"You gotta, Cap'n!" The detective demanded.
"Starsky." Dobey commanded his officer to cool off.
"You gotta make them back down from this investigation.
"Really. And how do you suggest I do that?" The superior went on mocking by creating the unrealistic scenario that would facilitate such an event, "Right. I'll just waltz into the Chief's office and tell him that--you two boys had a little chat and decided to make nice now-- lets just forget all about the attempted murder charge, Sir--could we pretty please? Humhp!" Dobey grunted roughly for emphasis.
"Cap'n-- I mean it. Hutch—is the one at stake, here. Only ones that can work this out is me and him. Every time I try to get with him--we gotta wonder if one of those IA goons is gonna appear outta nowhere. They've got no right to try and block..."
"They'– ve got ev'ry right Detective!" Dobey gruffed loudly, his end-of-the-rope aggravation showing. "Dave…you don't get this, do you?"
"No -- Cap'n, excuse my ahh--lack of confidence in the system — and my insubordination but-- you don't get it. I'm--I'm not gonna sit back anymore and wait for them to railroad this … mess down me and Hutch's throats…" Just speaking the word—throat—made him grimace and took the gust out of his wings. The still unshaven man collapsed into a chair. He looked up at his boss with a pitiable expression. "Help me." He pleaded. "I just need you to help…"
Dobey was moved by Starksy's desperation. It made him realize just how worn out and weary the cop really was. Quite a sight actually. And not a good one, Dobey thought.
His friend was asking for help.
Harold Dobey had distanced himself from the horrid misadventure of Playboy Island --both mentally and physically,
He was ashamed of the way he had quite deliberately tried not to imagine what was going on in Hutchinson's mind. How he avoided the blond-haired cop -- sending Edith over on his behalf instead of visiting his detective himself. A chicken move—but he couldn't deal with seeing the injury—knowing how close the men were and how near Hutch had been to death. The heavy set man had been in Starsky's company on a few occasions—but not as a friend—only as his boss. All of this strange behavior from Harold was mainly because he couldn't find one comforting word to offer Ken or Dave.
People hadn't talked of such dark things in his youth and some of that tradition was still in him.
But these were his officers… not some strange old lady on the block.
Suddenly Harold Dobey got angry.
He was tired – very tired himself of the way IA was handling the whole unfortunate incident. He wasn't quite sure of how he was going to - but - he was going help Starsky and Hutchinson. Enough was enough. It was his job as their boss to fix this problem somehow. There wasn't any ill intent that had been the catalyst for David being compelled—summoned by outside influence to try to strangle Ken. It was— a power—powers that neither he nor IA could ever hope to confront or explain. A force of malevolence couldn't make a witness statement or take an oath to tell the truth and nothing but.
No --no investigation would give anyone the answers they all were looking for. Certainly, the fact that Starsky had been given some kind of drug was evidence enough to put an end to the inquest. Hard evidence existed but was being ignored because of that weasel Simonetti trying to make more of it. His motives for doing so, Dobey didn't quite have a handle on. But he did know that the lab had never even been able to ID the substance that was coursing through Starsky's blood at the time of the assault.
Dobey went into action mode.
He went to the Chief and the Commissioner. Threw his considerable weight around, gave an ultimatum, and brokered a deal for his boys. He could hardly believe that his bosses went for it. The threat of walking away from his decades-old job of police captain--possibly creating mass confusion and upheaval in the well-run Bay City Police Department had a lot more to do with them agreeing to halt the IA investigation, than their support of two of their best officers. Didn't matter to Harold. He got what he came for. Wasn't going to leave without it anyway. He owed his boys that much and more.
Dobey had done his homework… using previous cases of undercover cops who had been slipped a mickey – which happened more than the general public might be aware of. Drugs were often used as a weapon against cops-- especially ones who had their cover blown. There wasn't one case on record of any police officer being penalized for egregious behavior under those circumstances, the captain pointed out to his bosses.
Miraculously, Harold's well-prepared presentation and ultimatum took down the IA charges against Sergeant David Michael Starsky, who, during a police investigation, was drugged by some local thug. Any of his actions under the influence of such drug, Dobey stated, could not be used to prosecute him. Anyway, no one meeting in the commissioner's office on that day, being more than familiar with the officers in question, bought the story that the dark-haired cop would have tried to kill his partner otherwise. Drugs-- had to be the reason for such an attack.
It was just a matter of how to move forward—cautiously.
The top brass, their backs to the wall, did have some demands, though. Sure—they'd call off IA, but they insisted Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson stay off the roster until they both received a full round of psychiatric counseling by the department's own in-house shrink. Neither one-- would return to duty until the doctor provided them with a full report that met both the Chief's and the Commissioner's satisfaction, stating both men were mentally stable. The records regarding the incident would be sealed at that point.
They also wanted the cops to stay apart until they cleared it with the lawyers—making sure the city and police department couldn't be sued if another incident of violence occured. That—Dobey declared was impossible to enforce. He'd tell the detectives of the Departments' concerns about their interactions facilitating more violence and advise them that those were the wishes of this committee, but the captain told them--he'd be wasting his breath laying down such restrictions
"Those two wouldn't follow those guidelines at gunpoint!" He bellowed at the screwed up faces of his superiors. His last words to them on the subject before exiting.
-ooo-
"That's the deal, Starsky."
"It stinks…" the cop whined, digging both hands into his dark curls.
"That's the deal—and you're gonna take it! I put my butt in the ringer for this. I don't want hear any arguments about it."
"Captain—an IA shrink is the same difference as an IA investigation… "
"Detective—I mean it. That's the end of it!"
"Sir, no disrespect --I don't trust this. Dr…" Starsky said, looking down at the name written on a piece of paper Dobey had just passed off to him. "Dr. Anga-Angeline Benjamin? Bet she ain't never been a cop. It's just business as usual. An IA psychiatrist is gonna put everything me and Hutch might tell her in a file that will end up right in their incoming mailbox. Why don't they just sit in our sessions?" He added smugly.
"Dave…" Dobey pleaded with him.
"I don't trust her and neither will Hutch. Besides-- he won't do it."
The large man waved his hand in frustration. "He doesn't have a choice and neither do you--not if you're planning on keeping those badges you two have worked so hard to get."
Starsky defused sluggishly.
"Besides," giving Starsky a dose of his own medicine by echoing the word, Dobey got up from behind his desk to make his point clear. "I told you, David the records on this case are as good as closed. Nobody- nobody-.'cept that idiot Simonetti, believes that you wanted to hurt your partner. You asked me to help and I've done that, son. This is a good deal. My advice to you is to take it--- and I suggest you convince your partner to do the same." Encouraging any contact between the men was blatantly ignoring his bosses wishes.The older man hoped his office wasn't bugged.
"Fine." The detective grumbled as he stormed out of the office.
Dobey, smiled to himself. He knew even though it didn't look like it at the moment--David Starsky appreciated what his boss had done. It would just take him a few more days or-- weeks to realize it.
The older man understood exactly how David felt. The wound was still fresh for both of his officers. It wasn't easy to trust some psychiatrist-come-lately with a direct line to Internal Affairs. But-- right now Dobey was just going to hope that the doctor would be able to handle his boys and most importantly--help them.
Tired, but determined, he grabbed up his car keys. He was on his way to Ken's house. Dobey needed to handle this face to face. He'd get the blond-haired man in that counselor's office even if he had to throw the officer over his shoulder and cart him there himself.
The large man was grinning. Things were finally looking up again. It was a great day.
-oooo-
Starsky plopped in the chair… crossing his arms defensively across his chest.
"Why don't you tell me what happened?"
"I thought Dobey told you the whole thing," Starsky answered with aggravation.
"I want to know what you think happened out there."
He unfurled his arms to put an elbow on the table. "The point you're missing is that my best friend in the whole world thinks I chose to act out some hidden ….aggression – took advantage of being a little off my rocker to make him pay for some unforgivable…" Realizing he was revealing something to the psychiatrist, the frustrated detective stopped talking.
"Did he tell you that?" the woman doctor asked.
"He don't hafta tell me that."
"And you think being possessed by a voodoo priest makes it sound much more plausible?" she commented.
Starsky angrily leaped to his feet. "I don't' know what happened! But I know I wouldn't hurt him—for nuthin' --alright. Why can't anyone get that! Sure—we've had our spats here and there. Nothing—you hear? Nothin that would make me want to do…" Reaching across the dark mahogany desk, he grabbed the folder she kept neatly tucked under her hand and flipped through the papers until he found what he was looking for—a picture of Hutch's injuries, "…that." He found himself staring her down, thrusting an aggressive finger in her direction.
The doctor sat back, "I can't help you wage spiritual warfare. That's not my area of expertise. If you're telling me—you don't want to work at finding out what the source of this anger is that you have …"
Starsky turned and exited before she could finish--slamming the door shut behind him.
The psychiatrist stood… reorganizing the Detective Hutchinson's file, she said to herself. "That went well."
-ooo-
Dr. Benjamin tried to keep her eyes on those of the man slouched in the chair in front of her. But no matter how she tried, apparently fascinated by the injury – her brown eyes found themselves right back on it.
The officer's sorrow was obvious. He kept hold of a small remnant of the collar of his shirt—attempting to block her curious stares. A very bizarre dance of her gazing at the wounding and him hiding it ensued. She thought it strange he'd tried to cover the bruising—when it was the injury in his intense blue eyes that was much more telling.
She waited for him to answer her question. The same one she'd posed to his partner the day before.
The doctor had patience and the session was for the full hour—so she could wait for quite a while if necessary.
"Sergeant?" She softly reminded him of her presence.
"Ummm." A very pale Ken Hutchinson offered as he stirred restlessly in the chair.
"What do you think happened?" She didn't mind repeating the question. The IA psychiatrist hoped he would answer and shed light on the peculiar series of events that lead one friend to brutalize the other in such a violent way.
Two officers of the law. Best friends, too—according to what she'd read in their files.
There had been a trace of an unidentified substance in Detective Starsky's blood—not enough, in her humble opinion, to give him a pass on attacking another human being. She was trained to look for the hidden reasons behind a person's behavior--to dig deeper. At the moment she was focused on the tall stressed out man in her office.
"Sergeant?" She attempted again to get him to speak.
The cop dragged a hand through his hair. Some of the blond strands took offense—and remained unruly – created a strange halo as they stole some- brightness from the overhead light. He coughed lightly.
"Water?" She suggested. The doctor made her way over to the silver pitcher nearby and poured him some. She stood over her new patient. Handing the glass to the officer, she kept a close proximity —choosing to lean comfortably against her desk--facing him she said, "I saw your partner yesterday. You guys have been talking—that's against the rules, you know. IA wouldn't like it."
"Screw IA." He ground out. He slouched a bit more to confirm his disinterest in the session and her.
Oh--he does talk.
She smiled a little, before moving to sit back behind the desk. Angeline watched the man she was supposed to be evaluating, take a few careful swallows from the glass she'd given him.
"You're not going to make this easy. Are you?" She asked him.
He sighed almost in apology and sat up to place the glass on her desk.
"S' been a rough week." He gave a sad turn up of a corner of his mouth.
The officer was being sarcastic, but the harshness of his voice—reminded her that he probably was still having pain.
"Well, why don't you let me tell you what think I know?"
He gave her an unimpressed nod but she smiled at him anyway.
"You and your partner were on assignment and you…had one of your ahh...snitches? From Bay City with you? Hmm?" She looked through some paperwork. "Yes. He's the gentlemen outside? Isn't he?" The doctor was very curious about the skinny "brother" that ogled her while he gave the blond-haired officer a friendly push into her office. The Nordic-looking cop and the urbanite of questionable reputation made an odd pair.
"Huggy--yeah." The detective answered, looking impatiently toward the door.
The slight movement must have elicited some discomfort, because she saw him get tired right before her eyes…and he groaned a bit as he sat forward.
The doctor jumped up to tend to him. "Detective, are you in pain?"
He waved a shaky hand to confirm, that yes he was.
She hesitated to continue.
He groaned again and awkwardly stood up.
"Are you taking anything?"
The detective squinted back at her.
"For pain?" She clarified. "Let me order something for you."
"Nuhh," he gritted.
"Let me help you." The doctor showed her concern as she moved closer, causing a new round of dance between them, as he immediately responded by taking an unsteady step away from her.
"Okay, then." She said softy, watching him struggle to beat back something that looked very much like emotional distress.
"Ken?" She asked. "Please, let me help you?"
The watery eyes of the officer slid in her direction and some of her professionalism buckled at the sight of the hurt in them.
Men were always the most difficult to help. Time after time, cops at the end of the rope would be sent to her for one reason or another—and she would have to try to get through to them. To make them feel open and trusting enough to talk to her.
They never thought they needed help.
She waited for him – watched him swallow down—what she thought looked like…fear.
Detective Starsky, Ken's partner, had stormed out of her office. It was looking like Kenneth Hutchinson was going to make a run for it, too.
Doctor Benjamin started talking, using her best nurturing voice -- hoping to retain the officer's attention.
"This is a very unusual situation. Isn't it, Ken? I'm not sure I've had ever had a case like this one. I can tell you and Dave are very close and this whole--- thing must be very difficult for you to deal with. I mean-- he's not sure…why—and I can tell he's most regretful about it…"
Her effort to distract him paid off when she heard him quietly respond to defend his friend. "S-Starsky wouldn't…w-wouldn't hurt me." The cop was still struggling with his emotions.
"But," she pointed out carefully, "He did. That's very confusing. I would imagine it's not easy for you to accept that…he did. Hurt you." She took the tiniest step toward him.
Dr. Benjamin studied his body language—a hand protectively clawed at the top material of his shirt…right near the collarbone and the tall man appeared to shrink inward.
The doctor continued, "I have a few best friends…and quite honestly I don't think I could easily get over…"
"Look lady, you-you're not me…kay?." His weakened voice countered defensively.
"OK…so you don't need to know why he tried to…" She quickly decided to not use the words kill or strangle…"hurt you?"
He gave her an aggrieved shake of the head—a refusal to deal with her suggestion of self-examination. His attention flitted to somewhere else in the room.
More telling body language. Yes, of course he hurt. But was he ready to admit that? Probably not-- the doctor concluded. Not just yet. She needed to bring him to the place where he could accept certain truths. She'd have to do the same for David Starsky. There had to be something in their history that explained the attack.
There was no way these two men could serpentine around it—and go back to life as they knew it. They would have to confront and deal with what had happened.
One friend had tried to kill the other.
Her job—was to get people to deal with reality and then live with the truth.
-ooo-
"You, know doc—you got good intentions--it's your conclusions that stink," the dark-haired cop stated flatly. "When it comes to me and Hutch—you don't know your elbow from your…"
"Detective…" She cut him off.
Starsky got a good pout going and stared deliberately at a spot on the wall behind her.
The psychiatrist continued, "You can't do something like this—without a reason…drugs or no drugs. There's a kernel of truth that's the root of all behavior. Why can't you be honest about it?"
"You ever had a best friend? One you'd die for? Without even thinkin' about it?" he asked her.
"I don't know what that's got to do …"
Now it was Starsky's turn to cut her off. "Exactly," he said. "How can you evaluate somethin' you don't got a clue about?"
These two men were wearing her out. One alone would have been too much – but together? Headaches after their sessions were becoming a very common occurrence.
Hours earlier – she'd seen the blond-haired one of the duo. She still had their session fresh in her mind.
Ken Hutchinson hadn't looked very good that day—not at all. Thin, pale and shaky. Of course she offered him sleeping pills, pain pills, mood enhancers… but was met with solid resistance. And not just resistance about the meds. His still gravely voice was getting stronger and he used it to tell her almost exactly what David had just said—only with a few more words.
"I'm not going give you what you're looking for." Hutchinson schooled her on how he felt about her involvement in the situation. "You got a lot of books," the detective said, running a finger over a collection of her medical books. "Humm, he added thoughtfully. "You think one of them will tell you what to do with me? You got a section on black magic and things that go bump in the night? Tales of evil-- sticking up its head to scare the shit outta you .Bet ya don't have even one paragraph about it. Cuz if you did—then we might have something to talk about."
"That's silly," she had responded without thinking.
He got a look of deadly seriousness. "Even now I'd take a bullet for him. That make sense to you? So what--I'm crazy? Is that it, doc? Some kind of masochistic obsession—that's what one of your books would tell you. Isn't it?"
He stopped, spent a moment in deep thought before he continued, "There's gray areas… that's me and him. Me and Starsky. You just don't understand…"
She saw him tear up, but and was amazed to see the police sergeant use all he had in him to not let the water escape his troubled eyes.
"We're done today, " He had said softly and snatched up his jacket as he left her opened-mouth and emotional. She nearly jumped at the thundering slam of the door.
The chance of the session with David Starsy ending on a high note—the possiblity of him reflectively contemplating her words as wisdom for his life – was more than unlikely. Not with the current expression self-amusement he had locked on her. He must have been reading her mind, she thought. Cops had that uncanny ability—fine-tuned by hours of interrogating the guilty. The dark-haired officer knew on this day-- she was off her game and that somehow he had contributed to her frazzled state of mind.
Dr. Benjamin searched in her desk for the bottle of aspirin. The dark-haired man was eyeing her curiously—almost smirking. That's what it looked like – a smirk.
"I have allergies," she lied, swallowing down three of the tablets with some water.
"Hmm." The detective's sardonic response implied that he knew the real cause of the pain in her head.
"You know what," she countered crisply. "Why don't we just pick this up next time." The doctor was dismissing him.
"Sure, doc, your allergies. I understand," he said as he kept his mischievous grin on at full power.
"Great," she replied, shooing him out of her office.
Sighing loudly, the woman with the pounding headache let her forehead drop onto the desk. She never let patients get under her skin like this--but she was human. Two weeks of getting the run around from the two officers was working all of her nerves. Especially when she thought about the pictures of the horrible bruising on Ken Hutchinson's neck. Attempted murder…battery, assault, attack-- those were the words that came to mind.
Not love.
Not in a healthy relationship. Why would Hutchinson try and cover for Starsky?. Were they lovers? It wasn't the first time she had wondered about that.
Did the blond cop have something in his past that made him seek out abusive relationships? Or Starsky a history of abuse in his?
Then—there was all the other stuff. Things she wouldn't let herself even consider as possibilities. Words Ken had hinted at--like—black magic, voodoo --roots some called it.
She slipped the clip off her black hair and pulled a mirror out of her drawer.
Circles—under her eyes… circles! Her caramel colored skin—normally flawless—looked dull. Between that and the growing dark half moons under her eyes—Angeline decided she looked nearly five years older. Maybe she should pass this case on to someone else.
She poked a finger into her compact and dabbed some of the sienna-tinted makeup onto the dark discoloring under brown eyes. It wasn't much help.
Dr. Angeline Benjamin was the first one in her family to go to college--first doctor--maybe even the one and only. She worked hard to get to where she was-- not a person who gave up easily—or ever. This new case was pushing her to the limit, though. She was the only black woman in her class at the small, but highly accredited medical college she got her doctorate from. Angeline knew about challenges.
Angeline Benjamin had wanted to help her community so after graduation she came back to Bay City to work at a clinic in a neighborhood close to where she had been raised. Angeline did that for 4 years before she realized that she would never pay off her college loans at the pace she was going. The doctor had made good connections while working with the city to provide mental health care to some of its poorest. Those connections steered her to her present job with a practice of psychiatrists who just happened to be contracted by the Bay City Police Department to provide counseling and psychiatric services to their over worked, and heavily-burdened officers.
Her current job paid her handsomely—her debt's nearly paid off. She had a nice hi-rise apartment downtown. A fairly new car—closet full of well-made skirt and pant suits. She was doing quite well for herself. Angeline, who had become a doctor to help the poor and unfortunate members of society, often times felt guilty about all the money she was making and all the things she was buying with it. Early on Angeline had wondered if she had sold out taking a job counseling cops.
But Dr. Benjamin soon realized—Trauma was trauma. It manifested itself in a police sergeant the same way it did in a 16-year-old run away. The specifics could vary but the effect on the body, mind, and spirit were always the same. A person in trouble needed help—and ultimately that's all she wanted to do as a doctor. Help someone in need.
Detective Kenneth Hutchinson was in need.
But--Voodoo?
(tbc)