Never can tell
what lies ahead.
For all that I know
she's already dead.
But into the woods,
into the woods,
into the woods,
To Grandmother's house
and home before dark.
(Red Riding Hood, Into the Woods)
Central Park
Wednesday, January 6th
"It's way too early and way too cold to be out running!" the blonde jogger said, her teeth chattering as she slowed down, hugging herself in an effort to combat the icy Manhattan morning.
"How are you going to do the Polar Bear Plunge at the end of the month if you can barely handle this?" her brunette companion asked, rolling her eyes. The taller woman was ahead of the blonde, but suddenly came to an abrupt stop, gravel and a light layer of frost from the night before crunching under her sneakers.
"Finally giving up, too?" the blonde asked.
"Nikki, shut up." The brunette's voice was shaking and she hadn't stopped staring at the patch of bushes near an old, gnarled oak tree off to the side of the walking path.
"What? Ellen, what's going on?" The blonde, Nikki, caught up to her friend and followed the other woman's gaze. Between the bushes and the tree, almost as if it had been tossed there cavalierly, was a woman's hand, seemingly shredded at the wrist. Blood pooled around it, crimson rivulets seeping into the snowy ground. The blonde jogger let out a scream.
"There's more of her over here," Dr. Melinda Warner said matter-of-factly to the two detectives who'd arrived on the scene about fifteen minutes before.
CSU and the first responders had already been there about an hour, combing the scene and interviewing witnesses. The whole area was blocked off with crime scene tape. That didn't stop curious onlookers from gathering beyond the tape, smartphones out to text, tweet, instagram, or vine the situation, even if they didn't know what that was.
In addition to the torn-off hand, there were parts of a female torso, limbs, and a head. Detectives Nick Amaro and Amanda Rollins took in the grisly scene with furrowed brows and paper cups of coffee clenched in their gloved hands.
"The leg was further from the hand and the arm," Warner said, motioning to the yellow flags that had been planted into the ground, indicating where exactly each had been discovered. Accompanying each flag was varying amounts of blood spatter-from flecks to near-puddles.
"Jesus," Rollins said under her breath.
"Looks like she was torn limb from limb," Amaro added, his look of consternation growing.
"That's not all," Warner said. "You need to see how we found the head."
The detectives exchanged a look before following Warner to another patch of bushes a few feet from where the hand was initially discovered. A bright red length of material, velvet by the looks of it, was carefully arranged in a circular fashion. In the middle was the head of the victim. Her eyes were closed and her light brown hair was carefully brushed and fanned out, in contrast to the deep, animalistic slashes across both of her cheeks.
"Those cuts look like Wolverine took a swipe at her," Rollins commented.
"Is that a cape?" Amaro asked with a frown, kneeling down to examine the material the head was resting on.
"It appears to be, yes," Warner said.
Something clicked for Amaro then and he stood up with newfound urgency. "...not Wolverine, then," he said to Rollins, "If that's a red cape, and she's been torn apart, it'd be more like the Big Bad Wolf."
"Little Red Riding Hood," Rollins whispered.
Amaro nodded. "She sure ain't lookin' good."
Twenty minutes later, Sergeant Olivia Benson arrived on the scene. After she'd looked over the crime scene and compared notes with the detectives, she finally agreed with the assessment Amaro had given her over the phone.
"Another fairytale murder," Benson said with a grim nod.
"And presumable rape," Rollins added. "Not that we can tell from what's left of her, but it fits with Sleeping Beauty and Snow White - same elaborate planning, public display of the body, or in this case, body parts…"
"Along with the allusion to the stories in each killing," Amaro added. "Beauty had the pinpricked finger, Snow had the piece of apple down her throat…" He let out a breath, then asked Benson, "You gonna call in Holmes?"
Sherlock Holmes, a skilled consultant who usually worked out of the 11th precinct under Captain Tommy Gregson's command, had been assisting SVU since the first case, the Sleeping Beauty murder, two months ago. While he was renowned from New York to London for his close rate, the consulting detective was just as known for his unusual methods and his brusque personality.
Benson glanced at the TV cameras being set up by local news affiliates just outside the police-designated perimeter. "I don't think so. Not yet, anyway."
"You really think that's the best idea, Sarge?" Rollins asked to a brow raise from Amaro. "What?" she asked him before Benson could answer. "He's annoying as hell, but he's good."
"We're the cops," Amaro muttered. "I'm with Liv on this."
"Yeah, of course you are," Rollins shook her head.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Amaro demanded to know.
"You like rules," Rollins said. "Sherlock Holmes is about as anti-rule as they come. He doesn't fit in your little box of what a good detective looks like."
Amaro remained adamant. "He's not a detective. Not a real one."
"He closes cases," Rollins said. "Last I checked, that's what good detectives did."
"Guys," Benson interjected. "If I wanted to deal with Holmes, he'd be here. I don't. Now let's get to work."
Unfortunately for the detectives, by the afternoon, that work was stalled. Fingerprint analysis had revealed the owner of the hand to be Mary Keenan, a 35-year old artist from Brooklyn. Despite conducting initial interviews with Ms. Keenan's family and friends, there didn't seem to be any promising leads. On top of that, due to the ties to the other murders, the calls from the press - both to the 16th Precinct and to 1 Hogan Place - were non-stop.
"Any news, breakthroughs, shred of progress I can take back to the D.A.?" Assistant District Attorney Rafael Barba asked the detectives as he leaned against Rollins' desk, a handful of peanut M&Ms in his hand. He popped one in his mouth and chewed as he waited for an answer, perpetual expectant look on his face.
"Not yet," Rollins said. "We're waitin' on lab work - Warner's trying to rush it, but you know how that goes."
Barba swallowed. "Do I ever," he said, not hiding his irritation. A moment later, he pressed on at a rapid-fire pace. "You couldn't get anything from the parents, the boyfriend? No links to the other vics? Anything?"
"These things take time, Counselor," Amaro said, looking up from his computer screen. Barba wasn't the only one who was bad at masking his annoyance.
"You've had two months," Barba retorted. "Would another few weeks and a new murder or two help?"
"Not likely," a deep, English-accented voice said. "Particularly when this squad has made it abundantly clear they don't need help. They're perfectly content to bungle the case and make fools of their department with as little assistance as possible."
Barba looked up and over, his mouth hanging open slightly as he took in the owner of the voice. The angry owner. No, not merely angry. Incensed. Indignant. Tall, wavy dark hair, cheekbones, long coat that swirled around him as he finally stopped in front of where they all stood.
"Shit," Amaro muttered under his breath.
"That is another accurate description of the mess you've made, yes," Sherlock Holmes said without pause.
Barba let out a snort, earning himself a glare from Amaro. Before the detective or the attorney could say anything, Benson emerged from the elevator bank, her heeled boots clicking on the cement floor as she strode quickly through the bullpen.
"Mr. Holmes," she said, eyes widening in surprise.
"Sergeant Benson." Holmes stated her rank with distaste, as though he couldn't believe she'd risen beyond beat patrolman. "You look surprised to see me, though I can't imagine why."
Oh, you can completely imagine why, Barba thought to himself as he watched the display before him. Holmes knew exactly why he hadn't been called. It was right there in the uncomfortable way Benson shifted her weight from one hip to the other, the nervous look in Carisi's eyes as he leaned forward at his desk, eager to intervene if necessary. Boss, you want me to handle this guy? Barba could imagine him saying. As if that was at all the appropriate response. Carisi might not have the balls to say it to Holmes, but it was the sort of thing cops like Carisi always had at the ready.
While Holmes continued speaking, ostensibly to Benson, he leveled a disdainful glare at Carisi and left it there, as though confirming Barba's assessment of the man. The ADA couldn't help being amused, though he didn't let it show.
"-at least have the professionalism to give me the latest files for review," Holmes was saying. Barba watched as the conversation began to ping-pong once more. Too bad he was out of M&Ms.
"Detective Rollins will get those for you," Benson said, clearly trying to make amends, though Holmes was having none of it.
Unfortunately for Barba, he was due in court shortly. The show was over for the moment. He had a feeling, however, that Holmes' entanglement with the SVU squad was just getting started. Strangely, he found himself looking forward to seeing more of it. Or more of him. Rafael's face reddened slightly as he excused himself and made his way to the elevator bank.