The Interrogation (Alphabet challenge)


By Monika   06/07



“All right, all right, we’ll do the interrogation,” Starsky said, snagging the folder out of the officer’s hand and opened the door to the next room, followed by a yawning Hutch.


Better than sitting in front of their reports that needed to be written, Starsky decided, and eyed the old man that sat hunched over the table, handcuffed and trembling lightly.


Checking the information in the folder, Starsky gave a sigh and motioned Hutch to take a look too.


Daryl Snow was accused of robbing old ladies and taking their wallets, preferably when they went home from church on Sundays.


“Evil, quite evil, what you did to the ladies,” Starsky shook his head in disgust and locked eyes with Hutch who seemed to take pity on the old man.


“For me, it’s a bad thing, too, Starsky, but I think we can take the cuffs off; we can manage him without treating him like a dangerous criminal,” Hutch smiled, and crouched next to the old man.


Grumbling something unintelligible, the man held his trembling hands toward Hutch who un-cuffed him.


Humbly, the man bent his head and rubbed his wrists, as if he was in pain.


“I can fetch him something to drink,” Hutch offered, and added, “it’s my turn, isn’t it?”


“Jeez, Hutch, the bad cop isn’t needed here, but do it anyway, and in the meantime I’m gonna ask this guy about his favourite activities on Sundays,” Starsky said.


Knowing that the older man would confess any time soon, with the way he looked, Starsky dismissed Hutch and crouched next to the man, noticing his ragged appearance.


“Living on the streets is hard and I think you needed the money to get along, but it’s not right to steal other people’s money. Mrs. Summers, who was the one you robbed last Sunday, fell and broke her leg. Now, that’s something you should think about,” Starsky said, and looked into the old man’s confused eyes.


“Oh no, it wasn’t me, I didn’t rob that old lady,” the man insisted, and added, getting agitated, “ And I don’t live on the streets. Phyllis, my wife, died half a year ago, she was killed by cops.”


“Quit it!” Starsky was about to get up to check the folder again when suddenly, a pair of surprisingly strong hands closed around his neck.


Reeling backwards, Starsky lost his balance and fell, while he tried to get the old man to loosen his stranglehold.


“Starsk…what’s going on here?” Hutch asked, alarmed, when he saw his partner on the floor, and the old man hovering over him.


Teetering on the brink of collapse, Starsky reached out his hand, then went limp.


Unceremoniously, Hutch lunged at the felon and knocked him out.


Violently beaten, Starsky lay still on the floor with a chalk-white face and blue-tinted lips.


Wrapping his partner in his arms, Hutch yelled for help, trying to believe that this was only a bad dream.


“X-rated, this is x-rated,” Starsky mumbled and Hutch had never heard words more beautiful.


“Yeah, at any rate,” Hutch smiled, and cherished the sight of two dark blue eyes that looked at him, slightly confused. 


Zestfully, Officer Jenkins entered the room, hesitated shortly and said, dumbfounded, “Starsky and Hutchinson, you weren’t supposed to interrogate the cop killer, but are expected in room 511 for the interrogation of Mr. Snow, who’s accused of robbing old ladies.”



The end


















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