"So, how did it go with Cabot?" asks Elliot as I walk into the precinct the next morning.
Groaning, I flop down at my desk and shake my head.
"That bad?"
I nod, taking a sip of coffee. Ah, the energy to start my day. "So what's plan B, Einstein?"
"We go back to Jenna."
"She's just as uncooperative as Alex," I remind him. It feels so strange to be talking about my best friend in these terms, like she's a witness. Which she might be.
"Do you want my opinion?" he asks. I don't, but I nod anyway, and he says, "The father did it. He abused that little girl and he killed her. We're just dotting our i's."
"That's your opinion." I don't want to admit that this might be true, to consider the potential repercussions and implications of such a revelation. Child molesters and abusers don't usually choose just one child. It's not unheard of, but it's very uncommon.
My mind is racing a million miles an hour. Alex has never discussed her childhood before and she's never said a word about her father. Could this be why? Poor Alex!
But then . . . I'm not going to speculate about my best friend. If something did happen and she wants to tell me about it, fine. If something didn't happen, that's fine too. If something happened and she doesn't want to tell me about it, I may not like it, but that's her choice. I'm not going to ruin our friendship by feeling sorry for her or pushing her to tell me something she doesn't feel comfortable talking about. I know how hard it is for victims to open up to people . . . but this is exactly what I don't want. I can't start thinking about my Alex as a victim. Because the Alex Cabot I know is anything but.
"I don't feel comfortable investigating the personal life of our ADA," I tell him. "We should talk to Alex first."
"She's going to stonewall us," Elliot says.
"I know. But I want her to be able to trust us. Otherwise, we'll never be able to work civilly on a case again."
I'm getting out my cell phone when the door to the precinct flies open and the clicking of Alex's high heels signals her arrival. I turn to face her. The expression on her face is blank. Unreadable. "Hey, Alex," I venture.
Ignoring me, she marches toward Captain Cragen's office and raps on his door. He opens the door and lets her in, then shuts it again to obstruct our view.
I stare at the closed door for what feels like an eternity, until Alex comes out. There's something in her eyes that scares me, an almost deadened look. "I'm off the case," she says sharply. "I talked to Liz and cleared it with Cragen. Abbie's going to prosecute."
"Alex," says Elliot. "We need to talk to you."
"No, you don't," she replies, her blue eyes flashing as she turns on her heel and stalks away.
The realization dawns in Elliot's eyes and I can see he's put two and two together. He looks at me.
"We can do it without her," I tell him decisively. I'm not going to ruin the friendship I have with Alex for any reason.
He raises an eyebrow, but surprisingly, nods his head. "Okay. Let's arrest the bastard."
Two hours later, Lena Cabot is sitting in one interrogation room and George Cabot is sitting in the other. I'm pacing the hallway, watching him through the one-way glass and wondering for the millionth time how monsters can blend in so easily. I want to kill him for hurting my friend.
But then, maybe what he did to her has made Alex who she is today. She's the strongest person I know, and she dedicates her life to helping the victims. We all do, I guess, but with her, it's different. She does it with such passion, dedicating her life (or lack thereof) to the job, yet she never lets that fervor override her ethics. She always looks at the bigger picture and sees things that Elliot and I don't, which is how she's helped so many more people than I ever will.
Elliot taps me on the shoulder. "You take him, I'll deal with her."
Bracing myself, I nod and enter the interrogation room. George Cabot is sitting with his hands folded nonchalantly in front of him. He glances at me with polite interest. "Honey, could you get me a diet soda?"
"I'm not here for your convenience," I snarl.
He shrugs. "Fine. Can I go now?"
"No," I tell him, sitting down across the table from him. "You can't. You're under arrest for the murder of your daughter."
"Which one?"
Smug bastard. "Claire. Do you have any other dead daughters I should know about?"
He shrugs again, a half-smirk on his face. "I didn't kill my little girl."
"If you confess now, things will be easier for you in the long run."
"You can leave now," he tells me.
I'd love to, but I can't. "You beat her and you raped her and you killed her. End of story. You're going to jail for a long, long time, and then you'll see how it feels to be your daughter!"
He isn't fazed. "Jen and Lexi love me. They'll tell you."
"Her name is Alex," I growl.
George raises an eyebrow in amusement. "Oh, you know her then?"
"Yes," I tell him, not bothering to elaborate.
"Didn't she tell you just how much I – loved her?" He licks his lips and I curl my hands into fists. He hasn't said it outright but the implication is clear. It's all I can do not to smack the smug grin off the bastard's face, but I restrain myself.
"She did," I bluff, forcing my voice to remain level.
He smirks. "Then why aren't you arresting me for that?"
His admission – or almost admission – leaves a nasty taste in my mouth, and suddenly I feel like I'm going to be sick. "We'll talk later," I snarl. Getting to my feet, I bolt from the room.
Standing with her arms folded, watching George Cabot in the interrogation room, is Alex. As if this could get any worse. I feel like sinking into the floor when I realize that she's trembling. I've never seen my Alex vulnerable like this before. "What are you doing here?" I ask her, trying to mask my surprise.
She turns on me, wrapping her arms around herself in a futile attempt to calm her body. "I could be asking you the same question about him."
"He killed his eight-year-old, Alex. Your half-sister. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"We are not trying this case at the expense of my reputation," she says coldly, as if it's a statement of fact, as if no one else has any say in the matter.
"You did nothing wrong."
She turns back to the one-way glass, and her body's shuddering increases exponentially. It's tearing my heart out to see her like this and I rest my hands gently on her shoulders, trying to comfort her.
She flinches and pulls away from me, her blue eyes flashing as she whirls around. "Don't touch me!"
I pull my hand away as if it's been burned. "I'm sorry."
The fire drains from her eyes and she sighs, stepping back. In a much quieter, more businesslike voice, she says, "There's a five year statute of limitations on rape. You can't touch him."
"I know," I tell her, matching her even tone. "I wish we could, though. I'd like to see him rot in jail for what he did to you."
She sighs again and I worry for a moment that I've overstepped my bounds and she's going to push me away. But she doesn't. Instead, she crosses her arms as another shiver ripples through her body. "I tried to be a good sister," she says softly. "I tried to protect Jenna. But sometimes I just couldn't be there."
"I know," I assure her, wanting so much to take her hand but knowing I can't. "It's not your fault."
She meets my eyes, locking her baby blues onto mine. "I want to put him away for what he did. I'll tell Abbie I changed my mind. I can do this."
I manage a small smile. "You can."
So . . . would you like the next installment? Review if you would!