Author's note: Hey, everyone. I know it has been forever and a day since I last updated, but I don't like to write things just for the sake of writing. I prefer quality over quantity. I've been very busy with college and some real life matters, but my writing mojo is back...for now. As always, this story will be rated M for language, content, and possible violence. Thanks for reading. Enjoy.
The early morning sunshine streamed through the bedroom window, an insolent reminder that it was once again morning. Ahead was a new day of filing, arguing, and the occasional breakthrough. It was another day of the same routine- the same conversations, the same people, even the same schedule. Despite her apathy towards the morning ahead, Senior Assistant District Attorney found herself all too eager to get out of bed. She was showered and ready for work by the time her alarm blared. Stabbing the off button, the attorney slipped into her favorite heels, retrieved her purse from the hook by the closet, and left the apartment.
The morning itself was quite easy. Casey only had one hearing to handle, so she ate breakfast at a cafe a few blocks from the courthouse, then headed over. She channeled everything she had into convincing the judge that the case should not be thrown out, and that, despite her personal feelings towards them, the police involved were not corrupt, and had done their jobs well. To the redhead's immense relief, the judge declared that the case would stand, and that the trial would begin in two months.
After lunch, Casey met with Judge Briggs to request a search warrant for a suspected rapist's office. "Your Honor," Casey continued, swallowing her frustration with the judge's hesitation. "Mr. Wilson bragged about his crime on several occasions, to numerous people."
Trevor Langan, who had been listening quietly for the past several moments, interjected by clearing his throat loudly. "If Miss Novak's only grounds for this warrant are supposed comments my client may or may not have made, then breaching his personal privacy is highly unnecessary."
"So you admit that he boasted of what he called his sexual exploits, in front of-"
Again, Langan cut her off. "On the contrary. Unless these witnesses are capable of mind reading, they must remember that Mr. Wilson only said he slept with twenty two women in one week, and didn't have to convince them much. At no point did he confess to rape."
Judge Briggs folded his hands thoughtfully. "From what I understand, these women all worked in strip clubs or on the street. Is that correct, Miss Novak?"
Casey bit the inside of her lip, having wished that wouldn't come up. Judge Briggs, after all, had dismissed the guilty verdict against Daniel Pryor because his victim, Evie Barnes, was a porn star. "Yes, Your Honor," she admitted. "Regardless of their professions, six of these women clearly endured some sort of trauma." She distributed a copy of each woman's rape kit results, first to the judge, then to Langan. Reciting the results from memory, Casey ticked them off on her fingers. "Bruising of the thighs and buttocks, swelling and the presence of semen from only one man: Mr. Wilson. These rape kits are clear evidence of forcible intercourse."
"Or rough sex," the judge replied, his eyes scanning the results before him. "As previously stated, these women make money by sleeping with men. Mr Wilson has admitted to paying them." He sighed, closing the folder. "I'm sorry, Miss Novak. The words of a few prostitutes and inconclusive rape kits are not sufficient evidence for a search warrant."
Casey was too stunned to speak. By the time she had parked her car in the parking garage at the precinct, she was oscillating between fury at the judge, pain for the victims, and, of course, rage for something she was trying not to think about. As she entered the precinct, Casey noticed Olivia, Nick, and Amanda gathered at the corkboard, the Wilson case laid before them.
"We didn't get it," she announced, pointedly looking at the corkboard, pretending to study it just so she wouldn't have to look around.
"Why the hell not?" Amanda questioned. "This man has raped twenty two women. We have statements from three of his employees, and even his own brother regarding his confession to them."
Casey sighed. "all the evidence in the world crumbles when Judge Briggs hears that a victim gets paid for sex."
An uncomfortable silence settled over the squadroom. Everyone remembered the Evie Barnes case. Casey hadn't personally prosecuted it, of course, but between the news and the office grapevine, she had heard exactly what had happened. The fact that a judge could nullify a guilty verdict based on his personal beliefs was appalling and terrifying all at once. It meant that no guilty verdict was truly safe. A jury was practically useless.
"Okay, so what are you going to do?" Olivia interjected.
Casey, still not looking at her, shrugged. "I need more evidence. Find me more evidence of these crimes, evidence that even someone as biased as Briggs can't throw out. Maybe he raped someone who wasn't a working girl, or maybe someone closer to home. Have you interviewed his wife? I wonder how she feels about her husband's activities. Maybe she was his experiment."
"That would give us Wilson on a silver platter," Olivia answered thoughtfully. "But what proof do we have that he abusing his wife and not just cheating on her?"
"Cheating doesn't qualify as abuse in the Great Olivia Benson's handbook?" Casey snapped. Inwardly, she smacked herself. So much for not speaking about it. She sighed deeply, regaining her composure. "Just interview her. We need more evidence. Call me when you have something."
Before anyone could respond, the attorney exited the squadroom, though not nearly as calmly as she had entered. It was going to be a long day.
Later that night, she left the office just after seven and returned home. No one had been able to find anything more on Wilson, so they would tail him for a few days, hoping to catch him in the act or find another witness. As she prepared a steaming bubble bath, Casey checked her phone. She noted three missed calls from Olivia. Deleting them, then her voicemails without listening to them, Casey placed her phone on the charger, stripped, and slid into the water.
She must have fallen asleep, because when she woke up, the water had turned frigid. Shivering, the attorney reached for a towel, draining the tub, wrapping the towel around her naked body, and wringing her long red hair out in the tub. Padding into the bedroom, Casey stopped short when she realized she wasn't alone. "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded.
"I live here too," Olivia replied calmly, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Casey rolled her eyes. "How ironic that you choose now to come home, when you never leave your office when I do want you around." She retrieved her nightgown from the hanger, pulled it on, and tied her favorite cashmere robe over it. She heard Olivia on her heels as she walked into the kitchen.
"We have to talk about this sometime," the brunette murmured.
"I have nothing to say," Casey retorted. "Just be happy that you lived up to your nickname." She opened the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of flavored water, and then opened a box of crackers. Snack in hand, the redhead returned to the bedroom. "And don't follow me," she called over her shoulder.
From the kitchen, she heard Olivia's characteristic sigh, then the jingle of keys. Hearing the front door close, Casey felt her heart leap into her throat. Had she actually wanted Olivia to leave? She pulled the pillows over her head, fighting the images of where Olivia may have gone, or to whom. On second thought, it was probably a good thing she had left. She wouldn't have heard the redhead's heartbroken cries.