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Sins of the Father 8
Golden Gate Motor Inn
Brighton Beach.
11:30pm Friday.
"We are on the scene at a parking lot of east 16th street, where the dead body of suspected serial rapist John Aberdeen was found. Police have yet to release details as the medical examiner is still investigating the cause of death. Just a few hours ago, Police from the Special Victims Unit released a photo of this individual in an attempt to gather information on his whereabouts..."
"No!" Veronica Aberdeen wailed, drowning out the television reporter. "No! No..." She sank to the floor in uncontrollable sobs. How could he? Her husband promised her he would be back, that he would keep her safe. He promised. A sudden hopelessness overwhelmed her. What would she do now?
A murmur got her attention and she turned away from the T.V . to her daughter, Stepha. Oblivious to the tragedy that played on the screen, Stepha yawned and stuck her tiny fist into her mouth. Veronica tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear and wiped away her tears. Carefully, she reached into the crib and picked up her eight-month old, bouncing her over her shoulder. "Okay sweetie, it's okay."
As Veronica comforted her daughter, her mind processed her next steps. Her gut told her that John didn't rape those women, and he certainly didn't kill himself. There was another side to this, and she would prove it. But first she had to secure her own safety. She popped a soother in her baby's mouth. She had to leave, and leave now.
xxx
16 street parking lot.
11:45 pm.
The scene was all too familiar for Dr. Warner. The M.E's first impressions were that death was instantaneous. The bullet had been fired directly into the temple, shattering the skull and shredding the frontal cortex. Within seconds, John Aberdeen's vital systems shut down and he was no more. With her gloved fingers, she picked up the shell casing from a 9mm and examined it briefly before placing it in the plastic evidence bag. Using a cotton swab, she brushed the blood around the entry wound. A second swab picked up traces of blood from the jagged shards of glass on the passenger side window. The swabs were placed into separate, meticulously labled containers.
Warner exited the vehicle and tore off her gloves, nodding to CSU to collect the body.
The circus of media and police had subsided somewhat, leaving Detectives Munch and Fin, along with Stabler and Benson in a semicircle around her as she looked up at them. "I still have to perform an autopsy, but I'm sure it's a suicide. Single gunshot to the head," she said. She knew the how, but it was the detectives job to determine the why.
"He got scared, didn't wanna get caught." Fin stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"What about the bruise?" Olivia asked Melinda.
"Blunt force trauma to the side of the skull, matches the victim's description of the knock on the head she gave him."
"We found the branch she hit him with, there was traces of blood, it'll match with his." Elliot said with confidence. He looked to Munch, "Anything on the gun?"
"An unregistered 9mm Sig," Munch replied, "Typically used as the side arm of choice by a number of armed forces. Serial number was sanded off. There's no way to trace it."
"Not that it matters," Elliot finished scribbling the details in his notebook, a cold glint in his eye. "Our perp is dead."
xxx
Olivia walked away from the crime scene and stepped into the squad car. It was almost too much. Elizabeth's attempted suicide and eventual murder, Mac's assault, and now the perp was dead. She looked over at the evidence bag that sat on the passenger seat. They had recovered Mac's heels from the gravel road, and the dogs tracked the few hundred yards that Mac had run to escape her attacker. There was no trace of her shirt or jacket however, and the detectives had concluded that it had been dumped by the perp before he got to the parking lot. Her thoughts wondered off for a few moments, entraced by the flashing lights of the marked cars. She felt like she was in a dream and she desperately wanted to wake up.
"Hey. Hey, Liv." Elliot snapped his fingers in front of her.
"Yeah." She shook her head and took a deep breath.
"You with us? Maybe I should drive."
"No, I'm good. Where's your car?"
"Munch needs it, he's gonna be awhile." Elliot's clicked his seatbelt in place.
"Oh." Secretly, she wanted to brood alone, but there was no way out of this. She started the ignition and flicked the headlights on, pulling out of the parking lot.
"You alright?" asked Elliot, as he peered out the passenger window.
"Fine. "
"A victim you got close to is dead, your half sister was victimized, and the perp kills himself. You're not fine."
"What?" Olivia turned sharply to face her partner, "You don't think I can handle it?"
"That's not what I said."
"Then what are you saying El?"
"I know you Olivia, this isn't going to rest. You gotta stop blaming yourself for things that are beyond your control. "
Her grip tightened unconciously around the steering wheel. It was a long time before she spoke. "I can't. Not yet." She stopped the car at a red light before turning left onto a one-way. "I did this."
"No, you didn't," Elliot said shaking his head, "John Aberdeen was a depraved man, what he did was unthinkable. There's no way you could have stopped him from attacking Mac."
"I could have talked to Angela again, gotten an arrest warrant. We should've been on this guy earlier."
"Liv. There's nothing you or I could have done."
His words sunk in, and Olivia tried to find solace in them, but it was an uphill battle. Elliot was right, but she couldn't admit it. When she closed her eyes, she saw Mac's bruised face, Elizabeth's twisted body. "There's just no justice. He chose his fate. Angela? Mac? Elizabeth? There's no justice for them. Aberdeen will never be convicted for his crimes."
"No trial, no judge, no verdict." Elliot summarized.
"Exactly."
"But think about it, Liv. What would have happened if he was still alive? Hostages? A high speed chase? More victims? This guy was a perfectionist. There's no way he would allow himself to get caught."
Elliot's words were true, but Olivia still wanted to know why. What drove a man like Aberdeen to rape and brutalize these women? Part of the satisfaction of the job was knowing why. If Aberdeen was still alive, she could ask him. But she would never know the truth, and that's what haunted her.
They had arrived at the precinct. She backed the car into their designated space and pulled the parking brake. Olivia undid her seatbelt, leaned back in her seat, and gave her partner a sideways glance. "I'm fine, Elliot."
"Ok." He said simply. "C'mon, Captain wants us to finish up the paperwork for the morning."
xxx
Richardson Residence
Manhattan
1:00 AM
She banged on his door. He was the only one who could help. He was the only one who knew anything about the case that she was close to. Nobody else would believe her.
There was no answer, she kept banging. He was home. Finally she heard a shuffling and grumbling from the reporter. "I'm coming."
The door opened a crack and Jimmy squinted at her.
"What- what're you doing here?"
"I need your help. Please."
He stepped back and opened the door, allowing the slight dark haired woman in. "What the hell are you doing Ronnie?"
"Jimmy, he didn't do it."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Look, you knew him in college. John wouldn't do this." Veronica Aberdeen paced the apartment, oblivious to the bottle of liquor and beer bottles that stood out of place in his rather neat apartment.
"It doesn't matter, DNA will prove he raped those women! That Marine woman positively identified him. How could he be innocent? Ronnie, you're hormonal, you need to calm down."
"Please just listen Jimmy, he didn't do it."
"You're in denial!" Jimmy poured himself a glass of water. "You can't admit that your husband was a serial rapist! Look, I had a run in with the cops and I protected you because I thought I could get a better story, but this? No way." He guzzled the water down and laid the glass heavily on the counter.
"He didn't do it. I can prove it, but I need your help. Jimmy, we were friends once, won't you help me?" she pleaded, her blue eyes searching his.
James looked away. "Ronnie, we were more than just friends, but then you had to go and marry him. You had to marry that son of a bitch and look what he's done to you. He conned you Ronnie. Just like he conned me into believing he loved you. He's dead, and he's still got you in the palm of his hand."
"I'm sorry you feel that way Jimmy," Veronica said sadly, reaching into her purse. She couldn't bear the thought that John could do this, That he would hurt anyone like that... "But I'm not sorry I brought this," she pulled out a small revolver.
"Whoa, what are you doing?" James threw his hands in the air.
"I'm not going to let my little girl grow up learning that her father was a rapist, I know he didn't do it and I'll find proof."
"Alright, fine, what do you need?"
"Where's your stash?"
"My stash?"
"Don't play with me. The safe. Where is it?" She remembered the night she stayed over at his place before he left for the Navy. She saw him open a safe to get a credit card so they could order pizza.
"Oh, that. It's in the desk."
She walked to his desk and opened a drawer. "What's the code?"
"Six-nine-seven-three," he repeated, his eye still on the gun Veronica held nervously in her hand. "Think about this. Think about what you're doing."
Veronica counted out the bills, he had about two grand in there. She stacked them on the desk with the credit cards. "I've thought about it. Believe me." Veronica said as she piled the bills into her purse. "Car keys?"
He shoved his hands in his pockets and tossed the keys on the desk.
Veronica scooped them up and walked toward him, still holding the revolver. "I thought about this too." James stared down the barrel of the 38 caliber revolver, inches from his face. Lowering the gun, she pulled his head towards her.
Her sweet lips pressed into his and she tasted the scotch on his lips. Veronica was a woman who was absolutely sure of herself. she would find the truth."Will you answer when I call you?"
"Yeah."
xxx
New York City District Attorney's Office
1:00 AM
Alex Cabot sighed and stood up, wrapping her cashmere scarf around her. She reached across the desk and adjusted the picture of her mother, reflecting on a fleeting memory that failed to catch in her mind. Having just heard the cause of death of that bastard Aberdeen, it was time to go home.
She turned out the light in the office and locked the door. Flicking her high collar up, she braced for the cold snap of air in the parking lot. Her long easy strides took her to her car and she felt in her pocket for her keys. A sudden uneasiness caused her to turn around.
"George! What are you doing here?"
The FBI profiler and resident psychiatrist raised his hands slightly. "Sorry Alex. I didn't mean to scare you. "
"It's okay." She breathed a sigh of relief. "What are you doing here?" Alex was a little irritable. She couldn't help it, she was tired.
"I was doing a little reading, and I need you to track down a case file for me. Terrence Mclean. 1987."
"Why?"
"Something about Aberdeen's MO is bothering me. At first I thought that the reason he took the victim's clothes was to deprive the police of evidence. But then I remembered an article in a Psychology Journal where this happened before, Terrence Mclean did the same thing. I just need to compare notes."
"In case you haven't noticed George, John Aberdeen is dead." Alex said flatly.
"I know, but it's a unique case," George shook his head. "It's been keeping me up. If anything, it will shed some light on why he did it."
"Fine. I'll see what I can do."
"I appreciate it." George started to walk away.
"George," Alex called over her shoulder. He turned around. "Next time just send me an email, or else one of us will end up in the hospital."
xxx
Saturday Morning
Bellevue hospital.
"After a thorough examination of the evidence, we have concluded that John Fredrick Aberdeen committed suicide after being a suspect in the investigation of the rape of two women, one of which also committed suicide last night. It is believed that Aberdeen attempted to rape a third victim, but underestimated her previous training as a marine officer. Upon realizing his failure, he shot himself in the head with an unregistered handgun."
Mac clicked the television off, unable to listen anymore. It was only 0630. Even with the painkillers she was on, she had still slept fitfully. Harm had called the hospital and left a message, he would be here soon. A tingle of anxiety crept up on her. What would she tell him? How would he react? But if she couldn't talk to Harm, who could she talk to?Her inner battle was interrupted by a light tap on the door. She looked over to see Olivia in the doorway.
"Hey." the detective said, taking a few steps in.
"Hi."
"I uh, pulled some strings and released your items from evidence." She placed Mac's briefcase and carry-on bag on an empty chair. "Found your shoes too."
"Thanks." Mac was suddenly grateful. Now she would have something to take her mind off the trauma that replayed in her mind.
"I just want you to know..."
"...he's dead." Mac finished the sentence.
"Yeah." Olivia walked closer to the bed.
Mac sighed. "I don't know how I should feel about that." When she had identified Aberdeen in a photo spread, she felt a measure of relief in knowing that the police would soon arrest him and put him behind bars. But his suicide left her feeling... empty. She wanted to face her attacker head on, hear the jury say 'guilty'. But that would never come to pass. Still, she wouldn't have to tell her story over and over again.
"Just be glad that he's not out there hurting other people." Olivia said.
"I am." Mac twisted the bedsheets in her hands. "I just can't get him out of my head. He called me Mac..."
Olivia reached down and touched Mac's hand. "It's okay, he's dead, he can't hurt you anymore."
"Have you slept?" Mac asked, noticing Olivia's pale face and puffy eyes.
She half smiled "It's alright, I'm gonna take a taxi."
"You better. Lack of sleep causes just as many accidents as drunk driving."
Olivia nodded, and turned around to leave.
A sudden thought occured to Mac. "Olivia?"
"Yeah."
"You wouldn't have any cover-up would you?"
"No, but there's some in your bag". Olivia rummaged through Mac's carry on bag and pulled out her make-up kit. "Here."
"Thanks." Mac struggled to sit up.
"No, stay there." Olivia walked around the bed and eased herself onto the mattress. She opened the make-up kit and dabbed the brush into the powder. With light strokes, she covered Mac's purplish bruise, carefully avoiding the small cut on her forehead.
Mac felt awkward, but could not stop the slow build up of tears as the ramifications of what happened in the last eleven hours sunk in. "I just... I don't know what to tell him."
