Law and Order: SVU is the intellectual property of Dick Wolf. The use of the characters, settings, and plotlines is not malicious. This is a work of fiction.
Aberforth Residence, E. 71st Street, New York City, NY
"I'm surprised he's letting you work this case," Elliot said, pulling books off of a large shelf.
Olivia flipped open cabinet doors and sighed. "I didn't even know her. Neither did my mother, apparently. We talked to the daughter, and she's never even heard of my mother, so this isn't an issue. Cragen knows that." She bit her lip and shook her head. "I just...I didn't really need to add to the list of reasons why my mother was the way she was. Her family disowned her because she was raped...cut her out of their lives because of me." She slammed the oak drawer she'd just pulled open shut, and then put both hands on her hips. "There's nothing in here."
He slipped a large book back on the shelf, grabbing another one. "In a way, it was a blessing. You didn't need people like this in your life." He fanned the pages, looking for an errant receipt or handwritten note that might be of some importance. "You're so much better than these people, Liv."
She felt her lips curl into a half-smile as she opened another drawer. "Thanks," she said. "Oh, hey...I think I got something." She pulled a leather-bound book out of the drawer and dropped it onto the flat surface of the cabinet. She opened it, flipped through a few pages, and looked over her shoulder at Elliot. "It's a check register." She looked back down at the book and scanned a few more pages. "None of these transactions came up in the search I ran, is this some kind of hidden account?" She made a disgusted noise. "Some of these checks are written out for over a million dollars. Shit, El, I'm never gonna see this kind of money in my life, and she was spending it on flowers."
He walked up behind her, looked over her shoulder, and ran his finger down the center of the page. "Five-hundred-thousand dollars, made out to a Vincenzo Petrucchio."
"Memo line says 'protection.' You thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow.
He made a pensive face and then said, "Name sounds Italian, could be mob-related. It would explain her, uh, untimely death." He tapped his finger in the middle of the book. "We'll take this with us, run the name, and see if any of these other checks seem like a solid lead." He looked at her, a quiet moment spent staring into her eyes. "You really are better than this," he whispered to her. "And, uh, you...you have a family."
"Yeah," she said, nodding. "A pretty amazing one." She looked away from him before the moment grew any more serious, grabbing the ledger and moving it to the side. "There could be something else in this drawer."
Elliot hummed and began to rifle through it. "Some old receipts, business cards for cleaning services...one for a dog groomer." He held up a small, pink and white card, laughing. "Polished Paws Puppy Pampering." He scoffed. "Say that five times fast."
She laughed and smiled at him, thanking God that he was in her life, regardless of who else was not. "Are we done here, you think?"
"I think if we searched every room in this house, it would take us the next five years," he told her, sighing. "We got the important stuff, let the crime scene unit handle the nine bathrooms and seventeen bedrooms." He jerked his head toward the door. "If they find anything, they'll let us know."
Olivia let out a slow breath. "This place is pristine," she said, her eyes lifting toward the ceiling. "There's no way she was killed anywhere near this place, so we still need to find the..." she was interrupted by the chirping of her phone. With a furrowed brow, she pulled the device out of her pocket, tapped the button, and answered the call. "Benson. No, still at the home. Practically nothing, except a financial...great, thanks. We're on the way."
Elliot watched her hang up and shove the phone back in her pocket. "Where are we going?"
She dropped the large book into an open paper bag, rolled the top down tightly, and looked up at him. "Sakura Park," she told him. "Woman called 911 after her dog ran into a bush and came out covered in blood."
"That's a block away from the apartment building," he said, his eyes scrunching up.
"That's why they called us," she said with a one-shoulder-shrug. "The dog also made a chew-toy out of our vic's wallet." Her eyebrows shot up and came back down fast, her lips flattening into a thin line, and she breezed past him, knowing he'd follow her.
Sakura Park, Riverside Drive and W. 122nd Avenue, New York City, NY.
Elliot lifted the strip of yellow tape high enough for Olivia to walk under. He watched her snap on a pair of latex gloves, and then walked in line behind her. He held one hand to the curve of her lower back as they climbed over a small pile of rocks and tree roots, making sure if she lost her balance, he'd catch her.
"Thanks," she said, taking the bagged wallet as a uniformed officer handed it to her. She examined it through the thin, clear plastic, and then handed it to Elliot, knowing he was by her side. "It's hers." She sighed and looked back toward the officer. "Which bush?"
The officer pointed to his left. "Over there," he said. "Also found these back there. I was gonna wait for you, but I didn't want to compromise any evidence." He held out another sealed, clear, plastic bag.
She took it from him, squinting a bit, and turned it around in her hands. "Straps," she said, seeing Elliot's head turn out of the corner of her eyes. "Leather. With buckles. Look, the edges are torn, not cut." She ran her hand along the tattered and frayed ends, showing her partner.
"So she was strapped down, before being led here, but this is obviously where her throat was sliced." He scratched his head and scraped his teeth along his lower lip. "We're still looking for where the bastard kept her. This just keeps getting better."
Olivia slapped him in the chest and said, "I think we got lucky. Look." She turned the bag toward him again, indicating a mark on one of the straps. "We've seen these before," she said, grinning.
Elliot looked, his jaw dropping, and he turned his shocked eyes up to meet hers. "Son-of-bitch," he hissed. He looked around, eyed the bush for a moment, and then said, "Let's finish up here and then find out what the hell she was doing at Mercy General."
Mercy General Hospital, Psychiatric Ward, Manhattan, NY
"So you don't recognize her? At all?" Elliot prodded the nurse at the desk. He held the photo out to her more closely. "She wasn't a patient here?"
"Detective Stabler," the nurse said, leaning forward onto her elbows, "I know every patient who's been on this floor for the last five years, and she was not one of them. Ever." She looked at the photo again, sighed, and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "And we checked all the beds, twice. None of them are missing the cuffs, so I'm not sure what else I can say." She let out another slow breath. "Maybe upstairs in geriatric? Some of their beds have straps, too, for patients with dementia or Parkinson's. I'm not saying she's old, but...that's the only help I can offer."
"All right," Elliot said with a nod. "Thanks." He turned away from the woman and tugged on Olivia's sleeve, walking with her toward the elevator. "I don't know, I can't see someone getting away with abusing a patient like this. Not here."
Olivia pushed the button on the wall, beckoning the elevator, and combed her nails through her hair. "How else would you explain these straps? Warner said they're consistent with the marks she found on Aberforth's body, the lab found her DNA all over them..."
"How would I go about stealing a bed?" he asked, pushing her through the opening metal doors.
"A hospital bed?" she queried, raising an eyebrow. "Unless you had access to the hospital and the freight elevator, I don't see how..." She paused, realization flashing in her eyes as she thought of another possibility. "Mercy offers home hospice," she said. "They provide the nurse and any needed equipment, including the bed."
Elliot moved his thumb from the button for the fifth floor to the one for the lobby. "They'll have a list downstairs, right? Anyone currently using one of those beds?"
"Yeah," she said, nodding. "It's a better option than going floor to floor, coming up empty." She looked at him again, this time with a softness in her features. "You call your kids?"
He closed his eyes and nodded, saved from saying anything else by the ding of the elevator. He led Olivia out of it, smiling at her as he pulled his badge out of the clip that held it at his hip.
She walked in sync with him toward the front desk, holding up her own shining shield. "Excuse me," she said, tapping the bottom of the badge on the counter.
A cheerful-looking redhead turned toward them. "Oh, cops? What can I do for you?"
Elliot's smiled faded as he sighed. "I'm Detective Stabler." He tossed his head toward Olivia. "This is Detective Benson. We're working a case, and these turned up," he said, dropping the sealed bag containing the leather straps onto the desk. "Now, you can tell just by looking that they came from one of the beds in this place. Before we start investigating every doctor, nurse, and...receptionist," he made a point to look directly at her and narrow his eyes, "I'd like to know if you have a list of all of the registered patients using one of them at home."
Having gone completely white, and all cheery expression dashed, she nodded and turned to face the computer. She clicked around on the screen and tapped rapidly on the keys.
Olivia heard the printer roar and grinned at Elliot. They'd be at it all night, but they'd find their crime scene. She was sure of it. But, then again, given recent events in her life, she couldn't be sure of much of anything anymore.
Bunk Room of the Special Victims Unit, Sixteenth Precinct, Manhattan, NY
Elliot pushed open the heavy metal door, rubbing his eyes. He coughed and grimaced as he walked further into the musty room, shutting the door and locking it behind him. He rolled his shoulders and rocked his neck back and forth, trying to ease the tension housed there. He plopped with a sigh onto the nearest bed, making a face as the mattress dipped a little too much. He looked over his shoulder and suddenly, the world was brighter. He smiled as he kicked up his feet and rolled onto his side, letting his right arm drape over the body of the woman whose space he'd just invaded.
"My boyfriend can and will kick your ass," she said, her voice muffled by her pillow.
"I can take him," he told her, and then he moved, pressing his chapped lips to her forehead. He watched her head turn a bit and her eyes flutter open. "Hi," he whispered, now nose-to-nose with her.
She nuzzled him, giving him an Eskimo-kiss, and moved back to allow him more room on the bed. She chuckled when he scooted forward but pulled her closer. "What time is it?"
"Quarter-to-twelve," he grumbled, closing his eyes. He trailed his lips over hers lightly before kissing her once. "We still have time, Munch and Fin are taking over for a while."
She gave a low hum and nodded against his head. "Did Morales..."
"Program stopped running an hour ago," he interrupted. "No hits." He kissed the end of her nose and ran his right hand up and down her back softly. "He's trying something else, but he doesn't think he'll get anything."
"Okay," she mumbled, half-asleep, her lips pressed to his chin. "What about Petrucchio?"
"Munch is looking into him," Elliot said, brushing his forehead against hers. He sighed, almost in relief, and looped his leg around hers.
She smiled slightly and relaxed deeper into his hold. When she first met him, she didn't figure him for the cuddling type. As she got to know him, she realized that assumption was right. But when their relationship shifted, he changed with it. Now, her favorite place to be in the world was in his arms, and he seemed perfectly content to keep her there.
He pulled her tighter against him, twisting his lips that final centimeter and kissing her again. He ran his tongue over her slightly parted lips, and then slipped inside, making her moan and move. He felt her hands fall around his shoulders, her fingers curl against his shirt, and he whispered her name into the kiss. It was moments like this that took his breath away, and he would gladly suffocate for the experience.
She kissed him back with an easy languidness that brought with it feeling and power without force. After a long while, though, she pulled away from him. "Work," she breathed.
"Break," he countered on a hard whisper, smirking at her. "C'mere," he teased, pulling her body on top of his. Self-control was something he had a great deal of, but when it came to her, there was a much shallower pool. He kissed her again, his left hand hooking around her neck, holding her to him, while his right fingered the belt-loops at the back of her pants. He rocked upward into her once, only once, before breathing slowly and moaning against her lips. "I know, I know," he complained knowingly.
She gave a soft chuckle before pulling her head back and brushing noses with him as she did before. "You know I want you, anytime, anywhere, always. But not...not here. It's too..."
"I live for danger," he said, wagging his eyebrows and slanting his mouth over hers again. He laughed against their kiss, though, telling her he knew where to draw the line, and how risky crossing it would be. He tore his lips away from hers, looked into her eyes as best he could in the dim light of the room, and he said, "I love you."
"I love you, too," she told him, giving his lips one final peck before settling her head on his chest. "I, uh, talked to Cragen. While you were making phone calls."
"Oh, great," he huffed, playing with her hair, "What did he accuse us of now?"
"Nothing," she said with a small shake of her head. "He apologized again. Whatever you said to him really made him feel like shit."
Elliot laughed. "I didn't say anything that wasn't true," he told her. "I denied having an affair with you, because I'm not, and the reasons I gave him for why he should've known better were nothing but the absolute truth, baby." He sighed. "He feels like shit because it was a fucking shitty thing to think."
She hummed in agreement, but then remained silent, drawing small intricate patterns in his chest with her index finger. "He, uh, he told me who told him they think we're sleeping together."
His head shot up and he grabbed her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were wide and his grin was almost evil, as if he were already plotting the murder he would commit as soon as he knew who his victim was. "Who," he asked, his nostrils flaring.
She looked back at him with a slight sadness in her eyes, her hands coming up to cover his. She brushed her thumbs along the sides of his fingers, calming him, and she kissed him sweetly before telling him. "Doctor Hendrix."
Peace and Love
Jo
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