REPRESSED MEMORIES

While investigating the brutal murder of a fellow officer, Starsky begins to suspect a connection to his own father's murder over twenty years ago.

Repressed Memory: a significant memory loss usually related to a traumatic nature. Repressed memories can sometimes be recovered years or decades after the event, most often spontaneously, triggered by a particular smell, taste or other trigger related to the lost memory.

CHAPTER 1

"Shots fired. Officer down. 3387 North Mellowdale Drive." The dispatcher said. The clipped tone of her voice spoke volumes to the officers that responded. It was the type of call that every officer answered automatically and the one they all dreaded. It meant that one of their own was hurt.

Detective Kenneth Hutchinson reached for the mike and pressed the transmit button. "This is Zebra three. We are in the area and responding. ETA seven minutes." His partner, Detective David Starsky, stomped on the accelerator, simultaneously flicking the switch to activate the siren. Hutch slapped the red bubble light on the roof as the car picked up speed.

When they arrived at the address two black and white units were already at the scene. Two uniformed officers were holding back curious neighbors who had heard the sound of gunshots echoing through their normally peaceful neighborhood.

The car came to a stop with a jolt that almost threw Hutch into the dash. The two detectives jumped out of the car and hurried towards the scene of the shooting.

As they walked across the well-kept lawn, they could see a man lying face near the front stoop of the modest home. A frantic woman stood on the stoop with her arms wrapped tightly around two young boys. All three of them were crying, their ordinary lives suddenly shattered in a matter of minutes.

Starsky and Hutch turned their attention to the victim lying at their feet. Neither of them recognized him but that didn't mean that they didn't feel a natural kinship with the fallen officer. Every man present knew that it could just as easily have been one of them that had been gunned down. It was a fact of life that every man and woman who pinned on the badge accepted as a natural hazard of their chosen profession.

A uniformed officer who had been guarding the body glanced at the two detectives and said somberly, "His name was Jim Tanner. He worked out of the twenty-second precinct. He just got off duty. According to his wife he was shot by someone in a dark blue sedan. She didn't get the license number and she can't describe the shooter. It all happened too fast." He looked over at the grieving family and added, "The two boys saw it happen."

Hutch stole a glance at his partner, automatically noting the tight set of Starsky's mouth. He knew that it was going to be a difficult for Starsky to remain objective. The brunet's own father had been gunned down under similar circumstances when Starsky was twelve years old. The emotional scars from that event ran deep in the brunet's psyche. Hutch felt the instinctive need to reach out for his partner but he restrained from acting on that impulse. This wasn't the time or the place.

The two friends exchanged a simple glance and, without a word, they walked over to the woman and her two sons. Hutch spoke first. "Mrs. Tanner, I'm Detective Hutchinson and this is my partner, Detective Starsky. You have our deepest sympathy for your loss." He kept his voice soft and gentle recognizing the vulnerable, fragile look in the young woman's eyes. She was barely holding it together. "Can you tell us exactly what happened?"

"Jim had just got home from work." She said in a voice that was so soft Hutch could barely hear the words. "The boys ran out the front door to meet him…just like they always do." She choked back a sob and took a minute to compose herself before continuing. "I saw the car coming down the street but I didn't think anything about it. Then I saw the gun and heard the shots." She paused again and closed her eyes for a moment, reliving the moment that was forever branded in her mind. "Jim never made a sound, he just fell to the ground and the car took off down the street." She opened her eyes and looked at Hutch, her face so full of pain that it tugged at his heart. "It all happened so fast. I never saw the man's face…just a glimpse of the gun."

"He shot my daddy!" the oldest boy spoke up, his blue eyes flashing with grief and anger. "Why did he shoot my daddy?" He appeared to be around ten years old and already grown up far beyond his years.

"I don't know, son." Hutch said gently, reaching out to clasp the young boy's shoulder in a comforting gesture. "But I'm going to do my best to find out and make sure he pays for what he did."

"I want my daddy!" the younger boy, who appeared to be around eight years old, cried out. He began to cry harder, burying his face in his mother's skirts. The older boy pulled away from Hutch, turning back to his mother and younger brother, wrapping his arms around them both in a protective gesture. The two detectives moved away, respecting the grieving family's need to be alone.

Hutch shot a worried look at Starsky. He appeared to be visibly shaken by the outburst from the two young boys. There was pinched look to his mouth and a suspiciously bright cast to his eyes. His posture was rigid and straight. Hutch knew the signs; it was taking every ounce of Starsky's will power to keep his emotions tightly under control. Later, when they were alone, safe from prying eyes, he would fall apart and Hutch would be there to pick up the pieces as usual.

He reached out and touched his partner's, arm for a moment, not long enough to be noticeable, but long enough to attract his attention. Starsky favored him with a faint smile, acknowledging the simple gesture of comfort and support. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, and watched solemnly as the team from the coroner's office gently lifted the fallen officer's body onto a stretcher, covering him with a white sheet. Fastening the straps around the body, they carried the stretcher to the coroner's wagon and loaded it inside for transport to the morgue.

"One of the rookies is questioning the neighbors." Starsky said quietly. "But, so far, nobody saw anything." He sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his dark curls. "This really sucks, Hutch."

"I know, buddy. I know." Hutch knew Starsky was talking about more than just the murder of a fellow officer. They went about the immediate tasks at hand, distracting themselves with the familiar routines that went along with the beginning of any investigation. But for them, this case would be more personal. It always was when it involved one of their own.

There was a unique connection between every cop that pinned on a badge, a brotherhood that can not be denied. Cops were bound together by blood, sweat and sometimes tears.

When their life was on the line, the only other people they could truly depend on were their brothers in blue. Because of the atrocities they saw in their everyday lives, cops usually developed a truly 'us' against 'them' mentality, setting themselves apart from the general public that they policed.

Alcholism, divorce, drugs, and domestic violence was far more common among members of the police force than most people realized. It was a stressful, often unrewarding job that changed a person in subtle ways. Wives and girlfriends were often at a loss to truly understand the man they loved and shared their lives with. The only other person a cop truly trusted was another cop and his partner above all others.

Hutch and Starsky were unique among their peers in the sense that they were closer than most partners could ever hope to be. They had met at the academy almost ten years ago and had become best friends almost immediately. By the time they graduated, they were virtually inseparable. They both spent two years in uniform, walking a beat and working with different partners. After they were both promoted to Detective First Class, they convinced their commanding officer to pair them as a team, something relatively unheard of with two inexperienced detectives.

In the past five years, they had become the most successful team of detectives in the department. They had taken on and solved some of the most high profile cases to come across their Captain's desk and their partnership had become almost legendary among their peers. No other team could come close to matching their arrest record or their list of successful convictions.

Wrapping up their initial investigation at the crime scene, they logged off duty for the day. They were both looking forward to a quiet evening so they could unwind from the stress of their day. Without any discussion before hand, Starsky drove to his apartment and the two men went inside. While Hutch went into the kitchen to grab a couple of cold beers, Starsky detoured to the phone to call for a pizza. They slumped down on the sofa, side by side, and propped their feet up on the coffee table as they took a long swallow of their beer.

"Those kids today…" Starsky said after a period of comfortable silence, picking absentmindedly at the label on his bottle. "They're about the same age that Nicky and I were when Pop was shot."

"The whole scene reminded you of your dad, didn't it?" Hutch asked gently, even though he already knew the answer to his own question. Over the years, the two friends had shared their innermost secrets and Hutch knew how traumatic Michael Starsky's murder had been for his eldest son. Not only had Starsky seen his father gunned down right in front of him but the man had actually died in his oldest son's arms.

"Yeah…" Starsky admitted in a quiet voice. He turned his head to look into his best friends eyes, his own reflecting the deep sadness he felt inside. "I still miss him, Hutch. Even after all these years…I still miss him."

Severely traumatized by the events of that day, Starsky had turned into a sullen, angry adolescent rebelling against his mother and the rules that he had always followed at home. He started running with the wrong crowd and getting into trouble. Concerned for her son's future and his safety, Rachel Starsky had made the hardest choice any mother could make. She had sent her oldest son almost three thousand miles away from the only home he had ever known to live with an aunt and uncle he barely knew.

That decision had almost cost Rachel her relationship with her eldest child. Starsky had felt rejected and abandoned by his mother, convinced that she no longer loved him or wanted him around. It had taken several years to mend the rift that had developed between mother and son. Now, they were closer than ever. Starsky called her religiously every Friday night and sent her money every two weeks to help pay her bills.

Hutch reached out to put an arm around Starsky's shoulders, pulling him close. That was another unique aspect to their friendship, their open affection with one another. From the beginning, touch had been an important part of their relationship, another way of communicating that other people often misinterpreted. Rumors had surrounded them since their days in the academy that they were more than just friends, even though their track record with the ladies was well known throughout the department.

Their pizza arrived and they ate while watching a movie on TV. Afterwards, Hutch walked over to the closet and pulled out extra bedding, planning on spending the night because he knew that Starsky needed him there. He made up a bed on the sofa while Starsky took a shower and then they both turned in for the night. Sometime later, Hutch was startled awake by the sound of sobs coming from Starsky's bedroom. He immediately jumped up, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to reach his partner's side.

Starsky was thrashing around on the bed, obviously caught in the midst of a nightmare. He was moaning and crying out in his sleep, tears streaking his cheeks. Ever since Hutch had known him, Starsky had been prone to nightmares, especially when he was sick or stressed out. Instinctively, Hutch crawled into the big king sized bed beside his partner, reaching out to comfort him, gently running his fingers through the thick curls.

"Shhh…it's okay. Open your eyes, Starsk…it's just a dream." Hutch murmured, keeping his voice gentle and low as he coaxed his partner awake. Starsky moaned and turned towards the sound of Hutch's voice, sensing his presence even though he was still asleep. "Come on, babe…" Hutch whispered "Open those eyes for me…"

Starsky's eyelids fluttered and the blond saw a sliver of blue. "Hutch…" he muttered sleepily, not fully awake yet.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm right here. You were having a bad dream. Do you wanna talk about it?"

"It was Pop." Starsky admitted, curling up closer to his friend and resting his head on the broad shoulder. "I was dreaming about Pop."

"About the day he was shot?"

Starsky nodded without answering, a tear slipping down his cheek. With anyone else he would have been embarrassed by his display of emotion but not with Hutch. Never with Hutch. With Hutch he could cry without feeling ashamed or embarrassed because he knew that Hutch would understand. He sighed in contentment as those long slender fingers continued combing through his hair. Within minutes, he was sleeping peacefully, the bad dreams chased away by his best friend's presence.