CHAPTER II
Hail Mary
"Four victims: Alexa Thomas, thirty-one; Stephanie Goldman, twenty-four; Morris Petri, sixty-five; and Bobby Stevens, eight," Captain Cragen boomed to his colleagues in the sixteenth precinct, all of whom were listening intently, pens and notepads in hand, some were scribbling furiously, others, like his four prime detectives, stood, sobering up from the early morning, "-nothing to connect any one of them. It's our best guess that the Killer chooses his victims at random –"
"Wait – our best guess?" said a stout, harassed-looking woman with flaming red, curly hair and thick, black-rimmed glasses that gave her the appearance of a fat flamingo. She was among those scribbling notes onto their pads, and Cragen noticed that sitting beside her on a desk was a voice recorder.
"And you are…?" Cragen asked.
"Oh!" the woman jumped up and scurried forward through the crowd, up to the front – hand outstretched, "Jody, Captain, Jody Forester, CNN News," she said shaking the Captain's hand vigorously, everyone seemed to be holding their breath.
Cragen smiled weakly at her, and motioned two officers forward, "Ms. Forester, this is Officer Smith and Officer Bryant; they're going to escort you back downstairs."
"But, Captain," the woman said with a slight squeal, "I came to talk to you," and as the officers marched her to the elevators she could still be heard shouting questions at Cragen, and yelling any number of profanities at passers-by, "You're going to regret this!" her last attempt at the Exclusive was thwarted as the elevator doors eased to a close and she was sent cackling downstairs.
"So," Cragen continued on as if nothing had happened, "Who's our best lead so far?"
"Tim Peterson, twenty-eight. Works at a nearby Internet Café and Gaming Lounge," Elliot read from his small pocketbook, "So far this Café is the only link we have between all of the victims – they all went there for coffee or in Bobby's case, his mother went for coffee, in the last two weeks."
"DNA came back clean, though," Olivia added, consulting a notebook of her own, "Warner says there wasn't enough to get a full comparison."
"Surly there are other people who work at the Café? Not just Peterson?" Cragen pointed out to nods from around the room.
"But not all of the employees have a history of attacking their mothers, do they?" said Fin, "turns out Peterson gets a little cranky if you stop him playing his video games."
"Fine, bring him in," Cragen turned back to the board, and began to scribble notes, lines and shapes between each of the victims' photos.
"Already did, Captain, he's not giving anything," Elliot said.
Cragen turned, sighed, and said quietly, "Well, find something, anything, or the press is going to have a field day."
The wind was just as fierce as it had been the previous day; Elliot and Olivia rugged up in their coats and scarfs, and braced lacerating rain outside.
They'd barely settled into Elliot's car when Olivia's phone rang shrilly into their brittle air.
"Benson," she said into the receiver, and after several long seconds, "Okay, we're on our way," snapping her phone shut she looked at Elliot, who put the key into the ignition and began to drive. She didn't even need to say a word and he understood: there'd been another one.
Minutes before they arrived on the scene, rain had begun to fall, conjuring a heavy mist to hang low over the crime scene.
A tall, severe church with high steeples, and great, thick oak doors loomed out of the fog, and the car crunched to a halt on the gravel.
"Have you guys eaten?" An officer outside the doors asked them.
"Yeah, why?" said Olivia, looking from the doors to the pale officer.
"Damn shame. It's a mess, best hope you keep it down," he said, and nearly stumbled down the few steps to his own car.
Elliot pushed open the doors. At first glance it seemed a normal chapel – with its fifty or so pews, deep red carpet and hundreds of candles lining the walls beneath great mosaic portraits. As they walked down the isle, Olivia could hear Elliot muttering brief words of prayer under his breath, and felt a sudden reverence for him and his ability to keep his faith even in such dark hours.
As they neared the alter it was clear what the officer outside had meant. A naked woman was hanging by her foot, which had been tied with a thick rope, from one of the wooden beams holding up the ceiling. She was swaying slightly, with the small gusts of wind that crept their way through cracks in the windows and doors. A long laceration extended from the top of her genitals all the way to the nape of her neck. Blood had poured down onto the alter beneath her, filling a chalice, and it had overflowed, staining the white cloth and deepening the shade of the red carpet. Her eyes were wide and staring, and as they got even closer they could see that several organs had fallen onto a bowel of fruits beside the chalice.
"ID?" Elliot asked, objectifying himself.
"Marie Kevington, thirty-three, works here as a receptionist," said an officer.
"He's escalating, that's what I can tell you," Melina Warner said, zipping up the body bag, "She was tortured pre-mortem. And badly too, her lungs have been seared by a blow torch of some kind – there's burning all through her intestinal organs, it would have been excruciating."
"Cause of death?" Elliot asked, playing with several instruments on a table.
"Strangulation, at around 6am this morning."
"Kevington's folks said there was a ransom called made to them last night at 7pm," Fin said immediately as they entered the precinct.
"A ransom?" Olivia said, more to herself than as a question, as she took her off coat and placed it on the back of her chair.
"Wait, that doesn't make sense," Elliot added, sitting on the edge of Olivia's desk, "None of the other family's got a call."
"Warner did say he was escalating," Olivia said quietly.
"But still, why didn't the Kevington's call the police?" Elliot argued.
Munch piped up, with his best imitation of the victim's family, "'He said he'd kill her if we called the police! Because we're so stupid NOT to call the police, we've let our own little girl be maimed and torture-'"
"Munch shut it," Olivia snapped, "Just get back to work."
"What? It's not like you two are getting anything done! I've been all over the city, from the warehouse on tenth all the way down to the Bay," Munch stood up.
Mimicking, Elliot moved towards him, "I haven't seen you at any of the crime scenes," Olivia stood, but remained behind Elliot, "I haven't seen you at Warner's office, learning detail for detail how the victims – how that poor little boy – was tortured and murdered."
"What, so suddenly that means I'm lazy and don't care?" Munch shouted.
"That's not what he meant," Olivia said, "You just haven't been bothered to get off your high-horse for one second to –"
"High-horse? Oh that's rich, coming from Miss Woe-Is-Me of the year!"
Elliot jumped forwards, fists flying, but before he could round a few into Munch's gut, Cragen slammed open his office door.
"What the HELL is going on?" he stormed out of his office and stood between Elliot and Munch, who were both breathing heavily, "Elliot, you've been up for 48 hours. Get some sleep. Now!" he added, when Elliot opened his mouth to protest, "And Fin, Munch, I've got other work for you two. Olivia, you get some sleep too. NOW."
Both Elliot and Olivia, although grudgingly, made their way up to the crib, Elliot taking a bottom bunk, and Olivia taking the one above his.
Several minutes passed without conversation. Each listened to the steady breathing of the other, finding a strange comfort in knowing that they were both there, and alive.
"You didn't have to do that," Olivia spoke quietly.
"What?" asked Elliot.
"Defend me like that – I would've taken care of it myself," she tried to keep the gratitude she felt towards him out of her voice – but failed, "I mean, I can take care of myself Elliot," she added quickly.
Though she couldn't see it, he smiled, "I know, sorry."
Several more minutes of silence passed.
"You know I had his ass, right?" Olivia snickered.
Elliot laughed into his pillow, "Totally."
Another few minutes of silence passed between them.
"Liv?" Elliot whispered.
"Hmm?" Olivia was barely awake.
He thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully, before saying, "Never mind."
Olivia heard his tone, and smiled warmly into herself before allowing sleep to pass over her.