A/N: mishegas, n. insanity; craziness (Yiddish)
The NYPD procedures and regulations depicted in this story have been modified to fit the needs of the plot; they do not reflect the actual procedures and regulations of any police department.
Sixteenth Precinct
Seventh Floor Lounge
14 July
George Huang stepped back from the railing and wondered what the hell had gone wrong .
Three weeks ago, I stood here and observed this unit... almost everything I feared could happen has happened—partnerships shattered, group morale destroyed, two detectives under disciplinary action, the CO disengaged from the disintegration of his unit... at least Howie's shift is holding together, although I'm not happy about their interactions with what looks like Olivia's shift—she led the shift meeting, not Elliot... I made an appointment to talk to Don about this tomorrow... I had hoped to speak with him today, but he had an off-site meeting to attend....
The sound of people coming upstairs broke his train of thought. Huang took a seat at the table and opened the folder containing the case info spreadsheet and his notes,
But that is tomorrow's concern... I'm here to help John and Judith with the serial killer... interesting case and they've certainly gathered a mass of evidence... enough for me to form a sketchy profile....
Munch and Otten took seats opposite him. Both had brought steaming mugs and notepads. John also had the picture book tucked under his arm. Neither he nor Otten looked well-rested.
I know about the disciplinary action—A.D.A. Novak mentioned it during trial prep on Monday... she learned of it from Brewster, who also testified on that case....
"You two look tired," he said in greeting.
John sighed and played with the tag on his tea bag.
Judith stiffened when I made my comment... she also does not want to talk about it... so I'll stick to the matter at hand....
George laced his fingers together and looked from John to Judith.
"Serial killers who target children without molesting them are extremely rare."
John released the paper tag and let it flutter to the side of his mug. Judith made a faint hiss as she sighed.
Both look relieved at the change of subject....
"That's one reason," John replied, "that no one tied these cases together."
"The diverse races of the murdered boys and girls didn't raise any flags," Judith added.
George kept his gaze fixed on his notes to hide his surprise.
They're finishing each other's thoughts... unlike the Kilkenny Cats, they've stopped fighting each other before only the tips of their tails were left... Don did a good job on that front....
"It will from now on," George noted. "I expect psychiatrists and law enforcement professionals around the world will study this case."
I plan to write a journal article... giving proper credit to everyone, of course....
"Assuming we catch him," John noted. "Do you have anything useful for us?"
"Depends upon what you consider as 'useful'," George replied as he opened his folder and handed each detective a summary of his research.
"You both know," he continued, "that the basic profile for a serial killer and a pedophile differ in some aspects. Serial killers tend to target strangers...."
"While pedophiles target family members and children they've befriended," Judith cut in.
"Serial killers start later in life than pedophiles," George noted. "Late twenties for the former group, mid-teens for the latter. Serial killers live in a fantasy world in which they hold the power of life and death over their victims. The pedophile's fantasy is that the children want and enjoy his attentions, so much so that they 'ask for it'."
"But there are similarities," Judith noted. "Both types are likely to have been abused as children and to have used day-dreaming and fantasy as an escape. Both self-identify as shy, socially awkward, and depressed."
Huang nodded to acknowledge her input while he observed John next to her.
Judith is participating in our conversation... John is rigid, stiff, and he is not fidgeting... my guess—he's about to explode....
"Then we're on the same page as to pedophiles and serial killers," Huang said. "I agree with John that you two are dealing with a serial killer. This means your perpetrator probably is Caucasian, in his early forties now, works a blue-collar job, and has a limited social life. He has—"
"—a high school education, if that much."
The sneer on John's face matched the scorn in his voice as he chanted his next words.
"And he has a deep-seated resentment of authority, especially maternal. C'mon, Doc—give us something we don't know."
Judith's eyes went wide at his vehemence. George did not permit himself to react. Instead, he folded his hands around his mug, and gazed calmly at the older man.
"Very well then, something you don't know. Your perpetrator is a parent, a teacher, or a librarian, or someone who reads to children."
The unexpected acquiescence wiped the sneer from John's face. He peered back at Huang as though suspecting a lie.
At least Judith accepts that I know what I'm doing... she's taking notes and hanging on every one of my words....
"What makes you assume that?" John asked.
Huang pointed to the picture book.
"'Not All Kids Look Alike'," he told them, "was published in 1991, too late for it to be a favorite book from childhood. Since very few adults read picture books for pleasure, it is likely your killer knows of this book because he read it to a child."
Huang picked up the book and paged through it.
"Each serial killer has a 'pre-crime stressor,' a situation or event that is his reason for killing. This book symbolizes that reason for your killer. I believe that this man's pre-crime stressor is related to his own children—they may have died tragically or were turned against him after a bitter custody battle. Because he cannot avenge himself on his children, he refocused his resentment and hatred onto the children in this book, a book he read to his own children in happier times."
This, of course, is speculation... I'm combining fetishism with the standard serial killer profile in an attempt to describe something new... I could be wrong....
George admitted his concern to John and Judith before telling them, "Whatever drove him to kill children does not alter the rest of the basic serial killer profile. Your man is feels powerless, trapped, and frustrated by something a child did, so he proves he is powerful and superior by killing children."
John opened the book to its first illustration, that of an English girl having a tea party with her stuffed animals.
"If he follows that profile," he said, his finger tapping the photo, "his first kill was more of an accident than a deliberate act. One day, he spotted a young girl who resembled this illustration, and the knowledge that she existed outside of this book ate at him."
"The perfect child in his imperfect world," Judith added.
"Yes," George agreed. "Your man probably had no intention of killing her when he finally approached her—in fact, when you ask him about his first victim, he'll tell you her death sickened and horrified him."
Neither detective showed any sympathy for that horror.
They reserve that for the victims....
"When your killer realized that he was in the clear after his crime, he began to remember the joy he experienced from killing—the power he felt when he broke his victim's neck, and how it relieved his frustrations and fed his need to dominate."
George pointed to the next illustration, that of a young boy playing street soccer with friends.
"When the frustration and powerlessness built up again, he went in search of the next child in the book in the hope that another kill would provide the same relief."
Both John and Judith nodded.
Of course they comprehend... their experience is in homicide... they know how killers think....
"And, when that kill was successful, it created the desire for a third one," Judith added.
"And a fourth and a fifth, and so on until the nineteenth one," John replied. "George, what happens after the last one?"
John reached out and flipped the book's pages to Amanda, the last child in the book.
"Suppose he had found this girl and killed her," he asked. "Would he then stop killing? Start over at the beginning of the book? Find another book and start a new collection?"
"Good question," George said. "If your killer is driven by the death of his children, he may find closure with the final victim and retire from killing. If he started due to the alienation of his children's love, then his children are now in their late teens or early twenties—old enough to reconsider whatever turned them against their father. They may have reconciled, which would eliminate the original source of his anger and frustration."
"That would mean he's killing only to complete his collection," Judith told him.
"That could be," George admitted. "I honestly don't know. This is uncharted territory."
"And it doesn't matter," John said. "We're not giving him the chance to retire; we're nailing the bastard for every one of his murders."
"How do you propose to do that?"
John laid out the plan to Huang with Judith filling in some details. George considered their plan.
One can't cozy up to a serial killer... their real life persona and their fantasy persona are as completely divorced from each other as humanly possible... that is why a serial killer can pass for a 'normal member of society'... no one suspected the BTK killer of his crimes—those who knew him as a father, Scout leader, and upstanding church member were blindsided by his dark side....
"It's a good plan, but it's for the wrong criminal. You're treating your perpetrator as thought he were a child predator. Predators like to share the tricks of the trade; they participate in on-line chats; they trade photos, DVDs, and tips on how to seduce children. They meet to network and to affirm that they are not the societal outcasts that the rest of us think them to be."
John elbowed Judith. "Couple of years ago, Elliot and I infiltrated one of those networking soirées. We got a lot of solid intel along with our collars."
Judith looked impressed.
As she should be... John is very good at passing as a pedophile... he cracked a ring that smuggled children into this country and one that booked cruises to countries that allow child prostitution.... and wasn't there something about his choice of clothes for that operation?
George hid a smile.
It isn't professional, but John has gotten under my skin a few times... consider it sauce for the gander....
"Serial killers do not hold potlucks with their counterparts," he told John. "Camaraderie is not part of their profiles. Your pastel plaid jacket, stack of conquest photos, and your child-friendly demeanor will not win this man's trust."
To George's delight, John ducked his head and looked embarrassed at the mention of that jacket.
Stick to black, John... resort wear does not suit you....
"If you want to befriend this man," George continued, "you'll have to reach him through his regular life—not his actions as a serial killer. His fantasy persona is too separate from his real life persona for you to cozy up to him as a fellow murderer."
Judith, who had been staring gape-mouthed as though the image of John in plaid had melted her brain, rejoined the conversation.
"But that would take too long. To close this quickly, we have to pick him out of the crowd at the playground, and, for that...."
George noted that Judith paused to grin at John, and how John sucked his lips against his teeth and braced himself for what she would say next.
I just helped Judith win an argument....
"... we need a better description than 'male, Caucasian, light brown hair'."
To George's relief, John contented himself with a glare of exasperation before conceding defeat.
"Okay, we'll go through the case files again for your 'person of interest'. We'll even call the witnesses in the recent cases and see if they remember anything new. Good thing I like eye strain."
He turned his exasperation on George.
"Got anything else for us, Doc?"
Call me 'Doc' again and I'll mention that sports coat every chance I get....
"Fifty bucks says his middle name is Wayne."
Judith put a hand to her mouth to muffle a laugh. John's exasperation melted until he had to grin back at the psychiatrist.
"Wayne, Wayne—the serial killer's mark of Cain. George, that's a sucker's bet."
George smiled back at the older man.
I knew you knew about that oddity.... why a small but noticeable number of murderers have 'Wayne' as part of their name is matter for conjecture.... but that bit of trivia lets us end on a positive note....
George gathered his notes while the detectives grabbed their gear and said their good-byes to him. After they had left, George made some notes about their meeting before he departed via the seventh floor hall.
Tomorrow, I approach Don about the problems in his unit... I'll probably get tossed out face-first, but someone must talk to him... his people won't—rank insulates him from them... his superiors won't—not while his unit produces... that leaves me....
Interview One
SVU Squadroom
14 July
"Detective Meister? Good, we finally connected. I'm Detective John Munch, Manhattan Special Victims...."
"Detective Atwood? It's Detective Otten.... No, I'm not calling about releasing the Munka case. You've made your stance on that abundantly clear. I'm calling to ask you a couple of questions...."
As soon as Otten hung up her phone, John cleared his throat. When she spun her desk chair in his direction, he grinned triumphantly.
"Meister released his case to us. He's sending his files over this evening."
Otten smiled back in reply. "What was the hang-up with him?"
"He wanted to talk to me directly. Once he heard my dulcet tones, he granted my every desire."
Twin snorts came from Stabler and Benson.
"Last I heard," Olivia noted, "dulcet meant 'sweet and pleasing'."
"Exactly," John retorted. "What about Atwood?"
Otten raised both hands in a helpless shrug.
"She didn't budge an inch. No release, no answers, no help. It doesn't make sense to me, but that's all the time I want to waste on her."
"I'll ask Cragen to lean on her," John said, "although it's tempting to let the Munkas realize that their son was part of this string of murders, and we didn't close his case because Detective Atwood is a flaming prick of a bitch."
All three detectives stared at him. Elliot even mouthed the epithet back at him.
"Just covering all the possibilities," John replied. "That way, it's not harassment; it's thoroughness."
To Otten, he said, "You ready to start combing through the files again?"
Otten slid her chair back and stood up.
"Yep."
"Great."
John picked up his phone's receiver.
"I've got a personal call to make, then I'll call the witnesses in the Homer and Parkinson cases—see if they remember anything else about the kidnappings. I'll be in when I'm done."
Otten opened her mouth to protest. John raised a hand to silence her.
"I'm the primary. I get the plum jobs."
Otten's reaction was a smile made of pure smug.
"Speaking of plum, how about an order of mu shu chicken with hot and sour soup. I'll be in the interview room."
John turned from her only to catch Elliot and Olivia grinning at him.
"Since you've been volunteered for the take-out run," Elliot called out, "Hunan chicken and two eggrolls."
"And I'll have the veggie egg foo young," Olivia added. "It's good to see you and—"
John dialed quickly to forestall Olivia's next words.
She is dying to say something about Otten and me... maybe overhearing this call will end that train of thought....
"Connie," he said when Sgt. Walker had answered his call, "it's John. I'm calling to see if we're still on for lunch tomorrow."
The warmth of her reply shut out Elliot, Olivia, and the rest of the squadroom. For that moment, nothing existed but him and the woman at the other end of his phone line.
"That's great... I'm looking forward to seeing you, too... I heard your bust went well... yes, I got all the details... okay, I'll let you go... tomorrow at 1:30... I'll say 'hi' to Judith... see you then."
John set the receiver down reluctantly, as though it were Connie's hand in his.
She remembered our date... she sounds happy about it... maybe, this time... maybe this time, it will work....
The rest of the evening was spent combing through the eighteen cases files. John's calls to Wichita, where the Homers now lived, and Orlando, where the Parkinsons had moved after their son Christopher was murdered, obtained some more info on the brown-haired "person of interest." The next morning, after Greg and Jason had had their coffee, the four of them met around the table in the interview room to review what they had learned. At the head of the table, the white board held lists of physical characteristics of the 'persons of interest' mentioned in the eighteen cases.
Jason pointed at the shorter lists on the left side of the board.
"Are we ignoring the woman in scrubs and those other prospects?"
"If you see any of them with a printout of Shanice's photo, go for it," Otten replied. "But we're concentrating on the man with the light brown hair. There's more mentions of him in these files."
"I got another one last night," John added. "According to Mrs. Homer, he was thin, and he was wearing blue jeans with a white collared shirt open at the neck. Mrs. Homer said he was staring so hard at her son that she told him to stop it or she'd call the police."
"So she got a good look at him?" Greg asked.
John shook his head. "Lots of people stare at albinos. Maybe they think her son is a midget Goth who forgot his eyeliner." All she remembers is telling the man off then hurrying Christopher away from him.
Otten stood up to add 'thin' to the brown-haired man's list on the white board.
"Still doesn't give us much," she said. "Male, Caucasian, light brown hair, probably balding by now. Mrs. Homer says he was thin. Mr. Fei remembers him as tall."
"Detective Wilton told me Mr. Fei was five feet tall on his tiptoes," John noted. "That might skew his height perception."
Otten put a question mark by the word 'tall' then she pointed at the item under it.
"Now, all the reports have him wearing jeans. Mr. Fei has him in white or blue Oxford shirts while the witness in the Doyle case said he was wearing a white t-shirt."
John leaned back in his chair and smirked at her.
"This guy needs fashion tips from Fontana."
Otten sat down again before scowling at him.
"If you really own a pastel plaid jacket, you have no call commenting on clothing."
Both Greg and Jason snickered at her words.
"Don't knock the Perv Jacket," Jason told her. "It works. Take John's glasses off and put that jacket on him, and there isn't a SV detective in the five boroughs who wouldn't arrest him on sight."
"Want proof it works?" Greg asked. "Look up 'molester' on the Internet and you'll find John and that jacket."
John peered at Otten over his lenses.
"Given my usual sartorial choices, it's a perfect disguise. I bought it for that very reason."
Actually, I bought it because black is a stupid color for Florida summers—something I learned my first visit to Uncle Andrew after he retired down there... snide remarks about my temperature-appropriate clothing—especially about me in shorts—are why I never show vacation photos around the squad...
John ignored Otten's raised eyebrows as he turned the conversation back to the case.
"Despite its efficacy, the jacket has to stay in my closet. Huang told us that our target won't respond to contact the way a child molester would. He said there's no camaraderie among serial killers."
"Damn," Greg said. "That means we need to find someone who is looking for a girl who doesn't exist. That's almost as bad as trying to prove a negative."
Otten handed Greg and Jason copies of Huang's profile notes and two police sketches of the brown-haired man from the Homer and Fei cases. Greg and Jason skimmed through the profile, but the generic facial features in the sketches brought frowns to their faces.
"I know the sketches are virtually useless," she told them, "but Novak assures me that they help tie our guy to those cases. Every little bit helps."
"Then we use them," Greg said. "Now, what's the plan for tomorrow?"
John went over to the white board and taped a map of Bennett Park next to the list of characteristics.
"First of all," he said, "you two sleep in."
John waited for their applause to subside before continuing.
"Otten and I wait for Sam MacDonald from the Vitiligo Association to call us. He'll let us know if anyone with an IP address located here clicks on the photo of Shanice on their home page. Casey's primed to subpoena the ISP for the physical address associated with that IP address."
Greg and Otten nodded. Jason's response was a loud "Huh?"
Lecture time... I love explaining modern technology to the young....
John directed Jason's attention to the laptop at the end of the table.
"When you log onto your computer, your Internet Service Provider—your ISP—assigns your computer an Internet Protocol address—an IP address. This allows all that porn you download to find your computer."
Jason snorted. "It's not porn. It's my daughter's music."
"You mean your daughter's pirated music," Greg added.
John glared at the two of them.
"We'll worry about that after we catch this guy."
He tapped the laptop with his finger.
"All the IP addresses used by every ISP are stored in a searchable database with the physical locations of the ISP and its users. The latitude and longitude associated with your IP address is accurate to Zip Code level—at least, that's what the geolocators admit."
John peered down at Jason.
"They, however, lie like a rug. I happen to know that gelocation is accurate enough to pinpoint the exact corner of the room in your apartment where you're downloading your dirty movies."
"I told you," Jason said with a grin, "it's not porn. It's Jenny and her music files."
John patted Jason's shoulder as he blew out an exaggerated sigh.
"Fine father you are—blaming your addiction on your daughter."
When the chuckles died away, John said, "This means we can ignore the girl in Nebraska checking the Vitiligo Association's website for a pen pal, and focus on the man in Manhattan with the dead child collection. Casey assures me that this data will get us a warrant to make the ISP give us the street address of the computer that checked out the Shanice BFriendz page."
Greg interrupted him. "Won't that take too long?"
I hate explaining the obvious....
"We need to prove that Shanice is the reason our guy is at the park when we take him. Otherwise, his lawyer will claim his client was there to enjoy a nice summer day and that he would never even think about hurting a child."
"Let alone hunting one down to kill her," Otten added. "Shanice's BFriendz page says that she goes to the park after lunch, so we need to be in place by noon at the latest. John said Cragen promised us the two new guys on our shift, so we'll start things off with them and bring you two in at the switch-up."
At the news of two new detectives, Greg and Jason turned to John for confirmation.
Yes, Fred and Tammy's replacements arrive tomorrow... Don assured me they aren't white shields, but he wouldn't tell me anything else about them—a real "Screw you, Munch" move on his part... how am I supposed to deploy them when I don't know what they look like or what they can do?
"Don't look at me for details," he said, "Cragen told me squat. I'm assuming they're competent."
All three detectives glanced furtively at the window to the captain's office.
Their way of asking, 'More competent that Cragen's being right now?' Huang came in just as I was leaving Don's office... maybe he's pondering that very question... if so, I hope he can get through to Don....
John tapped his finger on the northeast corner of Bennett Park.
"Obviously, we'll be concentrating on the playground. Any white male with brown hair will be photographed and observed. If we see him paying special attention to the playground entrance—watching to see who is coming in—we'll put a tail on him and follow him home. If his address matches the one we get from the ISP, then he's our serial killer. We'll get warrants then toss his place until we find his trophies."
Everyone smiled at the thought of trashing a skel's home.
It's the simple things that make the job worthwhile....
"We've arranged for back-up, radios, surveillance van, the techs to work it—everything we need. Olivia will have your gear for you when you come in. Before you leave here tomorrow afternoon, call me on my cell so I can update you on the current situation. Any questions?"
Both detective shook their heads.
"Then you're done with us until tomorrow afternoon. Have fun working your double-shift."
Vegetarian Dim Sum
24 Pell Street
15 July
The restaurant was barely wide enough for two lines of tables and a narrow aisle for the servers. John sat with his back to the door, opposite Connie and across from a sumo-sized man who was inhaling fried noodles as though the mayor had just outlawed them.
Ignore the human vacuum cleaner and concentrate on Connie... she looks great in dark green... it brings out her eyes... that cotton sweater brings out her other attributes, too....
Their conversation ranged through many topics: her phony securities case, his serial killer, her planned weekend with her family, his working round-the-clock with Otten, her being a Yankees fan, his grudging admission that he still followed the Orioles.
"I know they don't stand a chance this year—hell, right now they're fifteen games behind Boston—but I've spent the best and the worst years of my life rooting for them. They're about the only tie I have left to Charm City."
Connie placed her spoon in her Buddhist Noodle soup then raised an eyebrow at his statement.
"No family left in Baltimore? No friends?"
John froze.
'Family and friends' doesn't mean ex-wives, but I'm not risking it... just recite the list of relatives quickly and move on to something else....
"Brother, sister-in-law, and their kids, plus three cousins. I also have an uncle in Florida, and an aunt in a nursing home here in Manhattan. Most of my friends were on the job."
The ridicule after my last marriage, the whole Bayliss-Ryland-Pratt mishegas, and then Gee's death... all that soured things between me and them....
Connie tipped her head back and regarded him with solemn intensity.
"'He travels fastest who travels alone'—is that how it is?"
John took a hurried bite of his eggplant and garlic then chewed it slowly as though savoring its flavor.
I'll bet she just compared my semi-estranged family with hers extended one... all her children, nieces, nephews, cousins, aunts, uncles—hell, Brooklyn's probably crawling with them....
He swallowed and took a sip of his tea.
The estrangement is my fault, not theirs... so it's time for a joke....
John curved up one corner of his mouth and met her gaze squarely.
"It's more like 'He who is poor at keeping in touch loses touch'. I stink at writing Christmas newsletters."
Connie's throaty chuckle brought a genuine smile to John's lips.
"I've got some relatives I'd like lose touch with," she admitted.
"Well, you can choose your friends..." he told her.
"... but you can't choose your relatives," she finished the quote. "Truer words were never spoken."
Connie set both her elbows on the table and leaned closer to John.
"Has Judith told you we're not happy about her and this Fontana?"
John slid his plate aside to match her position.
You have beautiful eyes, which is one reason I want to stay on your good side....
"Fontana does have too much unexplained money, too many civilian complaints, a scuzzy reputation, and a plethora of kaleidescope ties. I can see why you're concerned."
He took a sip of his tea.
On the other hand, I have to work with Otten...
"But your concern is misplaced. Despite his flaws, Joe really is good people and he thinks the world of your sister-in-law. I wouldn't worry about him if I were—"
John's cell rang. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the incoming number.
"That's her now," he said as he answered the call.
John held his expression still as he listened.
"I'm with Ed Green," Otten told him. "Joe's meeting this morning wasn't about the shooting. It was a termination review with the First Deputy Commissioner, the Chief of Personnel, and the acting Chief of Internal Affairs. Green says they went over Joe's jacket, his complaint record, his psych review--everything. When it was all over, Joe had to turn in his shield."
John grabbed his tea cup and brought it to his lips to cover his shock.
I don't believe it... there's procedures, rules... before termination, there's the Special Monitoring Program... and Special Monitoring follows a review by the Suspended/Modified Review Committee, the one Cragen threatened Otten and me with... which means the brass jumped over the entire disciplinary process... shit....
"That sounds is seriously fucked up."
"Damn right it is," she replied. "Green said Joe stomped out of the meeting right before his lieutenant told off Balzano, Ward, and Gainey. He got the news from her because Joe is MIA. We're both on our way to Joe's place to see if he's there. Can you find your way back to the station house and can you cover for me?"
"Of course. Don't worry about me. Let me know what happens."
"Thanks, Munch. I'll be back as soon as I can."
John ended the call and slid his phone into his pocket.
"Bad news?" Connie asked.
Hell, yes... I have to decide between lying to you or risk pissing Otten off by telling you to add 'terminated in disgrace' to Joe's list of offenses....
John looked straight in to Connie's green eyes, parted his lips, and hesitated for a moment.
"Yes, it is," he told her. "Fontana got screwed during his shooting review. Your sister-in-law and his partner are on their way to see him about it, which means I just lost my ride back to the One-Six."
Sorry, Otten... I'm not about to lie to the woman I want to fall in love with....