CROSSROADS
By TLR
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The Torino dodged recklessly in and out of traffic in pursuit of the red Trans Am-siren blaring, light flashing, running red lights.
Hutch held onto the dash. "Starsky, slow down!"
Traffic swerved, horns honked, some cars screeching to a halt, some colliding in fender benders.
"Starsky!"
Starsky's eyes were on the red sports car, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white.
Hutch barked into the mike: "Control One, we are in pursuit of the bank robbers. They have a hostage."
Hutch glanced at the speedometer.
Seventy. Eighty.
Traffic and pedestrians weren't traffic and pedestrians anymore, but blurs of color whizzing by.
"Starsky, slow down. It's not safe. We could both be-"
Ninety. Approaching a hundred.
Starsky yelled without taking his eyes off the street. "He's got a hostage! What do you expect me to do?"
The Torino was gaining.
Hutch held the mike in his hand, started to speak into it again, but then just stared at the freeway ahead as if transfixed.
"Star . . . "
Hutch saw it first, and tried again to say Starsky's name, but it just wouldn't come. His hand clutched Starsky's arm but that was all he could do.
The Trans Am dodged first, careening side to side in wide snaky motions, then sped on.
Starsky saw it but not in time. He slammed on the brakes and braced himself, arms stiff on the wheel. The Torino skidded for what seemed like hundreds of feet.
It happened quickly, that surreal sensation of speed and slow time, as if it were unfolding on a movie screen instead of before Hutch's eyes: The THUNK, the screaming tires, the screaming people, the feel of something large and wrong under the car.
The Torino lodged on top of something, and ground to a halt.
Hutch flung the door open and jumped out, forcing himself to round the front of the vehicle and look for something he didn't want to find.
"Oh God," he groaned as he crouched with one hand on the bumper of the car.
A crowd was gathering. People running, trying to see, trying to help, trying to talk to him.
Someone-a young woman-the mother?-screaming hysterically and trying to get under the car.
Why? Why would she want to get under the car?
The two black and whites that had been a part of the pursuit were just now catching up, and the uniformed officers exited their cars.
Traffic had stopped, motorists were complaining, but the crowd was ogling for a better look.
Voices of the policemen, clipped, professional: "What happened here? Who-"
But Hutch heard none of it. Saw none of it. All he heard were the screeching brakes in his head, and all he saw were the mangled remains of a pink bicycle. And a pool of blood spreading from beneath the car.
He shuffled around to the driver's side as if dazed.
"Starsk?" he asked weakly as he grabbed the handle of the car door and opened it. "Starsk?"
He expected to see Starsky leaning over the wheel, distraught, tearful, stunned.
But Starsky was gone.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX++
Dobey tugged roughly on his tie and opened his office door. "I'm telling you for the last time," he said showing the two uniformed officers out, "If you have a grievance, you have to file it through the chain of command. You don't go over your superior's head with a complaint. Is that understood?"
"Oh, yes, sir," they said backing out of his doorway. "We just thought maybe you could talk to Lieutenant-"
"You thought wrong," the captain informed him. "Now get out of here."
The young officers turned and made a hasty exit.
Dobey turned to go back into his office, almost overlooking his dark-haired detective sitting at the squad room table.
"Starsky? What are you doing here?"
Starsky didn't answer. He stared into the air.
Dobey walked closer. He'd seen Starsky this pale only once, in the hospital full of Bellamy's poison, when Hutch was leaning over him for what could have been a last goodbye.
"Why do you look so sick? Where's Hutch?"
Starsky still didn't answer.
Dobey glanced around to see who might be observing, then sat on the edge of the desk.
"Starsky, unless the cat's got your tongue, you better be telling me if something happened to that partner of yours."
Two or three officers trickled in, buzzing in low tones to the seated officers, their eyes on Starsky as they spoke to one another.
"Captain," one of the uniforms said. "We need to talk."
Dobey looked from the uniform to Starsky. "Starsky, I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me what-"
It was then that Hutch came stalking through the doorway and toward Dobey's office, hand in his hair.
"I didn't mean to hit the dog," Starsky said numbly.
Hutch froze and looked Starsky's way. "Oh my God."
Dobey rose from the corner of the desk, puffing up with agitation. "Hutch, would you mind explaining-"
It appeared as though Hutch were ignoring him as he crouched beside his partner's chair.
Two uniformed officers took Dobey aside and spoke to him in confidential tones.
Hutch placed his hand on Starsky's forearm and spoke in a trembling voice. "It wasn't a dog, Starsk."
Starsky didn't look at him. He looked straight ahead. "Tell me it was just a bike then."
Hutch rubbed his weary face. "I wish I could tell you that, buddy."
(Oh God. Bits of the memory fighting their way in: Her golden hair, her lavender dress, her pink bike . . . Torino going too fast, the mother assisting her across the street, rightfully in the crosswalk, trying to stop, turn, leave, hurry . . . her eyes. No, I didn't want to see her eyes. But they were wide and blue. I didn't want to see them looking at me, at us, but at the moment of impact, her eyes saw us, and so did her mother's, just as wide and just as blue)
Hutch shook his shoulder. "Starsk? Come with me, buddy."
But he didn't move. His face was flat, his eyes open but as blank as drawn window shades.
Hutch glanced around the squad room, feeling the eyes of the other officers.
(He didn't leave the scene of an accident. Not intentionally. He was in
shock. He didn't know what he was doing. I was there. It wasn't a hit and run. Yes, he was going fast, yes they had a hostage, yes, he tried to stop, and yes, yes, he left, but there was a reason for it. He walked-no. Wandered is a better word. He wandered away. Witnesses saw him staggering in the middle of the street. Traffic screeched to a halt to keep from hitting him)
And somehow-an internal compass-radar-something . . . somehow he navigated himself to the police station to-(Oh God, please. To turn himself in?)
"Starsk . . . "
The cops were muttering to one another now.
Every word of every comment was a tiny brand on Hutch's heart:
"-I knew this would happen some day."
"-Damn speed demon."
"-Torino."
"-Always hot-rodding. Always pulling stunts."
"-Was it worth it?"
"-Didn't even catch the perp. Blew the hostage away anyway, just like we told him he would."
"-You don't sacrifice the lives of innocent people just to get your man."
"-Should've radioed for a roadblock."
"-Should've blown their tires out."
"-Irresponsible."
"-Careless."
"-I knew this would happen."
"-Knew this would happen."
"-Knew it would."
"-Just knew it."
"-Knew it."
"-Knew."
Hutch spun and punched the cop closest to him. "SHUT UP!" he roared as the man tottered backward.
Several officers caught the staggering man before he fell, while others grabbed the furious blond away and held him face-first against the wall.
"You two hotshots have been too lucky for too long," an older cop seethed against Hutch's neck. "You can't play maverick heroes and go around disregarding procedure and expect nothing to ever happen. It caught up with you, that's all. And I'm not a bit surprised."
Chest heaving against the wall with harsh pants, Hutch willed himself to regain composure. Not for himself. But for Starsky. Who sat at the squad room desk as if nothing had happened.
"Starsk," he said, hating the lame way his name fell from his mouth.
The officers released him, each grumbling under their breath and going their separate ways, until the squad room was empty except for Dobey, Starsky, and Hutch.
"Starsky," Hutch said crouching next to his chair again. "It was an accident."
Starsky didn't respond.
Dobey squeezed Hutch's shoulder.
Hutch took Starsky by the arm to help him up, and Starsky came passively, as one heavily drugged.
"Starsky," Dobey said grimly as he turned his back to the officers in the room. "Until there's a finding of an official inquiry, I have no choice but to suspend you. Standard procedure."
Starsky's finger was trailing absently along the edge of the desk.
"Captain," Hutch said moving in close to him, keeping one hand around Starsky's arm. "Do you have to do this now? He's in no condition to work anyway. Why not call it medical leave instead of-"
"Hutchinson, you're not going to interfere with procedure. I am handling this by the book. No one is going to accuse me of favoritism. Suspension is routine in cases like this. You know that. It's not an indication of wrongdoing. Just an administrative safeguard until the matter is resolved. You know as well as I do that-take him home. I'll call you when they need his statement. They'll need yours too."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Hutch was surprised at the number of reporters waiting in front of the police station:
"Detective Starsky, will you comment?"
"Are you being charged with anything?"
"Have you spoken to the family?"
"What is departmental procedure in a case like this?"
But Starsky moved robotically through the press, and wouldn't have been moving at all if Hutch hadn't been pulling him along.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Huggy was pacing and listening to the radio at Venice Place when Hutch arrived home with Starsky. His dark eyes played across Starsky's bland features as he spoke to Hutch. "Man, it's all over the radio and local TV sta-" He stopped and looked at Hutch. "What can I do, bro?"
"Turn the radio off," Hutch said as he walked to the telephone.
Huggy turned it off.
Starsky remained standing in the middle of the floor. "Who was she?" he asked in a faraway voice. "I don't know her name."
Huggy took Starsky's arm and steered him toward a chair. "Here, dude. Sit down. Want me to fix you a good strong drink?"
Starsky shook his head no.
"Clover family," Huggy told him. "Dad's a businessman. Mom's a teacher."
Huggy watched Starsky's face for a reaction, and when he got the same blank stare, walked over to where Hutch stood dialing the phone.
"Somethin's got to give," Huggy said in a near-whisper. "I've never seen the boy like this before."
Hutch held the receiver and looked at his watch-He's never run over a little kid before either, Huggy-is what he wanted to say. But he didn't. "Go get him some clothes," Hutch told him. "He'll be here for a while."
"Will do," Huggy said as he headed for the door.
After Huggy was gone, and after making sure Starsky was still sitting in the easy chair- he carried the phone into the bathroom, closed the door, and, no longer able to keep up his cool, almost businesslike defenses, wept into the receiver.
"Dad?" he said in a broken voice. "Something terrible has happened."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Hutch paced all evening, watching Starsky, trying to talk to him. But he got no response. He even turned the radio back on ("murder in the first degree, manslaughter, vehicular homicide, involuntary manslaughter, hit and run, wrongful death, leaving the scene of an accident, high-speed police chase, lethal cop, damages, lawsuit") hoping one of the reports would elicit a reaction-anger, confusion, pain. Any would be welcomed.
But nothing worked.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX+
"Here," Hutch said gently as he leaned over the easy chair with a cup of hot tea and two sleeping pills. "I want you to take this, Starsk."
Starsky shook his head a small no.
Hutch set the tea and sleeping pills aside on the end table. "If you don't start talking to me, I'll take you to a hospital. Now do you want that?"
It was a de-clawed threat, and Hutch knew Starsky knew it.
"Buddy, you've been sitting here almost all night. They'll probably start the inquiry sometime today, and you need to get some rest. Why don't you lie down on the sofa over here and I'll get a blanket and pillow for-"
A knock at the door interrupted him.
"Coming!" he said as he went and answered it, surprised to see, not Dobey or Huggy, but his father standing in the doorway in overcoat and hat.
"Dad? I didn't mean for you to fly all the way out here. I just-"
"Nonsense," Richard Hutchinson said as he moved past his son and into the living room, eyes scanning the apartment until they found what they were looking for. He stepped toward the easy chair, regarding the downcast figure. "David, you-oh my." He glanced at Hutch, then removed his hat and placed it on the arm of the couch along with his overcoat. Then he loosened his tie and turned his sleeves up a cuff or two before taking a seat on the coffee table in front of Starsky.
Hutch went to the kitchen, but was all ears as Richard talked to his partner.
"David," Richard said calmly as he folded his hands between his knees. "It happened in the line of duty. You must keep telling yourself that. Because it is the truth."
When Starsky said nothing in return, Richard ran a hand through his hair. "I know you don't believe it right now, but-"
A rude pounding came at the door.
"If he's in there, I want to talk to him!"
Before Hutch could get to the door, it flung open and allowed entrance to an enraged man, who was crossing the room-"You killed my little girl!"-and grabbing Starsky's arm and jerking him from the chair.
Hutch tried to pull the distraught father aside, but the man was operating on grief and adrenaline, his grip hard and unforgiving.
Starsky didn't raise his head.
Richard held to Starsky's other arm and growled between clenched teeth: "I am sorry for your loss, but his intention was not to kill your daughter."
"There's nothing left of her!" the red face boomed at Starsky's lowered head. "Bastard! You won't even tell me you're sorry!"
The man grabbed Starsky's face in one hand and jerked it up. "Look at me and say you're sorry!"
Richard tried to pull Starsky away, but the man wouldn't let go. "How do you bury bits and pieces, detective?!"
'TAKE YOUR DAMNABLE HANDS OFF OF HIM, AND YOUR HIDEOUS WORDS OUT OF HERE!"
Starsky was caught in a desperate tug of war. Richard pulling one arm, the grieving father pulling the other.
As if dissolving under the man's eyes, Starsky sank lower and lower between them, a low, quiet moan escaping him.
"Murder!" the man shrieked as Hutch finally grabbed him away and muscled him toward the door. "I want you charged with murder! I'll sue!"
XXXXXXXXXXXX++
When Hutch returned, he froze in place at the sight of his father kneeling with Starsky in the floor, one arm around him.
XXXXXXXXXXXX++
"Where's your partner?" Dobey asked as Hutch walked into the squad room and past some curious police officers. "He's supposed to testify at the inquiry in an hour."
"I'll tell you in here," Hutch said as he headed for the captain's office.
Dobey followed him in and closed the door.
"They'll have to question me first," Hutch told him. "He's not ready."
"Where is he?"
"My place. Dad's with him."
"Hutch, if you think I can hold off that pack of dogs, you're crazy. They're already talking disciplinary action."
"They can't do that without a fair hearing."
"And the press-"
"The press can go off itself. They're sentencing him before they even hear the case. Yes, it was a little girl. Yes, it was bad. I was in that car too, Captain. So I can tell them all about it. But so help me, if they nail Starsky because of outside pressure, I'LL sue somebody."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Hutch sat at a conference room table in suit and tie, trying to conceal his disdain for the panel who was insensitive enough to hold the proceeding before Starsky was emotionally prepared.
"Just give him time," he'd told the commissioner. "He needs a few days."
"The Clover family doesn't get a few days," was the trite response he'd received.
A man in black-rimmed glasses and receding hairline nodded to Hutch. "Good afternoon, Detective Hutchinson. We are all very well aware of why we're here. And of course we had scheduled your partner David Starsky to give statements first, but since he is not present, and since we have no idea how long this will take, we will go ahead and get started."
Hutch reached for a glass of water and took a drink.
"Detective Hutchinson, if you will, begin your statements at this time."
Hutch folded his hands on the table and looked at the figures lining the table.
"My partner is very shaken by the tragedy, and unfortunately isn't in the right frame of mind to defend himself at the moment." He took a breath. "So I'm going to."
"Detective Hutchinson, the statements you are about to give should reflect your account of the incident. Not your partner's."
Hutch continued as if he hadn't heard. "Yes, it's true my partner and I have sometimes misconstrued policy and procedure. But we followed it in this instance. It was a life or death situation."
"Detective Hutchinson, must I repeat myself-you cannot give testimony on behalf of your partner. Only yourself-"
"The fleeing felon was driving at speeds of 100 miles per hour. We had to do the same in order to pursue. There was no wrongdoing in the chase itself. We violated no procedure. Yes, I told him to slow down, as my partner will tell you. But we were in pursuit of a bank robber holding a hostage. Our intention was to apprehend a criminal, not kill a little
girl."
The chairman took off his glasses. "Detective Hutchinson!"
"We tried to stop. Applied the brakes. Tried to veer away, but it was too late. He was . . . and is . . . devastated by what we did. He did not knowingly leave the scene of an accident. He was in shock. Witnesses will testify to that. I am testifying to that. He ended up here at the police station, so apparently he wasn't trying to flee the country."
The chairman banged his paperweight down on the table. "Order!"
Hutch's eyes panned the others at the table, conscious of the fact that he had delivered his statements in detached, unemotional tones. The panel would hear an officer's account, not a friend's. The appearance of objectivity was the best thing he could do for his partner at this hearing. To do what he really felt inside-blow up with emotional indignation-would ruin his credibility.
Hutch rose to his feet. "That's all I have to say," he said as he turned and walked out.
XXXXXXXXXXXX++
Hutch was shocked to find Starsky and his father waiting in the hall just outside the conference room.
"I tried to make him stay home," Richard offered apologetically. "He wouldn't listen."
Hutch looked at Starsky's dark-circled eyes, unshaven face, tousled hair, and rumpled clothes. "Buddy, you look terrible. Why don't you go home and try this tomorrow after a good night's sleep?"
Starsky shook his head no.
Hutch gave him a long look. "You don't want to do well in there, do you?"
Starsky shrugged.
Hutch took his arm. "Starsky, they want to eat you alive as it is. Don't give them any ammunition."
Starsky moved past him and into the conference room.
Richard looked at Hutch. "How did it go for you?"
"I don't know."
"Is it true that even if an inquiry finds no violation, a citizen can file a wrongful death suit against him?"
"I don't know, Dad. I'd have to ask the District Attorney about that. I don't know if police officers are immune in cases like this."
Richard straightened his tie. "If that . . . that . . . CLOVER man wants to play hardball, he came to the right court. If it's money he wants, I'll show him money. I'll keep him so tied up in the court system with legal fees, he'll wish he'd never heard of a lawsuit. You tell David not to worry about an attorney."
"Dad, we don't know that he needs one."
"I understand. I'm just telling you. And tell him not to worry about the money if they win."
"Dad . . . "
"You tell him that, Ken."
Hutch sighed. "I will."
Richard looked down the hall. "I would assume that this man would be in a position to accept a large sum of money, since he's the one that mentioned a suit to begin with."
"Dad!"
Hutch pulled Richard away from the conference room door. "Dad, do you honestly think Starsky wants you to buy someone's silence?"
Richard pounded his hand against the wall one time. "DAVID DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!"
"Sshh." Hutch pulled him further down the hall and glanced around to see who might be watching or listening. "Keep it down. I know it's frustrating, but we're just going to have to ride it out."
Richard put his hat on and left. "I'll be at the hotel if you need me."
Hutch watched him go, moved by his father's defeated posture. "Dad, I appreciate you wanting to help, but . . . "
But his father was already in the elevator.
XXXXXXXXXXXX++
Hutch was pacing outside the conference room when the door opened an hour later.
Starsky stepped into the hall.
"Well?" Hutch asked.
Starsky shrugged. "They have to talk to some witnesses before they make a final decision." He looked around the hall. "Where's Mr. Hutchinson?"
"Hotel."
Starsky started down the hall. "I want to see Dobey."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Starsky didn't avoid the gazes of his fellow officers as he walked into the squad room.
Dobey was looking over a case file at their desk.
"Well?" the captain asked as he rose to his feet. "Anything yet?"
"They don't have to take my badge," Starsky said quietly as he pulled his shield from his pocket and placed it on the desk, along with his gun. "I'm givin' it to you."
Dobey didn't pick the items up. "I said you were suspended pending the outcome of the inquiry. Not dismissed."
Hutch took his partner's arm. "I will not let you do this."
Starsky suddenly yanked his arm free. "It's not your decision."
"You need to talk to the department psychiatrist, Starsky. You're in no shape to be making decisions like-"
"Oh yeah!" he shouted into Hutch's face. "He can dope me up so I won't FEEL anything! Well, I got news for you, partner. I WANT to feel this bad! And I've had it up to HERE with you tellin' me it was an accident. You told me to slow down, Hutch. You begged me. But I didn't listen. All these cops are right. Her father is right. I killed that little girl, and I can't change it or take it back."
Starsky turned to leave.
"Let me give you a ride home," Hutch said following him out the door. "Dad's already gone."
"No. I'll catch a cab. I want some time alone."
"Starsky, don't do this. You did not murder that child in cold blood-"
Starsky turned and grabbed the front of Hutch's jacket, plowing him back against the wall. "For once," he growled in a shaky, tearful voice. "Stay out of my life and leave me alone."
Hutch stared at him. "Starsk . . . "
Starsky released him and walked down the hall, the eyes of Hutch and other officers following him.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX++
Starsky muscled through the reporters who met him at the front door of the police station.
The questions showered him like hailstones, but he kept walking.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX++
Two days later Hutch read aloud the last paragraph of the written report over Dobey's shoulder:
"Based on the interviews of Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson, the accounts of bystanders, as well as the other officers in pursuit of the fleeing felon, we find no grounds to deem the incident anything more or less than accidental. Detective Starsky acted within the parameters of departmental policy and procedure during the high-speed pursuit that tragically ended the life of Becky Clover. Therefore, no disciplinary or legal action is warranted."
Hutch suddenly dropped into the nearest chair. "Thank God," he sighed with a hand to his forehead.
Dobey smiled. "Go tell that partner of yours."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX++
Well-hidden by a large tree and flowering bushes, Starsky stood on a grassy bank at the cemetery and looked down at the burial of the little girl. Her little friends were placing flowers and hand-colored artwork near the casket. Her mother and father stood together, holding onto each other in a hopeless, helpless embrace.
The casket.
(So small. Caskets should never be that small)
(I'm sorry, little girl. Becky. Becky is your name. I'm sorry, Becky)
(You shouldn't be here)
(You should be out playing hide and seek with your friends, arranging tea parties under a shade tree, dressing your cats in your baby-doll clothes)
(You were just learning to ride a bicycle, weren't you? I could tell. It was new and shiny, and you were wobbling on the training wheels. Probably never crossed the street with it before. And you were so proud of yourself. Your bright eyes and your fresh smile)
(But I took that away, and you will forever be four years old)
"I thought I'd find you here somewhere."
Hutch's voice.
Starsky didn't take his eyes from the service. "I thought I told you to
leave me alone. You're just like a leech, you know that? You won't give anybody any rest. You won't let anybody-
"Quit? No, I won't let you quit. The inquiry cleared us of any wrongdoing. Go get your badge."
Starsky shook his head no. "I don't want it, Hutch."
Hutch kicked at some flowers in exasperation, making the soft pink petals flutter to the ground. "What do you want? Behind bars? You want to be exiled from the country? You want that man down there to come up here and beat the daylights out of you? Blow your head off? What do you want? The panel deemed it accidental. Tragic, yes. But in the line of duty. And accidental."
"I'm going back to New York."
Hutch stared at him. "You don't mean that."
"I don't?"
Hutch studied his poker face and knew he was serious.
"For how long?"
"I don't know for how long."
"Starsky, leaving won't bring that little girl back."
"I can't stay here now. And I can't believe you still want to be a cop after this."
"Only with you, Starsk. You think I'd put up with this job by myself?"
"So you're sayin', if I quit, you quit?"
Hutch shrugged. "Sums it up pretty good."
Starsky brushed past him and walked on. "Good to know I'm instrumental in your career move. Your dad'll be so proud he'll put me back in the will."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Mr. Clover, I'm not here to try to minimize your loss, nor am I here to tell you that you shouldn't be angry. I would be outraged to lose my child in that manner also. But to call David Starsky a cold-blooded killer . . . that he is not, sir."
The bereaved man regarded Richard Hutchinson with bloodshot eyes. The older blond man stood dignified and cordial in the doorway with hat in hand. "You're not welcome here, Mr. Starsky. That bastard cop son of your sent you here to ease his guilty conscience. Well you can tell him-"
Richard spoke after glancing over the man's shoulder at all the flower arrangements in the living room: "He's not my son, Mr. Clover. And I would appreciate it if you would refrain from calling him a bastard. He doesn't know of my visit. I'm here to show you a different side of him. One that he himself would never tell you about."
Mr. Clover's eyes narrowed.
Richard continued. "I haven't always liked the young man. But he's done some things I think you should know about." He pulled his wallet out.
"Mr. Starsky-"
"The name is Richard Hutchinson."
"Mr. Hutchinson, if you think you can bribe my silence-"
Richard pulled some folded newspaper articles from his pocket and handed them to him.
Mr. Clover glanced uncertainly at Richard, then unfolded the carefully clipped articles.
Waiting, Richard cleared his throat as the man read to himself. "He and my son Kenneth Hutchinson are undercover detectives. Most of the time their names are left out, and their deeds go unmentioned."
Mr. Clover continued to sift through the small slips of paper. "If you think this in some way justifies what he did . . . "
Richard put his hat on and turned in the doorway to leave. "My address is on the back of one of those. I expect you to mail them back to me after you read them."
Mr. Clover stared after the departing man.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Starsky was packing clothes into a suitcase in the bedroom when Hutch breezed into the house.
"You know," the blond said as he walked into the bedroom. "People shouldn't leave their front doors unlocked." He took a folded shirt from Starsky's hands.
Starsky took the shirt back. "People shouldn't barge in without knocking."
Hutch took the shirt away again. "Impound wants you to come down and sign some papers about the Torino."
Starsky grabbed the shirt and flung it into the suitcase. "I don't want the Torino."
"Look, I know how you-"
Starsky slammed the suitcase closed. "No! You don't know how I feel! I killed a little girl, Hutch!"
"Oh, excuse me! I wasn't in the car with you, was I?"
Starsky threw the suitcase against the wall. "She was innocent!"-
-Then a lamp.
-"Wasn't a bank robber!"
-Then turned the bureau over into the floor.
-"Wasn't threatening me!"
-Then began kicking and punching the wall over and over.
"She is dead because of me! She-"
Tears jumped to his eyes and he suddenly doubled over. "Oh God, Hutch," he choked. "Why was I drivin' like a maniac? I should've slowed down like you told me to." He collapsed to a crouch by the bed, one hand covering his eyes, rocking back and forth in a tight, achy rhythm. "I don't think I can take this. I still feel her under the car. I see her pretty eyes at night. Her mother . . . her father. . . I killed her, Hutch. I took her life away. I'm supposed to help little kids. I feel like a murderer."
"Hey," Hutch said as he crouched with him and put an arm around him, not at all bothered that he was saying his next words for the tenth time or more. He knew he'd have to say the words ten more times, and then ten more after that, until Starsky could tolerate himself again. "You didn't mean to do it. We were chasing a felon. We've always known something this awful could happen. We never think it could happen to us. We're never prepared for something like this." He squeezed the back of Starsky's neck. "We were doing
our job. Trying to save a hostage. Our speed was necessary."
Suddenly weary, Starsky rose to his feet. "I gotta go," he said wiping a sleeve across his eye and reaching for his suitcase. "Plane leaves in thirty minutes. Will you drive me to the airport?"
"No."
"Fine," he said going to the phone. "I'll call a cab. Will you pack up my stuff for me while I'm gone?"
"No. And if you're not back in a couple of weeks, I'm coming to New York to get you."
"Look, Hutch-"
"No, you look, Starsky. How dare you make a decision that affects-not just your life-but mine too. I know you're hurting, but this impulsive decision of yours is a gut-level, emotional one."
"Well, sorry, Mr. Spock, but that's the only kind I can make right now."
Starsky put the phone down and carried his suitcase to the door.
"You forgot the cab," Hutch told him.
"I'll call from somewhere else."
Starsky opened the door to find Mr. Clover coming up his steps.
"I'm sorry," Starsky told them as he brushed past him on his way down the stairs.
The man grabbed his arm.
Starsky stopped and looked at him, waiting for the verbal attack that was sure to come.
"Thank you," Mr. Clover said. "I'm sorry too."
Starsky stopped on the bottom step and raised wounded blue eyes to the man. "Why? You didn't do anything to be sorry for."
The man cleared his throat. "We realize. . . I mean . . . I realize . . .that you were trying to save a hostage, and that my daughter died because of criminals. She'd be alive if they hadn't been running from you. She was their victim too . . . and I guess you were too."
Starsky stared up at him.
Hutch came outside the door to shake the man's hand. "That's very noble of you, Mr. Clover. I didn't expect you to ever feel that way."
The man glanced downward. "Neither did I." And then he glanced back at Starsky. "Until Mr. Star-I mean, Mr. Hutchinson . . . came to see me."
"Mister-" Starsky looked at Hutch. "You?"
"The older one," Clover explained.
"Uh . . . " Starsky blinked. "Why?"
Mr. Clover handed the small stack of folded newspaper articles to him. "Make sure you return these to him."
Starsky leafed through them, then, bewildered, handed them up to Hutch.
Hutch read over them, sitting down on the top step as he did so.
Mr. Clover looked at Starsky. "I can't say that I feel like forgiving you. But I can say that I hope to some day."
And with that the man turned and descended the stairs.
Starsky watched him go.
"You okay?" Hutch asked him.
"Yeah," Starsky said quietly. "You?"
Hutch turned the clippings over thoughtfully in his hands. "I think so."
Starsky put his hand out to Hutch. "See you in a couple of weeks, Hutch."
Hutch shook his hand, then came down the stairs to drape an arm around his shoulders. "Couple of weeks? In that case I'll drive you to the airport."
XXXXXXXXXXXX++
Rachel Starsky saw her son standing in her doorway.
"My son," she said taking his hurting face in her hands. "I am so sorry you have to go through this. I'm glad you're here."
He wrapped his arms around her and cried onto her shoulder.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Two weeks later . . . . . .
"I had it put here in the parking garage," Hutch said pulling the tan Ford into the precinct parking area.
Starsky looked out the passenger window toward the Torino. "You drove it?"
Hutch shifted into park and turned the ignition off. "Not yet."
Starsky kept looking the car over from where he sat. "Can you tell?"
Hutch glanced his way. "Tell what?"
"You know. That it ran over some-"
"No. You can't tell."
Hutch opened his car door. "Come on, Starsk."
Starsky sat still, his hand frozen on the door handle. "I thought I could do this."
"You can. But I'll do it first."
Starsky looked at him, then opened the passenger door.
Hutch opened the driver's side door of the Torino and slid under the steering wheel, then rolled the window down. Sighing nervously, he took the wheel in his hands. "I won't say it feels good," he said shakily.
Starsky caught the tremble in his partner's voice and leaned over into the open window. "Okay. You can kick me now."
Hutch looked at him, blinking against tears. "Why would I want to do that?"
"Because I've been thinkin' only of myself through this whole thing."
Hutch shrugged. "It's okay, Starsk."
"It isn't. You took the heat when you didn't have to. You coulda said, 'He was driving', 'he was the one who did it.' But you keep saying 'we' and 'us' and 'our', like you were drivin' this thing too. Like you're the one who messed up."
"Don't worry about it, buddy."
"Hutch, let me say this, okay?"
Hutch looked at him. "You don't have to say it."
"But sometimes I forget, Hutch. Sometimes it needs to be said to best friends too. Thanks, okay?"
"Okay."
"I mean it."
"I mean it too."
Starsky looked around the garage, then back at Hutch. "Guess it's my turn to get in the car, huh?"
Hutch nodded, then reached across the seat and opened the passenger door for him.
XXXXXXXXXXXX+
Pink flowers in hand, Starsky stood at the little girl's grave and gazed down at the white headstone which bore an engraved lamb.
His whisper was heavy. "I'm sorry, Becky. I hope you don't mind me coming."
He picked the petals off one by one, and slowly, letting each drift to the ground. "There's no way I can take back what I did. But I wish I could. Life is a sacred thing, and I didn't mean to take yours away. . . "
A caul of grief shadowed his face, and every muscle and bone ached with his weary sobbing. Just when he thought he was finished crying, a new wave of emotion would sweep over him.
"Hey, Starsk. Thought I'd find you here."
But the warm hand on the back of his neck made his bruised heart a little easier to carry.
XXXXXXXXXXXX+
At the airport, Starsky retrieved Richard's suitcase from the trunk of the tan Ford and handed it to him.
Hutch shook his father's hand. "Thanks for coming, Dad. See you next time."
"Indeed."
Starsky extended his hand to the elder blond man. "See ya, Mr. Hutchinson."
Richard gripped his hand and held it fast. "See ya? That's all?"
Starsky looked at Hutch, then back at Richard. "Well," he said trying to take his hand back. "I want to say more, but I don't know if you like soapy scenes."
Richard still held to his hand. "How soapy are we talking about?"
"Well um . . . " He looked at Hutch, then gave a sheepish smile as he gave the man an eager hug that almost knocked him down. "Thanks," he whispered tearfully. "Thanks for coming." And then he gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and grinned. "That soapy enough for you?"
Richard's face flushed a deep red. "Well er . . . I better leave before I miss my plane. If you need me, just give a whistle."
Starsky nodded, then watched Richard take Hutch's arm. "Escort me to the plane, Ken."
Hutch walked with him, smiling back at Starsky over his shoulder.
"Now," Richard continued in a secretive tone to his son. "You are aware that they have
support groups for situations like this."
"Yes, Dad."
"He may need one sometime."
"I know."
"And you must keep reminding him that he's still a good police officer."
"I will."
"And a mistake doesn't mean you fail."
"I know."
Richard let go of Hutch's arm, then exited the gate to board the plane.
"Kenneth," he said as looked over his shoulder. "I'm pleased with your fortitude. You have a lot of your mother in you. Keep up the good work."
Hutch waved a goodbye, then joined Starsky again.
"Think your dad likes me a little bit?"
Hutch smiled. "I think he likes you better than me."
End
