Bad Apple

"Where's Goren?" Deakins asked.

Alex shrugged. "He had an appointment this morning. I thought he would be here by now. I texted him, but he hasn't called back."

Deakins nodded and went back to his office. Eames went back to digging through the papers they'd found in the victim's home.

An hour and a half later, Eames' phone rang. A look of concern crossed her face. "Okay," she said, "Bye." She hung up and went to the captain's office. Seeing her in the doorway, he looked up with anticipation. "Bobby called. He's in the hospital. Tests or something. I'm going to go over there, see if he needs anything."

The Captain nodded.

Bobby was sitting up in bed, looking bored out of his mind when she walked in. "Hey," she said cheerfully.

He smiled at her. He mumbled and stammered and finally got out the word "doctors." He could read the query on her face, so he continued, "High blood pressure. The doc wants me to stay here overnight so they can keep an eye on me. They do a stress test later." He gestured to the bare hospital room surrounding him. "This is why we men don't go see a doctor unless we already know something is wrong." As he spoke, she noticed the wires from the heart monitor poking out of his gown. She also noticed just how tired he looked. His eyes were puffy, like he'd pulled an all-nighter.

"I brought you your robe. Didn't think you'd want to run around mooning everybody."

"Thanks."

"You need anything else?"

Bobby shook his head. "He said he'd just keep me overnight. Find anything yet?" He asked, hopefully.

Eames looked at him and sighed. "You're in the hospital, about to have a heart attack from stress and God knows what, and you want me to work the case with you?"

He shrugged and gave her a shy smile, "Maybe I'm stressed because it's so damn boring in here."

It was her turn to smile. "That's why I got you this." She threw a book of variety puzzles on his chest. Then she handed him a package of cheap mechanical pencils.

He chuckled softly. "Thanks."

Logan stood behind Alex, reading over her shoulder. He let out a soft whistle. "Unbelievable," he muttered.

Alex's eyes were riveted to the page. "You ain't kiddin'." She paused and made a note in her ledger. She read aloud from the paper in front of her.

Teacher: Have a seat, Mickey.

Mickey: Hey, Ben! Miss Bender's a Bitch, isn't she!

Ben: No, she's worse than a bitch, she's a whore!

Teacher: Ben, open your book to page 59. Please have a seat, Mickey.

Mickey: No, you stupid whore! [sat down at teacher desk, digging in drawers]

Teacher: That's the teacher area. Please return to your seat. [ moved to stand in between student and teacher desk]

Mickey: "I should cut you with these, you stupid bitch." [threw scissors across the room]

Teacher evacuated other students out of the room.

Mickey: Don't go, Ben! You don't have to do what she says! [knocked over desk. Picked up pencil and threw it at teacher. Threw book at teacher.]

Eames frowned. "This all happened in 2000, he was only 10 years old then."

"Kids can be advanced in anything," Logan said, "Reading, math, sports…sociopathy."

She sighed. "I guess." She frowned. "I just don't understand why they couldn't do anything about this. Assault and battery on a daily basis, and you just add to that the creepy stalking/creating a mutiny in the classroom thing…"

"I got a… friend," Mike said, "She's a school teacher, I could ask her about it."

"Yeah, do," Eames said, making another note of her own. "I'm going to see if I can find one of Bender's assistants, maybe they can explain all this to us."

Deakins sat in the background, rolling the logo of his coffee cup in between his fingers. Anyone else might have thought he wasn't listening, but Eames knew better.

"I don't know how much I really should say," Mrs. Adams said nervously. "Everybody is always going on about the students' confidentiality at school."

"Well, this is all just for informational purposes for us. We're just trying to understand how a child can be so abusive at school and not get suspended or expelled."

"His family would have sued us," the lady explained. "We identified his disability, and we were supposed to be helping him cope with it, get better, even. If we suspended him more than a few days, they would have sued us for not doing our job. Besides, we were the behavior classroom. You choose your battles."

"I see he did get suspended three times that year…" She perused her paperwork, "Hitting another student… hitting a teacher… hitting another student again…" Eames frowned and placed a pile of papers in front of Adams. "But according to these documents, he was attacking teachers verbally or physically on an almost daily basis."

"When Mickey would act up like that, we would send the other students out, so they would be safe, you know, then the teacher and one of us assistants would stay in the room and document as much as possible about what happened. Sometimes she'd have to be alone with him, if staff was out sick or something."

"Why was all this in Mrs. Bender's home and not in the school records?"

"These were her records. Recorded in the heat of the moment, as it was happening… you know, sometimes things would happen so fast, and you didn't know what might be important when you looked back at it later on."

"You looked back on these later?"

"Yes, we used these notes to fill out the school documentation of what happened. Then Mrs. Bender took them home and kept them… just in case."

"In case what?"

"In case she ever got called to testify, she would have something to review, to jog her memory." Mrs. Adams shifted uneasily in her seat and her face was drawn up in sadness. "She was a saint. That woman never raised a finger to those kids in anger. She never even raised her voice to them, other than to be heard over their yelling." The woman looked at Eames earnestly. "I've worked in a lot of behavior classrooms, with a lot of different teachers. Mrs. Bender was the one… the only one… who treated those kids with respect, no matter what they had done to her. She forgave them every day. And she actually taught them, too. They did work in her classroom. Sometimes, that doesn't happen much in a behavior class."

A uniformed officer escorted Mrs. Adams out as Eames turned to the Captain. "She expected something of them, of him. She was the only one who treated him with respect."

"And he killed her for it," Deakins added.

Logan came in. "Some of it has to do with special ed law; some of it has to do with money. Most of it has to do with fear." He sat down and laid out several pages of notes on the table in front of Eames and Deakins. "The law says a Special Ed kid can only be suspended 10 days a year without a hearing to determine if the problems are a manifestation of the kid's disability." He shrugged. "The kid's disability is emotional disturbance, the answer to that's gonna be a yes."

"Well why didn't they suspend him 9 days then? The records only show 3 days in the 2000-2001 school year." Eames asked.

"My friend said usually they do. But Marconi is a special case. His Auntie had already taken legal action against the school district 3 times before. Each time they settled out of court, gave the lady most of what she wanted."

"The schools figured settling was cheaper than going to court. Afraid to spend the money to defend themselves." Deakins piped in.

"Right," agreed Logan. "Meanwhile, Auntie thinks she's got all the power in the world."

"And Carolyn Bender is stuck in the trenches, taking punch after punch." She shook her head. "And I thought being a cop was tough. At least they give us a weapon to use if we need it."

"But why did he kill her so many years later? He was 10 years old when she was his teacher. He's 22 now, why was she still so important to him?" Deakins asked.

Eames ran a hand through her hair and silently wished Bobby was with them to shed some light on exactly that question. He was the best profiler the department had. He figured out Nicole Wallace; he could figure out anybody. She stretched her arms. "I need a break," she announced, and walked out of the room.

The men watched her walk out, then turned to each other. "He stabbed her 37 times," Deakins said. "It was personal."

Logan looked at the pile of documentation they found in Bender's home. "The answer's in here. This is as close as we get to a video of what happened in that classroom."

Deakins nodded. "Call your friend, ask her to come in. I've got some more questions for her."

Bobby was just returning from the john when a nurse came scurrying in with a trayful of sticky leads. "I did it again," he muttered.

"Yeah, no biggie. I'll just stick a new one on." He sat in the bed and lifted up the gown so she could attach a new lead to the wire on the heart monitor. The old one had pulled free and would no longer stick to his skin. As he pulled his gown back down and settled under the sheet, she tapped his puzzle book. "How's that coming?"

"I finished all the logic puzzles and half the crosswords before I got bored with it. Now I'm hoping I can catch a game on the tube until I fall asleep and get this ordeal over with."

"No B-ball tonight, but I think there's a hockey game."

"Anything'll do." As she turned to leave, he noticed her earrings.

"You're going home soon?"

"Yeah. My shift ends at 8."

"You've got a date." She looked up in amazement. He smiled, shrugged off his explanation as he spoke it, "Your earrings. Way too fancy for hospital work."

She smiled. "I heard you were a detective. Guess you must be good at it! Hang in there. Tomorrow will be here before you know it."

"Enjoy your date," he said as she left the room. Bobby sighed a heavy sigh as the silence settled on him. He clicked on the tv and started flipping channels. When the phone rang, he almost knocked it off the table in his haste to answer.

"How ya doin'?" Eames asked.

"I'm fine, you know, for a heart attack waiting to happen. How's the case going?"

She smiled. "Bobby, I'm not going to discuss the case with you until you come back to work. But I will say we miss you."

"That bad, huh?"

"I'll just say we know who, but we're having trouble with why." She stopped herself from going any further. "You need anything?"

"A reuben would be nice."

"Somehow I don't think that goes with a heart-healthy diet."

"Yeah, well. Had to try." He shifted uncomfortably in the bed. "I think visiting hours are over anyway."

"Okay. Hey, call me when they cut you loose tomorrow. I'll take you home."

He smiled. "Uh, okay. Thanks."

Linda looked questioningly at her friend Mike. He nodded, "Just tell 'em what you told me before."

She looked down at her clasped hands. "Look, I've been there. You know, when you think of school, of teachers, you don't think of people calling back and forth on radios like cops. You don't think of running to emergency calls and holding kids back so they don't bust their head through a window. But I've been there. It's like being in a war zone or something. You have to go into battle every day, but you have virtually nothing to help you maintain control. The one thing you count on is back-up. Teamwork. At least, if you're not the only one in the room when it happens, you have a witness, and you won't lose your career over a 5 second decision."

Deakins sat on the edge of the table and smiled at her. "We've been reading some notes that this teacher wrote, she and her assistants. Notes about what happened during these…"

"Meltdowns," Linda supplied.

"Yeah, meltdowns. You teachers get trained in restraint techniques, right?"

Linda nodded, "Yeah, but it's very rare to use them. I can count on one hand how many times I've restrained children in the classroom." She looked up at Mike. "You cops get that kind of training too, right? So you know that restraining kids is a whole lot different than restraining adults. The risk of injury is much higher." She opened up her hands. "Put yourself in my shoes. I restrain a kid and he gets hurt, just once, and I'm going through the ringer. Every aspect of what happened will be scrutinized, by the district, by the school, but worst of all, by the media. It happens to you cops sometimes, but you're somewhat protected. You're dealing with criminals, after all. Not poor helpless children."

"So the teachers don't restrain the kids because they're afraid."

"We work our whole lives to become teachers, college, mentoring programs, continuing ed, honing our practice year after year. We've got mortgages, cars, kids… the last thing you want to do is throw everything away in the heat of a moment with one out of control punk kid." She searched the faces of the detectives. "I love kids. I've taught special education students my whole career. I've taught kids with behavioral needs 4 of my 22 years of teaching. But I'll be honest. Some of them are a mess. Some of them enjoy causing other people pain. And when you have students like that, your priorities change. It's about survival. Get through the year so you get another chance at your career. So you get another chance to really teach, see that little light spark up when they start to learn, to believe in themselves. I hate it that this lady got killed. She was just doing her job."

Linda stared at her hands and slowly shook her head. "You know, you can tell, too… when they can help it or not. There's this look a kid gets… something in their eyes… they're just gone. That's when they're out of control. That's when they can't help themselves. Those are the kids I fight for. I work with them, I get them through the bad times, because they really can't help it." She shook her head slowly. "But there are other ones, who do hateful things, with laughter in their eyes. They just see it as a game. Those are the ones…" she looked around the bare interrogation room, "well, that end up here."

All three detectives knew exactly what she meant. They'd seen those laughing eyes across interrogation tables, in courtrooms.

"What about treatment?" Deakins inquired, "medications, therapy…"

"Some get it and some don't. We're schools, not doctors. We can't put kids on meds, can't even recommend such things without getting ourselves in hot water."

The detectives shook Linda's hand, thanking her for coming in, and Logan walked her out of the building.

"So you can't suspend him, and you can't restrain him…" Eames began.

"Auntie took the schools to court 3 times before the kid was even in 4th grade. I wouldn't restrain him, either," commented the captain.

"When I was a patrol cop, I got called to schools now and then," Eames said. "Seemed like a good talking-to was all we ever did, especially in elementary schools."

Deakins shrugged, "For most kids, that's all they need. The sight of a cop in uniform scares 'em straight."

Eames shook her head, "Poor teachers."

"I still don't get why he would come after her 12 years later," Deakins said, taking a sip from his coffee cup.

Eames shrugged. She'd spent the whole night in a "What Would Bobby Do?" mode, and so she said quietly, "Bender was the only one who ever treated him with respect. I looked through the rest of his school records. A lot more suspensions, restraints… Even at home, as a teenager, his Uncle started calling the cops on him. I think it became convenient to put all his anger in one place."

"Any progress on finding the knife?"

"Logan's on that. He went back to the crime scene neighborhood last night. I haven't heard if that turned anything up." Her cell phone rang. She smiled at Deakins, "It's Bobby." She turned away. "Hello? Sure, I'll be right there."

She turned back to the captain. "They're discharging him. I'm going to go pick him up, take him home."

"Say hello for me," Deakins said with a grin.

"All set?" Eames asked as she entered the hospital room.

Bobby finished signing some papers for the nurse. "Yup," he said, "All set. Let's get outta here."

He walked so fast out of the hospital that she practically had to run to keep up with him. "Over here," she pointed, directing him to the parking garage. "What'd they say?"

"High blood pressure. Take pills, lose weight, less stress." He chuckled at the last one. "I guess if I go for the Chinese instead of the pizza I'll lose a few pounds."

"The Robert Goren diet: Less Italian, more Chinese," Eames teased.

He grinned. "Actually, it's my new dating plan, too." They laughed and she unlocked the car door for him.

She drove him to his neighborhood and pulled to a stop outside the pharmacy. "You sure?"

He nodded, "Yeah, it's just a couple of blocks to the apartment. Besides, I gotta start working off the pounds." He smacked his stomach and smiled at her. "Thanks, Alex."

"See you at work tomorrow, Bobby," she said.

Logan's phone rang at his desk in major case. After a short conversation, he hung up and stood up to put his suit jacket on. "We might have the weapon."

Eames grabbed her stuff and followed him out.

They arrived at the teacher's neighborhood, about two blocks from her house. It was a small park, with swings and a jungle gym. Grass was trying to grow here and there, but it didn't stand much chance against the amount of foot traffic it had to put up with. Behind the jungle gym was a stand of bushes. The CSU team was there in force, carefully taking everything into evidence.

One of the men held up an evidence bag for Logan and Eames to see. Sure enough, it was a hunting knife, about 6 inches long, with a serrated edge. "Kid okay?" Logan asked.

"Yeah, got stitches and sent home. Of all the stupid places to ditch a weapon."

"Muddy things up?" Eames asked.

The CSU officer shrugged. "Won't know until we get to the lab. I expect it'll show the boy's prints, his Dad's, and hopefully some of the killer's. We found some ditched clothes, too," he nodded to his men. "Couple of pieces of paper on the ground, they're probably nothing."

The detectives thanked him and turned over the evidence bag. "If this even shows a partial, that's enough to bring him in."

Eames stared quietly at the bushes, then in the direction of Bender's home. "Thing is, now that she's dead, who's he going to take the anger out on now?"

"Let's hope we can bring him in before we find out the answer to that." They walked over to the car and as he handed her the keys, he asked, "How's Goren?"

"He's all right," she said. "He'll be in tomorrow."

Eames was up half the night, again. Somehow, her partner's sudden illness seemed like a… like a… test. "What would Bobby do? What would Bobby think?" God, she'd been working with him way too long. Whatever happened to Alex Eames' thoughts? She felt like she'd lost something along the way. No, not lost, just gave it away.

Well, damn it, not this time. As much as she cared about him, this was her chance. This was her chance to show him that she could get inside a psycho's head, piece it all together, and wrap him around her little finger to get what she wanted out of him. And then to get him locked away.

She splashed her face with cold water and patted it dry with a towel. Then she sat back down at the kitchen table and looked at the documents scattered in front of her.

The teacher had been honest. There were notes in the documentations that indicated some wrong turns here and there. But nothing she could have been faulted for. Split second decisions are sometimes wrong. She never crossed the line, though. Never laid hands on a kid in anger, never called a kid a name, never lied to a kid to get them to do what she wanted. This was what the aide meant when she talked about Bender respecting her students. She wasn't afraid to set them off by saying a truth they might not want to hear; but she always told the truth.

So why would he hate her for that? Eames stared at the picture of the boy from his 4th grade yearbook.

Because he hated himself. He didn't respect himself, so of course he would hate and certainly mistrust someone who respected him.

She pulled out the psychological evaluation from his 3rd grade year at school and skimmed it once again. His Auntie didn't respect him. She spoke of violence and deceit in their home. She played the 'poor me' card. She could see it between the lines. A woman provoking the behavior she couldn't tolerate in order to get sympathy from anyplace she could; schools, doctors, agencies. The Uncle was in the background. He'd certainly been there all along, but he contributed very little to the information disclosed in the report.

She picked up another psych eval, this one from his Junior year in high school. The Uncle had kicked him out of the house. He had slapped his Auntie in the heat of an argument, and the Uncle had hauled him out of the house by his ear. He'd been missing for 2 days when they found him. They brought him home, cleaned him up, and after a tearful reunion things continued as before.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Bender had reported threatening phone calls.

Alex reorganized the papers chronologically.

2001 (5th grade) Marconi suspended for throwing a chair at a student.

2001 Bender moves from the Bronx to Queens.

2002 (6th grade) Marconi suspended for bringing a knife to school

2002 Benders' unlisted number is breeched; she cancels her phone service.

2003 (7th grade) Marconi suspended for selling his Auntie's medication to other students on the bus

2003 Bender moves to Staten Island.

2004 (8th grade) Marconi suspended for sexual harassment of another student in the library.

2004 Bender's house vandalized.

2005 (9th grade) Police report – Marconi attacked a school staff member.

2005 Bender moved back to the Bronx.

And so it continued, each year, a direct correlation between discipline of this kid and harassment of the 4th grade teacher. At that moment, Alex knew what made him tick. She smiled to herself and shuffled off to bed. The clock read 4 a.m.

When Eames arrived at work at 8, Goren was already there, jacket off, tie tucked in a pocket, and sleeves rolled up. She was glad to see the puffiness gone from his eyes.

"Good morning," he said softly.

She smiled. "You look good. How long you been here?"

He shrugged, "A couple hours." He passed her a fax from CSU. "Good news," he announced.

"Great! I'll get the warrants," she said and went to the phone with a slight skip in her step.

When she came back, she told him, "I'll take the lead on this one, Bobby. I've got him figured out."

To her surprise, Goren tilted his head in a respectful salute and followed her out of the office.

Marconi sat in the interrogation room with what could only be described as a frowny pout on his face.

Eames laid out a picture of Bender in front of him. A headshot, probably one she sent to her family to keep in their wallets. His expression changed slightly; more anger now. "I know you killed her, Marconi. You've been after her for 12 years. Something finally sent you over the edge, and you killed her."

He glared at her but said nothing. Goren spoke to Eames, without even a look at Marconi. "We've got his prints on the knife, his bloody clothes. It's all wrapped up. Don't waste your time, Eames."

"Yeah, that was Bender's mistake. Wasting time on this," she said, chucking her thumb in the direction of Marconi. "Day after day, she said 'Good Morrning, Mickey'; only to have you conspire to get the other kids to call her names, act up, even hurt her. Day after day, she forgave you, Mickey." Eames sat down across from him, "She tried to talk to you about your life, your feelings."

"She was a stupid bitch!" He yelled.

"Why? Because she knew you were just a kid in a crappy situation? That made her a bitch?" He frowned and folded his arms in front of his chest, shaking his head.

"Or maybe she was a stupid bitch because she tried to teach you something?" Eames stared at him for a thick moment and then added, "I'll bet she even prayed for you, Mickey. You know she was religious. She probably prayed to God to get you out of that crappy house and in with some people who really loved you, who weren't in it for themselves…"

He squirmed.

"You know, she wrote how proud she was of your progress in your cumulative record. She got you to improve by a whole grade level in that half a year you were in her class."

"I hated her." He said, simply.

Eames sighed. "Who you gonna hate now, Mickey? You killed the only person who ever gave you the time of day."

His face screwed up in anger, then in pain.

Eames tossed down a picture of the body from the murder scene. His eyes shifted toward it. Again, the anger, then the pain showed on his face.

"How'd you find her?" Eames asked. "She kept moving and moving, and you kept finding her."

He shrugged. "Her mom. I would call and make up some story about being an old friend, and she'd tell me what part of town she lived in."

"How'd you get in her house?"

His mouth turned down again. "She let me in. I told you she was stupid."

"Because she still forgave you? She still believed that you had a good heart, Mickey? That you could change?"

Goren watched, fascinated. Eames had this guy pegged. He was proud of her.

"She was a stupid bitch and I'm glad she's dead!" He shouted, then knocked everything off the table. Goren stood menacingly close, and Marconi backed into the corner.

Eames picked up some papers off the chair, "Now she's dead, I guess you'll just have to hate yourself." She paused. "Or maybe Auntie Sofia." She paused again, "Or Uncle Mark."

"Quit Fucking with me!" He shouted, "Just quit fucking with me, you bitch!"

Goren put his hand out in warning to the criminal.

Eames glared at him. "Don't mistake my apathy for forgiveness. I know you're not worth my time." She walked out of the room and stood by Deakins and Carver behind the glass.

Goren leaned in and spoke in a near whisper. "Was she right, Mick? About why you hated Mrs. Bender?" He paused and then whispered in his ear. "Cuz, my partner… she's usually right."

His voice was strong again. "Did they abuse you, Mick?" Goren paced around him, careful to keep his body just out of harm's reach. "Auntie Sophia? Maybe locked you in your room when she was tired of your… mouth? Or maybe Uncle Mark liked to come visit you late at night?" He could see the young man's fists clenching and unclenching. He knew he struck a nerve. "And all the times you had to sit and listen while they explained to the whole world how awful you were, how they couldn't get you any help, how you were so fucked up nobody knew how to help you."

Marconi screamed and lunged at Goren. Goren easily flipped him over and held him down while Eames came in and cuffed him. Carver looked at Deakins. "I'll get him an appointment with the psychiatrist."

Goren sat patiently and listened to his doctor. "If I had a dime for every cop patient I had with high blood pressure…" he mumbled. "Look, I know there's nothing you can do about it. You guys got the toughest job in the world. Just try and lose the weight, and you might be able to get off the medication."

Goren nodded and shook the man's hand. "Thanks, doc." He gathered up his suit jacket and went out to the waiting room. Eames was reading a magazine with interest and didn't see him come out. He sat down beside her, and she stirred.

"So?" She asked with interest.

"Nothing new. Lose the weight."

"Good," she said. He wasn't sure how to take that. "I'll walk you home."

He smiled and they walked companionably out together. "You did a good job, Eames," he said. "Played him like a fiddle."

"He didn't confess."

"He will. Once he gets in psychotherapy, it'll all come out."

"We'll see," she shrugged sadly. She had so wanted to get the confession out of him at the precinct. She felt like she'd failed her test.

"All those years, and that was the thing his Auntie never did for him: psychiatric help. She put it all on the school system and his pediatrician. He'll break in therapy. I'm sure of it." Goren walked beside her and felt the silence settling on them like a blanket. He stopped her and gently turned her to face him.

"What are you so down about?" He asked teasingly. "I'm the one who should be down. I'm not needed anymore."

She smiled shyly and started walking again. He snuck his hand onto the small of her back as they walked down the street, then settled into holding her hand.

END