Deep
Jezyk
Disclaimer: Not mine, I swear.
Spoilers: Anything through Torch, just in case.
Summary: An undercover case leads to a lot more.
After
His hand was shaking as he knocked on the door. His heart pounded as he waited for an answer. He didn't think he'd ever been as nervous as when the door finally began to swing open.
Her mouth curved up in an attempt at a smile. "Hi." She stepped back out of the way, her movements slow and stilted.
He stepped through the door, already rethinking his reasons for being there. "Why don't you sit down?" He forced a smile and avoided making eye contact as she started toward the couch.
It took her longer than it should have to cross the room, and longer still for her to find a position comfortable enough for her to relax. "Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you want it."
He wasn't thirsty. He wasn't hungry. But he went into the kitchen anyway. He needed to find a way to justify his presence there since he couldn't tell her the truth.
She was in no shape for the truth.
Maybe when her face was a little less pale.
Maybe when she didn't look so damn sick.
Before
Olivia sat at her desk, reading the statement in front of her. There was something about the girl's story that seemed familiar, but she was having a hard time putting her finger on it. She dropped the folder on her desk and glanced at Elliot.
He looked up from his own paperwork after a moment. "Something I can help you with?"
The memory finally flashed in her head. "Do you have Halina's file?"
He chuckled at her as he sifted through the stack of folders on the side of his desk. "You mean Marina's? It's got to be here somewhere."
Before she could correct him, he nodded at her desk. "It's right in front of you, Liv. You need some sleep."
She rolled her eyes. "No, I have Marina's. I'm looking for Halina's." She waited for Elliot to make the connection.
His mouth dropped open for a second as he got it. He started nodding as he picked up half the stack and moved it to sort though the folders on the bottom. "You're right. Different girl."
She grinned as he handed the file over. "Same story." Setting the open files next to one another, she took out a notebook and began noting the similarities.
Elliot stood and walked around the desks, reading her notes over her shoulder. "Good catch."
"It's really pathetic we didn't realize it sooner." She shook her head, already accepting the mantle of blame for Marina's horror despite the fact that it had been going on before Halina had ever found her way into their cases.
His hand fell on her shoulder, squeezing lightly for just a moment. "No, Liv, it's called being overworked."
Shrugging off his attempt to reassure her, she pushed back from her desk, files in hand. "I've got a bad feeling about this." She led the way into the captain's office without bothering to check if her partner was following her. She knew he was.
Ten minutes later, Cragen was looking over the files. "I really hope you're not right about this."
She didn't want to be, but she knew she was. She knew there was more to the story than two similar cases; she feared there were a lot more girls. One of the doctors had called them down to Bellevue to talk to Halina Maslov a few months earlier. She'd been brought into the emergency room by her aunt, who demanded the eighteen-year-old be looked at. Halina had been missing for the better part of four months, though Panya had neglected to report the disappearance, which she reluctantly admitted had to do with the less than legal means by which they'd entered the country only a few weeks prior to the disappearance. Halina simply reappeared one day on her aunt's front steps as though no time had passed since she left. The girl had been terrified, traumatized, refusing to let anyone touch her. Eventually Halina had consented to the exam, which came back inconclusive. She was in good physical health, no bumps or bruises, evidence of sexual activity, but not conclusive for rape. Halina's obvious fear and Panya's overbearing manner concerned the doctor too much to ignore.
It had taken all of Olivia's skill to get Halina to talk. And when she heard the details, Olivia could hardly blame her for being afraid. She'd been held as a sex slave for a couple, forced to participate in any number of sex acts with no ability to refuse, locked in a tiny room when she was not being used for the couple's pleasure. After four months of unimaginable abuse, the girl had been "returned" because she wasn't compliant enough for their tastes.
She'd been too frightened to remember how she'd gotten sold in the first place and had been blindfolded until she was dropped off on her aunt's steps.
The case was frustrating because they had absolutely nothing to go on – no evidence, no information as to who was responsible for the transaction, and only the vaguest description of the couple she'd been with. Looking for a man with dark hair and a woman with light hair would take them forever, especially since Halina was so frightened and upset that Olivia couldn't swear the recollection was accurate.
Olivia was disappointed in herself for having not immediately connected the dots when Marina had appeared at her desk two months later. Decidedly braver than Halina, twenty-year-old Marina had taken it upon herself to talk to the police. Although she too had questionable immigration status, she firmly believed that someone should do something about what had happened to her. Marina Tselikova had also recently arrived in New York when she was taken, having arranged to live in a family friend's apartment until she found a job and a place of her own. The day after she flew in, she left home early to look for a job. Unlike Halina's reluctance to answer questions, Marina had kept herself sane by clinging to the details of her experience. She'd started walking the blocks closest to her friends' apartment, stopping at each restaurant, inquiring after waitressing positions. The day had been frustrating and long, and she'd been quite a distance away by the time her hopefulness had been answered with a curt nod and the assurance that yes, they were looking for help. She'd been told to follow the bartender to the manager's office, except that as soon as she stepped through the door, it was locked behind her.
She'd been scared and tried to leave, but several men blocked the exit. She was brought before a man and a woman who'd whispered about her, looking her over, making her turn around, laughing when she continued asking about being a waitress. Marina said she remembered the woman nodding at someone behind her just before she felt a needle in her arm.
When she woke up, she was forced to change her clothes into a low cut top and short skirt. She had photos taken of her and then told to wait until there was work for her. She asked to leave, begged and cried, but the men ignored her, locking her in a small room.
And then she too was living with a couple, asked to do things she had no intention of doing. Unlike Halina who participated out of fear, Marina had refused. She was beaten and starved until she gave in, her captors finding her spirit amusing. She was there for over six months before the couple grew tired of her and wanted to exchange her for a new girl.
Marina was willing to describe everything, even sat down with a sketch artist to try to identify the man and woman who'd held her.
Olivia had been going over the information regarding the restaurant where Marina had been held in preparation for going there when she'd recognized a connection.
Elliot moved toward the door, anticipating Cragen's order to check it out. "Come on, Liv, let's go."
But rather than letting them go, the boss shook his head. "This isn't an isolated case. With Marina's statement, it's clear there's a lot of organization involved here."
Olivia knew what he was getting at. If they popped up and started questioning the management about kidnapping girls to use as sex slaves, they'd get an orchestrated wall of silence from everyone around. Not to mention that organized crime ran rampant in the Russian community. "We should call OCCB."
Cragen nodded. "Get your files together. I'll give them a call."
If there was one thing Olivia truly hated about the NYPD, it was the damned pissing matches over jurisdiction. She and Elliot had spent two solid days waiting for word of their next step. She was panicked, petrified that there were more girls living as slaves, being tortured mentally and physically, abused in horrific ways while OCCB and Cragen brought out the measuring sticks.
In the end, Captain Ellis admitted that they were aware of the girls, always young, freshly immigrated illegals, being sold into sexual slavery by the Russian mob. The problem was that they were simply more interested in the weapons and drugs changing hands than in the girls.
On the morning of the third day, the body of Anya Dotsenko was found in an alley, beaten, raped, and strangled, after having disappeared a week earlier. Ellis begrudgingly shrugged when Olivia lit into him, asking him if it was a Special Victims case yet.
Cragen stepped between them, trying to keep the detective he agreed with from getting in trouble. "Ken, you have anything to help?"
He shrugged again, making it clear that he really didn't want them involved in his case in any way. "We've got a man on the inside. Name's Peter, he's going by Petya, he can probably introduce someone in."
Elliot's eyebrows flew up. "Undercover?"
Ellis snickered. "You think there's any other way? They'll die before they'll give a cop a straight answer."
And so, it was set. They talked to Peter, aka Petya, got an invitation to the restaurant where they would pose as a couple interested in spicing up their sex life. According to Peter, they would have to be introduced to the players, show up a few times, make themselves seem trustworthy, before they would be able to get any information.
OCCB had a house they could use, one that had been set up a few months earlier for an undercover op that never happened. With the aid of a few faux appliance delivery men, Olivia's and Elliot's clothes were dropped off while they studied up on their new covers. Elliot would become Edward Grant, an old college buddy of Petya's, a man who'd made his money on Wall Street, and spent it on whatever he wanted. Olivia was Sarah, his well-to-do wife, who expected to get everything she wanted.
And of course, what Edward and Sarah wanted, was a young Russian plaything.