13 June
SVU Squad Room
12:45 p.m.
Toxic… that's the word I've been looking for… toxic describes the mood here perfectly.
Olivia stuck her fork in her Greek salad and looked around the room at her fellow detectives, officers, and coworkers. The uniforms and admin assistants had picked up that something was not right; it showed in their sideways glances and snatches of conversation that she overheard among them.
"Cragen under investigation or something?"
"What'd you mean?"
"No one's talking to him. That new detective—the female one. She's getting the same treatment."
"You think they're…?"
"No! Like, ew!"
Yes, people are starting to notice. Maybe we should tone it down….
Munch already had, if his lack of comments aimed at Judith was any measure. He spent the morning sitting stiffly at his desk, chair turned so his field of vision did not include her. Otten had returned the favor by consistently taking the long way around Fin's desk to get to the other side of the room.
She did it again when she left—walked past my desk to go out the door. She didn't mention lunch… guess she figured out we won't bring anything back for her…
Elliot also hadn't mentioned lunch when he and Fin left together an hour earlier.
Cragen sent them somewhere… right before he headed downtown for a command performance for Bureau Chief Beale….
She turned back to her salad. Behind her, Couch dug into his burger while reading a file and John ate his tuna sandwich in silence.
Strange having our partners doing something secret without us… scary, too. When one of us is missing—court appearance, vacation, sick day—we fill in, regroup without thinking; we're that much a team. With half of us gone, it's like a missing leg… our balance is gone. Hope nothing major comes in… Couch is still green and John's in such a snit, I don't want to work with him….
Elliot's empty desk drew her attention back from John's sullen quiet.
I don't like this at all... secrets, lies, it makes me uneasy. I'll be happier when this is over….
13 June
Drake Park
1:40 p.m.
Fin's gray Taurus was parked on Longfellow Avenue, the landscaped greenery of Drake Park to the west, Shelly's Auto Salvage to the east. He and Judith sat in the front seats. They had done the debrief via radio with Stabler and Tucker; now, they were waiting for Captain Cragen to arrive.
I don't like the way she looks… tired and worn… at her age, think she'd know that saying everything's fine don't make it fine….
"You and Couch on-call last night?"
Judith nodded, but said nothing as she continued to stare through the side window at the trees in the park.
I get enough attitude from John… need to grab her attention….
"Girl, don't you know women are supposed to be talkative?"
She did a slow head turn, eyebrows raised high.
"'Girl'? I'm old enough to be your…."
The eyebrows dropped while she did some mental figuring.
"…your older sister and I'm not the chatty type."
Yeah, I know… but Cap'n asked me to make sure you fit in with us and things aren't right….
"Working with John, quiet's become unnatural. Humor me—how things going with you and Couch?"
She resumed staring at the trees.
"As of last week, it was going well. We were learning each other's quirks and foibles and starting to form a coherent whole. Now…."
Her shoulders slumped as she drew in a deep breath.
"We had a call on a rape at four this morning. I was at my parents' place in Washington Heights, so I arrived first on-scene. When Couch arrived twenty minutes later, I was with the victim so he started on the witnesses and the first on-scene. We worked for almost an hour without saying a word to each other. Each time I looked his way, he stared at me as though I contaminated the air he breathed just by being there."
She looked straight at Fin.
"You four have been together long enough that mutual trust carries you over the rough spots. Couch and I have less than a month together; there isn't any slack to cut yet. No matter how Chief Sullivan explains this operation, the damage has been done. We won't be the team we could have been."
Judith turned back to the view outside the car and shrugged.
"Serves you right for asking someone with only four hours' sleep to humor you."
Fin frowned as he stared at the same trees.
I should tell her that Couch's condemnation is faked… might help her deal with it. She's good enough to keep up the act even knowing everyone else is faking… on the other hand, it's only a couple more days….
Captain Cragen's maroon Buick pulled in behind them. He got out and opened the Taurus' back passenger door. Judith acknowledged his arrival with a nod.
Fin greeted him with "Cap'n, you're running late."
Captain Cragen slid into the back seat.
"Beale," he said in explanation.
Fin grimaced as he handed Cragen a tiny microphone attached by a thin wire to a small battery pack and a length of surgical tape.
"Open your shirt and tape the battery by your tie knot. Run the wire below your tie. It's already live."
Cragen pulled his jacket lapel out of the way, loosened his tie and undid the top three buttons of his shirt. He attached the wire with the tape then he redid the buttons, leaving the tie loose about his neck.
"Look okay?"
Fin nodded and continued his instructions.
"We're out of range here. When you get in sight of the van, start talking. If Elliot doesn't hear anything from you when he sees your car, he'll open a van door. That's the signal for you to come back here for a tech check."
"Got it. Judith, I got Tucker's description of the outside of the building before I left. How'd it go with you?"
"Nothing unexpected," Judith told him. "There was a man and a woman behind a counter just inside the door. The only light was from skylights that lit them from behind and a flashlight that they held. I never saw their faces, but Tucker IDed them as Wilkerson and Eristoff from their voices. They showed me the set of photos and told me that, if I didn't pay them $1200 on the fifteen of every month, copies would go to Chief DeMichelis, Chief Conrad, my Uncle Bob, my sister-in-law, and my son Dante."
She shuddered. "They did their research. I would do anything to keep this from them. The woman also noted that, if I refused to pay, I'd ruin you, too. Either we both pay up or we both go down. I tried to offer a smaller amount, but they weren't interested in negotiating."
Fin added, "Eristoff told her, 'Your reputation matters less than your wallet. Just what I'd expect from your kind.'"
Judith's mouth twisted into a sour smile. "Thanks, Fin. It sounds so much nicer when you say it."
"That's 'cause I'd never say that to you."
She nodded in acknowledgement and apology.
"Anyway," she continued, "other than a bit of bigotry, there were no overt threats, no physical harassment, no mention of murder if I reneged on the deal—just simple straightforward extortion."
"Thanks, Judith. Fin, tell Elliot and Tucker that I plan to push that matter—see if I can get them to say what will happen to me if I stop paying. If they bring up Delgado's and Henry's murders or threaten me with physical injury, it will give us more leverage in interrogation."
"Got it, Cap'n."
Cragen glanced at his watch. ""Good job on this, both of you. Now, it's my turn."
13 June
324 Bryant Avenue
2:07 p.m.
The target location was a warehouse and loading dock, gray paint peeling from concrete walls, its parking lot empty. Across the street, tucked among the vehicles in a truck storage lot, was the white surveillance van, its doors firmly closed.
That means we're go….
Next to the two loading bay doors was a security door with a small window obscured with gray paint. Its handle turned in his hand, so he opened it and stepped inside. The bright afternoon sunlight lit a span of floor five feet wide and a battered wooden counter, its top gouged and splintered. Behind the counter, rows of empty metal shelves stretched into the darkness.
He held the door open with his left hand and peered inside: no movement, no words of welcome, no signs of life. Instinct told him that someone was there, just outside the fan of sunlight, but he couldn't spot them or hear them.
You'd think I could smell a rat by now. Maybe acting unimpressive will draw them out….
He stepped inside and let the door close behind him. The fan of sunlight narrowed and closed, leaving him in total darkness.
"Hello?"
The darkness swallowed his voice without an echo. Cragen waited.
"Hello, Captain Cragen."
To my left and in front of me… female, mature, vowels sound almost Canadian… did Wilkerson's jacket say she was from upstate?
To the right of Wilkerson, a foot scuffed against the floor.
Wilkerson and Eristoff, probably both behind the counter—just as Judith said. Okay, now to get this started….
He drew in a deep breath.
Act nervous… get them to do the talking….
"If you would step up to the counter, we can begin."
He put his left hand out to feel for the counter before taking a step, then another. His fingers brushed rough wood and he stopped, his hand resting on the counter. A shadowed figure moved to stand on the other side of the counter.
Eyes are starting to adjust… maybe I can make out who….
He heard papers rustling against a hard surface and a soft click then a circle of bright yellow shone in his face. He threw up his hand to protect his eyes and the light moved to the counter and a photo showing Judith and him faking orgasm.
"Not a photo you would want on Page Six—right, Captain? Not something you'd want delivered to Conrad, Beale, or your family?"
Cragen lowered his hand.
If my dad saw those pictures, they'd shock him right out of his Alzheimer's and into his grave… might be worth it….
He shook that thought out of his head.
"No, I don't want anyone seeing them. It's bad enough you've seen them."
The light moved again to his face. Cragen closed his eyes.
"You definitely surprised us," Wilkerson told him. "We thought we'd get a few shots of the two of you leaving together."
A tenor voice chuckled then added, "You were impressive, Captain. When I grow up, I want to be just like you."
Eristoff, you rat… you don't know the half of it….
"Could we skip the admiration and get this over with? How much do you want from me?"
He made it to two-one thousand before Wilkerson said, "Fifteen hundred a month starting this Friday."
The strangled cough that escaped his throat was not faked.
That's three hundred more than my best guess… their bills are paid off… what the hell do they need the money for?
"You're kidding, right? Fifteen hundred?"
Need to make them think I'm not willing to pay that much…
He took a step back from the counter.
"Anyone tell you what captains make? We don't get overtime…fifteen hundred—that's nuts!"
Behind the counter, both voices laughed at him and the flashlight wavered from his face for a moment.
"Cheer up, Captain," Wilkerson told him. "It goes to a worthy cause."
"Yeah," Cragen said, stressing the sarcasm, "your summer home in the Hamptons."
"Don't tell me you can't afford it, Captain," Eristoff said. "It might hurt a bit, but it beats losing your pension, insurance, paycheck—"
"Reputation, friends…." Cragen finished the sentence. "I know the trade-off. I know."
Deep breath… look like I'm thinking it over….
"How long do I have to pay up?"
He heard whispers, words in a discussion too faint to understand. With the blackmailers' attention occupied, he tried shading his eyes from the light, but still could see nothing of the figures behind the counter.
"We'll be kind," the woman's voice told him. "Payments stop two months after your retirement, assuming you make it to retirement age."
Okay… time to push the matter….
"Gee, thanks. What if I tell you both to go to Hell?"
The papers rustled again and the light shining in his eyes moved to a photo of Judith and him leaving the restaurant. Her hand was in his and he was smiling down on her upturned face.
"Maybe you have enough saved to last the rest of your life—does she? Maybe you don't mind your friends cutting you dead, your detectives ashamed to admit they served with you, but Judith might. Everything you throw away, she loses, too."
He shook his head at Wilkerson's words.
Make it look like I'm thinking about her words… while I really hope they're being recorded correctly… okay, now push them harder….
Cragen eased forward until he could feel the counter against his hip. The flashlight stayed aimed at his eyes as he moved.
Hard to look imposing when I'm squinting….
"I don't like being threatened. I don't like it at all."
He placed both hands on the counter and leaned forward, feeling for the stack of incriminating photos. He tapped his index finger on them.
"Conrad and Beale will know someone had to take these photos. If I claim blackmail loud enough and often enough, they'll investigate."
He then pointed to where he thought Wilkerson and Eristoff were in front of him.
"If I cooperate, I'll probably get to keep my pension—Judith's, too. I like that chance better and there's nothing you can do to stop me."
He stepped back and began a slow turn away from them toward the door.
I'm turning my back on two IAB agents… better not get shot…. still can't see anything but a dazzle point from that damn flashlight….
A hand grabbed his left shoulder and spun him around while another hand tucked his arm behind him. He landed against the counter, its edge hitting the small of his back. A hard shove on his sternum forced the air from his lungs and pinned him to the counter, his arm caught behind him. Cragen struggled to get his feet planted, to push away whomever had him pinned, but something metal struck him behind his ear then slid down his neck to dig into the soft underside of his jaw.
He held still, fighting a wave of nausea from the head blow and the suddenness of the light shining in his eyes.
Feels rounder than a 9mm… someone's service revolver… angled so the bullet will blow a hole through my throat and brain….
Eristoff's voice came from above him. "Tell us again how we can't do anything to stop you."
The pressure lifted from his chest as someone groped his waistband for his holster. A sharp tug yanked it away; it landed on the counter and slid off to his right.
Damn… that hand's free, but they'll see me reach… okay… Elliot will move in if things get worse… don't think about things getting worse….
"Captain Cragen," Wilkerson's voice came from his left. "I can't let you walk out of here and tell on us; this is too important to me. Either you agree to our terms or everyone will wonder why you chose this building for your suicide."
That word froze the air in his lungs. The cold spread through him, making the metal barrel of the .38 digging into his jaw warm by comparison.
I'm going to die here….
He fought the panic, fought to regain control of fear-paralyzed muscles that refused to draw in air. Breath came in shallow panting as he forced himself to do more than lay there and shiver with fright.
Elliot, Tucker—they have my back… I'm safe… stay on script… now—right now, talk back at them….
"Judith…she'll—"
"…be found hanging in her dining room tomorrow—just another affair ending in two suicides. Don't wait too long, Captain—unless you want a muzzle blast as your final sight in this world."
Got you, you bitch… this has to be enough rope to hang you….
"Okay," he said, letting residual fear quaver through his words.
The gun barrel eased away from his jaw, giving him space to speak clearly.
"I'll pay fifteen hundred a month, every month until after I retire. You leave Judith alone?"
"Of course, Captain," Wilkerson confirmed, "as long as she pays her share. We have a deal?"
"Yes."
Footscuffs and movement behind the counter sounded like a victory dance. No noise came from whomever had pinned him to the counter.
Stanton? Don't think so… family, kids, bills—he's in this only to pay off his debts. Lau's my pick… he has no family to get hurt if he plays rough….
"Why don't you help Captain Cragen up?"
The gun barrel left his jaw. Cragen swallowed to loosen stiff throat muscles.
Almost done… stand up, say my good-byes, and get the hell out of here….
No hand grabbed his own to pull him to his feet. Instead, something grabbed his tie right under the knot and yanked him up and forward. Cragen pulled his feet under him and wobbled as he sought his balance. Pressure against his chest came from a hand placed to help him stay upright.
Damn nice of him, considering he threw me down to start with….
He was about to say something grateful when fingers moved over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the wire hidden under it and twisting it among his chest hair.
Oh, shit….
Cragen took a step back just as the person swung his other hand up to hold the gun against his stomach.
"Shit," a third voice announced, "he's wired."
