Vicinity of the Sixteenth Precinct Station House
25 June
Two blocks away from the station house, Benson spotted Jay Kingman, a detective in the Robbery unit, unlocking his car. She hit the passenger window button and called out to him.
"Hey, Benson," he called back. "You need my space?"
She smiled and nodded.
"It's yours, but I should warn you—things are wild here today."
"What's up?"
"Animal rights nuts. They started before seven this morning; Traffic Control had the barriers up by eight. Probably a couple hundred of them now, all upset about dead pets."
His words left Olivia curious. After parking, she went to the main entrance to see the scene for herself. The Sixteenth Precinct was housed in a nine-story Neo-Georgian or maybe Art Deco building—architecture was not Olivia's strong suit; she only knew it was a gray stone building with carved scrollwork over its arched windows. In front of the building, a line of aluminum barricades routed traffic away from the precinct house. A dozen cops wearing helmets, jackets, and sheathed batons guarded the entrance. Opposite them, tall linked sections of hurricane fencing lined the median strip, where a mass of people—to Benson's practiced eye, at least three hundred—chanted and waved placards.
"Lions and tigers and pets aren't trash! Lions and tigers and pets aren't trash! Lions and tigers and pets...."
Oh, my... someone needs a better chant....
Behind the line of riot police, several uniforms and detectives were gathered by the 9/11 banner to smoke, an act that drew catcalls from the protesters. Olivia recognized two of them, Stafford and Kilcullen of the precinct's ESU team, and walked over to them.
"Kyle, Jim—what's with the deployment here?"
"We had drive-byes throwing bags of garbage this morning," Kyle answered. "Few minutes later, a couple dozen of 'em surrounded Nick's hot dog stand and shouted vegan slogans at him until he closed up and left. Did me out of my lunch-time brat."
"They were throwing stuffed animals," Kilcullen added. "Inspector Renault was pelted with dogs when he arrived and one of your guys—Munch, I think—caught a stuffed parrot with his face."
Olivia winced.
Poor John… that bruise of his just faded….
Olivia thanked the two men then headed to the SVU squad room. It was ten minutes before shift start and everyone but Fin was present. Cragen, in uniform, stood by his office door with Brewster, Otten, and Sofarelli. The detectives of Brewster's shift were at their desks getting ready to leave. Stabler was sitting on the corner of Munch's desk watching John toss a green plush parrot into the air.
"Those cretins think I mistreat animals," John was saying. "I should have bitten the head off this parrot for them."
"My partner, Ozzy Osbourne." Elliot replied. "You've got the glasses—"
"Yes, but I also have my faculties. Ozzy lost his long ago."
He tossed the parrot up and caught it again.
"This was used to assault a police officer. I should bag it as evidence."
Elliot slid from John's desk.
"I'll get you a trash bag."
Both men laughed. Olivia watched John place the parrot next to his computer monitor before she turned to her locker.
Joking like long-time partners, which is what Elliot called John… didn't take him long to switch loyalties… fine with me….
Fin joined her at the lockers as she stashed her purse.
"It's a mess out front," he said.
"I saw. John took a parrot in the face."
Fin jerked around to look at Munch then he quickly turned back to Olivia.
"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy. You good to visit the crime scene first thing?"
Olivia nodded just as Cragen's "People, let's get started" called for their attention. Both shifts moved toward the captain's position outside his office door. Fin joined Judith and Couch by the copier machine. Olivia perched on the corner of her desk facing Cragen. Stabler, who now was standing by Cragen, tried to catch her attention, but she looked instead at Otten's desk, against which Munch was leaning. John was glaring at his partner as though Fin's location was a personal insult.
Yesterday, John was heart-broken over Fin not working with him... today, he's angry... I've never seen those two act like this... it just isn't like—give it up, Stabler. I'm not looking at you even if you wave with both hands... you had your chance....
Howie Brewster began the meeting with a rape reported early that morning in Soho. Olivia noted Couch's sigh of relief at the location. He then reported that the Miles Motor Lodge on Long Island was the site of the "Boys and Girls Gone Wild" on-line porn; the paint-by-number room was registered to Hamilcar Burger, of Newburgh, N.Y., who paid by the month.
"Sue and Jason spent today with Hicksville P.D.," Howie told them, "identifying and questioning the kids involved. Since the porn was taped there, they will decide who and what to charge. We get the credit for them and Burger, but the Nassau County D.A. gets to try them."
"I'm sure Casey will be heart-broken," Cragen commented. "DPCI is planning a press conference as soon as Burger is in custody. They'll call you with the when and where."
Elliot then ran through the status of the cases belonging to his shift, ending with the Shanahan case. He explained about the fake HR rep, the phony business card, and the falsified identification that enabled Albert P. Sikkens to become Raymond Wayne Smith and allowed him to avoid registering as a sex offender when he moved to Staten Island.
"John thinks two phonies are too many for one case," Elliot told the group. "We plan to hold Sikkens on the ID-related charges and then track down Madelyn McClure. Once we figure out why she wanted Bridget to recant, we'll go from there."
The hoots and jibes that first greeted Munch's suspicions quieted as Elliot laid out their plan. Cragen blessed it with a curt nod then turned to the assembled detectives.
"You may have noticed," he said, "the protesters out front."
A wave of catcalls greeted his understatement.
"Munch definitely noticed them."
"Got a dead parrot in the face."
"It wasn't dead; it was only resting."
"Sure he wasn't pining for the fjords?"
"Maybe he was pining for a kiss from Munch."
"That's enough," Cragen said with enough force to halt the laughter. "Word from One P.P. is to ignore the protesters. Use the back entrance—especially John and Fin. Cyndy Sierens used your photos in her noon report."
John muttered something about the price of fame; Fin settled for a snarl as Cragen brought the meeting to a close. The assembled detectives scattered as Fin and Olivia followed Cragen into his office.
The captain hung his uniform jacket on a hanger before acknowledging them. His tight, social smile held a small measure of resentment.
He wants out of that uniform more than he wants to talk to us… wonder if he'd consider changing in front of me if I weren't female… on second thought, no way… one shirt button undone is as far as he ever unbends….
Olivia leaned against the door to the squad room. Fin stood directly in front of Cragen's desk.
"You're heading back to the Nielson apartment?" Cragen asked.
"Yeah. Liv hasn't seen it yet."
"Forensics get anything off the weapon?"
Fin shook his head.
"No prints. No registration. No way to tie it to Nielson or Houslet."
The growl underlying Fin's words told Olivia how unhappy he was about those facts.
Only three ways to tie a shooter to a weapon... ownership, prints and residue from the powder blowback... but powder residue is fragile—only lasts about six hours or until the shooter washes up... Nielson was scrubbed for surgery and Houslet didn't hit our radar until the day after the shootings...
"No history on the weapon?" Cragen asked.
"It was reported stolen in Bradenton, Florida in September, 2002—nothing since then."
"You have a feel for whether it's Nielson or Houslet?"
Fin's upper lip curled so tightly that his nose twitched.
"Nielson seems genuine, but he's got the best motive—Houslet had tracked them down; they were trapped with no way out. On the other hand, Houslet hated his ex and Nielson—maybe enough to kill his son."
"The nudist thing bothers me," Olivia said. "What if Houslet is some sort of prude? If he thought running around naked had tainted his son…."
"…killing him might be preferable to taking him back home?" Cragen finished her sentence. "Could be—we've seen harsh reactions to unusual lifestyles. You check out Houslet?"
"Yeah," said Fin. "Didn't remarry after the divorce. Runs a successful pool cleaning business in Cedar Park, Texas—that's near Austin. His wife met Nielson at the local Y; her son was on the swim team there and Nielson worked the front desk. When the custody fight went Houslet's way, the ex and Nielson took off with the kid."
Olivia said, "Houslet told Fin he was working with local authorities to get Timmy back."
"That true?"
"He was in contact with ACS," Fin answered, "and with an attorney here who handles custody cases."
"What he say about his trip to the hospital two nights ago?"
"Haven't asked him yet. I was waiting on news about the murder weapon."
Cragen left Fin's admission unanswered. To Olivia, the silence conveyed his displeasure.
He thinks Fin got sloppy... he's going to let him twist for a few seconds just to drive that point home...
Fin held the captain's gaze as he nodded once, a sign that he accepted the implied criticism.
Cragen finally said, "Skip the crime scene tour and check out his flights; see if he arrived earlier than we think he did. Talk to the attorney, ACS—do whatever it takes to eliminate Houslet as a suspect. We hand Novak a case with a perfectly good alternative suspect and she'll throw it right back in our faces."
Cragen picked up a stack of phone message slips and began to sort them. Fin caught Olivia's attention and they left. Fin veered for the coffee pot; Olivia made a wide turn around Couch's desk and joined him there.
"That's not like him," she said, her voice pitched so only Fin could heard. "Don doesn't dish out the silent treatment until we've really blown it."
Fin stared at the box of tea bags as he said, "I should have cleared Houslet before this. Should have got you out to the crime scene yesterday. I'm acting like a rookie, not the primary."
"Fin—"
If he were Elliot, I'd give him a friendly poke and tell him nobody's perfect, but Fins hates being touched....
"What's the ACS caseworker's name?" she asked, hoping the softness of her voice would convey the same message. "I'll call her while you talk to the attorney."
Olivia grabbed a cup of coffee while Fin copied the name and number on a scrap of paper. Around her flowed the usual bustle of the unit. Judith and Couch were at their desks discussing the stone wall that was their Dykeman Rapist case. Tammy was standing behind her partner's chair; their laughter at some shared joke briefly drown out the nearer case discussion.
Elliot's and John's chairs were empty. Olivia spotted the two of them in Interview One, John on his cell phone, Elliot holding up a sheet of paper and comparing it to what appeared to be a business card.
Good... I don't have to ignore his 'Me, me, look at me!' attention-seeking while I work my case....
Her phone call to the Administration for Children's Services connected with Deona Johnson. She confirmed that Rick Houslet had contacted her about a custody issue with his son and that she was awaiting the proper paperwork to follow up on the matter. When told the matter was now moot, she expressed the minimal concern possible and thanked Benson for the information.
"Houslet's covered with ACS," she called to Fin at his desk.
"Same with Samuel P. Stephanos, Attorney-at-Law," Fin replied. "Houslet called him about getting his custody orders enforced. He told Houslet it would take a few days to get a warrant to serve on the Nielsons then Family Court would transfer the boy back to Houslet. According to Stephanos, there shouldn't have been any problems."
"Then there is no reason to suspect him," Olivia replied. "Checking those flights will be a waste of time."
Fin shrugged as he handed her a manila folder.
"Cap'n said it needs doing. I'll handle it; you look over the crime scene photos and diagrams."
Olivia leaned back in her chair. She had flipped through the data the night before. This time, she examined each for evidence that Dan Nielson intended to kill himself.
About 15% of suicides shoot themselves in the chest, so it's not unreasonable for Nielson to use that method... no note, but only one in three suicides leave a note, so not finding one doesn't rule it out... maybe he thought their dead bodies would be enough of a message....
One photo was of the murder scene taken from the apartment's hall. It showed both bodies and a front view of the chair in which Nielson was sitting when found by paramedics. Olivia gave the photo a thorough examination.
So he shot Susan and Timothy, then his pets, and then he sat down across from his family and tried to kill himself... he couldn't take the sight of the gun pointing at his face, so he aimed at his chest and pulled the trigger... weapon found near his right hand… that all fits together....
Stabler stopped at his desk and began to rummage through the stack of paper by his keyboard. Olivia kept her attention on the photo before her, refusing to look up even after the paper rustling grew so loud it could not be accidental.
From behind her came a similar paper shuffle. A glance over her shoulder showed John pulling the same stunt with Fin, who didn't deign to notice.
"Liv?" John called to her. "We're going out. Want anything"
She swung around to face John.
"No, I'm fine. Thanks for offering."
"My pleasure," he replied, his tight-lipped smile and the glare he aimed at Fin negating the politeness of his words. He strode out the door followed by Elliot.
Good... that stereo paper-shuffling was getting to me... but not Fin—he didn't move a muscle... it's like he's can't hear or see John... everything's compartmentalized with Fin: work in one box, his son in another, his ex, his home life, whatever else he has—all in separate boxes, none of which seem to interconnect.... now John has been put in a box and locked in tight...
"Damn, we got a mess."
She spun back around to see Fin writing in his notepad.
"I asked for any flight info for Houslet from Texas during the past week and I got one trip for Rick Houslet on the 22nd —"
"When he came up to claim his son's body," she noted.
"—and another two days before that for R. L. Houslet. Same flight number from the same departure city to the same destination—JFK. The return for that trip was the 22nd, same day Rick Houslet arrived."
Olivia took a few seconds to think through the new info, using a finger and the folder to trace the flight routings.
"You think Houslet came up on the earlier flight, shot his son, ex-wife, and her boyfriend then had someone else impersonate him on the second trip?"
Fin's sour grimace answered her question.
"If he met the guy and traded tickets, we could search him and never learn he arrived early."
He poked his pen at his notes.
"Want more? Two weeks ago, Houslet flew to Tampa, Florida for a business convention. Guess what's near Tampa?"
Olivia fished the ballistics report from the folder and held it up by its corner.
"Bradenton, last known home of the murder weapon?"
"Got it. Let's go tell Cap'n—see if we can get a warrant with this."
At the other end of the squad room, Detective Joe Fontana had just arrived and was making himself at home on Fred Tierney's desk. He checked the shine on his Gucci loafers, shrugged to settle his suit coat on his shoulders, and folded his hands on his thigh so that the light from Tammy's desk lamp caught the sapphires in his cufflinks.
"I don't suppose you heard that Ed and I made an arrest in the Bewler hit-and-run?" he asked, his voice loud enough to attract the ears of everyone in the room.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Judith and her partner turning their attention toward him.
Not many women look great in taupe, but she certainly does....
Tammy planted her elbows on her desk. She framed her face with her hands and gazed up at Fontana with an overly worshipful smile.
"No, Detective, we haven't. Tell us about it."
Fontana suppressed a shudder.
Not even if Judith didn't exist....
"This afternoon, we arrested Daniel Blaine, father of Raisa Samms-Blaine."
Tammy's faux-worship switched to disbelief. The stunned silence from her partner mirrored her reaction.
"But," she protested, "they're the only ones who didn't call and bitch about us."
Fontana smiled his "Listen carefully and you might learn something" smirk.
"Mrs. Samms may have seemed compliant, but she really was complicit with her husband. Mr. Blaine had his assistant rent a van—ostensibly so she could transport some displays and tchotchkes to a trade show in Albany. After she returned, Blaine used the rental to run over Bewler. He then returned it with a story about his assistant hitting a deer on I-87. We had the van checked; it had Bewler's DNA and some of his shirt snagged in the undercarriage. So Ted Bewler, who is undoubtedly rotting in Hell for his perversions, can now rot in peace."
He slid from Tierney's desk and shook out one pants leg that failed to break correctly over his loafer.
"I thank you for helping with this. You made the job a lot easier."
Fred waved off his gratitude.
"No problem, Fontana. Next time you need to dump your shitwork on someone, you call SVU and ask for Otten and Sofarelli. They're the newbies."
Fontana beamed at him.
"I might just do that. Later."
He turned in the hope of catching Judith listening to his triumph. What he saw was the back of her head. Across the desk, her partner gestured at a map on his monitor. Fontana stepped behind Otten and peered at the map.
Inwood... not the best of neighborhoods... wonder what they're working....
A bit of eavesdropping told him that they were beating their heads against a serial rape case.
No useful evidence... no help from Sofarelli's snitches... no leads.... Van Buren said to find out what Judith needs as a detective, but I don't carry leads around in my pocket and planting evidence is a rotten way to close—hold on a minute....
He sidestepped until he was in Judith's view then waited for her to acknowledge him.
God, she's lovely… I can see her on my balcony in the moonlight wearing something flowing… pale blue—lighter than her eyes….
"Detective?"
Her voice broke the fantasy, bringing Fontana back to where a slightly annoyed Judith was staring up at him.
"My apologies," he said, "but I was shamelessly eavesdropping and…."
Fontana began to lower his rump onto her desk. Judith frowned and he quickly shifted the motion to a "sit" in her side chair.
"When I moved here from Chicago," he said, "our sergeant at Bronx Homicide introduced me to some of his confidential informants. He said I'd be useless on the street until I knew what was happening—an opinion I disagreed with even though I happily accepted his offer.
"Now, you—"
He pointed at Judith.
"—just transferred from Brooklyn. That's not quite Chicago, but it's far enough that your snitches are less than helpful. What say I introduce a few of mine to you? You can size them up, see if they'll be of use. Sound good?"
Her pursed lips showed she was considering his offer.
Got it in one… I owe the Lieutenant for this….
"That's a generous offer, Detective. When would be convenient for you?"
He beamed at her while he stifled the urge to grab her hand and shout, 'Now!'
"Tonight after shift? All my good ones work nights."
Judith glanced at her partner.
"If nothing breaks with our rapist," she told him. "Shall I meet you at the Two-Seven?"
That ruins my plan to impress her with my Benz….
Fontana covered his disappointment by handing her his business card.
"This has my cell number. If something comes up, let me know and we'll arrange another time soon."
Her fingers brushed his as she took the card. His smile widened.
I could sit here all day and watch her look at my card… put it in her pocket… smile at me in gratitude… stare at me like she's wondering why I'm still here….
That last one shattered Fontana's reverie. He stood up, resisting his urge to take her hand and kiss it good-bye.
"I'd better get back to it," he said. "After shift, tonight."
Once Fontana was gone, Couch, Fred, and Tammy turned their attention to the recipient of his generous offer.
"That was creepy," Tammy said. "He looked like the Big Bad Wolf about to gobble down Grandma."
Judith's flat glare set the younger woman in her place.
"Only an idiot," she told Tammy, "refuses the offer of a good snitch—and watch the Grandma cracks or I'll sic my grandkids on you."
"Anything but that," Fred replied. "Still, there's something sleazy about Fontana—too much money, too much flash."
Tammy nodded her agreement.
"Keller tells me he drives a Mercedes SL500. That costs what—seventy, eighty thousand?"
"Try one hundred thousand," her partner corrected. "I doubt he settled for the basic model."
The ring of Tierney's desk phone diverted his and Tammy's attention. Judith turned back to find Couch examining her with raised eyebrows.
"Not you, too," she griped.
"Yeah, me too. What with everything you've been dealing with recently, maybe you should get with Tucker and see what he knows about Fontana."
Judith picked up her phone and called her old squad. Couch listened to her end of the conversation, which consisted of her asking Ed Tucker if IAB had ever investigated Joseph Fontana followed by a series of 'Oh's. Finally, she closed her phone.
"According to Ed, IAB gets more calls about Fontana than any other detective."
"Wonder why?"
"Ha," Judith retorted. "Ed said that Fontana was checked out before he joined Bronx Homicide back in 1993. He's certain that Fontana and the money are legit, but he doesn't know where it comes from."
Couch leaned back and considered that bit of info.
"Can't say I'd mind a new source or two. Mine aren't giving me shit and that's exactly what will hit the fan if we don't catch this guy soon."
Lounge above the SVU squad room
25 June
Three salads, three iced teas, Olivia, Tammy, and Judith occupied the lunch table. Cragen had okayed getting a warrant for Rick Houslet so Olivia kept checking Fin's desk for signs that Casey had it in hand. Judith also was checking on her partner. Couch had informed her just as their food arrived that sunset prayers would finish soon and the call from Imam Talal Rahmani could come in the next hour.
Between times, the women talked.
"You two complain about the odds being good, but the goods being odd," Judith said. "Wait until you're over fifty."
Olivia eyed the older woman over her tea.
"You're dating?"
"No," Judith replied. "My sister-in-law tells me her war stories. According to Connie, at our age, the odds are bad and the goods are, too."
Olivia and Tammy both laughed.
"You're not giving us much hope," Olivia told her.
Judith set aside a cucumber slice then speared a tomato wedge.
"Here's what it's like for her: Connie was at a restaurant for a evening of speed dates and a man caught her eye. Something about him seemed more assured, more intelligent, more interesting than the other men there. As the evening progressed, she kept watching for him, all her fingers crossed that she would get to meet him.
"Finally, he sat down across from her, grinned, and introduced himself as a music critic. He knew his stuff, but he also was—and I quote—'a pompous bore who used a wall of big words to hide his desperation.' The shame of it is that he was the best of the lot that night; Connie was very disappointed."
"Your sister-in-law sounds awfully impressionable for a Special Frauds sergeant," Olivia said.
"Delusions runs in my family. I have a granddaughter who is convinced this unit has a pet giraffe."
Olivia's plastic fork paused on its path from salad to mouth.
"What? Why?"
"Don't ask me," Judith said with a shrug. "For the last couple of weeks, Cara has been worried about Mr. Giraffe—is he getting enough leaves and do we keep his favorite beer in the fridge and so on. I play along, but I mean... a giraffe?"
Tammy added more dressing to her salad as she laughed.
"I had a hippo named Matilda that lived in my bathroom," she told them. "Only I could see her; she hid behind the toilet whenever anyone else came in. My brother threatened to pee on her and I knocked his front teeth out with the toilet brush."
"Yuck. Ever tell Fred that story?" Olivia asked.
"He already knows I'm dangerous when teased. You ever have an imaginary playmate?"
Olivia's wry grin answered that question, but she made both women wait through a long sip of tea before she explained.
"I had an invisible monkey named Fuzzball," she told them, "and he went everywhere I went—he ate with me, took naps with me, went to preschool with me. One day, my mother took me to campus so she could catch up on her grading and of course Fuzzball went with us. I warned her department chairman that he'd better hold on to his toupee because Fuzzball would steal it. My mother got embarrassed because Dr. Grant thought no one knew his hair was fake."
"Out of the mouths of babes," Judith said, "comes true wisdom."
"Hey, Liv," Fin shouted from downstairs, "Novak's got our warrant."
Olivia looked at her half-finished salad.
"I'll get that to the fridge for you," Tammy offered. "Duty calls and all that…."
"More like duty always calls me away from dinner," Olivia groused as she headed for the stairs.
