An Ill Wind
Chapter 10
Analysis
OOO
16th Precinct
Special Victims Unit
9:30 A.M., November 20, 2005
"I don't know which is worse," Munch said, "the fact that she did it in the first place or the fact that she still gets off on the memories. I feel like I need a shower, and I wasn't even in the room for that part of the interview!"
"Everyone is stupid in their twenties," Fin said, "but getting your ha-has from something twisted you did back then is definitely worse, especially knowing that your boyfriend was using you to rehearse for molesting little children."
"Yeah," Munch agreed, "and that bit about talking to strangers when he took her out and then letting him punish her for being careless really creeps me out. She is just one weird lady."
"Not as weird as DeVane, though," Fin replied.
"Oh, she's at least as weird as him," Munch argued. "She's just not as violent."
"Well, as long as I don't have to listen to her talk about it or arrest her for it, as far as I'm concerned, she can do what she wants . . . This one's a dead number." Fin hung up the phone and asked, "Are you done with your calls?"
"Yeah, you?"
"That was my last one. I guess now we start checking the business licenses to find the ones that may have moved," John said. "We don't have time to go out and canvass the open places before Huang gets here for the profile."
After Olivia left the interview room, Annie O'Keefe Othmer had given Munch a list of about forty restaurants, nightclubs, sex clubs, strip joints, and adult book, toy, and video stores that she had frequented while dating Roger DeVane. Some of them she could only identify by the neighborhood they were in or the stores that were next to them, but it really was more than they had been hoping for. The two detectives had split the list and began by calling to verify the business hours for those places that they could find in the phone directory. Once they had a complete list, they would plan a day of canvassing, going from location to location showing DeVane's picture, and asking if anyone had seen him. They would most likely enlist several junior detectives to help with the task simply because the list was so long.
"Most of them are closed 'til late or shut down on Sundays anyway," Fin commented, "and you know, we still have to schedule interviews with DeVane's previous victims and Muriel Faringo and Sheila Gardener's parents."
"Ok," Munch said, "You wanna take that, and I'll do the business licenses?"
"Sure, and whoever finishes first helps the other."
The detectives had worked well together since they had met, and it was evident in the easy way they divvied up their responsibilities. Munch didn't mind the dull task of searching through public records, which Fin hated, and Fin was willing to speak to the families of people affected by the crimes they investigated, which Munch found emotionally draining.
John plucked a sticky note off his desk blotter and handed it across to Fin. "Sheila Gardener's maiden name was Reese. Her mom is remarried and has moved to Florida. She's flying in this afternoon to make the arrangements. She said we can contact her at her hotel tomorrow morning."
"Well, that's one down, at least for now," Fin said, copying the details from the sticky onto his legal pad where he would record contact information for the other victims and their families as he worked.
Before he settled down to his computer search, Munch went over to the coffee maker and poured himself and Fin each a cup of coffee. Returning to their desks, he got a nod of thanks from his partner who was already on the phone with one of his prospective interviewees.
The Stabler Residence
72-12 Castleside Street
Glen Oaks, Queens
10:04 A.M., November 20, 2005
"Are you depressed?" Rebecca asked when Elliot refused to answer after she had asked how he was feeling. In her previous work with him, she had found that suggesting possible feelings or mental states could get him talking whenever he was so awash in emotions that he had difficulty finding one thing to latch onto.
Kathy had taken the kids to the second mass, and then she was going to her mother's. They had two hours to talk if they needed it. She had also taken her cell phone, so if Elliot decided he wanted to cut the session short, but didn't want to be alone, he could call her.
He shrugged. "I'm scared, all the time," he said, tracing patterns in the upholstery of the easy chair in which he sat. He almost never made eye contact with Rebecca during their sessions. It was easier to talk if he didn't have to see the sympathy in her eyes. "I wish I could just curl up into a ball and cry."
"Why don't you?"
"Well, for one thing, my ribs hurt like hell," he said jokingly. Then after a minute, when she didn't respond to his remark, he gave her a real answer.
"I don't want to do that in front of my kids," he told her. "And it's not about pride or being macho," he added defensively, as if expecting her to challenge him. "I just don't want to give them one more thing to worry about."
"You think they're worried about you?"
He finally looked at her. "Melinda Warner called me this morning. DeVane is HIV positive. We told the kids after breakfast."
Rebecca's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She thought it was the right thing to do, but she couldn't believe a private, protective man like Elliot would have reached that conclusion for himself so quickly. "Do you think that's a wise decision?" she asked.
He went back to fiddling with the upholstery and shrugged again. "Kathy said it was. That's why I did it."
"You trusted her to make the choice for you?" This time she couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice.
Elliot nodded. He began to answer, and then he stopped. He swallowed hard, quelling some emotion, and then said, "I'm such a wreck right now, I really don't know what to do, but I trust her to take care of me and to be a good mom to our kids."
Rebecca's first reaction was to ask, 'Even though she left you?' but she knew better than to pick at the scab on an old wound when there was a fresh one that needed her attention. Reviewing her notes, she asked instead, "Your kids aren't here now. Why don't you let yourself cry?"
Elliot closed his eyes and shook his head. "I just don't have the energy."
Rebecca frowned. She certainly hadn't been expecting that response. He was just full of surprises this time. After a moment, she asked, "What medications have you taken today, Elliot?"
That got her an angry look. "I'm not drugging myself to hide from my feelings," he said sullenly.
"I didn't intend to suggest that you are, but some of the meds the doctor might have given you could account for part of the way you are feeling," she explained, "So, what have you taken?"
"Combivir, Compazine, and two Percoset when I woke up, and a Valium when Warner called around nine. I had a panic attack when I found out about the HIV. That's another reason we told the kids."
Rebecca nodded in understanding. Now that she had the whole picture, the vibes she was getting made a lot more sense.
"It's ok to be numb for a little while," she advised him, "and some of the meds you are on will do that to you, but if you're still seeking out that feeling, or I guess I should say lack of feeling, in a couple of weeks, I'll need to know."
Looking up at her again, Elliot asked, "Can we talk about something else?" When Rebecca frowned, he said, "I'm not trying to avoid this conversation, but you're right. I am numb, and I just don't have a hell of a lot of feelings to talk about right now, but there is something that's been on my mind all day."
"Go ahead," Rebecca nodded and gestured with her hands, turning things over to him. Elliot seldom took charge of their conversations, preferring instead to answer the questions she put to him, and she was surprised that he would want to direct their dialog in his current state. Given the events of the past couple of days and the drugs coursing through his system, she found it hard to believe that he felt like taking the initiative.
"I had a nightmare last night," he said, "about the attack, and my oldest, Maureen, had fallen asleep on the couch. I don't know if I woke her or if she just heard me on her way to bed, but she came into my room to be sure I was all right. I guess while I was talking in my sleep, I said enough for her to figure out what had happened to me."
Rebecca inhaled slowly, wondering why he didn't seem upset about it. Falling back on the classic therapist's question, she asked, "How do you feel about that?"
He stared off into space for a moment, and then met her eyes. "I hated that she found out," he said, "because I want my kids' lives to be as happy and carefree as possible, but having her there to talk to last night really helped."
"And how do you feel about leaning on your daughter for support?"
Surprisingly, he smiled. "First it was kind of weird," he said, "because it should be the other way around, you know, her depending on me. But then, it felt almost natural. I don't know just when it happened, but she grew up, and she's tougher than I ever thought she'd be. She can handle it. I wish she didn't have to, but she can."
"And how does that make you feel?" Rebecca wondered how many times she could ask the same question before he quit answering.
He smiled sheepishly. "Proud, I guess. Lucky that my kid turned into such a great . . . person. I don't know how I missed it happening."
Rebecca didn't comment, wondering what would happen if she left him to fill the silence. She didn't have to wait long.
"Years ago, I remember when Maureen suddenly decided it was gross to have her dad kiss her on the mouth. It kind of hurt my feelings, and after she walked away in a huff, I asked Kathy when that had happened, you know what she told me?"
Rebecca silently gestured for him to tell her.
"'While you were at work,' she said. Hell of it was, she was right. My kids are strangers to me now," he said. "They were before Kathy left. They've turned into these people I don't even know anymore. Maureen," he held out his hand, palm up, as if showing off an example, "she's been volunteering at the campus Rape Crisis Center for over a year. She even got her counselor's certificate. I never knew she was doing that!"
His lips were pressed into a tight, straight line, which was a sure sign that some powerful emotion was finally stirring inside him. When he had sat silently for a full minute, Rebecca commented, "You say that as if it almost pisses you off."
He went another minute without speaking, so she asked, "Why do you think she never mentioned it?"
"I don't know," he said, his voice rising, "but it does piss me off. After all the energy I spent keeping my work away from my kids. My wife left me because I wouldn't talk to her about it! And the only reason I wouldn't talk to her about it was because . . . "
He trailed off, biting his bottom lip and rubbing his temple.
"Because what, Elliot?" Rebecca pressed gently.
"I was going to say because I was protecting my kids," he told her quietly, "but that's a lie. Or at least it's only part of the truth," he admitted. "I was mostly protecting myself. I was so screwed up, and I didn't want to talk about my work with her because of what it made me feel."
"And what does your work make you feel, Elliot?"
He thought a minute, then said, "Emotions." After a moment, he explained, "I was afraid if Kathy found out what a wreck I was, she'd leave, so I shut her out and lost her anyway."
"You're saying you couldn't feel anything around Kathy and the kids?"
"Right."
"What about love?" Rebecca asked in a puzzled tone.
"Oh, God, yeah! I never stopped loving them."
"Pride? Were you proud of what your children accomplished?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Now Elliot sounded confused.
"So, you could feel some emotions around your family, right?"
"Yeah," he replied reluctantly, feeling as if he were being led somewhere he didn't want to go.
"Then what does your work make you feel that you couldn't bring home?" she prodded.
He wasn't sure why he hadn't seen her setting him up for this. Maybe he hadn't wanted to. He was tempted to answer with a shrug, but he knew she wouldn't let that go. He heard her take a breath to speak, but he held up a finger to indicate that she should give him a moment to get his thoughts in order. When he finally did respond, it was just one word. "Angry."
She nodded, accepting the answer, but asked, "What else?"
This time he did shrug reflexively.
"Come on, Elliot. You're a pro at hiding your true emotions behind anger. What do you really feel after a tough day at work?"
He glared at her sullenly for a moment, unhappy about being cornered, but as he thought about her question, his gaze shifted to a spot on the carpet. She waited patiently until he could put words to his feelings.
"Frustrated," was the first thought, and then the rest came tumbling out. "Scared, terrified that something might happen to one of my kids. Sad that so many people get hurt in such horrible ways. Disgusted that people can do such depraved things to one another. Sickened. Sometimes I feel dirty from dealing with it all day. Overwhelmed. Helpless. No matter how many of these creeps and perverts we put away, there's always another one. Sometimes I wonder why we bother."
"Why do you bother, Elliot?"
"Because the victims deserve justice," he said immediately, and Rebecca knew there was more behind the automatic response. "Because they deserve to know that the person who hurt them will be punished."
While she waited to see if Elliot would continue talking, Rebecca considered which way to nudge him if he didn't say anything. If she went in one direction, they would get back to the way he shut out his wife and kids. If they took the other path, she suspected they would end up back at his father again. Both were painful subjects for Elliot to discuss, but the fact that discussing his father always brought up a host of other issues from his childhood made her decide to go the other way and complete the circle with Kathy and the kids. Given what her patient had been through in the past couple of days, she would never have chosen to speak about his marriage difficulties, either, but he had moved the discussion in that direction all by himself, so she was content to follow in the same vein.
Realizing that he hadn't spoken in some time, she finally asked, "So you take all those feelings, all that angst, and you bottle it up and carry it home, don't you?"
He shrugged and agreed. "I guess so."
"Why?"
He sighed. "I don't deal with those emotions very well," he admitted.
"Do you deal with them at all?"
He looked at the scars on his knuckles and gave her an embarrassed smirk. "I punch things a lot."
She raised an eyebrow and smiled back lopsidedly. Beating the hell out of an old friend had brought him to her in the first place. "And that's effective?"
"Sometimes the physical pain is easier to deal with," he admitted quietly.
"Easier for you, maybe, but how do you think Kathy feels to know you would rather bust up your hands than talk to her?" She didn't want to pressure him too hard, but she wanted him to take responsibility for the way he treated his loved ones. Being overly soft on him now just because he'd been hurt would make it harder to push him later when he really needed her to ask the tough questions.
He swallowed hard. "I know she doesn't like it," he said. "I know it hurts her."
"And yet you do it anyway."
There was a long silence. Rebecca was content to let it grow oppressive. She knew, sooner or later, Elliot would feel its weight and be compelled to speak. She sat there, watching him, until he offered lamely, "Telling her, showing her what it does to me, would hurt her worse."
"Explain to me how giving her the chance to love and support her husband would hurt her more than forcing her to watch you suffer in silence." She tried to keep her tone light, she didn't want him to feel as if she was pushing him around, but she needed to know why he thought his wife couldn't handle hearing about the things that got him down. When he glared at her, she said gently, "Elliot, I have to know what you're thinking if I'm going to help you."
After another minute or so, he said reluctantly, "I want our life to be like it was when the kids were small, when I left my work at work. I don't like to talk to her about what I do on the job because she shouldn't have to think about it. Nobody should."
"You do."
"It's my job."
"But your wife's not stupid," Rebecca said. "She knows what you do for a living and she can tell when you have had a bad day. When you don't tell her what's going on, how you're feeling, and what you need, whether it's space or comfort or peace and quiet or to do something fun, you force her to try to work it out for herself. She thinks about your job and how it affects you whether you want her to or not, so tell me again, how does opening up to her hurt her worse than shutting her out?"
"I . . . " realizing that what he was about to say didn't answer the question, Elliot shut his mouth and thought for a moment. Finally, he said, "It just gets kinda messy sometimes."
"Did you ever have a garbage bag burst on you?" Rebecca asked.
"Yeah," he replied, confused by the sudden change of subject.
"Gets kinda messy, doesn't it?"
He nodded with a smug expression, seeing through the metaphor already.
"But if you have someone to help you clean it up and take it to the curb, it isn't so bad, is it?"
"It's not the same," he told her. "I'm her husband. I'm supposed to take care of her."
"She's your wife, Elliot," the doctor insisted. "You're a family. You're supposed to take care of each other, but you don't give Kathy the chance to do her part."
"I don't want to bring that kind of filth into our home!" he snapped, getting frustrated with Rebecca's relentless hammering at her point.
"But now it has happened to you, and you have no choice," she pointed out. "And when you needed someone to take care of you, you called on Kathy, didn't you?"
"I went to Olivia first!" he objected.
"Yes, to report the crime," Rebecca acknowledged. "But once the official business was over, you wanted Kathy there. Why?"
There was an enormous silence between them, and again, Rebecca used it to force him to speak. He sighed, squirmed in his chair, opened and closed his mouth several times. Finally, he admitted, "She's never let me down when I needed her. I told Liv I didn't want to see her, but I knew she'd come. I knew she'd take care of me. She always has."
"How do you feel about that?"
"Grateful," he said frankly, "lucky to have her, like a fool for letting her leave, scared that she might not stay until I can manage without her."
"Ready to talk to her about how you really feel?"
He sighed, looked at the floor, rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, and said, "Ready to try."
Rebecca smiled. "That's a start." She glanced back at her notes and said, "I want to go back to something else you mentioned, if that's ok?"
He nodded for her to proceed, and she asked, "How do you feel about the way Maureen is shutting you out of her life?"
"Excuse me? When did I say that?"
"Well, you said she's been volunteering at the Rape Crisis Center for over a year and never mentioned it to you," Rebecca reminded him. "How do you feel about that?"
Elliot frowned thoughtfully. The way he cocked his head and pursed his lips, Rebecca could tell he was thinking hard. After a long time, he answered.
"It's weird, you know, on the one hand I'm really proud of her. She's doing a good thing by helping people who have been through a rough time." He paused, obviously aware that he was one of those people now. "On the other hand, it kind of feels like a slap in the face. I try so hard not to bring my work home, not to burden my family with the stuff I deal with every day, and she turns around and becomes a rape counselor."
"How dare she?" Rebecca said in jest.
Elliot grinned at her. "You're damned right!" After a brief silence, he said, "I wonder if that's how my dad felt when I joined the department?"
Rebecca felt her heart skip a beat. The abuse hadn't started for Elliot until his dad had been fired from the NYPD for not testifying before the Knapp Commission against some of his fellow officers who had been suspected of corruption. She didn't want to shut him down if he was ready to talk, but she didn't want to push him in that direction if he wasn't. Elliot had so many issues that sometimes it was hard to tell when he was really dealing with something and when he was just using it as a smokescreen to avoid something he didn't want to talk about.
Finally, she just asked him, "Elliot, do you really want to talk about your dad today?"
He chewed on his bottom lip a moment then shook his head. "No."
"Ok, then, we won't. You mentioned earlier that you had a panic attack when you found out about the HIV exposure?" She made it a question, this time seeking confirmation that he remembered that part of the conversation.
"Yeah, what about it?"
"And that you're scared all the time?"
"Yeah . . . "
"Well, it's been less than forty-eight hours, so those feelings are completely normal, but have you been using that self-talk I suggested?"
He stared at her a moment and then shook his head, bowing it in shame. "It makes me feel stupid to be talking to myself."
"You still need to give it a chance, Elliot, it really will help. Now, what are you supposed to say when you feel afraid?"
"It's over. I'm safe now." He repeated it from rote, with no meaning or emotion at all.
"Well, that was convincing!" Rebecca replied sarcastically.
"Well, it's hard to be convincing when you don't really feel it!" Elliot snapped back.
"How do you feel? Scared?" she challenged him.
"Yes!"
"Angry?"
"Yeah."
"Ashamed?"
"Yes."
"Like the bastard who hurt you deserves to die a slow, painful, humiliating death?"
"Hell yes!"
"In other words, like a victim?"
"Yes!"
She paused a moment, letting him realize the admission he had made, and then she told him, "Then say it like you would say it to a victim, to someone you are trying to comfort, to someone you care about."
It took a moment for him to surrender, but then he did as she instructed. "It's over," he said softly, in a soothing voice. "I'm safe now."
After a silent pause, she asked, "It feels different that way, doesn't it?"
Reluctantly, he nodded. "It feels like I mean it."
"Good." He hadn't mentioned feeling guilty this time, and, though she was sure it would come up again later, Rebecca decided not to address that minefield today. She looked at her watch and saw that they only had a few minutes before Kathy and the kids returned. Knowing it was too late to explore another topic, she decided to close the session on a friendly note. "I don't suppose I could get a cup of coffee before I head back to Manhattan?"
"Help yourself," Elliot said, gesturing toward the kitchen since, with a busted hand and needing a crutch on account of his broken foot, he couldn't very well get it for her, "and bring me some, too."
"Ever the gracious host," she teased.
"Hey, I'm an invalid," he replied with a chagrined look on his face. As Rebecca walked toward the kitchen, he called across the room, "Doc?"
"Yeah?"
"I really am proud of Maureen."
She smiled and nodded. "I know you are. You should tell her that."
A few minutes later, she returned with two steaming mugs of coffee. Elliot accepted his with a sheepish look and a quiet 'thank you.' Rebecca nodded and smiled. She hadn't really minded his lack of manners earlier, knowing him well enough to realize that the session had probably drained him to the point where courtesy had been momentarily beyond him, but the fact that he had the presence of mind to recognize the slight and try in some way to correct it was encouraging.
An Ill Wind
"Ok, what have we got?" Don Cragen asked his team, which was considerably smaller than usual out of respect for Elliot's privacy and his request that Olivia not work on his case. Once she had thanked George Huang for bringing her lunch and given the team her notes on the activities connecting the first six victims, Olivia had gone to the upstairs portion of their offices to work on reports for a couple of the cases she had taken over from Munch and Fin. That left just Don, his two detectives, and the FBI profiler to work on the search for Roger DeVane.
"Once Olivia warmed her up, Mrs. Othmer gave me a list of places where she and DeVane used to hang out," Munch said from the seat he had pulled over by the whiteboard they used for posting the details of a case when they were all working together on it. He was using the corner of a desk to hold his files should he need to refer to one of them. "Fin and I have managed to locate about thirty of them, and we have a schedule worked out for visiting them tomorrow. We'll need some help if we want to get it all done in one day, though."
"Take as many people as you need," the captain said. One of his own had been hurt, and finding the attacker was his top priority.
"Is the stakeout at the bank still on?" Munch asked.
"Yeah, at least until Wednesday. Did either of you check into where our victims and the families of the first six girls did their banking?"
"I did," Fin spoke up as he came over to lean against the edge of the desk Munch was sitting beside. "They were all over the city. There's no connection to Alice Richardson."
"So much for that, then," the captain commented. "What else have you got?"
"I have interviews scheduled with the original victims and their parents," Fin said, "and with Muriel Faringo's parents. I'll be contacting Sheila Gardener's mother, a Mrs. Evelyn Fontaine, tomorrow morning. With any luck, I'll be able to see her in the afternoon."
"Ok, that's good," Don said, satisfied with the plans his people had made. "Liv and I called Alphonse, Elliot's old partner, and spoke to him about the case. The truth is, they never really solved it."
"Then how did they manage to put DeVane away?" Munch asked in confusion.
"The short version is that they were spending their day off at the Children's Museum of Manhattan with their families, and Elliot noticed something wrong about a guy," Don explained, knowing it was a waste of time to rehash the entire tale. "He followed him, witnessed him snatching a child, and apprehended him. The child was Muriel Faringo, and her abductor was Roger DeVane. Other evidence connected DeVane to the previous crimes, and the vic's all picked him out of a lineup. Elliot never had a chance, or the need, to figure out the pattern."
"Just once, I should be so lucky," Munch commented.
"I'd rather you were smart," the captain commented, deciding not to mention the consequences Elliot had suffered because of his so-called luck.
"Why do we want what we know we can't have?" Fin asked with a naughty look in Munch's direction.
A withering look from Cragen quelled Munch's response and wiped the smirk from Fin's face.
"What about the other girlfriend?" George Huang spoke up for the first time from where he was standing off to the side of the group. "Annie, not Alice. I have to think she was more involved than she indicated."
"She did mention a friend who had been molested," Munch said thoughtfully.
Snapping his fingers as an idea flew into his head, Cragen said, "Call her for another interview. Find out who the friend was, if there were any similarities to DeVane's original assaults, and whether Annie might have mentioned it to him."
"You might also want to see if she had contact with any of the victims, or was involved in any of the same activities as they were," Huang suggested humbly.
"But, Doc, she's a good ten years older than the vic's," Fin pointed out.
"That doesn't mean she couldn't have been a leader or a fan," the doctor replied calmly. "I know it seems like a long shot, but for him to rehearse with her the way he did, I have to think he wanted her to be a part of the assaults just as she was a part of his sexual fantasies. Look at her."
He pointed to the black and white 8" x 10" glossy of Annelle Othmer's engagement picture that Olivia had acquired from the Times. Although she was in her mid-twenties at the time the photo was taken, she looked barely half her age. "I have a feeling she is the key to everything, and when we find out how DeVane got started, we'll know how to stop him."
Wheeling on Munch, the captain said, "Ask her about all of that, too." Then he snapped his fingers again and said, "On second thought, have Olivia do it. Annie opened up to her the first time; she might be more willing to speak to her again. Besides, that's all connected to the old files, so Liv can still help without getting involved in Elliot's case."
Munch nodded, and with a relieved sigh, made a note to himself to speak to Olivia about re-interviewing Mrs. Othmer.
"I wonder what her husband would say about their sex life now," he said. "If she still gets off on the memories of what she did with DeVane then you can bet they aren't just kissing, cuddling, and doing things quietly."
The captain nodded. "Good point. Find out."
Munch grimaced in distaste, but nodded.
Jotting something down in his own notebook, Fin said, "I'll ask the families and the earlier victims if they remember being at Mac's Tavern any time before the attacks . . . "
"Remember, it was called Lenny's back then," Munch interrupted.
"Right," Fin made a note of it. "And I'll ask them whether they remember Annie O'Keefe being involved in any of their extracurricular activities."
"Good," Cragen said, "looks like we still have a lot of ground to cover. With any luck, we'll find something useful." Looking to Huang, he asked, "So, where are we on a profile?"
Huang stepped forward now, aware that he was taking center stage as he had done many times before. These sessions were always a group effort, but as the resident expert, he was expected to know anything the others didn't about their guy's profile. He had actually come to enjoy being on the spot in his years working with the Special Victims Unit because they didn't underestimate him the way his colleagues had done in the past. He knew his mild manners, calm demeanor, and short stature belied the stringent FBI training he was required to undergo, but the squad had come to respect him for his insight, compassion, and integrity, even when he disagreed with them. He was secretly proud to realize that none of them would have wanted to work this particular case without him.
"I read everything John faxed me last night," he said, "and I scanned the transcripts of the interview with Mrs. Othmer. I think it is safe to say that Fin is right that DeVane has changed, but the fundamental profile is still the same."
"Wait a minute. How can that be?" Munch interjected, and he started ticking off the differences on his fingers. "Twelve years ago, all the victims walked away," he began. "They were all pre-teen girls, eleven or twelve years old, alone, and DeVane took them from public places, he didn't invade their homes. Not to mention the fact that he didn't leave taunting notes for the police."
"Now, he's killed two adult female vic's," Fin chimed in, "in their own homes, and with Sheila Gardener, he assaulted and murdered her husband. Then he left a note for Elliot. How can you say the profile is the same?"
"Just take a look. Nothing has changed about the attacks on the females." The doctor went over to the whiteboard, took a marker, drew a t-chart, and started writing down all the important facts. He put the similarities in all capital letters and the differences in lowercase.
1993 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - PRESENT
pre-teen girls - - - - - - - - - - - adult women & men
STALKED VIC'S - - - - - - - - - -STALKED VIC'S
abduction - - - - - - - - - - - - - home invasion
BONDAGE - - - - - - - - - - - - - BONDAGE
RAPE - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - RAPE
BEATING - - - - - - - - - - - - - -BEATING
CARELESSNESS- - - - - - - - - -CARELESSNESS
vic's survived - - - - - - - - - - - vic's murdered
no note - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -note for Elliot
"What do you see?" Huang asked once the data were listed on the board. He'd learned years ago that if the detectives felt they had discovered for themselves whatever information was in his profile, they would take it much more seriously.
"He's playing out the same scene over and over," Munch said indicating the facts listed in caps, "but he's more violent and more confident now," he added, putting checks beside 'adult women & men', 'home invasion', and 'vic's murdered'.
"Not just more violent and more confident," Fin said. "He's getting more personal. He's not just violating them, he's violating their entire lives, their homes, their partners . . . "
"Exactly," Huang said as Fin trailed off. "But there's more." He waited a moment for someone else to see it.
Cragen walked over to the board and tapped the line about the note. "It's all about Elliot now, at least everything outside of his little B&D scene. He's still pissed off about being caught, and all this new stuff is directed at the cop who busted him."
"Right," Huang confirmed. "Elliot has become a secondary target for DeVane, but the girls, or women, I should say, are still his main fixation."
"Wait, don't you need a second male vic before you can say that?" Fin interrupted. "I mean, how can we be sure he didn't just kill Ralph Gardner because he was there?"
"Ralph Gardener is the second male victim," Huang said. "DeVane came prepared with the cuffs to restrain him, remember? Just like he did to Elliot."
"So Elliot was the first?" Fin asked in disbelief.
Huang nodded. "DeVane could have gone after Muriel Faringo the day he got out of prison, but he terrorized her first, drove her into a panic until she called on the man who had saved her before. When Elliot got there, DeVane had already prepared a scene for him to find. He was waiting for Elliot, he had lured him there."
"Then why kill Gardener and not Elliot?" Cragen asked, his expression saying more clearly than words how much it distressed him to contemplate what might have been.
"Because it's not personal with Gardener," George replied confidently. "He was disposable. The thrill in his fantasy is imagining Elliot, the do-gooder, the meddling cop who put him in jail, reliving the attack with every new victim that rolls in."
"But why is he going after adult victims now?" Munch asked.
"Well, he didn't give you much to go on, but DeVane has already told you why," the psychiatrist said, and when he got three puzzled looks, he flipped through his notes and read aloud. "In his statement, Elliot says DeVane told him 'he had to finish what he started'."
"That explains Muriel Faringo," Fin said, "but what about Sheila and Ralph Gardener?"
"In his letter, DeVane says, 'Sheila knows you can't protect her. I haven't decided yet if the rest will find out,'" Huang read.
"We thought that was referring to his previous victims," Munch said, the disgust with his oversight apparent in his tone as he shuffled through some papers on his desk and pulled out the page of victims' names and their activities Olivia had made, "but he didn't attack Sheila in 1993."
He looked up, horrified at his sudden realization. "'The rest' are the names we don't have yet, the ones he didn't get to before Elliot busted him. He hasn't started going after adult women. Sheila was one of the little girls he was stalking then, she just happens to have grown up while he was away."
"That bastard has had a hit-list all along," Fin said in quiet surprise, "and we have no idea how many names are on it."
Huang nodded. "And despite what he says about being undecided, he already knows he's going after every one of them. He can't help himself."
"But when someone has a thing for little girls, he's always going to have a thing for little girls," Fin argued. "It doesn't go away."
"No, it doesn't," Huang agreed, "and I suspect that sooner or later, if we don't stop him, he will go back to terrorizing children. Maybe between adult attacks, maybe after he finishes with the names on his list, but I don't see him moving on to adults so much as expanding his repertoire to include them."
"Why do you say that?" Munch asked.
"It's in the letter," George replied, reading aloud to them, "'. . . thanks to your meddling, I have found a whole new world of dark needs and desires.' Guys who molest children choose children because they are easy to control. They don't feel they could handle an adult as easily. DeVane got a rush from what he did to Elliot and Muriel Faringo. It made him feel powerful."
"And power is the ultimate aphrodisiac," Munch added. "He'll continue torturing children for the entertainment value, but he'll go after adults, too, because that's what really gets him off now. Being able to have his way with them makes him feel like a god. He'll want that feeling again."
Huang nodded. "It's a possibility," he agreed, "quite likely, I think, but we'll only know for sure if this case plays out for months or years."
"And we sure as hell don't want that," Fin commented.
The group fell quiet, until finally, the captain voiced their next concern. "When people grow up, they move away from home. What if he can't locate one of his intended victims?"
Huang became thoughtful, sorting through the ideas that came to mind until he was sure he had ordered them from most to least likely.
"DeVane was methodical and organized from the beginning," he said. "That hasn't really changed. I suspect he will just go on to the next name on his list."
"And when he finishes with his list?" Cragen pushed.
"He'll probably look for an acceptable substitute," George said. "It might be a relative of the victim, if he can find one, or a child involved in the same activities that she was then. It could be another adult the age that she would be now, maybe one who was in the same Girl Scout troop or whatever, or it could be a child living in her old home or neighborhood."
"In other words, there's no telling who he might go after," Munch said in that tone that implied 'Fat lot of good this has done!'
"She will fit his pattern," Huang stressed, "but given what we know of his pattern, that covers any female in the city from ten to thirteen or from twenty-two to twenty-five who is or was involved in any extracurricular activities similar to the ones on Olivia's list."
"Like I said," Munch reiterated, "we have no way of knowing."
"What about Elliot?" Fin inquired. "Do you think DeVane will go after him again? What about his wife and kids? Liv said they have moved back home to take care of him for a while."
Huang shook his head. "As long as DeVane feels he is making Elliot suffer by attacking others, he will leave him alone. The pleasure is in making him feel responsible for the suffering of innocents, not in hurting him directly."
"Then going after his family would really be hitting him where he lives," Fin pointed out. "And I know his twins are just the right age for DeVane."
"I don't think he'd risk it," Huang argued. "Part of the thrill is knowing his victims never see it coming. DeVane has to believe that Elliot's family is going to be more vigilant than ever now, especially with the continued attacks."
"Does that mean we have to tell Elliot what's happening in order to keep him safe?" Cragen asked. "Because I really don't think he's ready to hear that DeVane is attacking more women and blaming it on him."
"No, I don't think he needs to know yet," George told the relieved captain. "Right now, DeVane is operating in a fantasy world where Elliot is aware of his every move but is impotent to stop him. Later, when he realizes that Elliot isn't playing along, he'll send a dire message, trying to goad him into participating. That's when Elliot will need to be informed, and that's when he and his family will need protection."
"Is that what you know, or is that just an educated guess?" Don pressed.
The FBI profiler looked very seriously at the policeman and said, "I can't tell you anything with absolute certainty, Captain, but Elliot is a friend of mine, and I promise you, if I sincerely thought he or his family were in any danger, I would be demanding that NYPD provide them all with protection."
"All right then," Cragen said wrapping things up, "Is there anything else?"
When no one jumped into the breach, he said, "Munch, Fin, you have your assignments. If you have done everything you can do for the day, go home, and I'll see you here at nine tomorrow."
"Home," John said longingly as he wandered back to his desk to make a few last notes. "There's no place like home."
Trailing behind him, Fin laughed and said, "I've been eating and sleeping here so much I was beginning to think this place was home."
Don watched the two men fondly for a moment, and then shook his head. Turing to Huang, he said, "Doc, since you're convinced that Annie is the key to all of this, do you think you could plan to be in the interview with Olivia? None of us know what you're looking for, so we probably don't know what questions to ask."
Huang nodded. "I was hoping you'd suggest that," he said. "I'll speak to her before I leave and ask her to give me a call when she has it scheduled." He stared at the floor a moment, and then looked up at Cragen again. "I, uh, I know you have a soft spot for Elliot, Captain, sort of a mentor-student relationship, if you will? I imagine this has been very difficult for you."
"Trying to shrink me?" Cragen asked, a smile on his face to indicate that he was not offended.
"No," George said returning the smile, "just being a concerned friend. The strain is showing."
Don nodded and sighed. "I appreciate it," he said, "but all I really need right now is about twelve hours in the sack."
"Ok," the younger man said as he gathered his things, "you know where to find me if you change your mind."
"I do, and thanks," the captain replied. "Oh, and when you finish with Olivia, tell her I said she needs to go home. We'll all do better police work if we start fresh tomorrow."
George nodded. "I'll try to convince her of that, but who's going to convince you?"
Don shook his head as he moved toward his office. "I have some reports to review, and then I'm heading home. I'm out of here within the hour." Including Munch, Fin, and Olivia who was out of sight upstairs in his glance, he added, "If there is anyone who hasn't already left by then, I'm taking them with me."
Author's note: I debated posting this tonight. Like most of you, I have been crazy busy, and I haven't written a word all week. I can't believe it has been over month since I started posting. I am trying to only post a chapter when I have completed a chapter, that way, if I hit a serious writer's block, I have several weeks worth of story before I run out; but Santa told me you have all been very good this year, so I decided to give you a present and post another chapter. Please return the favor and review. I promise I have been good! 0:-) I even made pizza for dinner last night, and today I prepared our family Christmas dinner!
Please note the dates. In the story it is only November 20th. Christmas is more than a month away.