Current Day:
Sitting in the small boardroom, Chief Ryan looked at the men seated around the table and frowned.
It was small panel for a preliminary disciplinary hearing—only three men including himself—Lieutenant Fargo of IA, who had questioned both Starsky and Hutchinson after Marcus's death; and Captain Dobey. Two others had requested to attend the meeting, Lieutenants Blaine and Huntley, but Ryan had declined. If the circumstances would have been different, he may have considered it, but because of personal nature of Blaine and Huntley's relationships with Starsky and Hutchinson, he wasn't sure they could remain impartial. And glancing up at Captain Dobey, noting his visible fatigue and nervousness, Ryan wondered if he could count on him for the same.
It was no secret the Dobey had a certain fondness for Starsky and Hutchinson, and Ryan—though he would never admit it—would be lying if he said he didn't like them himself. Of course, with arrest records like theirs, they were hard to dislike. Personable enough, their cohesiveness made them a force to be reckoned with. Though their methods were sometimes questionable, they got things done and complaints were minimal.
Until now.
Turning his attention the damning report in front of him, Ryan grimaced. The details of what had unfolded on the Marcus Compound were grizzly, and the thought of punishing Hutchinson for his actions was difficult to accept. But looking at Dobey's grim expression once more, Ryan reminded himself that now was not the time to allow personal ties and loyalties interfere with proceedings or judgements. They had all been touched by the horror and disappointment of what had been done and with a heaviness they would now determine what was to come.
What had unfolded at the Marcus compound had been appalling, and the subsequent decisions promised to be equally bad. The news of Simon Marcus's violent end had been broadcast on the media outlets since the day of his death and the details of Starsky's rescue had followed not long after. Spreading around the city like wildfire, everyone seemed to have an opinion on something they knew little about. Ryan hoped both Starsky and Hutchinson were avoiding the news.
"Gentleman," Ryan said. "Thank you for joining me at this early hour to discuss Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson's…" he paused, an uneasy expression on his face."…lapse in judgement—"
"Lapse in judgement?" Lieutenant Fargo shook his head. "That's putting mildly. He killed a man then burned his compound to the ground."
"That detail is still being investigated." Dobey scowled. "There is evidence of arson but it's still unclear whether Detective Hutchinson was involved."
Crossing his arms, Fargo snorted. "How could he not be involved? Only three people were found on the property. Marcus, Starsky, and Hutchinson. Marcus was dead. Starsky was brutally incapacitated. That only leaves Hutchinson."
"We don't know that either!" Dobey fumed. "They were the only ones left when the other officers arrived but we don't know who was there before that. It is possible to believe—"
"Gentlemen," Ryan stated firmly. "We are not here to debate what we don't know; we are here to discuss what we do. Quite frankly, I don't really care who started the fire or why. It is a minor detail of much larger picture."
Brows furrowing, Fargo looked at Ryan. How could the man say the fire was unimportant? It had effectively destroyed the Marcus compound, taking the majority of evidence of not only Starsky's assault but also any previous crimes that had taken place.
"Okay," Fargo said. "So it doesn't matter if Hutchinson set the fire. But you want to know what does matter? Detective Hutchinson shot Marcus Simon at pointblank range." Opening a large file in front of him, he examined the contents carefully. "In fact, he emptied his chamber at point-blank range. Which was grossly unnecessary given the results of Marcus's autopsy report. The first bullet incapacitated him, the second one killed him, and, yet, Hutchinson continued firing." He looked at Dobey. "Now why would he feel the need to feel to do that?"
Flattening his palms on the desk, Dobey stared stubbornly for a moment before shaking his head and dropping his gaze to the table. He couldn't explain Hutch's actions any more than he could come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Marcus had targeted Starsky.
"Because he was afraid for his partner," Ryan provided, demanding both men's attention. "I think given the state he found Starsky in, it is reasonable to think that Hutchinson would have been feeling a great deal of fear."
"Yes, but sudden overreactions such as those need to be considered," Fargo challenged. "Was it fear the motivator for the action or something more? We need to be sure there isn't a deeper lingering psychological issue—"
"There is a deeper issue," Dobey said sadly. "He lost his father. It was unexpected and sudden, and although he put on a strong front, Hutchinson has been struggling ever since." He lifted his hand helplessly. "Obviously."
"Well, now he's gonna lose Starsky too," Fargo said.
"You don't know that." Dobey glared. "None of us knows what's going to happen here. Don't pretend like you do."
"Yes, I do," Fargo assured.
"What are you saying?"
"What I'm saying is that there is a larger issue in this room. One that everyone has been dancing around so proficiently. Starsky and Hutchinson have a secret, one that very well could have impacted Hutchinson's behavior and leads us to consider a very important question."
Face contorting with shock, Dobey gaped at Fargo. While he couldn't deny the reality of what was about to be disclosed, he was floored Ryan would use it for ammunition. The nature of Starsky and Hutch's personal relationship was not news to anyone. It was a minor detail, activity overlooked by their superiors and ignored by most of their peers—mostly because it didn't seem to adversely affect their professional relationship or how they conducted themselves during working hours. But looking at Fargo, and the glint of sadness in his eyes, Dobey knew what he was thinking.
Did Hutch kill Marcus acting as a detective defending his injured partner or did he act as an angry spouse seeking revenge on the person who had hurt the man he loved?
"I was thinking the same," Ryan said knowingly. "I believe the elephant in this room is the media and how they have latched on to this case. This has been a PR nightmare. Detective Hutchinson slayed a monster of a grandiose scale and the media outlets are branding him a hero. Ugliness aside of what happened that day, we can't forget that Simon Marcus was a serial murder, something we've suspected for years but only know now because of Hutchinson's actions. And while I think discipline is unavoidable in this situation, condemnation is too extreme. We need to be very mindful of how we proceed in the interests of not only Starsky and Hutchinson, but also the department."
Fargo sighed disapprovingly.
"Are you going to have an issue proceeding with these term in mind?" Ryan Frowned.
"No," Fargo snorted. "I won't because I agree with you." He glanced at Dobey. "Look, I know you both think I dislike Starsky and Hutchinson. But that isn't true. I would like nothing more to believe Hutchinson actions toward Marcus were innocent as everyone is forcing themselves to believe. But I can't." Glancing down at the file in front of him, he pushed it across the table to Ryan. "I have a file full of details we would be remiss to ignore."
"Like what?" Dobey demanded.
"Like how, prior to this even, Hutchinson made repeated solitary visits to the Marcus compound—"
"He was investigating the Blackwell case!" Dobey fumed, slamming his fist on the table. "Those visits were done on an official capacity and are defensible. Why are you so intent on making this look like something it isn't—"
"And why are you so intent on protecting him?" Fargo challenged. "Marcus wasn't an exception, Dobey, he was a symptom. You're blind if you don't see that—shit, you did! You placed Hutchinson on administrative leave days before Starsky disappeared, so don't pretend like you didn't see the signs, and don't be angry because I have to ask the difficult questions now. All want to know is what happens next time? Okay, you slap him on the wrist and you put him back on streets, but what happens the next time some perp makes a wrong move, does Hutchinson empty a clip on him too—"
"Gentlemen," Ryan said, his voice dangerously calm. "We are on the same team here. This is collaborative meeting, not a debate why Hutchinson did what he did. While it is true that the motivation of what has been done directly impacts how we may proceed but we also must accept that we may never have a satisfactory explanation. We don't know what we don't know, and the question becomes: how should be proceed with what we do?"
Giving up on their argument, Dobey rubbed a hand over his face and Fargo intently examined the files in front of him.
"Suspension," Dobey said, exasperatedly throwing his hand up in the air. "I think that suspending Hutchinson is a given. He should have a psych evaluation before returning to duty. But I don't think he should lose his career." He glared at Fargo. "This was an exception, not the rule. I have known Hutchinson for years. He's one of the best men I have, and he's not the loose cannon you believe he is."
"Noted," Ryan said. He looked expectantly at Fargo. "And what would your recommendations be?"
"Minimally… I would advise Detective Hutchison be placed on continual suspension, return contingent upon a work release from a department psych, as well as continual psychiatric evaluations for the next year. You cannot throw him back in the job if he passes one evaluation; we need to follow up him, to ensure this… error in judgement wasn't the first of many."
Rubbing as hand under his chin, Ryan made a series of quick notes on the paper in front of him. "And what about Starsky?" he asked. "Did he give a usable statement? Anything that could be used against Hutchinson?"
"No." Fargo shook his head. "Starsky said he didn't recall how he was taken, what had happened during his time at the Marcus compound, or how he had been rescued. I attempted to talk about Hutchinson's behavior prior to his abduction but Starsky wouldn't say a thing." Fargo shook his head sadly. "It's really too bad; Starsky was a hell of a cop. Full of potential, he could have gone far; it's hard to see him leave the department this way."
"Detective Starsky's future is fragmented at best," Ryan said seriously. "If and when he'll be able to return to duty remains unseen, as does his ability to recover from the trauma he's endured."
Xx
Months Prior:
Following Simon Marcus, Hutch didn't say a word.
But Marcus remained the epitome of composure as he led Hutch past the farmhouse and the buildings and to the beginning of an orchard. Walking through the trees, Hutch frowned. While he had thought Marcus was growing apples, a closer look disproved his assumption. Lines of trees stretched as far as he could see, growing walnuts and an amazing variety of fruits—apples, pears, cherries, peaches, plums, apricots—each tree was lush and bountiful, thriving with no concern of soil or climate.
Blinking furiously, Hutch had a fleeting thought that his mind was playing tricks on him. There was just no way, given the recent drought and the specialized conditions needed for each individual tree, that such a variety of fruits could be grown on the property—nor could fruit and nut trees be grown in such close proximity without harming one another. They were nearly halfway through the orchard before Hutch realized what he was seeing was real.
"I live off the land," Marcus said, as though the statement could explain away the maddening impossibility of what Hutch was seeing. "I have been fortunate throughout the years and the harvest remains bountiful."
"I see that," Hutch said evenly. "It's quite an impressive group you've been able to sustain."
Marcus smiled but didn't comment further. Outstretching his hand, he indicated a path on an impending hill.
Coming to the top of the hillside, Hutch inhaled deeply, considering the compound below. There was no denying the property was beautiful. The lush greenery and simplicity of the buildings highlighted the contrast between the life sustained the compound and the devastation of the dirt road he had traveled to get there. And in that moment, Hutch felt a calmness envelope him, a sense of peace, a security he had not enjoyed for a long time. Not since his father's untimely death had he felt such respite from the deep emotional despair or the aching anger that had settled into his soul.
"You do not fear me in the way that others do," Marcus said matter-of-factly. "Why?"
Startled by the bluntness of the question, Hutch turned to face Marcus and shrugged. "What makes you so sure I'm not," he probed. "Maybe I am, but I'm just good at hiding it."
"You are good at hiding yourself," Marcus agreed with a slight nod. "But you are not veiling your cynicism as far as my name is concerned, and you have been quite vocal with your beliefs regarding my power."
Evaluating Marcus suspiciously, Hutch hesitated. The man's absolute tone coupled with his piercing gaze was unnerving, and he felt his previous ease melt as he considered his own response.
"I just don't see the point of turning regular people into sinister characters," Hutch said finally. "You are a man, Simon Marcus, just like me. Just like countless others. The only power you have is what broken people chose to give to you."
Brows raising, Marcus looked at Hutch, his eyes glistening with satisfaction. "And are you fortunate enough to consider yourself unbroken?"
"Yes."
"No. You say you are, but you are not. I have been dreaming of you for quite a long time."
Hutch's face hardened as he felt a surge of anger. A moment ago he had the upper hand in the conversation and now it seemed Marcus was headed somewhere he didn't want to go. Although his demeanor was peaceful and unthreatening, Marcus was making threats. Saying he dreamed of him; what kind of gullible person would possibly believe claims like that? If he was trying to initiate a psychological cat and mouse game, Hutch had no intention of participating.
"I'm sure you have," Hutch said bitterly. His features darkening, he took a threatening step forward. "And I'm sure that's the same bullshit line you use on everybody." Sticking his index finger inches away from Marcus's nose he scowled. "But it isn't going to work on me. I see what you're doing, and I see who you are and I'm going to get you Marcus, I'm going to find out what you did to Blackwell then I'm going to put you away."
"No."
"No?" Hutch scoffed.
"That is not what Fate wants."
"What the hell do you know about fate?"
"I dream of what is to come," Marcus said, his tone patient, as though he was explaining a difficult concept to a small child. "I dream of all of the people who cross my path. Fate reaches out and advises me of what must be. In my dreams, she explained how your brokenness would lead you here and how I would make you whole again. I dreamed of this." Extending his arms, he indicated at the lush, vast property, then nodded at Hutch. "And I dreamed of you."
"You're full of shit!" Taking a step back, Hutch fought a wave of uncontrollable anger. What gave Marcus the right to play his mind games? To stand before him and ramble off absolutes about fate and dreams. Turning, he forced a deep breath, rubbing his hands across his face. Marcus was obviously very mentally ill, and, though irritated, Hutch realized dismissing the man's delusional dialogue would do little to help him find Blackwell. If he wanted answers he needed to play along. "Okay," he said evenly. "Then tell me what you dreamed about Brian Blackwell?"
Marcus didn't provide an immediate answer. Assessing Hutch calmly, he looked at him as though the question was the most absurd thing he'd ever heard.
"What's the matter?" Hutch challenged. "Are you having trouble remembering the details?"
"I do not share my dreams with others. What I dreamed about Brother Brian is between him, myself, and Fate."
"Do you want to know what I think?" Hutch asked, closing the gap between them once more. "I think that you won't tell me because you don't know. You can't share the details of something that didn't happen."
Watching Marcus carefully, Hutch was disappointed when his words did little to shake the man. He had expected Marcus to look momentarily threatened or at least see a glimpse of guilt that was hidden behind the calm man's bravado. Instead, Marcus held his gaze, his dark eyes shining with an unnerving amount of joy.
"Would you like me to share the things I dreamed of you with another?" Marcus tilted his head and smirked. "I think not."
"Is that a threat? What could you possibly know about me that I wouldn't want you to share? I don't have secrets that I'm afraid people will discover."
"You say you don't but that this a lie. You carry the scars of things you have endured deep within you. The scars of dark things, unspeakable things. You say the memory of the past does not live inside you but it does."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because I dreamed of you," Marcus said with a chilling grin. "I dreamed of when you father died and how badly his absence is affecting you. How you sat on his grave and cried. You cried for him and everything he was. And you cried for yourself and all the things you are not."
"What?" Hutch whispered dryly. Agitation swept over him as he wondered if he had heard the man right.
"I have felt your pain. The pain of the things you carry with you, and I have heard the screaming you push down deep inside for fear of the condemnation of others…"
Hutch's body tingled with discomfort, wrapping his arms around himself he took a step back, then another, and another. How the hell could Marcus have known about his father? He couldn't have known.
He didn't know.
"That's not true," Hutch lied, his voice sounding small and disbelieving. He felt naked, as Marcus's piercing gaze didn't waver. "You don't know anything about me... You can't possibly know anything about—"
"Now you can see why I chose to keep my knowledge a secret," Marcus stated evenly. "How would it make you feel if I shared this knowledge with a stranger? The things you will not even confide to your dear Starsky…"
At the mention of Starsky, Hutch's anger returned. "Shut up!" he exploded. "You think you're so fucking smart? That you can intimidate me by standing here and spewing random information about me and my father? Yeah, my father died, but it isn't the big fucking secret you think it is. Obituaries are public information and everyone cries at their father's funerals—"
"Not for the reasons you cried," Marcus disagreed calmly.
Anger intensifying, Hutch turned in place, exhaling a deep breath as he struggled to keep a rein on his temper. It wouldn't do him—or further their case—any good if he assaulted the man over a few unsettling statements. While Hutch Marcus couldn't possibly know the things he was alluding to, his heart was pounding and voice inside of him was screaming the opposite.
How could Marcus have known he returned to his father's grave after the service? How he had sat cross-legged and in the rain and cried over the very things Marcus had said?
He couldn't have, yet he did.
"I don't know what you dreamed about me but you were wrong," Hutch said firmly. "You're wrong."
"You are not ready to accept the truth. That is fine. I knew it would be so; Fate has allotted more time for you. But in the end you will return to me. You will hear the call and you will come."
Xx
"Where have you been?"
Pushing through the front door of their beach house, Hutch was taken aback at how strong Starsky's voice sounded; it was vastly different from the hoarse weak tone his partner had forced out that morning.
Sitting on the tan sectional in the center of their living room, Starsky muted the TV and looked at Hutch expectantly.
"Nowhere," Hutch lied as Lucky ran to greet to him.
"Nowhere? You leave for work at the crack of dawn and now you're back, long after dark, and you expect me to believe you spent all day nowhere?"
"Yes."
Biting his lip guilty, Hutch averted his eyes. Crouching, he acknowledged the bouncy Dalmatian with a proper pat and a scratch behind the ears, silently hoping Starsky wouldn't press the subject. He wasn't ready to think about his secret meeting with Marcus, the details of which he never intended to share—not after breaking the promise he had made that morning. The meeting with Marcus had left him feeling numb and with a tiredness seeping into his body he longed to go to bed and sleep for the remainder of the week.
"Man, he sure loves you," Starsky said, watching the dog's tail wag with increased exuberance.
"That's because I was the one who saved him. We bonded."
"Well, I'm the one who feeds him. You'd think with as many table scraps I've given him, he'd be bonded with me too." Watching Lucky turn in tight circles as his partner scratched him, Starsky smiled. "I swear, you are the only person in the world he cares about. He spent the whole day parked in front of the door, barking at nothing and waiting for you."
"He barked?" Hutch asked, feeling oddly suspicious of the dog's action.
Lucky never barked, at least not without provocation. It was one of the reason why the rescue dog had settled so easily into their lives—well, that and his ability to easily adapt to Starsky and Hutch's ever-changing work schedule.
"Yeah. It was weird. It was why I woke up when I did. At first I thought I was dreaming but it was him. God, he was loud too; he really thought somebody was in the backyard—"
"But there wasn't?" Hutch asked insistently, nervousness was building in his stomach. Why would Lucky bark today of all days? The very day Hutch had visited Marcus and the man had recounted his dreams.
"Nah. He must have been feeling on edge. Or maybe he wasn't as loud as I thought. I wasn't exactly in it at the time either. Man, those fucking pills, I don't even know how you can take them and still not sleep a wink. I still feel out of it. My brain's foggy and feel tired and numb, but I didn't…" Starsky paused, yawning tiredly.
Peering at his partner, Hutch noted the color had returned to his cheeks, the pain induced dullness had faded from his eyes, and his easy demeanor had returned. Blinking sleepily at him, Starsky looked heathy and the comforting sight was enough to chase away his nervous energy and sooth the lingering apprehension the afternoon had left behind.
"Well, adverse tired numbness aside, they certainly did you some good. You look better than you have in days." Standing, Hutch wiped at the fresh dog hair covering his jeans and made his way toward the kitchen. Pausing behind the sectional, he leaned over, tilted Starsky's chin up and placed and upside down kiss on his half open mouth. "You eat already?"
"Yeah," Starsky smiled, wrinkling his nose. "There's pizza on the counter."
"Of course there is. I don't know why I even asked."
"Hey, you should be proud of me." Starsky grinned. "There's vegetables on that pizza and I didn't even need you to tell me to order it that way."
Dropping another kiss on his partner, Hutch pulled himself upright. "Well, David Starsky," he said lightly. "I never thought I'd see the day."
