious assault charges. Hutch had done more than just punch the other man; he had put him in the hospital with three broken ribs, a broken nose, and a broken jaw.

While in rehab, Hutch had taken a long hard look at himself and at his life. He’d hit bottom after losing Starsky there was no doubt about that. He still thought about his old partner almost every day and he cherished his memories of his partner and the best friend he had ever had. Losing Starsky had left a huge void in his life and an even bigger hole in his heart. After Starsky’s death, Hutch had made it his duty to care for Starsky’s mother, Rachel, until her death four months ago. The doctors had said it was a heart attack but Hutch knew she had died of a broken heart. She had lost both her husband and her eldest son to the violence of the streets, to the badge that they both had worn so proudly. Hutch decided to go on being a cop but he still refused to work the streets with another partner. He would never trust anyone else to watch his back the way Starsky had done. Finally, he had opted to take the Lieutenant’s exam, which would get him off the streets and give him more supervisory duties within the department.

The mysterious call from Detective Chang bothered Hutch the rest of the day. Something nagged at the big blond, something he couldn’t put his finger on exactly, just a feeling that something was about to happen that would change his life dramatically. Hutch chuckled to himself, hunches and ‘feelings’ had always been Starsky’s thing, not his. Hutch had always been the cool, reserved type who didn’t put much faith in things he couldn’t find a logical reason for. By the next morning, Hutch had put the overseas call out of his mind.

Ten days later, he was at his desk catching up on some neglected paperwork when the phone on his desk rang. Grabbing the receiver, he said, “Hutchinson.”

“Hutch, honey…its Minnie.” The voice of a petite policewoman who had worked at the department almost as long as Hutch purred in his ear. “I got a package down here for you that was just delivered. It’s marked Urgent and it’s postmarked Saigon.”

Hutch could hear the curiosity in her voice but he merely said, “Bring it up to me, would ya?”

“Right away.” Minnie said, hanging up the phone.

Less than five minutes later, Minnie came into the squad room, clutching a large manila envelope tightly. Minnie was good friend to Hutch and she had adored Starsky. She had mourned almost as much as Hutch had when Starsky died. In spite of her thick dark glasses, Minnie was still an attractive woman even in the regulation blue uniform she wore daily. She had never married, yet seemed content with her lot in life. If it hadn’t been for Minnie and another close friend, Huggy Bear, Hutch would never have made it through the memorial service for Starsky. He had sobbed openly, not caring who saw his tears of grief for his friend and partner. For weeks after that, Minnie or Huggy always seemed to be there whenever he turned around, offering support and comfort in any way they could. But, neither of them could give Hutch what he needed the most, Starsky back by his side where he should be. Even when Hutch had tried to lose himself in the bottle, Minnie and Huggy had stuck by him even when some of his other friends had gave him up as a lost cause.

Without a word, Minnie handed Hutch the envelope, standing beside the desk as he opened it and pulled out the papers it contained. The first page was a letter from Detective Chang giving Hutch a few more details about the mysterious John Doe, including the fact that there was some evidence that indicated that he had been restrained and forced to take the overdose that had nearly killed him. There was also a brief summery of the details Chang had managed to uncover which wasn’t much. Just the name of the hotel where he had a room, the fact that he spoke fluent Vietnamese and a copy of the business card Chang had found in his room. Chang had copied both sides of the card and Hutch was surprised to find his old home phone number written on the back of the card in his partner’s left handed scrawl. After Starsky’s death, Hutch had moved to another part of town and had his number changed.

There was also a letter enclosed from the doctor treating Starsky. She detailed the circumstances surrounding his admission to the hospital and listed the drugs that had been found in his system. She also went into detail about his medical treatment, stating that he was still in a coma and there was some doubt if he would ever regain consciousness. She also noted several scars on the man’s body, obviously from old bullet wounds as well as numerous scars from surgical incisions.

The last item in the envelope was the picture that Chang had promised to send. Minnie watched as Hutch pulled out the photo and stared at it for several long minutes, his face going so pale and his breathing becoming so erratic that for a moment Minnie was convinced the big blond was having a heart attack.

“Hutch?” She said in a worried, concerned voice as she took a step closer to him and reached out for his arm. With a sudden strangled cry, Hutch suddenly shoved back his chair so violently that it overturned and jumped to his feet. Minnie watched in horror as the ice blue eyes rolled back in his head and Hutch collapsed to the floor unconscious, the picture still clutched tightly in his hand.

Minnie immediately yelled for help even as she sank to her knees beside the unconscious man, looking for any obvious injures from his unexpected crash to the floor. She reached out with trembling fingers to check the pulse in his neck. She was relieved to find it strong but racing as if Hutch had just finished a two-mile jog. Overwhelmed by curiosity, she gently slipped the picture out of his limp fingers as other officers steamed into the room to find out why she was screaming for help.

Minnie stole a glance at the picture she held in her hand and felt her own heart beginning to race, as her mind tried to comprehend what her eyes were seeing in black and white. In spite of the sunken eyes, the gaunt face, the longer than usual curls and the emancipated body of the man lying in the hospital bed in the picture, there was no mistaking the familiar features of Detective Sergeant David Michael Starsky. Minnie leaned heavily against the side of the desk, feeling lightheaded herself and praying that she didn’t add to the chaos by fainting herself.

“What happened here?” the booming voice of Captain Harold Dobey echoed in the room as he burst out of his office to see what was going on in his squad room. His eyes widened in alarm when he saw Hutch lying unconscious on the floor.

“He passed out, Captain.” Minnie said, carefully slipping the picture out of sight behind her back. She intended to show it to Captain Dobey when they were alone, along with the contents of the envelope it had come in. Her mind was still reeling with shock. It was no wonder that Hutch had reacted so violently to the image in the picture.

After some anxious coaxing and a few mild slaps to his cheek, Hutch began to come around, blinking his eyes in confusion at the worried faces of the co-workers surrounding him. He brushed off the hands that reached out to help him to his feet and grabbed Minnie’s hand to pull himself upright. Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them, agreeing without speaking not to tell anyone except Captain Dobey what had really happened. After reassuring his friends and fellow officers that he was fine, Hutch looked at his superior officer and friend, a man that had been like a second father to both Starsky and Hutch, and said, “Captain, could Minnie and I talk to you for a minute? In your office?”

“You’d better be ready to tell me what just happened here!” Dobey demanded in a deep commanding voice that held more than a little concern. “And what the hell you were doing unconscious on the floor!” He brusquely ushered Hutch and Minnie into his office after telling the other officers and concerned clerical staff to return to their own duties.

Captain Dobey settled down at his desk and then listened, stunned, as Hutch told him about the mysterious call from Detective Chang and then showed him the letters from Chang and Doctor Barnes, along with the photograph of their unidentified John Doe. Dobey blanched, his reaction mirroring both those of Hutch and Minnie when he saw the picture of a man they had all believed was dead for over two years.

“What the hell is going on here?” Dobey growled his voice louder and more strained than usual. “And how in the hell did Starsky end up in a hospital in Saigon?” Dobey’s use of the mild profanity spoke volumes as to his current state of distress.

“I don’t have a fucking clue!” Hutch said his own voice tight and carefully controlled “But I intend to find out! I’m going to Saigon as soon as I can make the arrangements.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Chang scowled as he tried to decipher his own handwriting. He’d been in a hurry when he wrote out the report and now most of what he had written the night before didn’t make sense. Concentrating on the report, he didn’t hear the younger officer come up behind him until he spoke, startling him momentarily.

“What is it?” Chang said a bit more gruffly than he intended, embarrassed at being startled so easily.

The younger man, a relatively new transfer to the department, flushed in humiliation and said, “There’s a Detective Hutchinson waiting for you in the lobby. He said he just got in from the states.”

“He’s here?” Chang said in a surprised voice. He had been expecting a call back from the Bay City Detective; he had never expected him to travel all the way to Viet Nam. He felt his heart pound in excitement. If the man had traveled all this way after receiving the package from Chang, then he must know who the mysterious John Doe was. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” Chang said, dismissing the younger man with a curt nod of his head. Tossing the report in his inbox, he hurried out of the squad room and down the steps to the ground floor of the building.

Although he had no idea what Detective Hutchinson looked like, he had no trouble spotting the tall good-looking blond that stood out among the crowd like a beacon. Walking over to the taller man, Chang smiled pleasantly and said, “Detective Hutchinson?”

“Yes.” Hutch said instantly, turning to face the smaller man with the oriental features. “Are you Detective Chang?”

“Yes. I’m glad to meet you.” Chang said offering his hand.

“Same here.” Hutch said, grasping Chang’s hand and giving him a firm handshake.

“Since you’ve come all the way here from the states, I can only assume that the picture I sent you rang a bell.” Chang said.

“Is there some place that we can talk?” Hutch asked somberly. “In private?”

Chang nodded and motioned for Hutch to follow him down a long hallway to his left. Chang led the way to an empty office and ushered Hutch inside, closing the door securely behind them. He turned to face the tall blond expectantly and waited for him to explain his sudden appearance in Viet Nam.

“The man you know as John Doe is named David Starsky and up until two years ago, he was my partner.” Hutch said

“Your partner? He’s a cop?” Chang said in a startled voice. This was the one scenario he hadn’t considered. Chang’s cop instincts kicked in as he considered what Hutch had just said. “What happened two years ago?”

“He was killed when his car was pushed off the road and into a canyon. It exploded on impact and the body inside was burned so badly it couldn’t be positively identified even through dental records.” Hutch said flatly.

“Well, it seems like that complicates things for both of us, doesn’t it?” Chang said gravely “How does a dead man suddenly reappear two years later in South Viet Nam?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out.” Hutch said in a determined voice. His cold ice blue eyes softened. “How is he? Is he still in a coma?”

“No, fortunately he came out of the coma a few days ago.” Chang said hesitantly. He sighed heavily “Unfortunately, he’s nearly catatonic and isn’t responding to anyone. All he does is set in a chair and rock back and forth muttering in Vietnamese.” He paused then added, “He just keeps saying Let me die over and over again.”

Hutch looked stricken at Chang’s news but he wasn’t discouraged yet. “Can I see him? If anybody can reach him, I can.” He said confidently. “He wasn’t just my partner; he was also my best friend.”

“Of course. I can take you to the hospital right now. However, I want to warn you that he may not be the man you remember. The nurses had to restrain him when he first came out of the coma because he became quite violent.”

“Take me to him now.” Hutch said. He knew his voice sounded demanding and arrogant but he didn’t care. He had to get to Starsky. His partner needed him.

“Let’s go.” Chang said mildly, undisturbed by Hutch’s behavior. He sensed the other man’s fear and concern for his friend, a friend he had assumed was dead for the past two years, now miraculously restored to life in a hospital half way around the world. Hutch followed Chang out of the police station to the parking lot behind the building where his compact cream-colored car was parked. Hutch scrunched into the front seat, folding his long legs uncomfortably under the dash of the small car. An uneasy silence fell between the two men as Chang maneuvered the crowded, busy downtown streets to the nearby hospital.

When they arrived at the hospital, Hutch followed Chang to the sixth floor where the mental health unit was located. The idea of Starsky being confined in a psych unit bothered Hutch, reminding him of the time they had to go undercover at Cabrillo State back in Bay City. Chang pushed a buzzer on the wall beside the door that led into the ward and spoke into the speaker mounted in the wall. He identified himself, waiting for the answering buzz that would open the locked door and admit them to the ward.

The two men entered a large room with several sofas and chairs arranged around the perimeter. Several tables were scattered around the middle of the room where patients were sitting, either staring into space, or doing some sort of activity. Ignoring the patients in the main room, Chang led the way down the hallway to a room at the end and opened the door quietly. Hutch caught his breath, his heart leaping into his throat, as they entered the room and he saw his former partner and best friend sitting in a chair in front of the window. Starsky’s hands were folded in his lap and he was mumbling the same phrase over and over again under his breath just as Chang had told Hutch. Even though Hutch didn’t speak Vietnamese, he recognized the stilted sounds and realized he had heard Starsky speak it a few times before in the past, usually when he was having a nightmare that he always refused to talk about afterwards. Hutch felt a pain clutch at his heart as he remembered what Chang had told him the words meant that Starsky kept repeating.

Starsky’s eyes were staring sightlessly out the window, the expressive sapphire orbs flat and devoid of any emotion or feeling. His face was gaunt with deep lines etched around his eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there before. Hutch was startled to see strands of silver threaded in through the thick dark curls. Instinctively, Hutch immediately moved to his side and knelt down beside him so he could look into those eyes that he remembered so well.

“Hey, Starsk…” Hutch said in the soft gentle voice he reserved solely for his partner when he was hurt or upset. “Hey, buddy…it’s me. It’s Hutch.” Without thinking twice, he reached out to lay his hand on Starsky’s upper thigh. Hutch had expected some kind of reaction but not the one his action caused. Starsky lurched from the chair and crouched in the corner of the room, pulling his knees up against his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs and hiding his face against his bent knees. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, his whole body trembling with fear.

Hutch rocked back on his heels, his ice blue eyes filled with hurt. Starsky had never pulled away from Hutch’s touch before. “What’s wrong with him” Hutch stammered, his pain and hurt clearly reflected in his voice.

“The psychiatrist says he’s retreated deep inside of himself where he can’t feel the pain anymore. He’s been severely traumatized and his mind has simply shut down for a while.” Chang explained gently “Don’t take it too hard…he reacts that way when anyone tries to touch him.”

“How long is he going to be like this?” Hutch demanded, longing to touch his partner again, to offer comfort the way he always did best but not wanting to upset Starsky any further.

“It’s hard to say.” Chang said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It could be a few days, it could be a few weeks, it could be…” he hesitated, reluctant to continue.

“Or it could be permanent.” Hutch said bleakly, finishing Chang’s sentence for him.

“Unfortunately, yes…that is a possibility.” Chang admitted

“What can I do?”

“Just be there for him. Talk to him…reassure him that he’s safe and nobody is going to hurt him.” Chang suggested, “Most of all…don’t give up on him.”

“On Starsky?” Hutch said with a wary smile. “Never.” He turned to glance at Chang, the fire in his eyes underlining his words. “I’ve spent the last two years going through hell believing that he was dead and that I’d never see him again. Now that I’ve found him, I’m not going to let him out of my sight.”

The fierce determination in Hutch’s voice made Chang smile. The smaller man was convinced after seeing the two men together that if anyone could break through the barrier that the brunet had built around himself, then the big blond could. Somehow, he sensed that the two had shared a very special relationship in the past and that Hutch was fiercely protective of his former partner.

“Why don’t we see if we can find the doctor and talk to him?” Chang suggested, “I’ll have one of the nurses come in and tend to him.” He nodded at Starsky who was still crouched in the corner, rocking back and forth again and muttering the same tired phrase repeatedly. “They’ll have to sedate him to get him back into bed.”

“NO!” Hutch said sharply “How am I supposed to get through to him if he’s sedated all the time?”

“You”ll have to talk to the doctor about that. It’s not up to me.” Chang reminded him gently. He watched as Hutch reluctantly shoved himself to his feet. With one last lingering glance at his best friend, he followed Chang out of the room.

They found Doctor Wang at the nurse’s station writing out some orders for his patients. He looked up when Chang and Hutch joined him, glancing at the tall blond suspiciously.

“Wang, this is Detective Hutchinson from the States. He’s a friend of our John Doe whose real name is David Starsky.”

“That’s wonderful.” Wang said in a heavily accented voice. “Maybe now we can make some progress with our stubborn friend.” Hutch snorted at the Doctor’s apt description of Starsky’s personality.

“I need to be with him as much as possible.” Hutch said, his tone making clear that he wasn’t about to take no for an answer.

“I’m sure we can work something out.” Wang said somewhat evasively. “As long as your presence doesn’t interfere with his treatment.”

“And what kind of treatment is that exactly?” Hutch asked

“Medication to control his mood swings…and anti-depressants…restraints when he becomes violent to keep him from hurting himself or someone else.”

“NO!” Hutch said loudly, his voice startling the doctor for a moment. “I can’t reach him if he’s drugged up all the time and restraining him will only make matters worse!”

“Detective Hutchinson,” Wang said politely with a hint of annoyance in his voice at having his choice of treatment questioned. “I must insist that you continue to allow me to treat my patient as I see fit. I am his doctor.”

“And I have his medical power of attorney.” Hutch said, “That gives me the right to refuse any treatment that I deem unnecessary.”

“Can you prove that?” Chang asked, deciding it was time to step in before the confrontation between Hutch and the doctor got out of hand.

“You bet I can.” Hutch said, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and taking out a worn, faded piece of paper that he handed to Chang to examine. Chang carefully read the legal document and then nodded as he handed it back to Hutch. Looking at Wang, he said, “He’s right. He has the authority to make medical decisions on Mr. Starsky’s behalf if Mr. Starsky is unable to decide for himself.”

“And you know as well as I do that piece of paper means nothing here.” Wang said tightly, not willing to back down.

“I beg to differ, Doctor,” Chang said “But Mr. Starsky is still a US citizen and this hospital is primarily a military hospital for US personnel stationed here, so Detective Hutchinson is within his legal rights to insist on making medical decisions for his partner.”

Wang’s eyes flashed with anger but he wisely held his tongue. “All right.” He conceded “I’ll order the restraints discontinued…unless he becomes violent again and hurts someone. And I’ll cut back on the sedation but I won’t discontinue it entirely, or the anti-depressants.”

“Fair enough.” Hutch said with a grim smile knowing that he had won the first round. “And I intend to stay here with him at night so I’ll need a cot moved into his room.”

“Now see here!” Wang said angrily, resenting the blond’s demands that would disrupt the quiet routine of the ward. Before he could continue, Hutch held up a warning finger and said coldly,

“That’s not negotiable, Doctor. If you don’t agree, I’ll have you removed from his case and have him treated by someone else.”

“All right.” Wang said begrudgingly. “We’ll do it your way…for now.” Gathering his things, the Doctor stood up and stomped away, gaining some degree of satisfaction from his childish behavior.

Chang burst out laughing and clapped Hutch on the back. “I’m glad we’re on the same side, Hutchinson. I’d sure hate to have you after me.”

“Please, call me Hutch.” Hutch told him with a grin. “Can I talk to the doctor that treated him originally? Your friend who suspected that the overdose may not have been accidental?”

“Sure. Come with me. She should be coming on duty just about now.”

CHAPTER SIX

Stephanie was just coming on duty and was pleased to see Chang standing by the nurse’s station along with a tall, handsome blond when she came on the floor. Smiling brightly, she joined them and said,
“What are you doing here?”

“I’m glad to see you too, Honey.” Chang teased her with a wide grin. He nodded at the man at his side, “This is Detective Kenneth Hutchinson from Bay City California. He came all the way here from the states about your John Doe.”

“I’m so glad to meet you, Mr. Hutchinson.” Stephanie said sincerely, holding out her hand graciously.

“Please, call me Ken or Hutch.” Hutch told her with a brilliant smile. He took her hand, his touch more of a gentle caress than a handshake. Stephanie instantly recognized the inbreed charm and good manners of a well-bred gentleman. “I can’t thank you enough for acting on your instincts about my partner instead of just writing him off as an attempted suicide.”

“Partner?” Stephanie said, arching her brows in confusion.

“Turns out our John Doe is a police officer too…who supposedly was killed in a car accident over two years ago back in the States.” Chang clarified for her.

“So the plot thickens.” Stephanie stated. She looked deeply into Hutch’s eyes and saw the sincere concern and compassion reflected there. She had a good feeling about this man. He would help unravel the mystery surrounding her patient and make sure that no more harm came to the brunet. She was sure of that. “From the scars he carries, it looks like your partner has had more than his share of misfortune.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Hutch told her with an awkward grin. “Trouble seems to find Starsky no matter where he goes.” The ice blue eyes darkened slightly. “And I intend to find out how he ended up here and why if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Was your friend ever in the Military?” Stephanie asked having come to some conclusions of her own since first treating the brunet she had dubbed John Doe.

“Yes, he was in the Army for three years, stationed here in ‘Nam during the war.” Hutch confirmed. “He never talks about that time in his life so I don’t really know all the details.”

“I’m not surprised. It was a very bad time for the soldiers who had the misfortune to be here.” She glanced at Chang with a fond smile. “It was a very bad time for the Vietnamese people too…especially the innocent ones.” She looked back at Hutch somberly. “I think the Military could have something to do with whatever happened to your friend. I’ve heard rumors about a couple of uniformed men visiting some of the other hospitals in the area, asking questions about a man matching your friend’s description. I’ve already alerted everyone to direct them to me if they show up here.”

Hutch’s mind instantly went into protective mode. Glancing at Chang, he said “Is there any way you can post an officer on the ward where Starsky is to make sure nobody can get to him if I’m not here?”

“I wish I could,” Chang said somberly “But my hands are tied. Without any hard evidence that he’s been involved in a crime, either as a witness or a victim and needs police protection, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Then I may have to move him some place else for his own protection.” Hutch said.

“You can’t do that right now.” Stephanie said, “I understand your concern but his mental status is too fragile to deal with any more trauma. Until he at least starts responding more to his surroundings and isn’t so combative or resistant to being touched, you could very easily send him over the edge and then you’ll never get him back.” She watched the conflicting emotions that washed over the blond’s face. Finally, Hutch sighed heavily and nodded his head in agreement.

“Okay, I’ll do it your way for now but the minute I think he’s in any kind of danger here, I’m taking him out of here.” Hutch said firmly.

“Fair enough.” Stephanie said with a smile. “I’d feel the same way if I were in your position.” She glanced at her watch pointedly “Now, I really have to get to work.”

“I’ll meet you in the cafeteria at seven-thirty.” Chang told her

“I’ll be there.” She gave Chang a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to walk down the hall so she could start her rounds.

“I should be getting back too.” Chang said “Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”

“Yeah, I wanna go to the hotel where he was staying. I wanna take a look at his room.”

“I told you, I already searched his room and didn’t find anything significant.”

“No offense, Chang. But you don’t know Starsky like I do.” Hutch said with a thin smile. “There could be something there you missed or overlooked.”

“No offense taken. How about I drop you off there on my way back to the station? But, you’ll have to call a cab to bring you back here when you’re done.”

“I can do that.” Hutch said “Thanks.”

Fifteen minutes later, Hutch was unlocking the door to the room that Starsky had been renting in the rundown hotel. The shabby room reminded Hutch of some of the places the two detectives had used in the past when they were on a long, boring stakeout. Starsky had always complained about his surroundings. He suffered from a mild case of claustrophobia and hated small, confined spaces. But, Starsky never allowed his phobias to interfere with his ability to do his job. Hutch was the only one who knew just how much small spaces, heights or deep water really bothered the brunet. Starsky had never shared with Hutch the reasons for his particular phobias and Hutch had never asked. After all, Hutch wasn’t perfect. He had a few phobias of his own. He didn’t care for heights much either and after an incident where he was forcibly addicted to heroin, he hated needles and refused to take anything any stronger than Tylenol for pain.

Hutch sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to think like Starsky. He knew if there was anything in the room that the brunet didn’t want anybody to find, it would be well hidden. Hutch shoved himself to his feet and began to systematically search the room, ignoring the more obvious hiding places like under the mattress or taped underneath the dresser drawers. At first his search seemed futile until he reached the closet. Kneeling down on the floor, he rapped at the floorboards with his knuckles. A grin spread across his face when he found a loose floorboard near the back of the tiny wardrobe. Pulling his pocketknife from his jeans, he flipped open the blade and carefully pried up the piece of loose wood.

Hidden in the space between the floor and sub-flooring, he found Starsky’s identification and his passport (both under the assumed name of John Reynolds). There was also over a thousand dollars in cash and a wrinkled notebook, the pages inside filled with his partner’s distinctive left handed scrawl. Very few people, besides Hutch and Starsky’s mother, could read the brunet’s handwriting. As Hutch flipped through the page of the notebook, he realized that it was a journal of sorts. Every since Hutch had known Starsky, he had kept a similar journal, a place where he could write down his innermost thoughts when things became too stressful in his life. Hopefully, this one would have the answers to some of Hutch’s questions concerning Starsky’s mysterious ‘death’ and reappearance in Viet Nam. Hutch carefully slipped the journal, the other pieces of identification and the cash in his jacket for safekeeping until he got back to his partner’s side where he could examine his discoveries without being disturbed.

He fitted the floorboard back in place and examined it closely to make sure nobody else could tell that it had been disturbed. Satisfied, he stood up, glancing briefly at the clothes hanging in the closet. Grabbing the empty duffle bag he had found underneath the bed, he quickly packed all the clothes in the room. If he did have to take Starsky out of the hospital and move him somewhere safe until they could get out of the country, the brunet was going to need his clothes. A faint smile tugged at Hutch’s lips as he ran his hands over the faded jeans and tee shirts. He found himself relieved that Starsky’s taste in clothes hadn’t changed. Although Hutch was slightly taller than Starsky, the brunet could also wear some of Hutch’s clothing if the need arose. Grabbing the duffle bag, Hutch went down to the front desk to call a cab to take him back to the hospital.

Twenty minutes later, he was back at his partner’s side. Starsky was sleeping, heavily sedated, but without restraints. Hutch sank into a chair beside the bed and sat there drinking in the sight of his best friend and partner, slightly battered and abused with a mind that had slipped away momentarily, but alive. That alone was still almost too much for Hutch to comprehend.

“We’re gonna get through this, buddy.” He whispered, reaching out to gently brush his fingers against the sunken cheek of his best friend. “Just like we always have…together. Me and Thee.” He sighed softly at he looked down at the familiar features that he knew by heart. He hadn’t seen Starsky this thin and gaunt since the shooting that came so close to killing him. It had taken months of coaxing and endless bribes of milkshakes and ice cream sundaes, to get him to regain the weight he had lost while he was in the hospital. During his long and painful recovery, his digestive tract had been really messed up from all the damage and there were some foods his system just couldn’t tolerate. Before his alleged death in the car accident, he had finally recovered enough to return to his usual diet of burritos with extra onions and hot sauce, pizzas, and root beer.

Hutch settled back in the chair and pulled the items he had found in the hotel room out of his jacket. He examined the identification papers and passport first. They were expertly forged documents, all in the name of John Reynolds. The birth date and physical description matched, the only differences being the name on the documents and the hometown, which was listed as Chicago. Laying the forged documents aside, he opened the journal and stared at the first page without reading it for several minutes, not sure if he wanted to know what he would find in the pages in front of him.

Finally, he decided there was no use putting it off any longer and he began to read. The journal entries began approximately three months after Starsky was supposed to have been killed. Hutch’s expression darkened as he read Starsky’s account of a visit he had received shortly after receiving the letter stating he had been declared unfit to return to active duty with the police force. It had been from two high ranking military officials who had told the brunet in no uncertain terms that he was being reinstated to active duty with the military. When Starsky had refused to go with them voluntarily, they had left and that evening, while he was sleeping, someone had broken into his apartment and drugged him, forcibly removing him. When he finally regained consciousness, three days later, he was already at a military facility in Viet Nam. It outraged Hutch when he realized that Starsky had literally been kidnapped by the military and taken out of the country against his will.

For the next three months, Starsky was subjected to a rigid regime of drugs and mind control designed to eliminate his free will and make him more receptive to following orders. Hutch couldn’t help smiling when he read Starsky’s statement that the ‘treatment had been less than successful’. Knowing his partners stubborn nature and strong will, Hutch had no doubt that was true. However, Starsky was still basically a prisoner and forced to comply to a certain degree with his captors.

Hutch felt his blood run cold when he read what it was that the military had recruited Starsky to do. They wanted him to become an assassin for the military, to hunt down and kill high ranking Vietnamese officials who had been declared ‘war criminals’ by the US government. Men who had never been convicted by their own government. Starsky had been singled out as their primary choice because of his military record as an expert marksman and his years of experience on the police force. In the end, Starsky had followed orders but only after discovering that the military had faked his death and that all of his friends and family back home thought he was dead. Although Starsky didn’t actually state it in the journal, Hutch suspected that the military may have also used threats against Starsky’s family and possibly even Hutch to get him to comply.

Hutch felt his heart break as he continued to read, the pages revealing the slow deterioration of Starsky’s mind with each man he tracked down and killed. Killing, even in the line of duty to protect himself or others, had never come easy for the brunet. With each death, a small part of him had died too. In the past few months, Starsky had started taking unnecessary risks and chances, wanting to die to end his own torment and yet unable to voluntarily take his own life. The last entry in the journal had been over two months ago, leaving the last few weeks a blank. But from the level of pain and despair Hutch had already read in the journal, Starsky had been teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. Hutch hid the journal and other documents deep inside the duffel bag, vowing that nobody would ever see them or read Starsky’s most private thoughts. In the eyes of the Vietnamese government, he would be considered a common criminal and they would convict him of his crimes, probably giving him the death penalty without a second thought. Hutch couldn’t allow that to happen.

The question remained unanswered as to how Starsky had ended up here and if the overdose had been voluntary or forced upon him by someone else. And if someone else had restrained him and forced him to take the massive overdose that should have killed him, then who had done it? Someone in the Vietnamese government or someone in his own? The answer to that question was locked somewhere in the brunet’s mind and that meant that whoever was responsible couldn’t take the chance on Starsky surviving the bungled attempt on his life. The fact that Stephanie had mentioned two military men looking for someone fitting Starsky’s description gave Hutch his own suspicions as to who was behind everything.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Starsky woke up later that evening, his eyes snapping open and looking around the room wildly for a moment before settling back into that blank stare that unnerved Hutch. At least he wasn’t repeating that phrase over and over again in Vietnamese like he had been earlier. Hutch longed to reach out and take Starsky’s hand offering a measure of comfort to the brunet as well as to himself but he didn’t, the memory of how Starsky had reacted earlier when he had been touched still strongly implanted in his mind.

“Come on, Starsky…you gotta help me out here.” Hutch said, “I don’t know to reach you, pal.”

“The same way you always have,” a soft voice said from the doorway, startling Hutch badly. He jerked his head around as Stephanie stepped into the room.

“I’m sorry.” Hutch apologized “I didn’t hear you come in. What did you say?”

“You were saying that you didn’t know how to reach him and I said do it the same way you always have…with love.” She said as she stepped up to the bed and automatically began taking Starsky’s vital signs and assessing his condition. The brunet made a soft whimpering sound deep in his throat and tried to pull away even from her gentle touch.

“Why doesn’t he want anyone touching him?” Hutch asked

“He’s afraid…the trauma of what he’s been through combined with the excessive amount of drugs he was given has altered his thought processes.”

“So what you’re saying is that he’s not thinking straight right now.”

“To simplify things…yes.” Stephanie said with a smile. “Hopefully that’s only temporary.”

“The other doctor said something about restraints because he got violent.” Hutch said, “Did he hurt anyone?”

“Dr. Wang told you that?” Stephanie said, the tone of her voice and the tight smile on her face making it clear that she didn’t care much for the other physician or his methods. “Yes, when they transferred him here from the medical floor, he did get very agitated and tried to hit one of the nurses but he didn’t hurt her. He was still much too weak. But Doctor Wang tends to medicate his patients to keep them docile and calm so it makes his job easier.”

“I made it clear that I didn’t want that happening again.” Hutch said. He glanced back at Starsky and added, “We had to go undercover one time at a mental hospital back in Bay City and they kept him pretty doped up while he was there. He also almost became a human guinea pig for a doctor that was using mental patients to experiment on.”

“Were you both pretending to be patients?” Stephanie asked curiously, always interested in hearing stories about police work.

“No. Starsky was the patient. He fit the part better than I did. I was posing as an orderly.”

“He’s been through a lot for a relatively young man, hasn’t he?”

“That he has. I think he’s broken almost every bone in his body at one time or another and had everything else from a sub dermal hematoma to chronic migraines.”

“You care for him a lot, don’t you?”

“He’s my best friend. After he got shot and almost died, I took off work when he got out of the hospital to be his primary caretaker until he recovered enough to take care of himself.”

“I could tell just by talking to you that the two of you were close.” She glanced back at the brunet “That’s what he needs the most right now is somebody here that knows him and really cares about him.”

“He’s not alone. Not anymore.” Hutch said quietly, his eyes softening with affection as he gazed at Starsky’s face.

“I have to get back to work.” Stephanie said with a smile. “I know he’s in good hands now.”

Hutch gave her a wide grin as she turned and left the room. Glancing at Starsky, who was still lying passively on the bed with a vacant look on his face, he said, “Hear that, pal? You’re in good hands now. I’m here, Starsk…and I’m not going to let anybody hurt you again.” He lowered his voice even if there wasn’t anyone else in the room to hear him. “I found your journal. I know what you’ve been through…what they made you do. I know that’s not the whole story and I intend to find out exactly what happened and who tried to kill you…and I’ll find a way to make sure they pay for it.”

An aide came in shortly with two meal trays. Hutch insisted she leave. He would help Starsky feed himself if he needed assistance. She hesitated before doing as he requested. Starsky didn’t show any sign of responding when Hutch tried to coax him into eating on his own. When Hutch filled a spoon with some mashed potatoes and held the spoon to his lips, Starsky sniffed at the food and then voluntarily opened his mouth, letting Hutch feed him. The blond smiled to himself. One battle won. Patiently, he fed Starsky his food before turning his attention to his own tray.

Per Hutch’s earlier request, the nursing staff had moved a cot into the room and sat it up beside Starsky’s bed so Hutch could stay with him since he had made it clear that he wasn’t leaving. Based on the evidence he had uncovered so far, Hutch knew it wasn’t safe to leave Starsky alone so that left Hutch to guard him.