Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. Derek Strauss belongs to SVU; I don't own him, either. I don't think I'd want to, though, because he's kind of slimy.
Chapter Nine
Containing Angry Birds, Flashbacks, and Excessive Amounts of Hair Product
One of the grand jurors yawns and shifts in her seat, another scribbles notes as though she's heard there will be an exam at the end, and I can see on the face of a bearded man in the front an almost twitchy desire to yank the iPhone out of his shirt pocket and play a few rounds of Angry Birds or something, just to liven things up a bit. I don't blame him, really. Sitting there in a crowded jury box with seventeen strangers, encased in a stuffy, windowless courtroom can't be the most exciting way to spend a day.
This isn't the first time I've been stationed at this little table, the jurors a few feet in front of me, that smarmy prick of a prosecutor pacing back and forth between us. But I've never studied the grand jury as closely. Never willed them to pay attention, to open their eyes and see beyond the sleazy picture of Scotty that Derek Strauss is trying to paint. Never silently begged them to please, please, for once, not issue an indictment.
Strauss's back is to me as he consults his notes. His sandy blond hair is sticking up at odd angles all around his head, and the copious amount of gel he's put into it suggests he spent a good deal of time on it. This man made a conscious decision to leave his house this morning looking like some sort of mutant marine creature. God alone knows why.
"So the night in question, you were the first to volunteer to aid Officer McKenna, correct?"
"Yes, I was."
"But Detective Valens, despite having had a few drinks, overruled you and insisted he go."
"Yes." Annoyance flares in my chest; I tamp it down.
Strauss turns around and peers down his nose at me. "Any idea why he was so insistent, Detective?"
My mind flashes back to the haunted look in Scotty's eyes that night when Dragin told him he thought the kid had a gun. At the time, I thought he was just being his typical overprotective self. But now, knowing what I know…
"No." I hope my voice is steady.
Strauss studies me for a moment. "We'll come back to that." In a move I'm certain is engineered for dramatic effect, he turns his back to me again and starts to walk toward the jury.
"Two nights later, after hours, you went to Detective Valens' apartment."
"Yes." Where the hell is he going with this?
"Why?"
Bristling, I can't help but flick an icy glare at the prosecutor as he turns to face me. "He's my partner, and I hadn't heard from him all day. I wanted to check on him."
"Mmm." Strauss seems unimpressed. "And what did you observe when you arrived?"
The punching bag. The newspapers everywhere. The furniture shoved against the wall. "He was coping as well as could be expected."
"A few minutes after your arrival," Strauss flips a page of his yellow legal pad, "three shots were fired through Detective Valens' window, correct?"
I suppress a shiver. "That's correct."
"And when the shots were fired, what happened?"
He shielded my body with his own, he took me in his arms, he picked glass out of my hair and thanked God I was safe. Love floods my heart as I look back on the events of that night in light of…additional evidence.
"I went outside and confronted the suspects."
"And what did Detective Valens do?"
A tiny smirk tugs at my lips. "I have no idea, Counselor. I was already outside."
"Don't be cute, Detective." There's a spark of irritation in Strauss' green eyes. "You know perfectly well that Detective Valens came outside wielding a…" he consults his notes for effect, "…a softball bat, isn't that right?"
"Yes." Unfortunately.
The juror who earlier seemed to be dying to whip out his phone perks up at that. Guess something finally snagged his interest.
"And what did you advise Detective Valens to do at that time?" Strauss asks.
"I told him I'd handle it, and he needed to step back."
A knowing smirk curves Strauss's lips. "Did he follow your orders?"
"Yes." Eventually.
"But not before swinging the bat at a pair of unarmed nineteen-year-olds, who, let the record reflect, are also African-American."
This makes one of the jurors, a middle-aged black woman, sit up straighter in her seat.
"The suspects," I linger on the word, "were unarmed only because a third one ran off and tossed the gun down a sewer grate. And Detective Valens didn't confront them because of their race. He had no way of knowing what they even looked like. He came outside because he was angry about being attacked, late at night, in his own home."
"Angry." Strauss seems to savor the word. "Yes, I imagine he was. But in this instance, it seems he let his anger get the upper hand, wouldn't you agree?"
The violent clang of softball bat on garbage can echoes through my mind, along with the knowledge that, had I not been there, God alone knows what, or who, Scotty might have hit instead.
Reluctantly, I concede half an inch. "I suppose it's possible."
"Can you think of any other times when Detective Valens has let his anger get the better of him?" Strauss asks, with elaborate casualness.
Fragmented images flash through my head. Images of torn flesh and bruised knuckles around the time I started seeing Joseph. Images of Scotty slamming a suspect's head into a table after Elisa died. But I never learned the source of the former, and Boss kept the latter in-house.
My conscience clear, I lift my chin and look the prosecutor straight in the eyes. "Not that I can recall."
Strauss flips another page in his notes. "Well, then, Detective Rush, allow me to jog your memory. In 2007, you solved the 1987 murder of Clayton Hathaway. Are you familiar with that case?"
A young boy molested, then murdered, by his best friend's father? Hard to forget a case like that.
I allow a slight narrowing of my eyes. "I'm familiar."
Placing his notes on his desk, Strauss buttons his suit jacket and begins to pace in front of me. "So then you're also no doubt aware that Detective Valens leaked critical information about the investigation to Clayton Hathaway's father, who then used that information to track down Cliff Burrell, take him up to a rooftop, and come perilously close to pushing him off?"
A couple of the jurors and I sit up straighter in our chairs. At the time, I was furious with Scotty, but I can't let that seep out here. "Mitch Hathaway was our prime suspect. Detective Valens released a piece of evidence based on that suspicion."
"I see. So the detective's reaction, his overreaction, in this case, was in no way influenced by the fact that his brother, Michael Valens, was himself a victim of molestation as a child, and was a key witness in the trial of Bobby Fitzpatrick a few months earlier?"
The question is a punch to the gut, and it takes me a moment to get my breath back. "You have no proof of that."
Strauss seems undaunted. "Well, are Detective Valens and his brother estranged in any way?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"They…have a good relationship?"
"They seem to." Better than Chris and me, that's for damn sure.
Cocking his head, Strauss looks at me like I'm a not-so-bright third-grader. "So, given the good relationship between Detective Valens and his brother, would you at least admit that there's a possibility that his brother's childhood assault could've influenced Detective Valens' actions in the Burrell case?"
My jaw tightens. "A possibility. Yes."
"Thank you, Detective Rush." Strauss allows a small, smug smile to tug at his lips for a moment before he turns another page in his notes. "It seems your partner has quite a history of allowing his emotions to run away with him, doesn't it?"
Oh, crap. What else does this jackass know about?
"Back in 2006, you and your squad closed the 1998 murder of a Colombian drug mule named Ana Castilla, correct?"
Crap. "Yes, we did."
"And Detective Valens was himself a person of interest in this case, was he not?"
"He worked undercover back in '98." I try to keep my voice even. "Knew the victim."
Strauss chuckles. "It looks like he knew her quite well."
Those…car trips…she got into my head.
Was she…a girlfriend, Scotty?
No! I didn't do that.
My heart aching for Scotty, much as it did years ago, I leap to his defense. "Detective Valens never did anything inappropriate while undercover."
"No?" Strauss's eyebrows shoot up. "Then why did Ms. Castilla have the detective's phone number? His real phone number, to his undercover line at West?"
I guess part of me wanted her to know. Wanted her to call me. So I could save her.
Strauss doesn't wait for me to answer; it's almost as though he's heard Scotty's voice echoing in my mind. "It seems that when a woman is in danger, Detective Valens feels compelled to rescue her to the point that reason just…flies out the window, doesn't it?"
He doesn't wait for me to respond, which is just as well, because I wouldn't have been able to deny it.
"Now, in 2007, just a few weeks after the Burrell incident, you yourself were shot in the line of duty, were you not?"
"Yes, I was." Several of the jurors perk up.
"Could you briefly describe that incident for our jury, Detective?"
I suppress a shudder. "A suspect in a murder case smuggled a weapon into our office in a wheelchair. He took me, our lieutenant, and two other detectives hostage. After our lieutenant was shot, Detective Valens came inside. The suspect fired his weapon, shot me, and Detective Valens fired two shots and killed him."
"Quite the hero." Strauss's voice drips with contempt. I want to smack him. "But…in order to fly in and save his damsel in distress, your partner violated the perimeter set up by SWAT. Disobeyed a direct order from his superiors, did he not?"
"He saved my life."
"Answer the question, Detective."
"Yes. He did. And I'm here today only because Scotty...Detective Valens...violated that perimeter." Oh, dammit. I'm not sure which I'm more desperate to erase: the inadvertent use of his first name, or the sudden lump in my throat.
Strauss arches a brow. "It sounds like you and Detective Valens are…very close."
Close doesn't cover the half of it. I give silent orders for the heat in my cheeks to cease and desist. "We've been partners since 2003, Counselor. Of course we're close."
"Perfectly understandable," Strauss replies smoothly. "As close as you are, and given the severity of your injuries, do you think Detective Valens was…shaken, perhaps, by what happened to you?"
I'm grateful for all the practice I've had hiding behind my Ice Queen mask. "Perhaps."
"Did Detective Valens ever seek any kind of counseling after you were shot?"
The question gives me pause. I know he'd have had a psych evaluation from the department shrink, just to make sure he wasn't nuts, but if I know Scotty, he'd have told them exactly what they wanted to hear so he could get the paper signed, slap it on Boss's desk, and get back out there. He's just like me in that regard.
Strauss is suddenly looming over me. "Detective?"
"I'm certain Detective Valens followed protocol and followed up with the department psychiatrist."
"But beyond that?"
"Nothing beyond that was required for him to return to duty, Counselor."
"I take it that's a no." Strauss starts to pace again. "So, going back to an earlier question…given the close nature of your relationship, and your partner's innate desire to protect…well, all women, it seems, but particularly women with whom he feels close, is it possible that this is why he overruled you the night of the shooting and insisted he be the one to confront Yusef Barre?"
My heart is racing. "I..."
"And when he got upstairs and discovered Officer McKenna, another female officer, in distress, is it possible that this is why he was so quick to pull the trigger? Is it possible that his closeness to you, his desire to rescue, and maybe even some lingering psychological issues from your shooting all created the perfect storm to influence his actions that night?"
"I…can't comment on the detective's state of mind."
"Oh, I'm not asking about his state of mind, Detective Rush." Strauss feigns innocence. "I'm merely asking if, based on your experience, and your knowledge of your partner's character, that it's possible."
My stomach plummets. "It's possible." Dammit.
Strauss looks as pleased with himself as Olivia did that day last fall when she caught a mouse in the downstairs bathroom. "Thank you, Detective Rush. No further questions. You can step down."
The frigid air nipping at my cheeks as I leave the courthouse is a welcome change from the stuffy grand jury room. I've been walking the halls of the courthouse for the last few minutes, hoping to regain some sense of normalcy before facing Scotty, who's waiting across the street with the rest of my colleagues, clustered by a coffee wagon.
As expected, Scotty's trying to read my eyes even before I get up on the pavement."How bad was it?"
I force lightness into my voice and a smile onto my face. "It's a grand jury. Strauss can say things he can't say in a courtroom. Just makin' insinuations, that's all."
Vera's eyebrows twitch over the rim of his cardboard coffee cup. "So it was bad."
I can feel Scotty's gaze on me, and after a long moment studying my shoes, I finally look up to meet it. "Scotty, I'm sorry. I—I did the best I could, but he-"
"Hey." He cuts me off, love shining in his deep brown eyes. "No matter what happens, it ain't your fault."
His attention shifts to something over my left shoulder. I turn slightly to see Yusef and his family for the first time since the shooting. The boy is in a wheelchair, his parents at his side, the ever-present Reverend Curtis just off to the left. A young man who I presume is Yusef's older brother, Berko, pushes the wheelchair carefully over the piles of snow that haven't been quite cleared from the sidewalk.
I glance up to see Scotty's eyes darkening and that muscle in his cheek twitching.
"Might not matter anyway." His voice sounds faraway. "If he testifies, I'll be indicted no matter what."
I can't resist the urge to reach out and stroke his shoulder through his coat. It's not what I'd like to be doing, far from it, but it's about the only gesture I can make that won't be second-guessed by our nosy colleagues.
"Scotty," Jeffries' velvety baritone pulls our attention back to the center of the little circle we've formed. "I'm not gonna tell you what to do here…but none of us would lose any respect for you if you decided to take the plea."
"Yeah," Kat agrees. "I mean, we'd miss your sorry ass, but you gotta know we'd understand."
"Less competition for the food in the fridge, too," Vera pipes up, though the clouds in his hazel eyes tell me just how much he'd miss his friend.
Miller elbows her fiancé, then turns her attention back to Scotty, dark eyes earnest. "And we all know it wasn't 'cause of hate. Don't worry about that."
"No way." The vehemence in Scotty's voice echoes the old fire flashing in his eyes. "Look, if they're gonna indict me, so be it. But I'm at least gonna go down swingin'."
Three pairs of surprised eyes flit in Scotty's direction. Will speaks for all of them. "Well, whatever you decide, you know we've all got your back."
The warmth in my heart at our colleagues' support makes its way to my face in a slight smile. I've never had much in the way of family, but this group, this hodgepodge collection of murder cops, is damn close.
Scotty glances around the circle, meeting each pair of eyes, and then turns to me, wordlessly asking for my support for whatever it is he's about to do. I meet his earnest gaze, wishing we were alone, because I want nothing more than to wrap him in my arms.
After searching my eyes for a moment, he pulls his phone from his pocket, his thumb darting across the screen. "Okay, then. I'm callin' Calhoun."
"What for?" Miller asks with a frown.
He lifts the phone to his ear. "I'm gonna tell her to put me on the stand."
