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Olivia drove to the scene—she hadn't been ready for Fin to pick her up at Alex's, especially considering the timing of his call. She pulled up outside the townhouse on Sutton Place and let out a low whistle as she climbed out of the Mustang. Fin joined her by the front fender, joining her in looking up at their surroundings.
"Sorry to drag you out on your day off," Fin said. "Enough money here to make this a real pain in the ass."
"You got that right," Olivia agreed. Everyone knew this little enclave was a society unto itself, swimming in cash both old and new. "What's the story?"
He gestured at the house now wreathed in yellow crime-scene tape and surrounded by squad cars. Number 19 was an imposing 5-story building. "Owned by Henrik Flaade, a trader with NorgeBank. Two kids, 17-year-old boy away at Andover, 14-year-old girl lives here full-time, enrolled at Dalton."
"Mrs. Flaade?" Olivia asked.
"Mrs. Flaade—the third Mrs. Flaade, to be more precise—is our victim. Raped, strangled, found by her stepson this morning when he got home from staying over at a friend's house. Back on spring break, blowing off some steam with the guys, he says. Mr. Flaade, and his daughter, are out of the country until tonight, visiting his parents in Oslo. Shall we?"
"Lead the way," Olivia said. She began asking questions, floating ideas as they walked. "Husband and daughter's alibis are easy enough to verify. How about the stepson?"
"Not so easy, but not impossible," Fin confirmed. They'd walked into the massive foyer by now, and Fin gestured to his left. "He's in there with the uni who arrived on scene first. They secured the scene, ME arrived, first sign of sexual assault she called us."
"Any motive for the stepson to do this?" Olivia asked.
"Nothin' specific," Fin said. "The usual evil stepmother shit, but don't know of any particular trouble so far."
"You talk to the kid yet?"
"No, not yet, wanna now?"
Olivia considered, and shook her head no. "Let's go see the scene first. Let young Mr. Flaade sit and stew in it."
While the teenager sat awkwardly in the Louis XVI chair in the formal living room—Olivia could see him through the door, slouching, his artfully torn jeans and faded t-shirt at odds with the ornate décor and delicate lines of the furniture—she walked with Fin up to the sitting room a floor above, where the body had been found.
"This place..." she began.
"No shit," Fin agreed, "little fancy for raising teenagers." The sitting room was slightly less formal, but things were incongruous here for a far more horrifying reason. Melinda Warner was kneeling over the body of Shannon Flaade, who was lying on the floor. There were no clothes on the body, and the wrists were bound behind her back with a red stretchy band of some sort. The ligature marks around her neck were vivid and raw-looking, her eyes still open. Melinda caught Olivia's eye, which had again wandered to the object wrapped around the delicate wrists of the victim.
"Physical therapy," Warner said.
"Sorry, what?" Olivia replied, looking like she'd been caught with her mind elsewhere.
"The red band," Melinda elaborated. "The type they use for all kinds of PT—stretching, resistance, the uses are endless."
"Apparently," Olivia said wryly. "I take it that's a common thing."
"Unfortunately," Melinda said. "Common thing, common brand, even a common color. The colors represent the amount of resistance in the material. Red and blue are the most common."
"Of course," Fin said.
Melinda filled them in on what she knew so far: approximate time of death, and the like. They left her to finish her work then, telling the uniformed officers they'd be back after the body was removed to continue their investigation. Meanwhile, they split up: Olivia back downstairs to talk to the stepson, Pål, while Fin went to the kitchen to speak to Eusenia, the family's live-in maid.
Getting nowhere with the kid, Olivia told the officers to go upstairs and pack the kid a bag and take him to his mom's house. She'd head over there later to interview him again, and maybe get something out of Flaade's first wife, as well. Flaade and his daughter wouldn't return until 9 pm. She and Fin combed the scene with CSU before stepping outside to compare notes.
"Nothing from the boy," Olivia reported. "Story seems solid, we'll check it out but I don't think it was him. He didn't seem to think she was the best stepmom ever, but I don't get the feeling he killed her."
"Cook says she was out last night—her night off is normally Sunday, but since the whole family had plans, Mrs. Flaade had given her Saturday night too, the first she'd had in months."
"She know what the Mrs. was up to on her own?"
"Wasn't sure, but thinks Mrs. Flaade was having an affair. Or two."
"Great, one or more cuckolding potentials to track down," Olivia said. "She give you anywhere to start?"
"Yeah, and you're gonna love this," Fin said. "Maybe the daughter's piano teacher. Maybe the sommelier who personally consults with her on the wines she buys."
"Jesus," Olivia answered. "You're kidding."
"No, I'm not. And, don't forget about the personal trainer who made house calls."
"That's it?" Olivia asked. "Not the thoroughbred breeder or the Harry Winston personal shopper or the Bugatti mechanic? Give me something interesting to work with here, Fin."
"Well, there is one thing," Fin said. "The sommelier is female."
"Oh-ho, then, that is interesting," Olivia agreed. "And we can't necessarily rule her out. Evidence of fluids could be from consensual sex. Madame Sommelier could have chanced upon something, figured out Shannon wasn't just cheating on her husband. Can't thank you enough for calling me in on this one, Fin."
"My pleasure," Fin agreed. "Seems pretty certain Mrs. Flaade had a seven-year itch. Maybe one of her lovers did more than just scratch it."
It was almost 3 pm by the time they left the scene, and split up to start questioning anyone and everyone they could think of. Olivia checked her phone repeatedly as the afternoon wore on, telling herself she was looking for updates from Fin, or Warner, but hoping that she'd see a call or message from Alex, as well. She was disappointed every time, but she knew that Alex knew where she was, and that she was busy. The ADA wasn't clingy, wouldn't be the type to call all day when she knew you were busy, so Olivia could hardly feel slighted by the lack of a call.
She and Fin kept at it until about 6:45, and met up at the precinct to share what amounted to no news, which wasn't good news. They called it quits for the night.
"Sorry to take your day, Liv," Fin said as they walked out of the precinct and toward their cars.
"Couldn't be helped," she replied.
He felt like she wasn't herself, a little beaten up. "You wanna grab a drink, Benson? Day's already shot all to hell."
"Nah," she demurred. "I should..." she trailed off, not knowing what she should do, or would do. "Rain check?"
"You got it. You need anything, call me," he said. "I'll see you in the a.m."
Once in her car, Olivia collapsed a bit, feeling like her skeleton had turned a bit soft and that air was leaking out of her pores, deflating her. She'd fought all day to keep a rigid frame, to stay upright and engaged. Now, she thought about just slinking home to a cold beer and a hot bath. Thought, really, about not calling Alex. She grabbed her phone from her pocket, and noticed a message on the screen. Must have come in while she and Fin were talking outside the precinct.
Whatever time it is won't be too late, you know.
She called. She'd told Alex she was all in, and now it was time to put her money where her mouth was. Alex picked up on the first ring, answered with the softest voice, and Olivia felt it wrap around her and caress her like those divine sheets on the bed she'd left this morning.
"Hi, baby," Alex said. "I'm glad you called."
"Thanks for the message."
"Anytime, you know that. Long day for a call-out. Hope you're done for the time being."
"I am," Olivia confirmed. "I was just going to..." Let your guard down, Benson. Don't shut her out. "I needed to hear your voice."
"I can do better than that, sweetheart. I'll meet you at your place, if that's okay. I made some soup today. I'll bring it over, feed you dinner, rock you to sleep."
"Oh, Alex, you don't have to do that, really."
"I know. I don't have to do anything. But I want to. I hate the way we left things this morning. I won't sleep if I don't get to see you. Mind if I stay over?"
"Never," Olivia answered her simply, and honestly. No matter what this morning's bombshell meant in terms of any future they might have, Olivia couldn't picture any situation in which she'd miss the chance to sleep next to Alex.
"I hoped you'd say that," Alex laughed. "My bag is packed and the soup is cartoned up and ready to go. I'd have felt pretty stupid if you'd said no."
"You're anything but stupid," the detective said. "See you soon."