Disclaimer: Law and Order: SVU is not mine. I did not create it or its characters, and I'm obviously not profiting from it.
Love v. Justice,
or
A Case of Blind Faith
Chapter 1: The Case
Stabler and Benson arrived at the scene of a homicide in the small hours of the morning. "What do we have?" Elliot asked tiredly.
"The vic's name was Yermolai Petrov, a 56-year-old Russian immigrant. A neighbor called in about an hour ago complaining about the noise. The chain lock on the door was broken. The victim cracked the door open but didn't want the perp to get in. We took one look at the corpse and decided this is a job for SVU," said Captain Marcos, the officer who'd been first on the scene.
"Why?" asked Olivia.
Dr. Warner answered. Her eyes and gloved fingers continued to examine the blood-streaked body slumped against the living room couch. "Genitals cut off with a kitchen knife. Haven't found it yet. Beaten to death with this." She picked up a long copper pipe covered in blood, already wrapped for evidence.
"We found that in a garbage outside the building," Marcos said. "The murderer tried to hide it by wrapping it up in a trash bag."
Elliot crouched down to get a closer look at the body. "Someone really wanted this guy dead," he commented.
Dr. Warner agreed. "A lot of the blunt-force wounds are post-mortem, as is the genital mutilation. The killer was mad as hell at this guy; wasn't content with just killing him."
"Have you found anything to help us ID the perp?" Olivia asked.
"Judging by the position of the initial blows to the head, and the force of the strikes, you're either looking for a small man or a woman. I'm leaning toward the latter."
"That narrows down our suspect list to only half the city," Olivia commented.
Munch and Fin canvassed the neighborhood later that morning.
The upstairs neighbor—the one who called 911—had seen someone run from the building a few minutes after the clamor woke her up. She couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, but said the person had short dark hair and was wearing a brown trench coat. The only other neighbor who knew anything was a nosy bald man who lived down the hall.
"I didn' hear nothing last night, but yesterday I saw Mr. Petrov arguin' with some broad."
"What were they arguin' about?" asked Fin.
"Beats me. It was in Russian. I seen her around here before—always in the afternoon, never at night—but I'd never seen them arguing. He wouldn't even let her in; they argued through the door. They shouted at each other for about five minutes, then the broad took off."
"Can you describe this 'broad'?" Munch requested.
"Middle aged, skinny, short black hair...she spoke Russian, but she looked Asian. She had green eyes. I remember that from one time when I bumped into her in the hall."
"Know her name?"
"If I did, I woulda telled you already, instead of taking a whole minute out of my day to describe 'er."
"We appreciate your time, Mr. Johnson," Munch assured him. He handed over his card. "Please call us if you remember anything else."
They walked out of the apartment building into a windy and overcast morning. Munch pulled his black trench coat tighter around himself. "Let's find this skinny broad."
When they got back to the precinct, Cragen was waiting for them.
"What's the word?" asked Fin.
"We have some information on the victim's family. He has an ex-wife and two kids: a son in college, a daughter married and living in New Jersey. They immigrated in 1990. I've sent Olivia and Elliot to talk to the daughter. You two are going to talk to the son. So far we haven't found an address for his ex-wife. See what you can get."
"We looking at the ex for this?" Fin speculated.
"Don't we always?"
Elliot and Olivia walked up the steps to the daughter's apartment, which was in a clean and relatively affluent neighborhood of Newark. They rang the doorbell. Elliot squinted at his notes as they waited. "How do you think this name is pronounced?"
Olivia read over his shoulder. "Smith?"
"Her first name. Kseniya?"
The door opened, and a short woman with green eyes, red-dyed hair, and a baby balanced on her hip looked at them. "Can I help you?" she asked.
Elliot smiled in greeting. "Mrs. Smith? NYPD." He showed her his badge. "We'd like to ask you a few questions about your father."
She nodded. "Come inside. Please have a seat. Can I get you some coffee?" A stiffness of movement and a catch in her breathing were the only indications of grief. She put her baby in a highchair and poured two cups of coffee without waiting for an answer. "Sugar? Cream?"
"No thanks," Elliot answered.
The detectives sat down at her kitchen table. The woman set the steaming cups of coffee in front of them, and then sat down across the table. She looked the detectives in the eye and asked, "How can I help you find the one who killed my father?"
"Mrs. Smith," Olivia asked gently, "do you know if your father had any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt him?"
She shook her head. "As far as I know he was well liked at work. He kept to himself a lot, didn't make any close friends or enemies."
"He worked at Lenox Hill Hospital, didn't he?"
She nodded. "As a lab tech. He was a chemist in the Soviet Union. I can't imagine anyone he worked with would want to kill him."
"Did he have any girlfriends?" Elliot asked.
"Not that I know of. Like I said, he kept to himself when he wasn't at work. He was communicating with a woman in Russia online, but it wasn't anything serious."
"What about your mother?" asked Olivia.
"I thought that might come up," Kseniya said. "And I don't think my mother would have killed him. They always got along, even during the divorce."
"Why did they divorce?"
She shrugged. "There were a lot of reasons. I think they weren't really in love anymore. The spark went out of their marriage years ago, but they stayed together until my brother went to college."
"How is your relationship with your parents?" Elliot inquired.
"It's good. I keep in touch with both of them." She closed her eyes and amended, "At least I did."
"Do you mind if I use your bathroom?" Elliot asked.
"Not at all. It's at the end of the hall across the living room." She pointed the way.
Elliot left Olivia to finish the interview. The living room was clean and uncluttered. The inconspicuous paintings hanging on the walls seemed to blend in with the wallpaper, which was a warm shade of reddish brown, and there were a number of houseplants near the windows. He also noticed a child peeking out from behind a sofa. Elliot crouched down and looked into the chubby little girl's eyes, which were swollen and dripping with silent tears. "Hey," he said. "What's your name?"
"Alya," she answered softly. "Granpapa's dead."
"I'm sorry about that. Do you know how he died?"
"I asked Mommy, and she said someone hurt him very badly."
"Do you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt your granpapa?"
She shook her head again. "He was so nice. He gave me a teddy bear for my birfday. I asked Mommy if he's ever coming back, and she said he's not ever coming back. Is that true?"
Elliot had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could answer. "If that's what your Mommy tells you, yeah."
"Will the person who hurt him hurt me too?" she asked with wide, frightened eyes.
"No. I promise I'm going to find that person and make sure they never hurt anyone else."
Fin and Munch knocked on the son's dorm room door. Loud music blared from inside, but it fell silent after a few louder knocks.
"Who is it?" someone called through the door.
"Detectives Munch and Tutuola, NYPD. Temir Petrov? We're here to ask you a few questions."
The door cracked open and a young man peeked out. The red of his bloodshot eye contrasted sharply with the green of his iris. Fin held up his badge for inspection. The door opened enough to admit them.
The room was divided into two sides marked by different styles of decor and different levels of clutter. "Where's your roommate?" Munch asked.
"I asked him to go to the library for a while...after I got the phone call." He sat down on his bed and sniffled. "Who would want to kill my dad? He never did anything to anyone. It makes no sense."
"That's what we're trying to figure out," Fin replied.
Munch picked up what looked like a family portrait on the table. "Is this your mother?" he asked, pointing to a middle-aged woman with short black hair and green eyes.
"Yeah," the distraught young man answered.
"Do you know where we can find her?"
He looked confused. "She isn't at her apartment?"
"We haven't been able to find an address for her."
"I guess you wouldn't. She moved in to one of her co-worker's apartments after the divorce. The coworker moved to Florida with her boyfriend a couple of weeks ago. The apartment might still be in her name. I can give you the address and phone number." He jotted the information down on a piece of scratch paper and handed it to Munch. "I guess no one's told Mom yet. I don't know how she'll take it."
"We'll break it to her gently," Munch told him. "We have experience with this kind of thing."
Fin gave the young man an intense, intimidating look. "How did your mom and dad get along?"
He stared at them for a long second. "You think my mom did this?" he asked angrily.
"Just a standard question," Munch assured him.
Temir took a calming breath. "I understand; you don't know my mom and you have to suspect everyone. I know you guys have a job to do, so I'm sorry if I come across as insensitive, but my dad just died!"
"We appreciate your understanding," Fin said, sounding almost but not quite sympathetic.
When they walked out the door, Munch called Cragen to tell him they had the ex's address and were on their way to check it out.
They got back to the precinct an hour later.
"Nobody home," Fin explained. "She must've already skipped town."
"I'm not surprised. She didn't put much effort into covering her tracks. The prints from the murder weapon came back; they're all hers," Cragen said.
Casey Novak walked in. "I'll get you a warrant by tomorrow. This looks like an open-and-shut case."
"You're right. What are we missing?" Munch replied, half-joking.
A woman walked in. Munch and Fin recognized her instantly from the family photo in Temir's dorm: the ex-wife, Serim Araizhanova. "Excuse me," she said in a thick Russian accent. "I heard you're looking for me for questioning in my ex-husband's murder?"
They all stared at her.
"So, here I am," she concluded.
