Work Text:
The Silent Children
by TLR
Plot: Detective Peterson asks Starsky and Hutch for help on multiple incidents of child abuse.
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The first thing Starsky noticed was the mother’s hands, tight around a paper cup of station coffee like she was afraid if she let go of it, she’d fall apart.
She sat on the edge of a chair in Captain Dobey’s office, purse in her lap, posture stiff with the kind of fear that didn’t have anywhere to go.
Her name was Ellen Marsh, and the child in the photo she kept touching with her thumb was her son, a lean ten-year-old boy with dark hair and a big grin.
Dobey leaned back, voice low. “Ms. Marsh, Detective Sheila Peterson sent you to talk to my detectives Starsky and Hutchinson. We're going to hear you out and see what we can do.”
Ellen swallowed hard. “I don’t know what else to do. Jay's autistic. Nonverbal. The school keeps telling me accidents happen, but he’s... he’s not like other kids. He can’t tell me what happened.”
Starsky glanced at Hutch. Hutch’s face had gone quiet with controlled anger.
Starsky said gently, “Tell us what you’re seeing.”
Ellen took a breath. “Bruises, everywhere. Arms, ribs, legs. He came home with a black eye last week.” Her voice broke on the last two words, and she clamped her mouth shut like she hated the thought of it.
Hutch asked, “He falls a lot?”
Ellen’s eyes flashed. “Not like that. He’s careful. He has routines. If he gets bumped he’ll cry, and I know what it looks like when he’s hurt. This is different. This is deliberate.” She looked down at the photo again. “He uses pictures, a board. He can tell me he wants juice. He can tell me he wants his dinosaur. But he can’t tell me who did this to him.”
Dobey stood. “Peterson’s on her way in.”
Starsky leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “When’s the bruising happening?”
Ellen wiped at her cheek, furious that moisture had shown up. “On days he rides the bus early. They pick him up first, because he’s in the special ed program. And I started noticing it after they hired a new aide. They call her a bus monitor or a bus aide or something like that. She sits in the back with the kids.”
Hutch’s gaze sharpened. “Her name?”
Ellen dug in her purse, pulled out a folded paper, and handed it over with care. “Marlene Cates.”
Starsky read it, then looked up. “You went to the school?”
“Three times. I got told I was overreacting. Then I asked them to let me see the bus log, and they got defensive. So I asked for the principal. I asked for the district office. Nobody wants to help me.” Her jaw quivered. “So I asked for the one thing they couldn’t talk around. There's a bus camera.”
Hutch blinked. “Bus camera?”
“They said they have one, for safety. They didn’t want to show me, but I pushed.” Ellen’s voice dropped. “And they finally agreed to review it. Not with me there. Just review it. Then two days later they called and told me to come in. They wouldn’t say why. They said I should bring someone with me.”
Starsky felt cold move under his skin. “Who called you?”
“The district’s safety officer.” Ellen’s eyes lifted. “He told me there was a concern. That’s all he said.”
The office door opened and Detective Sheila Peterson stepped in, blazer over a simple blouse, looking professional but concerned, eyes already taking inventory of Ellen’s posture, the coffee, the picture, and the faces of Dobey, Starsky, and Hutch.
Sheila didn’t waste time. “Ms. Marsh?”
Ellen nodded.
Sheila sat across from her, voice steady and warm and without pity or drama. “Tell me about Jay, and the video.”
Ellen pressed her lips together. “I haven’t seen it. The school watched it. They told me the aide put her hands on him. They said there were other kids too. My God.”
Sheila’s gaze flicked to Dobey, then to Starsky and Hutch. “We need that tape. Now. My staff is swamped with other cases today and I need all the help I can get. We may have multiple victims here.”
Dobey nodded once. “You got it.”
Hutch stood. “Let’s go.”
Starsky followed, and behind him Ellen said hesitantly, as if she couldn’t help it, “Does Jay know? Do you think he realizes what's happening?”
Starsky stopped at the door and looked back. He chose his words carefully, because this was a woman who’d been forced to live inside some questions with no answers.
“I think,” Starsky said, “kids know when somebody’s mean to them. Even if they can’t understand or verbalize it. But they also know who comes runnin’ when they’re hurt.”
Ellen’s eyes filled again.
Starsky nodded once, then he and Hutch left with Sheila.
::
The Bay City Unified district office had the clean smell of waxed floors.
A man in a busy tie led them into a small conference room and set a black plastic case on a table.
“This is the tape, Detectives,” he said.
Sheila held his gaze. “Who has had access to it?”
The man swallowed. “Transport supervisor. Risk and Safety Management. The principal. We were advised to keep it internal until, well, until law enforcement--”
Sheila's reply was calm but sharp. “Until you could decide what it meant for you.”
Starsky and Hutch noted the man's discomfort as he held the tape. Then Starsky said, “We have a search warrant. We’re takin’ it into evidence.”
The man said quickly, “The aide has been placed on administrative leave.”
Sheila’s smile was thin. “How generous.”
They took the tape back to the station.
Hutch and Starsky stood in the AV room with Peterson and Dobey, the lights low, the screen faintly blue.
Starsky felt his stomach tense before anything even played. The tape clicked. The bus interior came into view: narrow aisle, vinyl seats, kids in the back, some strapped into safety harnesses, some clutching lunchboxes, some rocking gently in place or holding toys, self-contained.
Then the aide moved.
She wasn’t menacing or wild-eyed. She was ordinary, which made it worse.
She leaned over a boy rocking in a self-soothing motion in the back row, his small head turned away. The aide’s hand came down fast and hard, the kind of slap that didn’t leave bruises right away but left a message. The boy flinched, eyes wide, mouth open without sound.
The aide grabbed his arm and shook him, sharp and impatient, then shoved his shoulder into the side of the bus.
Dobey swore under his breath. He had a young daughter named Rosie and couldn't imagine someone hurting her in this manner.
Sheila didn’t react outwardly, but Starsky saw her hands tighten on her notebook, while Hutch watched over them all.
The aide moved to another child, a little girl who looked like she was humming or singing to herself. The aide yanked her shoulder harness too tight, then slapped her face when the girl cried out.
Hutch’s voice was low. “Damn, lady, stop it.”
The aide glanced toward the front, toward the driver, then back to the kids, and Starsky realized the driver either didn’t see or didn’t want to.
The tape showed it again. And again. Short bursts of cruelty that would be called “discipline” in some circles.
Starsky watched a third student, a boy with blond hair, get shoved so hard his head hit the window frame and he made crying sounds. Starsky’s hands closed into fists, and Hutch put a staying hand on his arm, the look in his eyes saying, “I know, Starsk, I know. We're involved now.”
The tape ended, and the room stayed quiet.
Dobey’s voice came out rough. “I want this taken all the way. An arrest warrant today. This lady in handcuffs asap.”
Sheila nodded. “Already on it.”
Hutch stared at the blank screen as if not sure of what to say. Then simply said, “She picked them because they can't tell anyone what happened.”
Sheila said, “That’s the pattern. Nonverbal kids are at higher risk, obviously. They can’t report. People assume the bruises are self-injury or accidents.” Her eyes turned sharp. “And institutions count on parents not noticing, not caring, or giving up.”
Starsky’s voice was a tight line. “That's not us.”
Dobey pointed at Starsky and Hutch. “You two, you take the aide. Peterson, you handle the families and the school.”
Sheila said, “And I want to speak to the bus driver too.”
Dobey nodded. “Good.”
Starsky looked at Hutch. “Let’s go.”
Hutch didn’t move right away. His face was pale with anger. “You know what gets me? If Ellen hadn’t pushed for that tape, she’d still be getting told she was overreacting.”
Starsky gripped his shoulder once, firm. “Yeah. But she did. Now we do our job.”
Hutch’s eyes met his. “Yeah.”
::
They found Marlene Cates at her apartment, a small place off a busy street, a plastic fern in the window and plaid curtains drawn against the world.
She opened the door in a robe, hair wrapped up in a towel, face arranged into mild surprise.
Hutch showed his badge. “Marlene Cates?”
“Yes.” Her gaze slid over them, assessing. “What’s this about?”
Starsky said, “We need you to come down to the station.”
She frowned. “For what?”
Hutch didn’t blink. “Assault.”
Her expression changed fast. “What? I didn’t--”
Starsky’s tone stayed even. “On the school bus. The tape’s real clear about what goes down.”
Her mouth opened, closed. “Those kids... those kids are difficult. You don’t understand. Sometimes you have to... they need discipline.”
“Hitting isn't discipline,” Hutch said in a low voice. “It's abuse. You left bruises.”
She flinched at the word, then tried to recover. “I didn’t hit. I... I corrected.”
Starsky stepped in closer. “You corrected a ten-year-old’s face with your hands. Jay? And the others?”
Marlene’s eyes flashed, defensive and angry now. “They don’t listen.”
Hutch said, “Some of the nonverbal children can understand and some can't, but none of your victims can speak. Works out for you, doesn't it?”
For a second, something ugly flickered across her face and she looked as if she could slap him too.
“Don’t try to make me the monster,” she said. “Their parents dump them on the system and then act like saints when someone has to deal with them.”
Starsky felt the heat rise in his chest. He wanted to explode and unload, but he kept it down, because he wanted to get through it and do this one by the book.
He said, “Hands behind your back.”
Hutch held up the warrant. “You're under arrest for felony child abuse.”
She looked between them, realizing the walls were closing in, and her bravado cracked into fear. “I didn’t mean--”
Starsky cuffed her efficiently as Hutch relayed the Miranda.
As they led her out, a neighbor’s door opened a crack, eyes watching.
Marlene hissed to Starsky and Hutch, “You think you’re heroes? Kids are a drain. They ruin everything.”
Hutch’s voice was quiet. “No. People like you do.”
::
She didn’t confess right away.
At the station, she sat in the interrogation room with her shoulders rigid and her chin up, insisting everything was misinterpreted, that the children hurt themselves, that she was being targeted because nobody wanted to work those routes.
Sheila Peterson came in midway through, carrying a folder that had thickened as the case developed.
She set it down and looked at Marlene for a long moment, then said, “Do you know why you’re in trouble?”
Marlene’s eyes darted. “Because some hysterical mother--”
“No,” Sheila said calmly. “Because those children are legally defined as at-risk. And because you used their disability as a weapon against them.”
Marlene swallowed.
Sheila opened the folder, slid a photo across the table, of a child’s arm, bruised in a pattern.
“Do you recognize this?”
Marlene looked away.
Hutch leaned forward. “This is Jay Marsh. You did it. And you did it more than once.”
Marlene snapped, “They don’t even remember! They don’t even know!”
Starsky’s voice went cold. “How do you know that? God forbid you're ever in a position to find out.”
Silence.
Sheila’s eyes didn’t leave Marlene’s face. “You’re not going to get sympathy here. What you might get is a chance to stop digging your own grave deeper.”
Marlene’s shoulders shook once, then she pressed her lips together hard.
Hutch said, “Three special needs kids. That’s what we saw. How many more?”
Marlene’s eyes filled, but Starsky didn’t mistake it for remorse. It looked like fear of consequences.
She finally broke and whispered, “I only had those three. Only the early route. That’s all.”
Sheila wrote it down. “Names.”
Marlene’s voice trembled. “Jay Marsh. Lily... Lily Moreno. And Joseph Weller.”
Starsky felt something go very still in him. Names made it real in a deeper way.
Sheila said, “I know I ask this question too many times with no answer. But, why?”
Marlene stared at her hands. “Because they got on my nerves, I have bad days, and they just don't listen or stop.” She lifted her head, eyes sharp again. “Because they weren’t as behaved as the other kids.”
Hutch’s face went a little pale. “They’re kids.”
Sheila stood. “We’re done here.”
::
The bus driver claimed he didn't see any abuse.
::
Two days later, Sheila met Ellen Marsh in a small room off the hospital ward, where Jay sat on the floor with a toy car, rolling it back and forth in perfect lines.
Starsky and Hutch stood by the window, giving space but observing.
Ellen looked up at Sheila, eyes raw. “He's going to be okay, isn't he?”
Sheila’s voice stayed gentle. “I think so. You have a good counselor, and he has you. That matters more than you know.”
Ellen’s eyes teared. “Sometimes I don’t know if I’m doing anything right.”
Sheila said, “You were right about this.”
“Thank you for your help. I feel a lot better now, and I think Jay does too, in his own way. He seems to be having more restful nights.”
As if he understood that the adults were discussing him, Jay lifted his car toward Starsky, and Starsky sat down in the floor with him to push it back and forth between them.
Hutch crouched next to his partner and smiled at Jay. “You're a good boy, Jay. Don't you forget that.”
::
Sheila came out into the hall a few minutes later with Starsky and Hutch, face composed but tired.
Dobey met them near the door. “The DA’s pressing charges, the aide pled guilty, and the school is going to be held responsible for withholding the tape and not reporting the abuse. Good job. Now go get yourselves something to eat. My treat.”
The three detectives stared, as Dobey handed over some cash.
“Only one condition, Cap'n,” Starsky said. “You're comin' with us.”
The End