A/N (Per RRSherlock warning of definite death) Slightly shorter chapter, and cliff (Grand Canyon?) approaching fast.
Chapter 8 – Inspiration
"Joe, tell me I'm wrong about this idea," Nina said as she sat down.
Fontana looked up at his partner, amused. It was the first time since they began working together that she had ever come late for work. "Fine, you're wrong."
Cassady shook her head. "You haven't heard it yet. It sounds stupid, if you think about it, but-."
"How about letting me hear it, then I'll decide," he said, putting down the interviews from the Dillon case.
"What if the doctor did it?"
Joe was speechless for a moment. "What if the doctor did it?" he repeated. "Nina, the punch line is usually the butler. What doctor?"
"Will you do a background check on Donall Stillman for me?"
He leaned back, considering his response carefully. "What probable cause do you have in wanting to do a background check on him? If memory serves, he was a victim of a robbery."
"Or so he says," Nina countered. "I just… It's gnawing at me, all right?"
Joe shook his head. "It gnaws at you much longer, you'll be joining me in the ulcer department," he said as he got up to go to the records room.
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Elliot Stabler put down the photo of Lois Winslow beside the others. "Got something for you," he said to Olivia.
"I thought we were looking at the Jane Does here," she said, picking up the photo anyway. "Someone at the 2-7 thinks Bruner's behind this, too?"
Stabler sat down on the edge of her desk. "That was the initial thought. But," he pointed to the marks, "They're not a total match, either."
Benson shrugged. "I told you that about some of the others. I'm not following you – and I'm beginning to hate that lately."
"They look like Bruner's markings, but the others were a variation. Think of it as a perfect signature and I mean 'dead on' perfect. For example…" He picked up one of her reports with her signature, copied over it onto another piece of paper then gave both of them to her. "Get what I'm saying now?"
"Son-of-a-. Who else had access to the details of his handiwork?"
"I'd give you at least six guesses, and three of them are behind bars." Stabler flipped through one of the folders. "Of the five pulled so far, they were found on desolate roads that, if you kept traveling on, would take you out of state."
"So, Bruner isn't even in New York? I don't like that, Elliot."
He stared at something. "I don't, either. But, it's as if we're supposed to think that he's gone."
"Why not dead and save us some more headaches and heartache?"
Stabler studied the folder and then the board, searching. "He's definitely getting more creative, that much, I'll say."
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"That was an uncreative way how Huang baited you, John," Fin Tutuola said as they searched through the Zamora girl's bedroom.
"I'm not taking this personally," Munch said as he thumbed through her diary. "I take this case the same way I do all the others."
"Right," Tutuola said doubting. "Anything helpful over there?"
Munch shook his head. "She talks about how she had a crush on an older guy at the center; what a shame it was that he was probably married; and how her father's an idiot."
"Aren't we all?" Fin said. "I'm glad my kid's all grown, not saying I'm not going to worry less about him, but you know. I don't have to stress over out-of-state field trips and the like."
"Why can't kids tell their fathers the truth, huh? Why this need to be rebellious and defiant and secretive?"
Fin gave a short laugh. "Wasn't your whole generation about rebellion and defiance, not to mention paranoia? John, this kid kept stuff back, and they knew it. Unlike you or me, they didn't force it out of her." He picked up a collection of photos. "Now these are spooky."
John looked over his shoulder. "Joe's not going to like this."
"Joe? How about dear old dad? Maybe he wasn't kidding about wanting to kill-." At the sound of approaching footsteps, the detectives collected those and other various items into evidence bags.
"Did you find anything helpful?" Mrs. Zamora asked.
Tutuola nodded. "Maybe, ma'am. We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise you."
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"I assure you," Mrs. Stillman said, "my husband has done everything possible to ensure that that kind of theft doesn't happen again. Oh, you should have heard him on the phone. I seldom hear him raise his voice, so when he does, it's…it's something else." She busied herself with unpacking her travel bags into the other room.
"I'm sure, Mrs. Stillman," Logan said. He hated the fact that he drew the short straw for this interview. The fact that Fontana found the sliver he did amazed Mike. It was that sliver that supported this shabby set-up, in his opinion. "How well did he and Dr. Havens get along?"
"Please, call me Linda," she said. "Maggie? Oh, they went through med school together. They worked at the same hospital for a while, too, until Donall decided to set up his own clinic. He's very knowledgeable, you know, about alternative cures. It's not all about popping pills, you see."
Logan rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. Either this woman was possibly oblivious to anything negative in life, or Stillman was really a saint. "Linda, how regular is his work schedule? I mean, does he have to travel a lot, or…?" He had some of the background information from Fontana and decided to tap around it.
"He goes to conventions and such as to be expected. I don't really keep a diary of his travels, but he sometimes brings me lovely trinkets. He's at the office now, if you wish."
After writing down a few notes and asking some additional questions, Logan dismissed himself. Unexpectedly, he met up with Dr. Stillman in the driveway. "Doctor," Logan said. He gestured to the house, "Your wife said you'd still be at work."
"And you are…?"
"Detective Logan," he said offering his hand. "I was just trying to get some surrounding information about Dr. Havens. There's a case we're investigating and we're trying to cover any and all possible angles."
Dr. Stillman nodded. "I understand. It's amazing all you guys have to go through to find your answers. Care to finish this conversation in the garage? I'd rather my wife not… You understand?"
"Of course," Logan said, following the doctor through the side door. "It's no different than medicine, I suppose – analyze the symptoms to identify the illness then apply the necessary cure."
Stillman nodded. "Yes, but I have a chance to extend a life. You, on the other hand… I don't know how you do it. What questions do you have for me, Detective Logan?"
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Fontana hung up the phone. "You're not going to like what Logan found out."
"What?" Cassady asked.
"Nothing. He's a typical doctor, unless failure to belong to a country club violates typical." Fontana leaned back in his chair. "Now, may I tell you you're wrong, since we know it with facts?"
Nina sat down, defeated. "Well, it was worth a shot."
Fontana agreed. "At least you have an answer."
"It doesn't mean I have to agree with it." She gestured to the scattered papers. "What's wrong?"
"Munch called. We might have been premature in dismissing Mr. Zamora's comment, if what was found in the girl's room is to be an indicator." He shook his head. "Personally, I think it's a matter of poor timing."
"Speaking of time, want to flip a coin on who gets to re-interview Ms. Weaver?"
"Oh, let's just get it over with," he said. "As much as I want to avoid the woman, there's no reason to wish punishment like that in having you go solo."
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"Just so you know, we're not officially here having this meeting."
"Oh, of course not," Emil Skoda said. "We just happened to meet at the same café to escape diagnosing dilemmas on behalf of D.A.s and defense attorneys, right?"
George Huang laughed. "Someone could have a field day about which café we chose today."
Emil looked at one of the paintings featuring the café's name. "You mean 'Socrates?' I don't know what meaning could possibly be drawn from that," he deadpanned. "I'm supposed to meet Jack later today and dissuade him from meeting Keagan."
"What are your reasons?" George asked.
"That he isn't ready for it. It's as if a part of him is overcompensating for what was lost during the trials – physically, emotionally, and legally. I know we encourage our patients to face their fears, yet…" Emil took a drink. "I suspect I'm not the only one against this."
George shook his head. "Someone like Adrian Keagan would look at that confrontation as a confirmation of his sense of power. He'd twist it to some sort of torment or payback, based on what we learned about him from his brother."
"Ah, yes, the 'daddy issues.' Most children driven to that point of rage call it quits at murder."
"But how much pain could be inflicted on a dead person?"
Emil thought about it. "So, Keagan's after physical control; Bruner's had psychological control, and that still leaves us Captor Number Six, 'Paul.' I don't know if that would be the actual name or what." He answered his own question, "Given that he didn't know the other names, I'll assume the answer is no. So, why choose Paul?"
"Do we really want to dissect the meaning behind this or say it was the first name that came to mind? If we're assigning meanings, then you have a traveler, a pope, a singer, and a messenger, to pick the top four."
Smiling, Skoda leaned forward. "To know Jack would be to eliminate the traveler and pope – not so much into his faith, and any reminder of such might be a bit bitter. Musically, the singer has potential, but that's unlikely. As for the messenger…I don't see it. Of course, are we analyzing who we think this Paul means or who he means to Jack?"
"Something has to explain Jack's reluctance of offering details about him, that's certain. How strong of a hold could this person have?"
Emil sighed. "That's the key question, isn't it? I'll ask him when I see him. In the meantime, I also get to consider whether it's in his best interest to take up his daughter's invitation and move to Maine."
"Is it something he wants to do?"
"Don't know. I could think of quite a few people who would be happy if the answer was yes."
George nodded. "And at least three who would definitely disagree."
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Alex Borgia sat in the examination room listing the various ways and reasons she had for paying Nina back for this. The only good thing that came out of it was the compromise – hence Alex waiting at her regular clinic.
"Good evening," Dr. Stillman said. "I wasn't certain if I'd see you again or not. How are the headaches?"
"Better," she lied. "I promised a friend that I'd see you to be sure."
Dr. Stillman gave her a disapproving, closed-lip smile. "I'm sure you learned the hazards of lying, given your job, no?" He pulled a stool up to the side of the bed and sat in front of her, equal level. "Tell me, Ms. Borgia, what fears do you have about something you've never tried?"
"Aside from the fact that I've never tried it, you mean? I don't like needles. I don't like cures that go outside of the realm of what I know medicine to be." She explained, "I've an aunt and uncle who practice medicine in Boston."
He nodded. "What if I promised you that it is perfectly safe? That you would be safe during the entire procedure? I'd tell you everything I would do before it happened. Would that help?"
"It might." She hadn't realized that she had dropped her shoulders. "The one friend I would have gone to, to seek advice from, well, he's unavailable at the moment."
"Why is that?" Stillman asked, relaxed.
"Why is he unavailable? Honestly, I don't want to intrude on his schedule."
He shook his head. "That's not what I meant. "Why do you trust this one particular friend?"
Alex smiled. "I thought you practiced medicine, Dr. Stillman, not psychology."
"The state of the mind leads the way to the state of the body; the state of the body, the mind."
"Fine." She sighed, playing around with an earring. How to begin, she wondered? "He has a way of putting me at ease, of helping me logically look for something I either don't want to see or failed to see." She unconsciously took the earring off and began moving it about her fingers. "He's well-informed, open-minded and sincere. I trust him, even when I kid with him that lately I don't."
Alex looked at him and laughed uneasily. "I don't know why I just told you all of that. It's almost as if I were trying to be Catholic and praying with my rosary or something."
Dr. Stillman took the necklace in one hand and Alex's hand in the other. "I can only imagine how special this necklace is," he said.
Alex let go of the earring to better undo the clasp of the necklace. "My brothers gave it to me, as a graduation present. Each stone represents an older sibling."
He studied it for a while. "There's no shortage of men in your life it seems," he said, pocketing the earring before he refastened the necklace. He began massaging her neck. "The tension here is terrible, Ms. Borgia."
"I've reasons to worry," she said. "The unknown takes up the majority of it."
"You're coming up to my office; no arguments, now. I'm sure if Dr. Castro were here she'd either agree with me or recommend you to see me. So, either way, I'd still be seeing you."
Alex felt the knots smooth away under his touch. "Dr. Stillman, I was all set to feeling horrible about making you come out here after closing hours like this."
"Not to worry, Ms. Borgia, you're safe of harassment from me; I know what you do for a living." Finishing the massage, he returned to his seat and wrote something down. "Here's my office location, number, and your appointment time. Now, if you'll allow me to walk out with you, to be sure you're safe…"
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Green hung up the phone, as Logan walked in. "So, how mad are they with you about the interview?"
Logan shook his head. "It was a fishing expedition if anything. I'm sure we'd have done the same thing if we had to."
"Don't get too comfortable," Green said. "We just got a call to head out to the Bronx."
"Why?
"You wouldn't believe whose body they found in the river inside the park."
