-21-
New York City
16th Precinct, Manhattan Special Victims Unit
Sunday, 1:30 p.m.
(Present Day)
Olivia slept fitfully, and when she finally arrived at the precinct on Sunday afternoon, she felt anything but rested.
"Olivia," John said with a nod. "You okay? You look a little…"
She responded with a half-wave and a head shake. She didn't want John to have to come up with a diplomatic way to tell her how she looked; not when she already knew she looked like hell. She felt like it, too.
She had lain awake for what felt like hours, alternately imagining she was finally on the road leading to the capture of Cesar Velez and trying to talk herself out of believing that the end of her agony might really be just around the corner. Elliot had been right; even if Billy Grant was telling the truth – and he had plenty of motivation to lie – it didn't necessarily mean what she wanted it to. Picking Velez's cousin up on a charge – even something like this – didn't guarantee that he would cooperate, let alone flip.
Not unless we can offer him something tremendous, she realized. And will the Feds be willing to deal with a child killer? She knew that, in any other circumstance – circumstances in which the possible return of Alex Cabot was not a factor – she would never entertain the notion, and probably shouldn't now.
Olivia had stretched and buried her face into the soft pillow beside her, breathing in a familiar scent. In a particularly sappy mood the previous Valentine's Day, she had purchased a bottle of Alex's favorite perfume, and occasionally sprayed the floral scent onto her bed sheets in the hope that when her mind wandered to their only night together, the memories would somehow be enhanced, become more vivid.
In the squad room, looking at John as he read his computer screen and then stopped to answer his ringing cell phone, she wondered where Alex was at that moment – was she happy? Lonely? Scared? Bored? Was she thinking of Olivia?
"OK, I'll let her know," John said, closing his phone and turning to face Olivia. They were the only people in the bullpen, rare even for a Sunday. "Fin's over in Manhattan Valley, talking to the narcotics cops over there, seeing if anyone's heard of a dealer named Serge."
Olivia breathed deeply, and nodded. "He didn't know anything himself?"
"New York's a big place, Liv. Probably doesn't mean anything."
"Yeah, I know. I want to go talk to them, too." She walked over to a drawer underneath a bulletin board, fumbling for the pair of keys that would start her work vehicle.
"Actually, you might want to join me instead."
"Yeah? You got somethin' more exciting than trying to track down a link to Velez?" she asked. Obviously, Cragen had filled them in – she was relieved and a little impressed, though not surprised, that Fin was already over in the Valley trying to see if the information led anywhere. In addition to wanting to catch Mason Ferrars' killer, the guys were invested – perhaps not as invested as Olivia, but invested nonetheless – in tracking down a possible link to the drug lord who had ordered Alex killed.
"I've been doing a little digging into the background of one Jordan Ferrars this morning," John said, his lips drawn in a thin line.
"I thought we were all agreed that Jordan's clear," Olivia said, taking a seat at Elliot's desk, next to John.
"Well, you know me." He didn't have to say anything else, and Olivia passed on the opportunity to tease him. She knew that John's notorious skepticism was part of what made him such a terrific detective. "I know he was willing to give up all the fluids, and he's a respected member of society, yada yada." He sipped from the large mug of coffee on his desk and made a face, altering Olivia that she was better off making a fresh pot.
"So…" she said, folding her fingers on top of the desk and looking at him intently.
"So… I got a little curious when I couldn't find any public records on Jordan Ferrars predating 1994," Munch said. "He's 38 years old – so you'd think there'd be something. Birth certificate, driver's license, parking tickets, quickie Vegas wedding. Something. But this guy was never born, never had a license, never got hitched. In fact, the only time he comes up in public records is to let me know that in 1991, someone changed his legal name to… Jordan Ferrars."
Olivia's eyebrows narrowed, her attention focused on John's report. "His birth name?"
John gestured to his screen, and Olivia stood behind him and looked down at the picture frozen on his monitor. A driver's license featuring a photo that was unquestionably the teenaged Jordan Ferrars – same floppy dark hair, the same blue eyes that she had seen in photographs of his son, Mason.
"Olivia," John said, exhaling slowly. "Meet Timothy Grant."
"Grant?" Olivia said, confused. "He's related to Billy Grant?"
John shrugged. "I can't say to a certainty, but it looks that way. I ordered the lab to run a DNA comparison to let us know whether Jordan and Billy are related. If it turns out they're brothers, their DNA will be practically identical. We'll know as early as tomorrow morning."
Olivia stood and pulled her coat off a hook in the back of the room. "I'm not sure what it means if they are related," she admitted. "But why in the hell wouldn't they have mentioned that already?"
"What, that Billy's not just the older kid's tutor, but he's an uncle?" Munch asked, standing and collecting his belongings, then walking out to the car with Olivia. "If that's the case, it explains why Jordan's protecting him, maybe why he'd keep his little brother's drug secret even from Paula."
"We'll want to question him away from Paula," Olivia mused. "There's a chance she doesn't know about his background, and he might be more willing to spill about Billy – and Billy's connections to Serge – if he thinks we're protecting his secret."
Munch nodded. "You read my mind," he stated as they filed into the car and took off for the Ferrars' apartment.
-22-
New York City
Home of Jordan and Paula Ferrars
Sunday, 3:00 p.m.
(Present Day)
"Detectives," Jordan Ferrars said, surprised to see Munch and Benson when he opened the door. "Come in, please. Do you have news about the investigation?"
"We do," John said, smiling brightly. He was looking forward to watching Jordan's reaction when he dropped the particular bombshell he was carrying. "May we come in?"
"Of course," Jordan said, opening the door a little wider. "Let me get my wife."
"Actually, Mr. Ferrars, you might not want to do that yet," Olivia said, gently. "It might be better if we spoke to you in private for a few minutes first."
"OK," Jordan said, nodding. "Thanks for your discretion – you know, it's painful for me to hear the details. Paula, though…" his voice trailed off as he offered them seats on the pristine living room sofa. "Paula really shouldn't know all the facts, they upset her terribly. She can barely function."
"Mr. Ferrars," John said, cutting to the chase, "does Paula know all the details about your life?"
"Like what?" he asked innocently, not reacting to the irritated glare this illicited from Olivia.
"Like the fact that Jordan Ferrars isn't your real name," Olivia pointed out, exasperation in her voice. "What was your problem with Timothy Grant?"
Jordan exhaled slowly. "There's nothing illegal about having your name changed," he pointed out.
"Nevertheless, people don't usually do it unless there's a reason," John stated. "What was yours?"
Jordan looked around the apartment, as if to make sure that they were not being overheard. "Paula doesn't know," he said, quietly. He stood, walked to a nearby bar, and poured himself a cup of dark liquid. "Billy Grant, your suspect," he said the word with disdain, making no secret that he still believed in the other man's innocence, "is my half-brother. We have the same father – Jeffrey Grant." He reclaimed his spot on the chair and drank from the glass he had just poured.
"We know Billy was in foster care," Olivia said. "Want to tell us why?"
"Our old man was a real piece of shit, that's why," Jordan said with a disdain in his voice that belied his upper-class, respectable exterior. "Look, he used to beat our mother. She had to drink herself half to death to survive it. She left us for a new boyfriend when Billy was just a little kid," Jordan brushed a lock of floppy black hair back. Olivia recognized that he was uncomfortable, but he didn't appear to have a guilty conscience. "As soon as I turned 16 and saved up enough for an old car, I was gone. I shouldn't have left my little brother, okay? Not with him. But I did." He sighed, and finished his glass.
"So you left, you changed your name, you went to college and started to make something of yourself," John said, finishing his story. "Meanwhile, your dad gets himself thrown into prison, and poor Billy's stuck in the system."
"Know what happened to your little brother in the-" Olivia started, but Jordan interrupted her.
"Yes, of course I know what happened to him," Jordan said, his voice raising. "And it broke my heart that I wasn't able to stop it. But I was trying to make my life, trying to be somebody. And then I was. As soon as I had money, had an established life, I went looking for Billy, and I found him."
"You found him in juvy hall," Olivia pointed out, rubbing it in that Billy had floundered without his older brother's protection.
"Yeah," Jordan said, stiffly. "On his second possession bust. He's a smart kid, a good kid. And he didn't kill my son," he choked out, his voice cracking at the last. "Billy has drug problems, but he's not violent. Look what happened to him. He'd never do that to another kid."
"Actually, statistics say the exact opposite," John pointed out. "Children who are abused are far more likely to become abusers themselves."
"Whatever," Jordan sighed, closing his eyes, still having difficulty discussing these painful memories.
"Jordan," Olivia tried a different tack, her voice softening as she asked, "why keep this secret? Why not tell us earlier that Billy's your brother?"
"My wife doesn't know," Jordan said miserably. "She doesn't know Billy's background, his drug problems." He looked Olivia squarely in the eye. "Put yourself in my place, Detective. Can you imagine how it feels to fall in love with someone so perfect – someone who's had every advantage from birth – and tell them you come from where I come from? That your father's a lousy abusive bastard, your mother's a drunk who abandoned you, and you ran out on your own kid brother?" He was quiet for a moment. "I'm not proud of any of that, and while it may seem important that I chose to keep it a secret for the past several days, I can assure you that it has absolutely nothing to do with solving this case. The fact that Billy is my brother only makes me even more certain that he is not Mason's killer."
Olivia met Jordan's gaze and said nothing. The truth was that it was not so very difficult for her to see the situation from his point of view. She and Alex had never discussed it at length, but their backgrounds could not have been more different. Alex was the beautiful, privileged child of a family firmly ensconced in New England society. Blessed with loving and devoted parents who had been able to give her every material comfort and educational opportunity, Alex had turned out to be as remarkable as it was possible for a person to be. Olivia had always admired Alex as much for who she wasn't as for who she was – despite her background, she wasn't spoiled, petty or entitled. She was magnificent.
Olivia's own childhood had been anything but idyllic. At an early age, she had learned that the reason she had never met her father, never even learned his name, was because he was a stranger who had attacked and raped her mother, who had been a college student when it happened. Olivia's relationship with her mother was marked with beautiful highs and heart-breaking lows. When her mother was sober, she had been attentive and loving; but as Olivia grew older, those sober moments were fewer and farther between. Still, it had not been as nightmarish as the hell that Jordan Ferrars was describing.
"You're going to have to tell her, Jordan," Olivia said, softly. "Because it's going to come out that the victim's father is the brother of the man who is, as of now, our only suspect."
"Only suspect?" Jordan looked surprised. "Billy hasn't told you?"
"Told us what?" John asked, leaning in.
"Well, about the arrangement. I thought that's how you knew." Jordan wore the deer-in-the-headlights expression of someone who knew he'd just said too much.
I swear, John thought with annoyance, some people just aren't cut out to be part of big conspiracies.
"I paid for Billy to go to rehab, and then I took him in as a tutor to my children when he convinced me he'd gotten clean," Jordan explained. "Paula liked the idea of having a responsible male living here. I work a lot of hours, sometimes I don't get home until really late. She always got along with Billy, and I've certainly considered telling her the whole truth before. But when I finally had the nerve, I started noticing that Billy was getting home at odd hours, forgetting things, was generally distracted."
"You could tell he was using again," Olivia finished for him.
"Yeah, but it was worse than that. I found out Billy owed his dealer a great deal of money," Jordan kept talking, looking first to John and then back to Olivia, both of whom were propped on the edge of the couch, listening intently while he told his story. "So one day I come home for lunch – usually, I eat at the office – and Billy's in here with some Latino guy called…" Jordan screwed up his face, thinking. "Sergio. Serge. That's it."
"Sergio is the dealer?" Olivia said, almost licking her lips with anticipation. This was the good stuff. "What did you see them doing?"
"Arguing," Jordan answered. "I confronted Billy then, told him if he had a problem, just to tell me about it. So they both told me. Billy owed this guy about fifty thousand dollars, and told us both that he'd kill Billy if he didn't get his money by the end of the day."
"What did you tell him?" Munch asked.
"Come on," Jordan shook his head. "I've done well, but I'm not that liquid. I can't come up with that kind of cash in a day – not without alerting my wife and raising quite a few eyebrows. Still – the fact that Sergio had found our house, had followed Billy home and knew that we had some pretty nice things – well, we had to take his threat seriously."
"So what'd you do?"
Jordan closed his eyes and shook his head. "I think… I think I need to get a lawyer."
Olivia rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, exhaling slowly. Shit. This interview's over.
"Come on down to the station with us, Mr. Ferrars," John said, pronouncing Jordan's name with a mock civility. "We'll give your attorney a call on the way and have him meet us there."
"Let me talk to my wife?" Jordan asked, standing.
"In front of us," Olivia ordered. "You're not leaving this room, or our sight."
Jordan called his wife into the room, and Olivia listened as he whispered to her and watched as her face registered shock and fear. She couldn't make out the words, but knew that Jordan had just told her at least as much as he had just shared with them.
John's phone rang. Olivia glanced at the name flashing on the caller ID – 'Mr. Fugly' – and knew that it was Fin. "What'cha got?" John answered, keeping his voice low. "I'll tell Liv, yeah. Be careful out there. Okay." He closed the phone and turned to Olivia. "Fin's found our man – Sergio Medina. He's well known on 107th Street. He is, as it turns out, one of Cesar Velez's favorite nephews."
"Do we have him in custody?" Olivia asked, daring to hope.
"Not yet. Fin's got a lead on his 20. He's going with a couple of the Narcs guys and looking for him at a few places over on that side…"
"You okay with him doing this without you?" Olivia asked.
"I need to be with you," John said with a half-smirk.
"I'm a big girl. I can handle an interrogation by myself," she pointed out, a little irritated.
"That's not what I mean. This one's personal," John pointed out. They had never discussed Olivia's relationship with Alex, but they hadn't had to. It had been obvious to everyone, if not before Alex's first return than certainly after. "No offense, Liv – you're a great cop. But you care so much about this one – more than usually, even – and I'm gonna make sure you get to handle this one personally, but I'm also gonna make sure your emotions don't get the better of you."
Olivia nodded. She saw Jordan kissing Paula goodbye, and knew she didn't have time to argue.
Jordan swallowed hard, scared to death. "Look, Detectives… I never meant for anything to happen to my boy, I just…"
"Just wanted to commit insurance fraud, just wanted to bail your little brother out of a tight spot to assuage your own guilty conscience," John said, not backing down an inch. "Forgive me for not feeling terribly sympathetic."
"Whether you intended to do so or not," Olivia pointed out, standing and preparing to follow John out of the room, "you exposed both of your sons and your wife to incredible danger when you agreed to let a street thug break into your home. Because of your recklessness, your little boy – the little boy whom you claim to love so much - was raped and murdered."
Paula, who was already crying, choked back a sob, and Olivia felt a bit embarrassed for having chastised her husband so bluntly in front of her only moments after she'd found out so many ugly truths.
"Mrs. Ferrars, we'll bring your husband back once we're done with him," Olivia said, placing her hand on the small of Jordan's back and leading him out the door.
Outside, Olivia lifted her hand to her forehead, trying to see past the flashing lights of the paparazzi cameras as she and John escorted Jordan into the car they had parked nearby. She couldn't even make out a single question amid the din of voices filling her senses; all she was conscious of was the fact that, as big a leap as it seemed from Mason Ferrars to Cesar Velez, the moment when she once again held Alex in her arms might be getting closer with each tick of the clock.