Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story.

Evenmoore - your wish is granted!Afalstein - I know it's slow. We will have some action but it will be later in the story.

I'm sorry for the delay in posting, unfortunately I'm a slow writer and the need to actually work for a living doesn't help either. I will be working on a new chapter of Art of Interest next so it will probably we a couple of weeks before I update this one again.

As usual - nothing worth any money belongs to me.

Tangled Webs

Chapter 3

Reese's P.O.V.

John Reese walked slowly down the street with a leashed Bear padding beside him. There were advantages to dog ownership he hadn't thought of when he had acquired the Belgian Malinois, he mused. When you were out with a dog not even the most suspicious person thought to question what you were doing as the answer seemed self evident.

He took in his surroundings. The houses, although probably pre First World War, were well built, well maintained and appeared to be single occupancy. In short, it looked like the sort of established middle class, low crime neighbourhood that a paralegal would live in. No wonder then that the brutal murder of a teenage girl had caused the shock and anger it had. He was relieved to see that there was police activity throughout the area, searching through trash bags, litter bins, in dark corners, anywhere that evidence could have been concealed and that they were not just concentrating on 'Burdett's' place. It indicated that the SVU were keeping an open mind about Harold's guilt. This Detective Benson seemed both competent and thorough; of course he would not have expected anything else from a friend of Carter's.

He continued to listen in to Harold's interrogation through his earwig. While this provided him with a degree of reassurance it was also frustrating. Harold was a lot tougher than his appearance or manner indicated and it was clear that he was holding his own. But, as he had told Carter earlier, the sound quality was poor. The cell was presumably secreted somewhere about Harold's person and sound was muffled by his clothing, while the voices of the detectives became almost inaudible if they moved away from the microphone. Another cause of frustration came from knowing what needed to be done to get Harold out but not having the expertise to manufacture the electronic trail required. He was a competent computer user but lacked Harold's artistry at bending the digital world to his needs.

He and Bear came up to the 'Burdett' house. They stopped to watch the activity. The mob had disappeared; although a few rubberneckers still hung around, gaping at the detectives and uniformed officers walking up and down the steps. He noticed the window boxes and wondered, in passing, who watered the plants when Harold was away.

Bear whined, picking up faint traces of his co-owner's scent "Don't worry, Bear. Harold will be back soon." John muttered, trying to reassure himself as much as the dog.

There was no point in hanging around, he was certain that the police would find nothing to arouse their suspicions in the house. The sort of security precautions the CIA spent hundreds of thousands of dollars indoctrinating into their trainees were second nature to the mysterious Mr Finch. He wondered, briefly, not for the first time, what experiences had made his partner that way. Whatever they were, his precautions were so instinctive, they probably dated back to his childhood.

John pulled himself together, he was a professional. He needed to concentrate on the job in hand. He walked on round the corner. He spotted Fusco sitting in his car immediately and made his way over, opening the rear door to allow Bear to jump in before sliding into the passenger seat.

Fusco gave Bear a suspicious look. "I've just had the interior valeted. He'd better not make a mess back there or chew up the upholstery."

"And, hello to you too, Lionel. Don't worry. He's at least as house-trained as you are." John replied. It never hurt to keep the formerly dirty cop a little off balance during their meetings.

After a short pause while he digested the insult, the burly detective asked. "So, what has Mr Good News got himself into now?"

John ignored the question. "I hope you got the name of the witness who saw Finch talk with the girl like I asked."

"Yeah, Mitchell Connors. Aged thirty-nine; recently divorced; lives with his mother at 221. What you gonna' do, beat him up until he retracts? What do you need me here for?"

"Does he have a record?"

"No. Works as an Assistant Departmental Manager at Macy's, coaches little league, volunteers for Church charity drives. A real upright citizen."

"Everyone's got a dirty little secret, Detective." John replied. "You, of all people should know that."

Fusco looked slightly uncomfortable at the pointed reminder. "You think the Professor was deliberately framed because of what you guys get up to?" He asked. "Because, take it from me, if it was a frame, whoever's behind it did a lousy job."

"I bow to your expert knowledge on the subject and I know Finch was framed. And you and I am going to find out who and why." John replied calmly, but with an undercurrent that made Fusco immensely glad that he was not the framer.

"So, what do we do now?" He asked.

"I am going to have a talk with Mr Connors. You are going to run interference with your colleagues making sure none of them interfere."

"How am I gonna' do that?" Fusco protested.

Reese gave the detective an ironic look. "I'm sure you'll think of something Lionel. I can't do everything for you.

Fusco looked a little worried as he asked his next question. "What I said before, you planning on working Connors' over?"

John gave him a hard stare. "Just concentrate on doing the job I've given you right and let me do mine."

The detective sighed as he gave in. "Give me a few minutes before you knock on Connors' door." He clambered out of the car and John watched him as he marched round the corner towards the 'Burdett' residence.

John rang the bell before turning to survey the street. Harold's house was across the street to the right. The angle was too narrow for it to be seen from the top of the steps. He experimented and discovered that it came into view from the third step from the bottom downwards. The door opened and a fresh-faced, handsome man stood framed in the doorway. If this was Mitchell Connor's he looked younger than his thirty-nine years. Perhaps it was living right that did it – if he was living right, of course.

"Yes?" The smile was wide and seemed genuinely welcoming.

John walked back up the steps. "Detective Stills." He flashed the badge he had recovered from Stills' body. "Mitchell Connor?"

The other man glanced down at the badge, his expression confused. "Yeah, that's me. I thought you told me we'd finished for today and I was to come downtown tomorrow to make a formal statement?"

John smiled briefly. "Yeah, that was SVU, they're investigating the sex crime aspect. I'm homicide." He shrugged. "You know what it's like in the public sector, bureaucracy run wild. Gotta get the same information direct from you or the lawyers will have a field day!"

"Oh, well, come in." Connors' stood back to allow John to enter.

"You live alone here?" he asked, looking around as he was ushered through the hallway into a roomy kitchen/breakfast room at the back of the house, overlooking a well tended garden.

"No. This is my mother's place. I've been staying with her since my divorce. Just temporarily until I get my finances back on track, you know. She's visiting my aunt in Florida this week."

Reese smiled. His aim now was to create a relationship with the subject. "I know what you mean. Divorce, it's an occupational hazard for cops, even more than getting shot these days. When my wife kicked me out, I stayed with my sister, brother-in-law and their kids for over a year. Nearly drove me crazy! Fortunately we didn't have kids so that wasn't a problem. You have kids?"

"Sandra didn't kick me out. We separated by mutual consent. It just wasn't working out!"

John noted that the statement seemed to be delivered with more force than warranted. He filed it away for future consideration. Connors' took a deep breath and steadied himself. "Sit down, Detective. Coffee?" He asked.

"No, thanks. I'd better just get on with the questions and then get out of your hair." He took out a notebook he'd bought from a stationary store earlier in the day and clicked his pen. "So, if you could take it from the top?"

Connors paused, putting his thoughts in order. "I was closing the drapes in the living room which overlooks the street at about ten o'clock last night and I saw Kirsty walking past. I thought she was on her way home. She lives a coupla houses down on this side of the street. As I was watching Burdett came walking from the opposite direction. He stopped and they spoke. I put the trash out only a few minutes later and they'd both disappeared. I didn't think anything about it at the time. People round here actually talk to their neighbours, not like in other parts of the city! But, when I heard 'bout what happened, I thought, well, I gotta tell someone."

"How did Kirsty seem during the conversation?"

Connors' considered. "Well, like I said I didn't notice anything odd at the time but, now I think about it, she was a little tense, worried. And Burdett, have you seen him? I've always thought he was a bit of a wimp, you know? But that night, he seemed, I don't know – scary."

John tamped down his immediate reaction that the man was lying. It wasn't unknown for witnesses to sub-consciously interpret facts to suit their pre-conceptions. Instead, he asked. "It must have been dark at that time of night, especially if you were pulling the drapes. How could you see them that clearly to make out their expressions?"

Connors' nodded. "It was dark but they were standing directly under the streetlight just outside and it wasn't so much their expressions. It was their body language, you know?"

John made a note. "Thanks for clarifying that. Now, I understand that it was you who went and told people that Burdett had killed Kirsty, despite being asked by SVU not to talk to anyone. Why'd you do that?

"Like I said before, have you seen the guy? He looks like a perv. Little pebble glasses, that funny way he walks? And he's real strange. Doesn't mix much and you never see him for days on end. When you do talk to him he's polite enough but he talks funny, like a book. I teach little league and I always warn the kids to watch out for people like that. I wanted to warn everyone else with kids to make sure they were safe with him around."

Reese fought back his anger. This man knew nothing about Harold and had made assumptions that could have got him killed or seriously injured. He felt sorry for the kids in his charge if they were relying solely on him for safety advice. The fact that the man was an asshole, however, didn't mean he was also a murderer and a rapist.

"Well, I think that's all for now." He said, snapping his notebook shut. "Thank you for your time, sir."

"Anything to help the pol…" The doorbell rang. "Excuse me." Connors rose and walked back down the hall, closely followed by John.

Connors opened the door. Standing outside was a fair haired woman with a gold detective shield hanging from the belt of her pants and behind her loomed the rather more substantial figure of Detective Lionel Fusco. John cursed inwardly and made a note to speak very strongly to Fusco later.

Aloud he said, "Thank you for your time, Mr Connors." and pushed past out of the door, giving a friendly nod to the two detectives as he passed them.

He went down the steps as fast as he could without causing suspicion, leaving Fusco to cover for him if necessary. The man deserved to sweat a little for failing in his task. As he walked down the street, he stopped to note the street lamp nearest to the Collins' home. It was on the same side of the street. He looked up; the light had been smashed and was clearly incapable of working. He checked the locations of the other streetlights on both sides of the street, just to be sure. Collins would have been unable to see them from his window.

He walked on, making a mental note to get Carter or Fusco to check when the damage had occurred. Things might be looking up for Harold if it had happened before Collins said he had seen him talking to Kirsty under it. Of course, if that were the case, things were very definitely not looking good for Mr. Mitchell Collins.

T.B.C.