CHAPTER FOUR

Benson and Stabler worked the phones, checking every CI and source they had. After a couple of frustrating hours Olivia said "Thanks," slammed the phone down, and stood. "C'mon. That was Sammy Lewis, the bartender at Eli's, on Houston. Meadows just wandered in."

Elliot was on his feet, grabbing his jacket. "You're kidding."

"Nope. I called Sammy on a whim, that place is such a dive, but it paid off." They walked out of the squad room. Elliot jangled the keys as they hurried down the stairs. Olivia wanted nothing more than to capture this creep, she didn't need Alex on her back. Olivia was well aware that the two ADAs were friends; Alex didn't need to call her every five minutes demanding an update and suggesting a hard take down when they found him. "You know," she said, as Elliot unlocked the car, "McCoy put the word out, no prosecution for complaints when we collar this asshole. Adam Schiff backs him." Disbelief tinged her tone.

Elliot grinned as he turned the key. "McCoy is my kind of guy."

"So I should expect him to vigorously resist?" Olivia looked at him, a little surprised at the idea of deliberately beating the shit out of a suspect.

"Seriously, yes. He raped an ADA. I'm surprised he didn't kill her, the dead suck as witnesses." He sped toward the little hole-in-the-wall bar.

"Just don't shoot him, Elliot," she said, drily. "Alex will have our asses if we don't let her fry him herself." She was on board with her partner, confident she could contain his more primitive instincts.

"Duly noted." He shot through a red light. "I want that little bastard."

Olivia glanced at him. "You know Kincaid?"

"Me? No. It's the idea that the little prick would make threats and have the balls to carry them out. On an ADA, no less." Tires squealed as he took a corner. They arrived at the dive and Elliot parked in the street. He and Olivia walked in, scanning the patrons. Marc Meadows sat at the bar, a beer in front of him. He didn't look up when the door opened, but then he sensed Elliot's threatening presence behind him.

He threw his beer in Elliot's face and dove off the barstool, running for the rear exit. Olivia was on him before he'd gone four steps, and Elliot jerked him away from her, slamming him to the floor. He smashed Meadows's head against the dirty floor, then jammed a knee in his back as he cuffed him. Yanking him to his feet, Elliot smiled at Meadows's bloody nose.

"Let's go, tough guy. You're in deep shit." He recited Miranda as he pushed Meadows out of the bar. On the street, he slammed him on the trunk and patted him down, squeezing hard as he checked his crotch. Meadows yelled, and Elliot said "Shut up, dickwad."

Olivia opened the back door and Elliot stuffed him into the backseat, letting his head hit the roof as he pushed him in. The detectives got in and drove back to the station, listening to the prisoner moan and curse, threaten lawsuits. Olivia finally looked over her shoulder. "Oh shut up. Do you really think the DA's office will prosecute any charge you bring? You raped an ADA, and not just any ADA, you brutalized the partner of the Executive ADA. Know what that means?" The answer was a groan. "It means you are royally, truly fucked. We can beat you senseless, and you were resisting arrest. We can crush your nuts with bolt cutters and you were resisting arrest. So I'd start praying, now, because my partner is supremely pissed. And the EADA wants a piece of you."

They frog-marched him into the station, and then into an interview room. Cragen waited in the observation area. Elliot slammed the man onto a chair. "You comfortable, dickhead?" Elliot rolled up his sleeves.

"My nose, man, you broke my nose."

"No, you did that, falling when you ran away from us." Elliot pulled a chair away from the table and sat, staring at the small man. "An ADA. What kind of drugs are you on?"

"I didn't rape nobody."

Olivia tapped the back of his head. "Liar. Or did you think you were raping a blind woman? "

"I don't know what you're talking about." The front of his shirt was soaked in his blood.

Elliot stood. "I have no patience with rapists. We have you dead to rights, no need for a confession. You left your DNA, she saw you plain as day, you really are dumb as a bag of shit."

"Bite me," Meadows spat blood in Elliot's direction.

Elliot moved so fast, the man's face hit the table so hard, that Olivia jumped. Cragen opened the door and said "Elliot. A minute, please."

"Sure, Captain." Elliot grinned and walked into the hallway, closing the door.

"That's enough, Detective. I know McCoy said he wouldn't prosecute a brutality complaint, but if a judge sees too much, it's out of his hands."

Elliot nodded and went back into the interview room. He glanced at Olivia, leaning against a wall, and resumed his seat. "How's the head, Marc? My partner can get you an aspirin if you need one."

"Fuck you, man. My lawyer's gonna have a field day."

"Nah, I doubt that. You're too stupid to stop resisting. Now, want to tell us about it? It's much easier to deal with ADA Cabot when you fess up. If she has to take you to trial, the gates of hell are going to open."

--xx—

Alex Cabot arrived at six a.m. She looked at the prisoner, still sitting in the interview room, waiting for his lawyer. "Jesus," she said, "who beat the hell out of him?"

"He resisted arrest at the bar," Olivia said. "He ran. When we tackled him, his face hit the floor. And then he fought us at the car."

Alex looked at Olivia. "I'll take your word for it. Tell his lawyer I said he really doesn't want this to go to trial." She turned and left the observation area. She picked up the preliminary report from Elliot on her way out. She would work on it at her office, and then go see Claire.

--xx—

Claire woke at four, panicked. Jack dozed, his arm still around her, but he jerked with her, fully alert. God, she looked terrible, and he wanted to do something, but he was helpless and he knew it. He tried to calm her, holding her against his chest and stroking her hair, as he once soothed his daughter's nightmares away. This, though, was a nightmare that wouldn't leave.

When Claire was aware of reality, that it wasn't some bad dream, her tears finally came. Jack kept stroking her head, her back, silently encouraging her to let it out. His shirt was soaked when she finally lifted her head and looked at him. "Why," she said, in a dead tone.

"Because there's real evil in this world, which we try to fight, and that puts us on the firing line. I'm so sorry, Claire, I should have been here to protect you."

She pulled away from him. "I need a shower." She stood, unsteadily, and he got to his feet, ready to catch her if her legs gave way. He walked with her into the bathroom, turned the shower on, and waited for her to tell him what she wanted. "I'm OK," she said. "I just need to be clean. Would you get my clothes?" He nodded and left the bathroom. She stripped off the hospital-issue sweats and got in the hot shower. She washed repeatedly, shampooed her hair twice, and then turned the water off. She stepped out of the stall and saw her own sweatpants and a white thermal undershirt folded on the toilet. She dried off and dressed, then walked into the living room. She smelled coffee and saw Jack in the kitchen, leaning against the counter.

He moved toward her as soon as he saw her, but she waved him away. The bruises on her face were dreadful, he thought, but nothing like the internal wounds, the wounds of the soul. When the coffee was ready, he brought her a mug.

"Thank you," she said, in a normal tone. She sipped it, tried to hide the pain of swallowing, then cradled the mug between her palms. "I must be a terrible person, because I want him dead."

"Nothing terrible about that. I do, too."

Her expression was anguished. "How can I feel this way when I oppose killing?" She looked away from Jack with a scary, bitter laugh. "I won't even kill spiders, yet I want this, this…" she trailed off.

Jack sat next to her and took her hand. It felt lifeless, and he gently rubbed it between his larger hands. "What you feel is natural. You've been violated, hurt, abused beyond description. And I failed you, which makes me want to grind him into dust. Look at me." She did, her brown eyes dulled with pain. "If you want me to kill him, say the word."

Her eyes widened as she heard what he said, understood what he meant. "My God, Jack," she whispered. "What is this doing to us?"

He kissed her forehead, and she leaned against him. "It makes us human. It's why we have the death penalty. Legislated revenge that keeps a lid on society."

"You'd really kill him if I asked you?"

He stared into her eyes. "Absolutely."

"No. No, you wouldn't. You aren't capable of that."

"And neither are you, but feeling it, wanting it, that's OK, Claire."

She raised the mug to her lips and sipped, then sank back on the couch, pulling Jack with her. The mug in her right hand rested on her stomach, she felt its heat but was untouched by it. She was angry, she was numb, she grieved something lost and feared something new within her. Then she felt that drifting sensation again. It was as if she stood apart, watching a man and woman sitting on a couch, trying to make sense of the senseless, actors in a play. The woman looked at the man and said "Get some coffee, its good." He got up and walked into the kitchen, a middle-aged man dressed in jeans and a wrinkled oxford shirt. When he came back, Claire read the pain in his eyes, the sense of failure, a frustration that was going to explode at some point.

"You know," he said, and took a delaying sip of coffee, "Cabot's going to want to talk to you."

"Alex," she said, dully, as if trying to place her. "My friend Alex. She and Margot are my only real friends here, oh, and Ruthie Miller."

"What am I?" he asked.

She looked at him, weighing the question, testing the emotions the question evoked. He failed to protect her, through no fault of his own, and he was trying now to make things better. She freed her left hand from his and reached up for his unshaven cheek, stroking it. "You're my lover, my friend. I'd be so lost without you." A tear ran out of the corner of her eye, and he caught it with his fingertip. "Please don't leave me."

"I won't. Adam has given me all the time off I need."

That wasn't exactly what she meant, but she found comfort in it nonetheless. She was afraid he'd be yanked away from her, much as her innocence regarding personal evil had been. The thought of Jack dying and leaving Claire to struggle through life frightened her. He sensed her fear and edged even closer, putting his arm around her. She stiffened, but forced herself not to push him away.

"What is it?" He kept her locked in his gaze.

"I'm afraid you'll die," she whispered. "And you can't promise you won't."

He sighed. "No, I can't promise I won't, but I can promise to be careful. I will not leave you, Claire."

"So many have left me," she said, breaking the hold his dark brown eyes had on her. "My father. My best friend in college…" Talking took too much effort, and she retreated into silence. Silence and black coffee. Her vacant eyes scared him. He didn't know how to reach her, so he followed her lead, sitting silently with her.