It wasn’t the end, Hutch thought wearily, but at least it was the end of the beginning. Prudholm was incarcerated but Terri was dead. And Starsky....Starsky was curled at the end of his sofa, dead-eyed and shivering with shock and exhaustion and grief.
Hutch made sweet cocoa, rich with cream and brandy, then went to get the old Mexican sweater from the back of Starsky’s closet. He wrapped the softness round his partner, put a warm mug into the icy hands, then settled himself with his own drink, close enough to touch.
Starsky looked up.
“Old friends, huh?”