Once he'd calmed the child down with a puzzle, he handed him over to a uniform. Some children got upset when big people in uniforms appeared in their home, but Tim must have been used to it from his sister's friends. Elliot made sure the child was taking it well, and then slipped out of the room.
The hall was as neat and clean as the rest of the house. Photographs lined the walls. Susan with Tim; Susan standing with three nuns, holding a diploma; a group of men and women in paramedic uniforms; a wedding party with Susan as bridesmaid. Judging from the Susan's appearance, most were taken in the past few years and nothing was from more than seven or eight years ago. No men appeared more than once, except for the groom in the wedding picture and a few co-workers.
He entered her bedroom, a large bright room decorated in yellow, green and white. A bible and a book of Raymond Carver stories lay on the bedside table, a pair of reading glasses perched atop. A dark blue bridesmaid dress hung on the closet door. There were more photographs and a few prints on the wall. One, hanging above a writing desk, was of a girl in a white Victorian dress standing in front of white drapes, a vaguely anxious expression on her face. He looked down at the surface of the desk, which held a small pile of bills, a photograph of Timmy, and a blue notebook.
He flipped through the pages. It was a journal, sporadically kept for the last four years. The last entry was dated two days prior
"Billy called, usual reason. He's asking for more money this time. Must have done one speedball too many. Still, I wonder. Should call Vicki, or BCPD, but I can't. Laura might be right about being afraid to let go. Billy's calls are like a yearly ritual, connecting me to a part of my life I say I want to put behind me. I say that, but I'm afraid if cut that last cord, I'll never see any resolution."
He closed the notebook slowly and sat in the desk chair as Olivia walked in.
"What does it look like downstairs?" He asked without turning around.
"It looks like whoever it was surprised her as she was coming out of the kitchen last night. The pasta boiled over and put out the pilot light and you saw the hair and blood. My guess is, he threatened to hurt her son so she'd go with him quietly."
"That makes sense," he said automatically.
"What's wrong?"
"Her journal," he said, holding it up, "Someone named Billy called two days ago, asked for money. She wrote he was connected to a part of her past she wanted to forget. It can't be a coincidence. Do we have a timeline?"
"The next door neighbor saw Susan come out of the house with a man around 10 last night. He was a white man, average height, light hair. They got into a blue car."
Elliot's cell phone began buzzing. "Stabler . . . Yeah. . . Really. . . Is there a mention of a guy named Billy? He contacted her two days ago. . . Right. We're on our way." He turned to Olivia. "Baltimore PD faxed over the police report. It happened when she was seventeen. Billy was her pimp. Cragen wants us back at the station."
"What about the canvas?"
"Someone else can do it."
"Well, we have to call DSS for Timmy."
Elliot scowled. "No. Susan wouldn't want that."
"Elliot, we can't just . . ." She cut herself off when the look of resolve on his face didn't waver. "I did see a paper on the refrigerator with phone numbers for babysitters. Laura and Eddie are the emergency contacts, so . . ."
"Let's call them."
