"I remember him."

"You got somewhere to be, Mr. Harper?" Danny Messer frowned at the older man, fidgeting in the Spartan metal chair. "Something more important to you than your wife?" Danny threw the case file down on the sleek table top, startling his suspect. "You're not tellin' me the truth, and you're wasting my time."

"I'm runnin' outta ways to tell you I didn't do it, smartass." Danny rolled his eyes, flipping the chair on his side of the table around, and straddling the back, fixing Judd Harper with a deadly stare.

"You don't seem to broken up about her floatin' down the Hudson. If that was my wife I'd be doubled over with grief." He plucked a coroner's photo out of the file, and slid it across the table, his gaze remaining even. "Course, if I put her there, I'd feel a bit differently."

"You New York cops think you know everything-" Danny glanced at the mirror quickly before returning his attention to the pudgy, balding sloth of a man before him, suddenly feeling pleased as he noticed the telltale signs of perspiration due to stress, his labored breathing turned decidedly wheezy.

This bastard was going to crack.

"Your wife Kendra was killed three days before her body was dumped. In the Hudson. You remember." Danny ignored Harper's scoff, and cut him off, continuing. "Lemme lay it out for you, Mr. Harper. Your wife came home a little late from work last week, workin' a double, exhausted because she's been payin' the bills since last May. She's tired, overworked. And she comes home to you, and your unsatisfied sex drive." Danny leaned back casually in his chair, unfazed by the color seeping up on Judd Harper's features, watching passively as the man before him turned a shade of purple. "The 'script for Cialis was filled two weeks ago. There was only one pill left in the bottle." Danny leaned forward, fixing the man with a steady gaze. "That's the stuff that gives you 36 hours, right? 36 not enough? Tell me what happened, Judd." Danny slammed his fist on the table, making the paperwork jump. "Otherwise your rap sheet does the talking, and three incidents of domestic abuse and a matching three attempted rape charge don't sing very pretty tunes. Especially with the assault charge on top of that."

"That was years ago."

"When was the last time you had sexual relations with your wife, Mr. Harper?"

"That's got nothing to do with this."

"I beg to differ. Answer the question."

"Day before she disappeared."

"You mean the day before you slit her throat and threw her in the Hudson with barbell weights tied to her ankles."

"I loved my wife. I had sex with her, but I didn't kill her."

"And."

"And I might have taken too many pills."

"You think?"

"You sayin' I raped my wife, Detective?"

"I'm just tryin' to sort this all out."

"The hell you are." Harper slammed his fists on the table, pushing the metal chair away as he stood, looming over the edge.

"What happened? You like it a little too rough? She say no? You're a big guy. You coulda taken her. And your record isn't exactly sparkling. Plead guilty, the DA might offer a deal." Danny watched as the older man snapped, anger and grief and devastation ripping and contorting his pudgy features, turning his ears a violet shade of red, making the vein in his forehead pronounced.

"D'you think I'm okay with my wife being raped? Murdered?" Harper's voice played at the fine edge that separated hysteria and rage, teetering dangerously.

"I think you got a rap sheet that details something to that effect." Danny cocked an eyebrow at the man, remaining complacent in his seat. The guy was guilty of a number of things, but there was no forensic evidence to convict him by.

"I want a lawyer." Harper stood, pacing haughtily for a moment, flexing his fingers into thick, meaty, white fists. "No. You know what? How would you feel, if it was your wife. Your girlfriend. Have the police down your throat. Your tune will change, Detective, that I can assure you."

Danny rolled his eyes, standing and swinging his leg around, and stepping away from the chair, gathering up the case file. He was not going to feel sympathetic to a guilty man, regardless of lack of evidence. The man was sweating, panting, having trouble containing his temper, had become easily startled. Jumpy. All psychological signs of a guilt-riddled conscious.

And no evidence.

Fuck.

Danny swung open the interrogation room door, stepping out into the hallway of the precinct, slamming the door behind him abruptly. He cringed as he heard the determined click of heels on the tile as Aiden Burn rounded the corner from the side room sharply, promptly shoving him, taking the file and smacking him on the back of the head.

"Good job, Messer. Threaten the suspect. Nice. Never mind that we have no evidence to falsify his story." She frowned at him, shifting her weight to one foot. "Quit jumping the forensics, Danny. If he's guilty, we'll nail him. Relax."

Fuck.

That was the single though pervading Detective Eliot Stabler's mind as he watched realization dawn over the younger man's features, the hard in the blue of his eyes melting as they widened, sheer panic flashing over his face briefly, like the changeover in a movie reel.

"His wife. Kendra. Floater in the Hudson a few years back. Swept up in the fisherman's net, on its way out to sea- oh God."

Fuck.

"What, Dan."

Fuck.

"It's my fault."

Fuck.

"We're gong to need the case file, and the other detectives on the case." Eliot cleared his throat, his gaze moving steadily from one detective to the other. She had shifted again, into a hardened professional shell, crossing her arms defeatedly over her chest, biting her lip, and suspected it was taking all her efforts to not lash out angrily at her partner. The panic was back in his eyes, shining dully behind what would have been tears, had he not been dripping Staten Island.

"Who worked the case with you Danny?" She stepped closer, fixing him with a professional stare, but reaching out, running he hand through his hair in an almost affectionate manner that Stabler recognized as comforting encouragement. For a fleeting moment, he wondered who was hurting more, Det. Monroe or her partner. The younger man bit his lip, and pulled out his cell phone, speaking as he dialed a number. Eliot tapped on the glass, letting his captain know to come in.

"Aiden. Me and Aiden." Danny flashed Lindsay a pained expression, the content of his heart shattering into pieces behind his delicate frames before his attention was caught halfway by the voice on the other end of the line, his gaze sifting through hers, searching for a place to put his apology. "Mac. I'm lookin' for an unsolved from 2002, floater in a fisherman's net, vic's name was Kendra, yeah." He chewed on his lip, his hand slipping to hers and grasping tightly as he listened to his boss. "Harper, yeah." There was a pause, and he rolled his eyes. "Aiden. I know. Thanks, yeah, okay." He tried again to reach for Lindsay, but she shrugged off his touch, and stepped out of his reach, turning back to Det. Stabler.

"Mac Taylor will bring the file, there has to be something we can hold Harper on until we have time to sift through the testimony again." She sounded crisp, turning away from him and addressing the other detective in a professional voice, setting her jaw in a rigid manner that demanded police work. He dropped his phone back in his pocket, shaking the lurch of tears back, and fixing his gaze past Lindsay's wild, unruly waves to the overweight, balding monster sitting by himself at the dull metal table in the center of the interrogation room.

"We should wait until the file arrives and we get a chance to review the specifics of the case before we question him. Messer, if you could fill my team in on what you remember-"

"Lemme give it a try. We got a history." Lindsay wiped at her eyes, frightened by the flash of feral determination in his features. She had never seen this in him before, but she'd be lying if she hadn't suspected it was a facet of who he was. She just wasn't sure if it was the Italian or the Staten Island that had made him so protective. Either way she was thankful. The Marine detective started to protest, but Danny leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple gently before slipping out the door, ignoring the Special Victims guys complete, and reappearing moments later, quietly opening the door to the interrogation room, and clicking it shut behind him again.