This is my first fanfic, it reads kinda like an episode, I think. Anyway, the story's been eating at me for a while, so I decided I'd better write some of it down.
I don't own any of the L&O characters, yadda yadda yadda.
Rated PG-13 for some language, and graphic imagery that will be happening in Part Two..
p.s. Sorry about the crappy formatting.
Jeopardy, Part One
"You're already packed?" Candice shouted as she eyed a stuffed green duffel on the floor.
Startled, Jill turned to see her roommate leaning in the doorway. Candice could have been Jill's twin, with shoulder-length brown hair and the same medium build. Jill often mused about their physical similarities, but while Candice was bubbly and energetic, Jill was quiet, subdued, and introverted. Candice was too social to keep out of Jill's life, and she used their tiny NYU dorm apartment to her every advantage. Candice pushed Jill's door open a bit further and inched inside.
Jill shrugged at her. "Yeah, I'm actually leaving earlier than I thought," Jill explained as she sat down on her bed. "I was going to leave you a note, I thought you had class."
"Skipped it," Candice sang as she sat down next to her friend. "Since you won't be around tonight, do you mind if I raid your closet?" Candice gave Jill puppy-dog eyes through tendrils of soft brown hair.
"Sure, why? You've got another hot date with that Richie guy or something?"
Candice jumped over to Jill's closet and began rifling through it. "Yeah, we're going to the Tribecca Grill. I think he might even spring for a taxi this time," Candice said as she pulled out a strappy black dress. "Ooh," she exclaimed, holding it against her as she swayed in front of Jill's full length mirror. "How about this?"
Jill watched her roommate wistfully from her bed. "Perfect. In fact, if you like it, you can keep it. I never wear that anymore," she said, absent-mindedly scratching at her sleeve.
"Really? Thanks, Jilly!" Candace draped the dress over her arm and resumed her spot next to Jill. "Hey, are you okay? You seem kinda down."
Jill laughed. "Well, you know me, a regular ball of sunshine." Candice nodded. "Yeah, but.."
"I just hate going home to Florida," Jill interrupted.
* * * * *
"Ms. Carmichael?"
Jill's eyes flew open as she realized she'd been sleeping in her waiting-room chair. Her groggy eyes then darted instantly up to the nurse, who stood over her with a clipboard. "Oh, god, sorry," she said, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "I guess I just dozed off for a second."
The nurse smiled. "That's fine. Dr. Ramirez will see you now."
"Right," Jill sucked in a breath. She followed the nurse down the solemn hallways, pausing in front of a large oak door with complete with a nameplate. The nurse tapped softly at the door, and a voice inside answered with a gruff "Come in."
The nurse opened the door for Jill, then touched her lightly on the shoulder. "You'll be fine," she said to her, then continued down the hall. Jill sucked in another breath and entered, immediately making her way to an overstuffed chair in front of Dr. Ramirez's antique desk.
The doctor raised his chin to look at her through a pair of scratched bifocals resting on the end of his nose. "Ah yes, hello there, Jill. How are we feeling today?"
"Fine," Jill whispered, praying that the chair would somehow swallow her if she sank into it deep enough.
"I've been looking over your file," Dr. Ramirez began, motioning to the overstuffed manila folder on his desk, as if that were supposed to comfort her. "I understand that you're currently attending NYU."
Jill nodded.
"And how do you like it? Make any friends there?" the doctor feigned interest as he thumbed through Jill's file.
"Um, yeah. Candice-- she's my roommate-- we've gotten pretty close."
"Good, good." Dr. Ramirez shut Jill's file and looked up at her. "How about those nightmares? Get any of those anymore?"
Jill broke her gaze. So much for small talk. "Not so much, just sometimes," she answered.
"And the depression?"
Jill bit her lip.
"Jill," the doctor had a lecturing tone, "We're trying to help you get better here; you can't just ignore the symptoms and expect this all to go away. Now, I know you want to start a new life, but there are just some things you can't leave behind."
Jill scratched at her arm and nodded.
* * * * *
Candice ran into Jill's room, pulling the loose black strap of the dress back onto her shoulder. She lurched open the closet door, and quickly began to sift through a pile of shoes on the floor inside. "Fuck, he's going to be here any minute," she said to herself as she threw pair after pair over her shoulder. "Need shoes, shoes..ah!" her manicured hand grabbed a faded pair of black heels. "These'll do," she said as she stood up to try them on.
Candice was so engrossed by how her shoes looked, she had no idea anyone was standing so close behind her. A single blow to the back of the head was all that was needed to make Candice drop to the ground.
The killer crouched down and carefully turned Candice's unconscious body over, slowly taking a blade from behind. With a gloved hand, the assassin slit Candice's throat from ear to ear. Candice awoke with a shock, struggling against her murderer, but she was held down and muffled until she bled to death on Jill's carpet.
* * * * *
Goren stood in the main living area of the dorm apartment, his large frame overpowering the room like a bull in a pen, and Eames couldn't help but see him enter. She excused herself from her seat on the couch next to a young man with his head in his hands, and walked over to her 6' 3" partner. Goren looked at him with questioning eyes.
"Boyfriend," Eames answered. She pointed down the police-filled hallway to an open door. The flashes of a camera could be discerned from just inside. "He found her in there."
Once inside the room, Goren immediately crouched over Candice's body, careful to note every disheveled hair, every drop of blood.
"Candice Capriotti," Eames told him as he studied her. "22 years old. Just a kid."
"She was held down," Goren noted, pointing to her bruised wrists. "The perp waited until she bled to death before leaving."
With a gloved hand, he slowly turned Candice's head to the side. "There's a wound on the back of her head as well," Goren furrowed his brow. He gently placed her head back and brought a hand to his chin.
Eames crouched down next to her partner. "She can't have fallen on anything during the struggle; there's no blood on the desk, or any other sharp edges."
"The head wound came first," Goren mused, standing up. "She was attacked from behind, and then turned over."
Eames got to her feet. "Why go to all the trouble? Why not just slit her throat?" she asked.
Goren's mind was ticking. "The killer is trying to say something here," he said. He suddenly looked over at Alex. "Did she live alone?"
"No," Eames answered. "The boyfriend said he heard Candice say her roommate's in Florida visiting family."
"How convenient," Goren said, snatching up a framed picture from Jill's desk. "Ask the boyfriend if that's the roommate," he said, pointing to a young woman sitting next to Candice in the picture, then handing the frame to Eames. "Also, call the airports; I want to know when this girl left, where in Florida she went, and most importantly, when she's getting back."
With Eames on her way, Goren turned his attention to the details of the scene: a closet full of hooded sweatshirts; a bookshelf stuffed with Criminology textbooks and American literature; an open pack of cigarettes on top of the TV. He walked over to the answering machine and pressed 'play' with a gloved finger.
"This is the Bobst library calling," a voice rattled out of the small white box. "You have three books which are now one week overdue. Please return said items to avoid incurring any more late charges. This is your final warning. Thank you." The machine beeped, signaling the end of the tape.
Robert walked back out of the room and let the forensics team take over, turning his attention to the conversation between Eames and the boyfriend.
"When did you find her?" Eames asked.
Richard fidgeted with his collar. "Um, I was supposed to pick her up at seven, but I was late. Why was I late? God. I think it was around 7:20. Um, but anyway, it took me a few minutes to find her, I didn't know where she was. And then… and then I found her.. I found her in Jill's room."
Goren leaned in closer. "Jill? You mean Candice's roommate?"
"Yeah," the Richard choked. He handed Goren the framed picture of the two roommates. "Jill."
Goren and Eames exchanged glances.
"Are you familiar with the Bobst Library?" Goren asked as he placed the photo in his organizer.
"Um, yeah. It's the main NYU library," Richard said, wiping his face. "Why do you ask?"
* * * * *
ELMER HOLMES BOBST LIBRARY
70 WASHINGTON SQUARE SOUTH
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 13
"Yeah," the security guard grinned from behind his desk at the entrance. "Jill's in here all the time. She's always over in the Criminology section, Law section, stuff like that."
"When was the last time you saw her?" Goren said, unzipping his folder.
"Oh, I guess I'd say Monday. She said something about going home for the weekend."
"Apparently, she's already there," Goren added.
"Really? That's odd." The security guard cocked his head.
"MMmm." Goren nodded. He looked up at Eames just as she was approaching with a paper in her hand.
"Jill's quite the avid reader," Eames said, handing Goren the library printout.
"Look at this," Goren's voice jumped. "One.. Two.. Three, four.. Six.. Seven. Seven books on serial killers." His lengthy index finger poked at the paper playfully.
"Think it's for a class?" Eames wondered, half-sarcastically.
"That's gotta be some class," Goren answered.
"Maybe Candice was her extra credit." Eames smirked as she reached into her jacket to answer her buzzing phone.
Goren shook his head. "It doesn't make sense though," he said to himself. " For someone so well-versed in criminology, why have the crime scene in your own room?"
"Thanks," Eames flipped her phone closed. "There's no record of any Jill Bovary coming or going out of LaGuardia or JFK for the past week," she said, turning to Goren. "This girl has just plain vanished."
"Put out an APB," Goren replied.
MAJOR CASE SQUAD
ONE POLICE PLAZA
11TH FLOOR
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 14
"Thank you," Goren said as he hung up his phone. Eames looked up from her paperwork to meet her partner's steely gaze. "According to NYU, there's nothing in Jill's file except a college transcript from the University of Florida, and a few letters of recommendation; nothing from her life before NYU. How is it coming with her social security number?"
"The plot thickens," Eames raises an eyebrow as she passes Goren a piece of paper. "I got a fax from the NSA. Turns out, this social security number belongs to a Jill Bovary who died last year."
"So anything in her admissions file at NYU is probably forged, too," Goren sighed before picking up a ringing phone. "Goren," he barked. Upon listening to the call, he stood up and nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Great. Bring her to the Major Case squad. Yes. Thanks."
"What is it?" Eames asked as Goren slammed down his phone.
"We've got Jill. Apparently she walked in on the CSI guys, and they arrested her when she tried to flee the scene."
"She returned to the scene of the crime?" Eames cocked her head. Goren met her eyes in agreement.
"Yeah, I know. It doesn't sound like something our killer would do. But her past suggests she's not exactly an innocent victim."
"You mean her lack of a past."
The interrogation room was dank and ominous, and Jill shut her eyes to avoid her intense feeling of claustrophobia. The dark mirrored glass on the wall behind her made her feel as though she were on display; she hated the feeling of being watched.
Goren quietly entered the room, and took his first glance at Jill. He couldn't help but notice the expression on her face; she had been crying, no doubt because of her roommate, but her head was sunken, as though she was defeated. Her swollen eyes seemed much older than her 22 years.
Goren gently placed his binder on the interrogation table and took a seat directly across from her. Eames was soon to follow, entering the room seconds later and grabbing a chair to Jill's right.
It was time to begin.
"You must be Jill," Goren smiled, turning on his charm.
Jill looked him straight in the eye, then deliberately turned away as she tried to suppress the look on her face that revealed she recognized him. The gesture took only a moment, but Goren was still able to catch it.
"Yes," she whispered.
Goren smiled again. "Really," he flashed his teeth. "That's odd. Because it says right here you died on October 1st, 2000." He picked a paper out of his folder and placed it on the table, pushing it to her.
"What are you talking about?" Jill anxiously glanced at the page.
"Your social security card. It's on file at the University. But it belonged to the real Jill Bovary, who, according to the NSA, died last year of undisclosed causes. Now, I'm not in pre-med or anything, but you look pretty alive to me." Goren placed a hand to his chest and gave her a condescending look.
"What were your whereabouts Tuesday night?" Eames jumped in, before Jill had a chance to answer Goren's question.
Jill's eyes traveled down Goren's face to his open binder. She imagined all of the information about her it might contain. I need to keep myself safe, she thought. Her eyes met Goren's again. "Out," she said calmly.
"Out. Not much of an alibi," Eames retorted.
"I didn't know I'd be needing one," Jill shot back. Goren noticed Jill's posture change, along with her tone of voice. She's been backed into a wall, and she's trying to protect herself, he mused. "No alibi, huh? You know, 'Jill,' or whatever your name is," Goren stood up. "Since you're a criminology major and all, I figured you'd know enough about Lorillard vs. Reilly to understand the trouble you're in.."
Jill shook her head, interrupting. "Lorillard vs. Reilly has to do with a ban on smoking advertisements. Did I miss something?"
"Oh, yeah, that's right," Goren said as he paced the room. He placed a hand behind his neck. "What's the one… the one about obstruction of justice?" he asked, snapping her fingers.
"People vs. Rothenburg." Jill murmured.
"People vs. Rothenburg, yes." Goren nodded at her. He looked at Eames, shrugging. "She studied," he said.
Jill raised an eyebrow. "Refusing to disclose my alibi is not an obstruction of justice or an admission of guilt. Miranda vs. Arizona."
Eames narrowed her eyes. "You have a fake name, no known alibi, and a dead roommate in your room. It's not going to be hard to build a case against you."
Goren sat back down. "Roommates are hard to deal with sometimes. Maybe Candice was on your case all the time, constantly annoying you… maybe you thought you'd teach her a lesson."
"I didn't kill my roommate," Jill replied.
Eames cocked her head again. "You seem to be a bit pre-occupied with killers. You've got 7 books checked out of the library on serial killers alone."
Jill turned to Eames. "That's for a project I'm working on." She began to squirm and scratch her wrist as Goren eyed her sweatshirt.
Goren leaned closer. "What are you, like a 6, right?"
Jill gave him a look. "What?"
"Most of Candice's clothes in her closet were 8s, 9s. But the dress she had on was a size 6. She was wearing your dress when she was killed." He threw a picture onto the table of Candice's body in the black dress.
Jill looked away in shock. "I gave her that dress. I said she could wear it for her date." She whispered, wiping a tear.
"Why was she in your room?" Eames continued.
"I don't know." Jill put her head in her hands. "Shoes maybe? I wasn't there, okay?"
"Why give her that dress? I mean, that was a nice dress," Goren said as he looked at another photo before throwing it in front of Jill.
Jill shut her eyes at the graphic images. "I don't wear things like that anymore."
"You know," Goren began. "It's almost as nice as that watch your wearing. Mind if I take a look?"
Before she could object, Goren reached over and snatched Jill's wrist, and pulled it closer to him. He turned her hand over to reveal a prominent scar running the length of her arm from an attempted suicide. "Is this why you changed your name? Looking for a fresh start, Jill?"
Jill snatched her arm back in anger. "Fuck you," she whispered.
The door opened suddenly, and Carver leaned into the room as menacingly as he could. "Could I see you two for a second?"
Goren and Eames wasted no time in joining Carver in the observation room, where the DA was leaning against the glass with a tired expression. "Why is she in there alone? Did she waive the right to an attorney?"
"Not exactly," Goren began.
"You two are on dangerous ground," Carver warned. "As annoying as it sounds, she's still technically within her rights. She isn't impeding the investigation."
"What do you mean? She has a false social security number!" Eames countered.
"According to NYU, it's just a paperwork error."
Eames rolled her eyes, while Goren began to set his mind to work.
"This girl knows something; knows.. Me," he said quietly.
Carver wrinkled his brow. "What makes you say that?"
Goren turned to the glass and rested a shoulder to it. "I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "But she placed me somehow."
"It's not enough to keep her here," Carver shook his head.
"If this girl walks, she's going to disappear all over again," Eames pleaded.
Goren suddenly came to a realization, put his hand to his mouth and distractedly walked out of the room.
"You get 5 minutes," Carver called after him, knowing Goren all too well. "Then she's free to go."
Goren entered the room and sat down next to Jill in one fluid motion. He opened his binder again and began to place photographs of Candice all over the table.
Jill sighed wearily. "Please stop."
"You say you know nothing about this murder, is that correct?"
Jill remained silent as Goren finished dealing out his photographs. He pointed to the nearest photograph. "This was a pointless death, wasn't it? An 'oops'? Wrong place at the wrong time?"
Jill held her breath.
"Candice was in your room, wearing your clothes, when she was killed. She was bludgeoned from behind, but the killer realized when he turned her over that she wasn't.." Goren paused. "Wasn't you."
Jill stared vacantly at the table as Goren continued. "We weren't the only ones looking for you, were we, Jill?"
Jill bit her lip as tears began to fall freely down her face.
"That's why you changed your name, that's why you're not cooperating with us. You think he'll find you."
"He already has found me," Jill swallowed as she eyed the photographs.
Goren leaned in even closer. "Who are you running from?"
Jill shook her head. "I don't know."
"You're a smart girl, Jill. I think you do know. That's what all those fun little books are for, right? You think he's a serial killer or something?"
Jill shook her head more violently. "I can't."
"He killed her so she wouldn't talk. Now you won't talk either. You're going to let Candice die for nothing?"
Jill stifles a laugh in between her sobs. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Goren inches even closer to her, enough for her to feel his breath. "Try me," he whispers.
Jill turns to him, their faces only inches apart. Her countenance fades from a painful expression to a quiet, somber one. "Mother is the word for God on the lips and hearts of little children."
Deakins opened the door to the interrogation room with a jolt. "Your five minutes are up," he demanded.
Goren's eyes lit up as he watched her go. He rubbed the palm of his hand against his neck and thought quickly. "I know that quote," he said to himself. "What is it from?"
He reached for his zippered binder and rushed down the hallways of the Major Case squad room, aching to satisfy his comprehension of Jill's cryptic message.
* * * * *