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.

JP Morgan Chase, Corporate Campus, Park Avenue, New York City

"No," Elliot whispered to Olivia, keeping one eye on the man behind the desk in front of him. "I left Hendrix three messages, she hasn't called me back. I just want to know what the hell she thinks she was..."

"You know," Olivia interrupted, in just as harsh a whisper, "She's always thought we were too close, too involved, maybe after the last eval, she misinterpreted something. She usually does." She looked at him then, realization in her eyes. "Did you tell her about your..."

"I'm sorry," interjected a staunch-looking man with wire-rimmed glasses and an expensive toupee, "but without a warrant, I can not give you access to that account." He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "I have asked my supervisor, twice, and you stood right there as I spoke with him again. Without a warrant, the answer is no."

"We have a warrant," Elliot interrupted. "The ADA is on her way down here with it right now, so in the interest of saving yourself a lot of time and a lot of pain, please, just pull up the records on this account."

"What? Pain? Are you threatening me, Detective?" the man questioned, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose.

"If he is," a voice called from behind them, as heels clicked against the tiles, "It's a bit premature, and not necessary. Here." Casey Novak slapped a folded and sealed document into Elliot's chest. She raised her eyebrow, waiting. "You gonna thank me?"

He rolled his eyes, grabbed the blue papers, and dropped them onto the desk in front of the befuddled, bespectacled man. "Yeah, thanks," he said dismissively.

Casey scoffed, turned, and looked at Olivia. "Seriously? What bit him in the ass?"

Olivia shrugged, trying to keep a look of indifference on her face. She watched as Casey looked back at Elliot.

Casey licked her lips, shook her head, and walked back the way she'd come, her heels echoing as she moved.

"Hey," Elliot called to Olivia, who'd been glaring after Casey, "You might want to look at this." He caught her eyes, noticing the brief disdain and jealousy fade into professional courtesy. He let out a short laugh and then tapped on the top of the banker's computer monitor. "You were right."

Olivia moved into a spot behind Elliot, looking over his shoulder at the computer screen. She scanned the information, and then bit her lip, pointing to a name on the list. "Petrucchio." She looked at the banker. "Can you tell me if that check was cashed?"

The banker sighed, scrolling down in the program, and he said, "Yes. The funds were withdrawn from Mrs. Aberforth's account last Monday." He looked up at Elliot. "Cleared Mister Petrucchio's account the following Thursday."

"Petrucchio has an account here?" Olivia asked. Her eyes drifted toward Elliot.

The banker nodded and smiled. "Mister Petrucchio is one of our investment brokers." He saw the vile expressions on Olivia and Elliot's faces, swallowed hard, and said, "He...he should be in his office. Upstairs, ninth floor."

"Great," Elliot said, retrieving the warrant, knowing he would need to show it to people upstairs. He looked at Olivia, walking with her toward the brass-colored elevator. "This just keeps getting better."

Petrucchio Residence, E. 81st Street, Manhattan, New York

"Maybe no one's home," Fin said, folding his arms and huffing, watching a cloud of white build in front of his mouth. "Fucking freezing out here."

Munch pressed his lips together and knocked on the door again. "NYPD," he called, "Open up!" He back up a bit, moved a foot to the left, and peered through a front window. "Television is on, there's light, someone's playing hard to get."

Fin brought his hands up to his mouth and breathed into them, and then rubbed them together as he said, "Gotta be a woman."

Munch pounded on the door, harder now, and yelled, "NYPD, open the door!" He looked at Fin, hearing a chain slide and a lock click. He stepped back and watched the white door creak open, his head tilting when a young woman came into view.

"I'm sorry," she said sheepishly. "I heard you the first time, but I was..." she cleared her throat. "My mother...she needed help getting into her bed, I couldn't just leave her..."

Munch held up a hand. "No problem," he said. "Does Vinnie Petrucchio live here?"

The girl nodded. "I'm his daughter, Gia," she said, pulling the door open. "Before you come in, can I see your badges?"

"Smart girl." Fin pulled his badge out of his pocket and held it up for the young woman. "Detective Tutuola," he declared. "That's my partner, Detective Munch."

"Pleased to meet you," Gia said with a small smile. "What is this about? If you need my father, he's at work."

"No, we..." Munch began, as he stepped into the foyer. He stopped, though, and took a look around. It looked more like a hospital than a home. Suddenly, he felt very guilty for causing an intrusion. "We just need to see the bed you've been renting from Mercy General."

"Oh," Gia said, letting a small sigh escape with the word. "We stopped using it when Mom got worse. We needed something bigger, with..." she paused and took a shaky breath, "Stronger straps."

Fin looked at Munch, and then back toward Gia. "Where did you put the other bed, then?"

"My father put it in storage," she told him. "He said the hospital wouldn't take it back until our agreement was up, which...well," she turned down her eyes and knotted her fingers together. "It won't be long now. They'll get the bed when they come to get...her."

"I'm sorry," Munch offered softly. He rested a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

Gia nodded, straightening up. "I've already accepted what's happening to her. But thank you."

Fin stepped closer to her and asked, "You know where the bed is now? I don't mean to be insensitive, but it's important."

Gia furrowed her brow. "Why? The only person who's used it is my mother, and she's upstairs, asleep. I don't see how..."

"Please," Fin interrupted. "We just need to account for the whereabouts and condition of the bed."

Gia's face relaxed, then, and she moved toward a small, pine-wood desk. She pulled open a drawer, and then grabbed a little grey book. She flipped its pages and then made a small grunting sound. "Here you are," she said, turning the book toward Munch. "Post-Management Self Storage, on the west side. Unit nine-B."

Munch looked at the address book, humming, and then whispered to Fin. "Awfully far from here, no?"

"But awfully close to where the vic was dumped." He looked up, and a bit louder, he said, "Thank you for your help."

Gia waved to both detectives, and as soon as they left, she moved to the phone. She dialed a number fast, and then waited. "Yes, can you connect me to Vincenzo Petrucchio, in investments? Please, tell him it's important."

Post-Management Self-Storage Facility, W. 81st Street, Manhattan, New York

"This place gives me the creeps," Olivia said as she walked beside Elliot down the empty corridor.

"Self-Storage?" he asked, scrunching up his face at her.

She shook her head. "New York," she said, looking at him. She was only half-joking. "That man was impossible. I'm surprised we even got anything out of him."

"Protection," he scoffed, recalling the memo line on Aberforth's check. "That five-hundred grand was to protect her investments, his commission," he shook his head in disgust. "We are in the wrong line of work. Shit."

"Yeah, but he clammed up the minute you asked him where he was two nights ago," she said, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets. "He went white when you told him Aberforth was dead."

"He's involved," he said. "It's not a mob-hit, like we thought, but he has something to do with this, I know he does. I could kill Munch for calling us in the middle of questioning Petrucchio like that. We almost had him."

"Well, this was more important," she told him. "Besides, if we find the bed in this unit, we can go back and ask him some more questions. See what other colors we can get him to turn." She stopped walking when he did, and she looked at him. "Nine-B," she said. She turned to look behind her, nodding to a man in white overalls holding a small saw-like tool. "Open it."

Elliot pulled Olivia into his arms, away from the flying sparks and metal shards, shielding her and himself as the man sawed off the padlock. He squeezed his eyes shut and moved more in front of Olivia, only relaxing when the whir of the rotor stopped and the metal clang of the lock hitting the floor rang against his ears. He took a breath, tugged on his suit jacket, and said, "Thank you."

The maintenance man nodded, then flipped the hand-saw up onto his shoulder, turned around, and whistled a jaunty tune as he walked away.

Olivia looked up at Elliot, smirking. She felt a warmth run through her, knowing that he was keeping her safe, and she wasn't even in any real danger. She smoothed a hand up his chest and said, "You can, uh, back up now." She laughed at his quick movement, but then tugged on his tie. "Trust me, okay? You'll be a lot closer than that. Later," she said with a wink. She dropped his tie and gestured to the storage unit.

Elliot chuckled at her, but then bent down low and grabbed the handle of the sliding door. Grunting, he hoisted it upward. Immediately, he choked and gagged on a horrific smell coming from inside the unit. "Jesus," he cracked, backing up. He put an arm around Olivia, shaking his head. "You're not going anywhere near that," he said, his hand subconsciously moving lower on her body.

"El, come on, you know we have to..." she stopped speaking when the odor wafted her way. She buried her mouth and nose in the bend of her elbow and said, muffled, "De-comp."

Elliot nodded, lifting the collar of his shirt up halfway over his face. He pulled a penlight out of his jacket pocket and flicked it on, staying in front of Olivia as they walked, slowly, toward the storage unit. He raised his small flashlight, and when the beam hit into the unit, his eyes widened."Oh, my God," he spat.

Olivia's eye trailed over the blood-stained bed, the straps tattered and torn, and she grimaced when she saw bits of flesh and bone on the cement ground beneath it. "That's not all from our vic," she said, shaking her head," But I'm pretty damn sure we found our primary. She was killed in this room."

Elliot nodded, turning toward her. Needing a humanizing moment, he kissed her forehead. "Call Cragen, baby," he whispered. "We need a crime scene unit out here. And..." he turned back toward the storage room, his light shining over the floor again. "...tell him we need Warner."

Peace and Love

Jo

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