Chapter 7

Starsky awoke with a groan, the top of his head feeling like it was going to roll clean off of his shoulders if he moved it too quickly. The baton had caught him just behind his right ear and as he felt the spot gingerly, he felt the crusting of dried blood. He didn't need to raise his shirt to know there would also be a fresh bruise in the centre of his stomach too. The guards were very professional with their batons and knew how to use them to maximum effect.

With a hiss of discomfort, the brunet rolled himself off the bunk so that he was sitting with his legs dangling over the side and he could rest back against the wall. He massaged his ribs and thought about the visit from Liz. It had been unexpected to say the least.

When he's been brought to the jail, he'd been offered his usual phone call and a phone book for him to make his choice of the lawyers listed. Instead, feeling that he had no defence anyway, he'd simply said that he would make do with whichever lawyer the state wanted to provide for him. Along came Henry Dawber, the man that all the old lags hoped they never got. Although Dawber had never actually been struck off, he relied for his living on being the lawyer that the perps got when they couldn't afford anyone better and Starsky had sighed wearily when he'd had his fist legal visit with the sweating, balding man. He'd told Henry fair and square that he had no defence and didn't want a trial and the man had nodded, packed up his bag and left. No argument, no attempt to persuade his client. For Henry, this was simple – a guy who finally admitted that he'd done it. Money in the bank for very little effort. The little man had gone off to his next appointment leaving Starsky feeling vindicated and happy with his actions.

When he'd had the next unexpected legal visit, and he'd walked into the room to see Liz, his emotions had been all over the place. Bad enough that he'd made the difficult decision not to fight the process. He'd spent long cold nights trying to get used to the jail knowing it was likely to be his home for the next maybe 20 years. But to have an old girlfriend – someone who'd known him intimately then come into the equation and tell him that no matter what, she was going to investigate the case thoroughly, had thrown the brunet into turmoil. His thoughts were a maelstrom. When she'd mentioned Edgar Fisher's name, for some inexplicable reason. Starsky felt his blood pressure rise and his anger take off in unison. She had no right to implicate Fisher in this. Edgar had done nothing. And yet why did he feel like that about the man that he's interviewed only once about the murders? Hutch had been convinced that Fisher had something to do with the skeletons and they'd argued about it more than once, but Starsky was equally convinced that Edgar was telling the truth when he said he was completely innocent. Now Liz wanted to know about Edgar Fisher and once again Starsky felt the overpowering urge to stop her. He sighed, too defeated and cowed to think too deeply about it. Thinking hurt, and he'd had enough hurts to last him a lifetime. Liz was a complication, nothing more. Whatever she did, if he was adamant that he was going to plead guilty at the hearing next week, there was nothing she could do about it. Let her spend her energy on investigations. At the end of the day there was no getting away from the fact that he'd shot Hutch. He was more than thankful that the blond had survived. If he hadn't, Starsky knew he would have found some way to end his own life. But as it was, he now had his hurt and his guilt that he could hug to him, treasuring the fact that he felt like seven shades of a bastard, because he felt that those feelings were well and truly merited. But the brunet admitted to himself that it had been good to see a friendly and familiar face amongst all the anger in the jail. Just the look of concern in Liz's beautiful green eyes had been like a balm for his soul and for a moment he allowed himself a feeling of self-pity.

The door to his cell jerked open making Starsky jump. Not Rafferty again! Please God no more of that. He hadn't had time to recover from the last visit by the guard and Starsky looked up quickly. Fortunately, Rafferty did not appear. Instead it was one of the other, slightly more reasonable guards and Starsky stood, forcing himself up from his bunk with a stifled groan. He knew the drill and had learned the rules of the jail pretty early on. Never one for formality on the outside, on the inside everything had a rule and all rules were either obeyed without question, or the prisoner faced painful consequences. Number one rule – the guards were to be obeyed at all times and were treated almost like gods. That meant always standing when a guard came into his cell, and never looking them directly in the eyes. Now he stood easily, hands hanging at his sides and eyes firmly cast down. Starsky waited.

'02698, I'm to take you to the medical block. You have an appointment with one of the doctors.'

The brunet looked up reflexively and then cast his gaze down again. Obedient. Don't flout the rules! 'Why boss? I aint sick.'

'Do I look like a doctor? How should I know why? Assume the position an' don't argue huh?'

With a sigh, Starsky faced the wall and braced himself on his hands and for the second time that day, he felt the belt and bracelets circle his body and limbs. God he hated this. It was dehumanising, demeaning, but he knew he should get used to it. At the tap on his shoulder, he turned and shuffled after the guard into the hallway and along the endless long grey corridors to the medical wing, which stood slightly apart from the other parts of the prison.

Starsky had only been there once before – after the initial fight with the prisoner who'd found out that the cop who'd put him away was housed on the same wing as him. He'd taken great delight in "welcoming" Starsky to the "Bay City Hilton" ending in the black eye and a cracked rib and a night in the relative comfort of the hospital facilities. Now he cast his eye cautiously over the rows of beds in the small locked rooms and continued to follow the guard down to a small consultation room in the middle of the corridor. The brunet walked in and sat down on the chair indicted. It was bolted to the floor and the guard took out a bunch of keys and unlocked the manacles around Starsky's wrists, refastening them to the arms of the chair. Without another word, he left and Starsky looked around the small impersonal room nervously.

The brunet was left alone for perhaps five minutes during which time he became increasingly wary. He'd heard all sorts of horror stories about what happened to prisoners in the medical facilities. The government had promised to look into maltreatment, but whether they ever did or not, he never found out and had never truthfully cared. Prisoners were in jail to be punished right? And while torture as such was always inherently wrong, what went on behind closed doors wasn't something that concerned the great American public.

He jumped slightly as the door opened behind him and looked on in surprise as a woman wearing a white coat and with shoulder length raven black hair came to sit by the desk in front of him. She looked at his notes, which had been spread out on the desk in front of her and then looked up and smiled encouragingly at him.

'Hi. My name is Beth. Beth Knot. I'm the psychiatrist here and the Warden has asked me to see you. You're….'

'02698 Starsky' the brunet replied, appraising the woman cautiously.

'Can I call you Dave?'

'It's my name, but I don't hear it much in here' he shrugged.

Beth ignored the comment. 'Ok Dave. Now, from your records I see….'

'I don't need a shrink. I'm not crazy' Starsky interrupted defensively.

Beth smiled at him. 'Just because I said I was a psychiatrist, it doesn't mean that we think you are. I just wanted to talk to you. Get to know you. Maybe help you?'

'Who asked you to do that? I don't see the other guys getting' special treatment.' The curly haired cop said suspiciously.

'Why do you think someone would ask me to do this Dave?'

Starsky's face cracked into a lop sided grin. It felt strange to smile after all this time and he snorted. 'Coz I know my partner, and I know he'd try anythin' to get me to face the possibility of a trial.'

Beth smiled back and nodded. 'You're right. Sergeant Hutchinson came to see the Warden after you refused a visit from him. He came with another of your friends, a Lieutenant Colonel Trafford? They're both very worried about you and say that the crime you're accused of and also your behaviour before and after it is very out of character. They asked whether I would talk to you, but I can't inflict myself on you. Will you allow me to try to help you David?'

'I don't think anyone can help me. I shot my partner. I shot the one man I've always sworn to protect and I don't know why I did it. But I remember pulling the fuckin' trigger. I remember seein' him go down and I remember standing there with the gun hot in my hand. Now tell me what sort of a defence I have, Miss Knot, coz from where I'm sittin' there don't appear to be one, so why waste Joe Public's money on a futile trial. I've accepted I did what I did, why can't Hutch?' Starsky's voice broke when he mentioned his partner's name. It was the first time he'd spoken it aloud in so long that it brought untold emotions welling up from deep inside his chest and he hitched a deep breath and ducked his head down, studying a wrinkle in his pants until he felt he had his feelings under control. Slowly he brought up his head and turned the full force of his pained indigo eyes onto the woman.

Beth gazed back without flinching. She didn't need to be a psychiatrist to see that this man was hurting so deeply that he could think of nothing else apart from what he'd done to his partner. Right there and then, she resolved that she would battle her way through the hard, almost impenetrable exterior he'd erected around himself to find out what was going on in that curly head. Although by the look of fear in his eyes, she doubted that even Starsky truly understood his motivations for the shooting.

'Will you let me help you?' she asked calmly.

'There aint no point.'

'Well maybe I should be the judge of that, there's always a point. I can see your pain runs very deep. To my mind, that doesn't reflect the mind of a cold-blooded killer.'

Starsky snorted softly. 'Seems that's what I am though.'

'I don't think you believe that Dave.'

For the first time, Starsky allowed a chink in his armour to show and he blinked back a tear angrily. 'I don't know what to think any more' he said quietly. 'I loved Hutch…. still do love him like a brother. Well hell, no, not like a brother. It's closer than that, and yet, something made me do that to him. I tried to kill him. How could I do that? What force on earth would make me want to do that? Tell me that huh Doc? What would make me take my own gun and just turn on him an' try to blow him away?'

Beth waited a moment until Starsky had regained some of his composure. She smiled encouragingly. 'The fact that you're asking me that question proves two things to me. First, it tells me you're definitely not crazy and second it tells me that something else is at work here. With your permission and with your co-operation, I'd like to try and find out what. Will you work with me David?'

'I don't deserve no help. I did what I did. What Judge is gonna think anything else?'

'Anyone can be coerced.'

'Yeah, but I wasn't. No one forced me to do this. I wasn't blackmailed or nuthin. I just….just….I don't wanna think about it' the brunet mumbled wearily.

'David, Hutch wanted to see you and you wouldn't let him. He wants to help you and having heard you just now, so do I. Will you work with me? Will you let me?'

For the first time in over three weeks, Starsky felt the first small ray of hope pierce the aura of gloom that had settled over him. He allowed himself another brief smile and nodded slightly. 'If you think ya can, give it your best shot. What've I got to lose?'

Beth heaved a sigh of relief. 'Ok. I want to try hypnosis. I've had very good results with it in other subjects and if nothing else, it will make you relaxed enough to be able to think about the incident without your mind automatically trying to block out all the unwanted memories. But I need your permission.'

'I dunno.' Starsky licked dry lips nervously. 'I've never held with the whole "imagine you're a tree" thing. What if it doesn't work?'

'Well it's true that not everyone can be hypnotised and there is an element of the patient wanting or allowing himself to be, but some people are more susceptible than others. Would you allow me to give it a try? It doesn't hurt, and the worst that will happen is that you'll feel more relaxed.'

'Well that'll be a first in this hell hole' the brunet muttered. 'Fine. Just do it huh? Now, before I change my mind.'