An Ill Wind
Chapter Eleven
Moving Forward
OOO
16th Precinct
Special Victims Unit
8:19 A.M., November 21, 2005
Olivia paused a moment before dialing the phone. This early morning call was probably about to ruin someone's whole week. Sometimes, she hated having to do it, but in this case, she relished her power. Punching in the number, she put a smile on her face and knew it would carry in her voice.
"May I please speak to Mrs. Annelle Othmer?" she inquired pleasantly. "My name is Olivia Benson, and it is regarding a breakfast meeting we had recently."
There was a brief silence, and then the cultured voice of the butler came on the line again. "I'm sorry, but Madame is indisposed at the moment. Perhaps you should try back later."
"It will really only take a few minutes," Olivia insisted, still pleasantly. "I can just drop by this evening, say, around eight o'clock, if that is convenient?"
The silence was longer this time, and then Annie O'Keefe Othmer came on the line. "Miss Benson, dear, how are you? Well, I hope?" she said effusively, and Olivia knew the moment the butler was out of earshot because the woman suddenly hissed at her, "And what the hell do you want? I told you everything I remembered, and I really can't have you disturbing me at home like this. If my husband were to find out . . . "
"Mrs. Othmer, he won't," Olivia promised smoothly, "as long as you continue to cooperate with us." She relished having one of the high and mighty over a barrel for once, and she was trying hard not to rub it in, but not too hard, she had to admit.
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience," she apologized, hoping it sounded sincere, "but we have some more questions for you. If you could just come in sometime today, it would really help us . . . Around ten? That's fine, and thank you for your cooperation."
The Stabler Residence
72-12 Castleside Street
Glen Oaks, Queens
8:35 A.M., November 21, 2005
"Elliot?" Kathy called down the hall after seeing the kids off to school. "Hon, if you don't get ready soon, we're going to be late."
She listened for an answer, and, getting none, she went to the guest room to see what was taking so long.
"El?"
Met with silence yet again, she opened the door and peeked in. Her husband was still in his pajamas, unshaven, sitting on the bed staring vacantly at the clothes hanging in the closet.
"El?" she asked softly once more, wondering if he was about to have another panic attack. The orthopedic consultation about his injured hand would be the first time he had been out of the house since she had brought him home from the hospital, and she was sure it would be stressful.
He looked over his shoulder at her with his soulful blue eyes and said, "I don't know what to wear."
Kathy had to take a deep breath to suppress the laugh, the sigh, and the 'Oh, for goodness sake,' that all wanted to come tumbling out of her at once. She took a moment to remind herself that her husband had been raped, as if she could have forgotten, and that such a violation would challenge his macho self-image more than anything else that was ever likely to happen to him. It was remarkable that he could decide on his own what he wanted for breakfast, let alone dress himself. As she contemplated how lost and confused he must have felt, she had to swallow back a sob and close her eyes tight against threatening tears. Then, with another deep breath, Kathy reminded herself that Elliot was counting on her to take care of him for as long as he needed her, even after she had walked out on him once.
She didn't dare screw this up.
Moving into the room, she sat in the chair across from him and said compassionately, "Elliot, you need to let me know when you are having problems."
"I should be able to dress myself," he told her flatly and turned to stare at the closet again.
"Yeah, you should, and in time you will."
"I did it yesterday," he told the clothes.
"You didn't have anywhere to go then," she reminded him. The room was silent for a little while, and when he didn't seem to have any reply, she continued. "I talked to Rebecca and to Maureen about how to help you."
He gave her a sharp look, and she hastened to assure him, "They didn't betray any confidences, but they both said the same thing. Between what . . . was done to you . . . and the medication you're on, you're going to be depressed for a while, you're going to feel paralyzed some times, and simple things are going to be difficult now and then. I'm here to help you, El, but I can't help you if you don't let me know you need it."
"I don't want to be a burden," he said.
"Elliot, look at me," she commanded gently and then waited until he complied.
"You're not a burden, El," she said when his gaze finally met hers. "You're my husband, and I'm here because I want to be the one who helps you through this. Will you let me do that?"
For a moment, she could see the tears swimming in his eyes, and then he blinked them back and sniffled. "I'm trying," he said, "but I'm not very good at asking for help."
She smiled and reached out cautiously. When he didn't pull back, she caressed his cheek. "I know that," she said.
They were both silent for a while, and then she said thoughtfully, "Would it be ok if I asked you how you're doing three or four times a day, just to remind you that that's what I'm here for?"
He considered the offer. There had been times in their marriage when that simple question had been a minefield for them, but if he could keep his answers short and to the point, it would be all right.
"I promise I won't push you to talk about things you don't want to discuss with me," she said. "I just want to help you to remember to ask for help when you need it."
He wondered how she knew exactly what to say, but he just answered, "Ok."
"Can I give you some advice now?"
He nodded.
"You don't have time to shower or shave," she told him. "Just wash up quick and let me pick out some clothes for you."
"I should shave," he said listlessly.
Kathy shook her head. "A day's growth of beard isn't my favorite look, but it isn't bad on you. It will be ok."
He nodded once more, and slowly stood up. She rose from her seat, and gave him a peck on the cheek. While they were close, she whispered to him, "It will get better, I promise."
He nodded yet again and headed off to the bathroom. Almost as an afterthought, he paused and looked over his shoulder again.
"Kathy?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, Baby."
An Ill Wind
"Benson, I thought you and the doc were supposed to be re-interviewing Mrs. Othmer about now," the captain said as he walked by Olivia's desk.
"We're just letting her stew a while," Olivia replied getting up from her chair.
"And why's that?" Don asked as he continued walking.
"It's Huang's idea," Liv explained as she stood and walked with her captain in the direction of the interview rooms. "She's trying to keep her relationship with DeVane a secret from her husband, so the longer we keep her here, the more worried she's gonna get that he'll find out. When she's about to lose it, we'll go in, I play the bad cop this time, and Huang will give her someone to confide in."
"Do you really think this scheme is gonna work again?" Cragen asked the psychiatrist doubtfully as he and Olivia entered the observation room.
George nodded, never looking away from his subject. "If we give her enough time to build her anxiety, it will. She'll talk to anybody who seems sympathetic just to relieve the pressure."
"Ok, as long as you don't stall too long and she walks out."
Olivia shook her head. "She won't," she said. "The last thing she wants is to have us coming back to her house."
Cragen looked to the psychiatrist, and he concurred with a nod.
"All right, then, let's see what happens," Don said and turned to look into the interview room.
As they had been talking, Annie had been pacing. She would stop periodically to read the posters on the wall, fiddle with her jewelry, stare out the window, or look at her reflection in the one-way glass to adjust her clothing. Her motions had been growing steadily more agitated for the twenty minutes George had been sitting in the observation area watching her, and suddenly, she strode across the room and pounded on the mirrored glass with the flat of her hand.
"For God's sake! What is taking you people so long?" she shrieked.
Smiling at the captain and Olivia, George spoke in a placid tone that belied the excitement in his eyes. "She's ready now."
Cragen stood aside to let them pass out of the observation room and tried not to shake his head in wonder. On a professional level, he thought very highly of George Huang and valued his opinions as a profiler. On a personal level, however, he found it a little disturbing how much pleasure the man seemed to derive from spending time with psychos, sociopaths, and violent perverted weirdoes of every stripe.
Shrugging, he decided there was something to be said for enjoying one's work and turned his attention toward the interview which was just beginning.
St. Vincent's Hospital, Manhattan
10:38 A.M., November 21, 2005
"Doctor Wells will be with you shortly," the receptionist, whose name badge read Tibet, said as she led Elliot and Kathy into a consultation room a few minutes after their scheduled appointment. "It's funny, she usually doesn't run late, but today she did, and it has worked out almost perfectly."
Kathy and Elliot just nodded and smiled at the young woman as they took their seats. Once Tibet was out of the room, Kathy placed her hand over her husband's good one, which was resting on the knee of his favorite, well worn, blue jeans. He immediately turned his hand to hold onto hers and gripped it tight. She looked at him and smiled asking, "How are you doing?"
"Ok," he said automatically, but when she continued looking at him, he was truthful. "I wish we could have put this off a while. The x-rays weren't fun, and the way I look right now, I just don't feel good about being out in public."
She had known by his expression that having to remove the splint and place his injured hand flat on the x-ray table had been quite painful, and she could understand him being self-conscious about two black eyes, a swollen nose, and a split lip, but she also knew that he was probably particularly sensitive because of what else had been done to him.
Wanting to reassure him, she said, "Your hand will probably hurt a lot less after the surgery, once everything is back in its proper place, and I know it feels like a big deal to you, but as far as your appearance goes, people will just think you've been in an accident, El."
He nodded and said, "I know, but it doesn't help."
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and they lapsed into silence again, each of them drawing comfort from the presence of the other. A few moments later, the doorknob turned, and they looked up . . . and up . . . and up at a thin woman in a white lab coat and a simple, emerald green dress, who, quite literally, ducked into the room.
Her hair, which she wore in a heavy, tidy braid draped over one shoulder, was the orangey-red of a new penny with generous darker lowlights to soften the color, and she had a surprisingly dark tan with freckles scattering every surface of exposed skin. The lab coat must have been specially tailored for her, because the sleeves were long enough, and the dress, which probably would have come almost to mid-calf on most women, fell just above the knees of her slender, shapely legs. She peered down at them over a pair of tortoiseshell reading glasses and a wide, radiant grin graced her slightly horsey face as mischief lit her green eyes.
"I'm six feet, four and a half inches tall," she told them in a twangy accent Elliot couldn't quite place. "Yes, my whole family is tall, and no, I didn't play basketball in school. I ran cross country. Coach wanted me to run sprints and hurdles," she continued. "Unfortunately, I was athletic, but not particularly graceful, and 'til these long arms and legs got movin' that fast, they always got tangled up, and I'd fall." She held out one arm and pointed toward them with the toe of one foot as if there was some doubt about whose long limbs she meant.
Suddenly aware that he had been gaping, Elliot closed his mouth and blushed slightly. Kathy began to apologize for the both of them.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, that was rude of us, wasn't it? It's just, ummm . . . "
"Don't worry about it," the doctor told her with a chuckle as she used the folder she was carrying to bat the apology away like a mosquito. "My birth records say I was twenty-four and a half inches long, and after fifty-one years on this earth standin' head and shoulders above my peers, I'm kinda used to takin' people by surprise."
She crossed the room in two strides and extended her hand to Elliot. "I'm Doctor Theodora Wells," she said, "but most folks call me Teddy. You must be Elliot."
Elliot nodded, still a little dumbstruck but warming to the woman quickly. "Pleased to meet you," he said. "This is my wife, Kathy."
Kathy shook the doctor's hand, and when the introductions were finished, Teddy took a seat across from them, but in front of the desk, not behind it. Opening the folder, she read her notes briefly and then said, "Ok, Elliot, I've seen your x-rays, both the ones from Friday night and today's, and it looks like this will be an easy fix; but before I can be sure, I need some more data. Unfortunately, gettin' that information is gonna be rather uncomfortable for you.
"Now, it's not somethin' I can just skip over," she continued apologetically, "but if I tell you what I need to do, maybe you and I can figure out together the least painful way to get it done, ok?"
"Ok," Elliot agreed, Teddy's confidence and compassion making him readily trust her.
"All right, then, if I say anythin' you don't understand, you stop me, ok?"
When Elliot nodded, she continued. "First I want you to know why I need to do what we're gonna do," she said as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs.
"I am an orthopedic surgeon," she said didactically. "I deal with the musculoskeletal system, that is, joints and bones, as well as muscles, tendons, and ligaments, the entire mechanical apparatus of the human body. It's what I'm trained for, it's what I'm good at, and if that's all that is involved in your case, I can have you patched up in no time."
"Ok, but if there are other problems, what would they be, and what would they mean as far as fixing my hand?" Elliot asked. Kathy, for her part, sat quietly beside her husband, marveling at the way Teddy had put him at ease. No one would have guessed that just an hour ago, choosing clean clothes had been too stressful for him.
"Well, my two biggest concerns are vascular and neural injury," Teddy said. "Doctor Dombrowski's notes didn't indicate anythin' of that nature, but in forty-eight hours, bone shards can shift and do all kinds of harm to the surroundin' nerves if they're not properly stabilized. You haven't been fiddling with that splint, have you?"
"Only for the x-rays," Elliot said earnestly.
Teddy grimaced. "I imagine that was unpleasant."
Elliot nodded. "It hurt more than I expected it to."
"I wish I could tell you this will be better," she said sympathetically, and then continued her explanation of other possible complications. "In addition to the potential neural injuries, a slightly damaged blood vessel might not show any symptoms right away. If there are other injuries, dependin' on their severity, I may have to call in a vascular surgeon, maybe even a neurosurgeon to help me. As far as what that all means to your eventual recovery, well, the possibilities range so far and wide that I hesitate to guess before examinin' you."
Elliot nodded. "So you're saying I could have anything from a complete recovery to a permanent disability, is that right?"
Teddy narrowed her eyes at him, not liking the way he was pushing her to speak in terms she had deliberately avoided. She could tell already that her patient was a tough, headstrong man, and she decided to give him what he wanted, as briefly as possible, so she could move on.
"Yeah, but we're all gonna think positive."
She deliberately left off the word 'right?' or 'ok?' By not asking for his confirmation or agreement, she made it a command and showed him that she was as stubborn and determined as he was and that he better get with the program because she wasn't the doom and gloom type.
Elliot smiled slightly, knowing exactly what she was doing and appreciating her effort on his behalf, even though she was manipulating him. "What exactly do you need to do, then?"
"The splint needs to come off, and then I will visually examine your hand. I'll be lookin' for signs of infection or a hematoma." Teddy frowned. "Do you know what a hematoma is?"
"Yeah. Then what'll you do?"
When Teddy looked doubtful, he recited from what Warner had taught him years ago. "It's a blood clot that forms in a tissue, organ, or body cavity after a blood vessel is broken."
When she looked suitably impressed, he explained, "I've been a detective with the NYPD for twelve years now. I deal with a lot of medical evidence."
"I see," Teddy smiled. "Well, then, I guess we can finish this conversation in doctor-talk, huh?"
"I didn't say I knew that much," Elliot objected, "but I will stop you if I don't understand something."
Nodding, Teddy continued with her explanation. "I'll need to make sure that your fingers are all warm and gettin' the proper blood flow, and I'll do that by pressin' my thumbnail against each of your fingernails and seein' how fast the nail beds go from white to pink. The quicker it happens, the better.
"If that all checks out, I'll ask you to close your eyes so I can use this pinwheel," she pulled a white plastic device consisting of a small handle and a spiky, gear-like wheel out of her pocket. It was still sealed in cellophane for sanitation.
"I'll just roll it up and down each finger a few times, and across your palm and the back of your hand to test the feelin' there. If all of that is ok, then I'll need you to wiggle your fingers."
She heard her patient's slight groan, and said sympathetically, "Yeah, I know, that's the worst part, but once it's over, you'll be done."
It took a little more than fifteen minutes for Elliot to remove the splint and for Teddy to do her tests. Twice, she had to stop for a minute because the pain had been too much for her patientto bear. Everything checked out, and all that was left was for Elliot to wiggle his fingers.
"Ok, you don't have to do this," Teddy said, fluttering her fingers quickly in the air. "I just need to know that the motor nerves, the ones that tell the muscles to move, are functionin' properly. All you have to do is this." She curved each finger toward her palm only slightly.
Elliot nodded, and easily moved his four fingers, then very slowly, and with a grunt of pain, he moved his thumb just the tiniest bit.
"That does it," Teddy told him. "Now, I'm just gonna immobilize it again," she said as she began placing the pneumatic splint on his hand, "and then we'll talk about when to schedule this surgery."
An Ill Wind
"It's about time!" Annelle Othmer snapped when the door banged open and Miss Benson walked in followed by a small Asian man. "You can't just drag people in here on a whim and then leave them sitting all day!"
"Yeah, well, I got busy," Olivia replied offhandedly. "Sit down, Mrs. Othmer."
"Look, Miss Benson, I don't know who you think you are, but I expect to be treated with more respect, especially from a secretary," Annie began, but when she paused for breath, Olivia cut her off.
"That's Detective Benson," she said.
"But yesterday . . . "
"Yesterday, we were playing you, Annie," Olivia said tauntingly as she strolled across the room with her hands on her hips. "I am a senior detective. In fact, I've been with this squad a little longer than Detective Munch, which means I was the one in charge yesterday."
Actually, most of the time when any two of the senior detectives worked together, it was a pretty equal partnership and seniority was only a formality, but for the benefit of suspects and reluctant witnesses, each of them was more than happy to play a subordinate role from time to time. It was really just another version of good cop – bad cop as far as they were concerned.
"He was acting on my orders, not the other way around," Olivia clarified. "Who do you think arranged to have him pulled from the room so you could get comfortable talking to me? Who do you think is in charge of this investigation?"
Olivia took another two steps, and when she was right in the other woman's face she yelled, "Now sit down!"
Annie jumped, startled by the venom in the other woman's voice. Stumbling back, she found the chair and took a seat.
Olivia stalked the room like an agitated cat, pacing with quick strides around the perimeter of small space. "This is Special Agent George Huang from the FBI's Behavioral Science Unit. He has some questions for you. He wants to find out what makes a freak like Roger DeVane tick, and he thinks you might be the local expert on freaks like DeVane. Personally, I would have preferred it if you could have given us a real lead, but if we are lucky, maybe the BS Unit," she emphasized the BS disdainfully, "can help us find him before he attacks another woman."
Huang played his role well, keeping quiet and demure until his office was attacked. "Behavioral profiling is a valuable investigative tool, Detective," he said testily. "It can predict with surprising accuracy all kinds of things about a subject from what kind of car he drives to why he does what he does."
"But we still need evidence to convict him," Olivia shot back. "And I don't need to know his motivation in order to find him. I just need a damned lead."
George sat sulking in the chair across from Annie as Olivia stopped her pacing and leaned against the table beside the woman, her back to the profiler. Folding her arms, she peered down at her subject and said, "Annie, I know you probably think I'm a real bitch for the way I played you, and you know what? I don't care. I'm just trying to get that raping, murdering bastard off the streets."
She lowered her voice to a confidential tone and said, "I do want you to remember this, though. I'm perfectly happy to help you keep your dirty little secrets, as long as you have done nothing illegal. I also have your number on my speed-dial, and until Roger DeVane is in jail, any time I call you, I expect to hear back within the hour. If I don't I am going to show up at your house with a uniformed officer and a patrol car to bring you in for questioning, and I won't leave it for you to explain to your husband. Got it?"
Annie sat quietly for a moment until she realized the detective actually expected a reply. With a nod, she said meekly, "I understand."
Turning and glaring at George, Olivia said, "Come by and talk to me if you get anything useful, like his address."
An Ill Wind
Teddy moved behind the desk and glanced through Elliot's folder for a moment. Looking at him over her glasses, she said, "I see that you are on Combivir. Are you positive for HIV?"
"No," Elliot shook his head and gestured toward his battered face. "The guy who did this to me is, and I asked for post exposure prophylaxis."
"I see. So you just started on it, ummm . . ." she looked back into the folder, "Friday night, is that right?"
"Yes. I take it at seven in the morning and seven in the evening."
She turned, glanced at the calendar on the wall beside her, and when she spoke again, she was obviously thinking aloud more than speaking with Elliot and Kathy. "And the stitches will be in for ten days, so that takes us to the . . . first of December . . . which will have you well into the PEP protocol. I don't anticipate any problems with wound infection, and I don't think Combivir reacts with any of the antibiotics I would prescribe to prevent one from developing, but I will check with the hospital pharmacist today, just to be sure."
Peering over her reading glasses again, Teddy asked, "You said you take it at seven and seven, correct?" When Elliot nodded, she continued her planning. "I hate to mess with that dosing schedule, how do you feel about a five a.m. surgery?"
Elliot looked at her doubtfully and replied, "I think, since you are the one who is going to be doing the cutting, the question is, how do you feel about it?"
Teddy chuckled slightly and replied, "That's an astute observation. Would it comfort you to know that most days I have run three miles, had breakfast, fed the cats, and read the paper by that time?"
Nodding, Elliot said, "Yeah, it impresses me, too."
Teddy grinned, "It shouldn't. Most nights I'm in bed by nine. I have always been an early riser, comes from havin' eight little brothers and sisters to get off to school."
"Wow. Big family," Elliot commented, wondering what Teddy would say next. His detective's instincts told him she was dropping clues and he felt compelled to get all the facts.
Teddy laughed. "Yeah, but would you believe my daddy is still naggin' me about grandchildren? At my age? Hah! I just tell him I have had my fill of raisin' babies and he needs to pester one of my younger siblin's if he wants more ankle-biters runnin' around the place at Christmastime. So far, one of my brothers has had one child, and another has two."
"What about your mother? Does she want to be a grandma again?" Kathy asked.
Teddy dropped her smile. "My mama died when I was a kid."
"I . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
Teddy shrugged. "It's not your fault. It's a perfectly natural question to ask considerin' the information I gave you. So . . . the surgery? Most of my surgical days start early, and I have a regular team I work with; so the whole lot of us are used to gettin' up and at 'em before the rest of the world starts hittin' the snooze button. It's easier to get an OR at odd hours like that."
"Five o'clock would be fine," Elliot said.
Picking up the phone, the doctor dialed an internal number. "Mary, it's Teddy Wells . . . All right, thanks, and you? . . . Good, good. Listen, what are the chances of gettin' an OR at five in the mornin' one day this week? . . . Surgical reduction of a fractured metacarpal . . . Tomorrow? Really? Let me ask my patient . . . "
Covering the receiver and speaking to Elliot, she said, "If we're really gonna do this at five, I'd like to admit you the night before. How do you feel about checkin' in by, say, six this evenin'?"
Elliot looked to Kathy, who shrugged and told him, "The sooner it's done, the better, I would imagine."
He looked to Teddy uncertainly, and when he hesitated, she said, "That's true, but you've got some leeway before it becomes urgent. Today, tomorrow, or Wednesday will be fine, or if the bones remain stable, we might be able to wait until after Thanksgivin'. It's no hurry right now."
Somehow, knowing he could postpone the surgery made him want to get it done as soon as possible. It was as if feeling no pressure to take action immediately freed him to act in his own best interest.
With a small sigh, because big ones were painful to his battered ribs, he said, "Tomorrow's fine. I can be here tonight."
Smiling, Teddy spoke into the phone again. "Tomorrow works, Mary . . . Thanks, you're a peach . . . You, too . . . Bye."
Resting the receiver in the cradle, she glanced at Elliot's file again and then smiled at him and Kathy. "Ok, this is what you need to do for the rest of the day: Go home, relax, enjoy some time with your family, whatever you were gonna do today anyway. If you need your Percodan for pain or any of your other meds, take them. Have a nice, early dinner, but don't over eat and finish it by five o'clock. Then show up here with an overnight bag around six."
"That's it?" Elliot asked, surprised.
"Yep, but make the nurses give you your Combivir on schedule at seven," Teddy advised. "I'll note it on your chart, but sometimes they get busy." Looking at Kathy, she said, "You might want to stick around until then to make sure that happens."
"Oh, I will," Kathy assured her.
"Very good, then," Teddy said, coming around the desk and extending her hand to shake. "I will see you both this evenin', and, with any luck, by this time tomorrow, Elliot, with your hand properly set, you will be in a lot less pain."
After the goodbyes were said, Elliot and Kathy stood looking at each other in surprise for a moment. Then Kathy smiled and said, "Well, she certainly doesn't waste any time, does she?"
"Huh? Oh, no, no she doesn't."
"And you seem to like her all right," Kathy continued.
"Well, she seems to know her business," Elliot replied distractedly as he tried to worm his way into his jacket.
"El, are you all right?" Kathy asked as she helped him drape the coat around his left shoulder.
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" he snapped.
She moved to stand before him and gave him a look that said, 'I'm not going to let you get away with that.' He narrowed his eyes at her defiantly, and she duplicated his expression adding the powerful gesture of resting her hands on her hips. After another stubborn moment, he shrugged and said, "Sorry. I guess I didn't expect her to want to operate so soon."
She folded her arms and stood in place. When he didn't say anything more, she told him, "It's all right to be nervous."
After another hesitation, he nodded, and satisfied for now that he was acknowledging his fears, even if he wasn't exactly dealing with them, she took his hand and they left the hospital together.
XxxTreme Emporium
42nd St. and 11th Ave.
11:02 A.M., November 21, 2005
"Uhhhh, I don't know if I am allowed to tell you anything," the clerk at the XxxTreme Emporium said to Munch and Fin when they showed him the mug shot of Roger DeVane. "C-could you come back when my Mis-, I mean my m-manager is available?"
He was a youngish man, probably in his early thirties. He wore a shiny red spandex t-shirt so tight the dolphin figures dangling from his nipple rings showed through the fabric, and his skin tight, black leather biker shorts closed with a padlock at the waist and above each knee. From where he stood, Munch could see that he stood barefoot on a plush red patch of carpet behind the counter.
"When will he be back?" Munch asked.
"She's in consultation with a client at the moment," the young man said. "It might be, oh, another hour."
With sudden grace, Fin reached out and snagged the chrome chain that ran from an eyebolt in the counter top to the studded leather dog collar around the clerk's neck. Giving a yank, he pulled him forward until he was leaning over the counter.
"Listen to me, you sick little fuck," he snapped in the young man's face. "I don't care what, or who, she's doin', you get her out here now, or we're gonna post a uniformed officer on the sidewalk to question every one of your perverted patrons who has the balls to come in here past a cop at the door. Do you understand me?"
"I-I need to get to the phone," the flabbergasted clerk stammered, and he stumbled back as Fin let him go. He dialed an internal number, and listened for several moments as it rang. Munch and Fin listened intently, too, for a phone to ring somewhere in the shop, but sharing a look, they each knew the other had heard nothing.
"She isn't answering," the man informed them.
"Then try again," Fin ordered.
The clerk glanced uncertainly in Munch's direction, but seeing that he would get no help from the tall man in the dark trench coat, suit, and glasses, he dialed again.
"Y-Yes, Mistress, I know, and I'm sorry," he spoke into the phone while shooting venomous looks at Fin, "but it's the police, and they're being quite insistent . . . Yes, Mistress."
Hanging up the phone, he said, "Mistress will be here momentarily." Stepping back from the counter, he bowed his head and folded his hands in front of him at his waist, adopting a clearly submissive posture.
Fin and Munch shared a smirk and waited quietly for Mistress to arrive. A few seconds later, a tall, stunning, older woman made a powerful impression as she came striding out in impossibly high patent leather heels, a tight, black patent leather corset and matching thong panties, and a garter belt holding up black fishnet stockings. Jet-black hair shimmered as it swayed and swirled around her shoulders, some of it sticking damply to her face as she perspired. Tying a red silk kimono around herself, she ignored the detectives and moved toward her the clerk.
"Jeremy? Are you all right, Darling?"
"Yes, Mistress," he said, and speaking quickly, he apologized and explained. "I'm very sorry, Mistress. I didn't know if I should talk to them, and they threatened to put an officer outside the door if I didn't call for you."
"It's all right, Darling," she said soothingly as she kissed him softly on the temple and caressed him in places most people wouldn't ordinarily touch outside of the bedroom. "You did the right thing."
Turning to Munch and Fin as she kept one hand protectively on her subordinate's person, she said, "Gentlemen, this is a legitimate business, and all of my records are in order. Why have you chosen to harass me today?"
"We ain't harassin' nobody," Fin told her defensively. "We just need to know if either of you have seen this man." He slapped the mug shot of DeVane down on the counter and waited.
The woman studied the photograph for a moment, tracing the contour of DeVane's lips with red-lacquered nail. Shaking her head, she said, "I don't recognize him. Jeremy?"
"Yes, Mistress, I have seen him."
Munch and Fin shared a disgusted look. Why did it have to be so difficult to get such a simple statement?
"What do you want with him?" Mistress asked.
"He's wanted for four rapes and three murders all committed in the past three days," Fin told her.
"And all less than a week after being released on parole from Riker's Island," Munch added.
"What was he in for?" she asked curiously.
"He molested six little girls, and was caught in the act of abducting the seventh," Munch explained.
"Vermin!" Mistress spat and her nostrils flared delicately. "Jeremy, tell them everything you know."
Jeremy stepped forward, but did not move from his submissive pose. Eyes downcast and hands still folded, he said quietly, "He came in Friday night. I'm not sure what time, but it was dark. I thought he might have been high, because his eyes looked strange. He seemed very excited, and he was sweating. He wanted five sets of the chrome-plated handcuffs. When I asked if he was having a party, he gave me a strange look, and said, 'Yeah, you could say that, a farewell party.'"
"He was probably coming down from an adrenaline rush after the first attack," Fin speculated.
"Yeah, and decided he wanted to recreate it, so he needed to buy some equipment," Munch added.
Snapping her fingers, Mistress ordered, "Jeremy, find the receipt." Looking at Munch and Fin, she said, "Even with our clientele, five pairs of cuffs is an unusual purchase. Our receipts are time coded, so we can tell you exactly what time he was here, if that will be any help. If you have an extra copy of his picture, I can fax it to a few of my . . . friends. If he's on the party circuit, they'll know him."
"And what good will that do us?" Fin asked sarcastically.
Folding her arms around her so that they boosted her ample bosom nearly out of the corset, Mistress said, "Believe it or not, Detective, the vast majority of people in the bondage scene, just like in the rest of the population, despise rapists and child molesters. Perhaps we hate them even more than you do because they give us a bad reputation."
"Sorry, but I find it hard to believe that you care about your reputation," Fin replied, using a mocking tone that showed his opinion of Mistress and the people who shared her interests.
"Oh, no apology is necessary, Detective," she responded tauntingly. "I realize you speak not out of malice, but out of ignorance."
She stalked the area behind the display case like a cat, caressing her servant's bottom as she passed him, and came out from behind the counter to speak to the two men. "My friends and I are law-abiding citizens, gentlemen. I haven't even had so much as a parking ticket in the past ten years."
"And what would we find if we went into your private consultation room and interviewed your client?" Munch asked.
"A very excited federal judge with . . . rosy pink cheeks," she told him playfully. "I was demonstrating some new products. No money will change hands unless he chooses to buy something. As I told you before, I am a legitimate businesswoman, not a common whore."
Fin rolled his eyes at the double entendre. Munch smirked as he challenged her, "You want to present yourself as a fine, upstanding model of free enterprise, yet you keep a sex slave. Explain that."
The woman laughed incredulously. "Jeremy is hardly a slave, Detective. I found him at the Port Authority Terminal ten years ago, prostituting himself for drug money. I helped him get clean, sent him to business school. I gave him a life, and in return, he pledged it to me."
"I don't suppose his debt to you had anything to do with that, did it now?" Munch asked, "I mean, between the cost of rehab and college tuition, he must owe you quite a bundle."
"Jeremy, Darling, tell the good detective about the gift I gave you the day before you gave yourself to me, please?"
Jeremy paused in the act of looking up DeVane's receipt and looked over his shoulder with a smile of adoration. "A million dollar trust fund, Mistress, that pays out upon your death or when I leave your service, and the deed to the cottage on Shelter Island."
He blithely went back to his task, and Mistress turned to grin smugly at Munch. "So you see, Detective, the only thing binding Jeremy to me is his will. I happened to make a killing in the stock market, and he benefited from it as much as I did. I still provide him with food, shelter, meaningful work, security for his future, and all of his medical care. In every way that matters, he is freer now than he was when he was on his own."
Quiet as a ghost, Jeremy came to a spot along the counter near them. When his Mistress acknowledged him with a look, he gave her the receipt. Looking at it before she gave it to the police, she frowned and said, "Jeremy, Darling, you've made a mistake. This is only for three pairs of cuffs."
"No, Mistress, there is no mistake, we had only the three pairs in stock."
Fin impatiently snatched the paper out of the woman's hand. "Ten fourteen p.m. Friday. That was about half an hour after the first attack."
"He wanted five pairs," Munch thought aloud and shared a look with his partner that said, 'and so far he's only used one of them.'
"Jeremy?" Mistress asked. "Do you need something?"
The servant had crept silently around the counter to stand just behind his mistress. Somehow, she had known he was there without him making a sound.
"I was just wondering, Mistress, what should I do when he comes back? He said he'd be back when he needed more."
Excitedly the two detectives asked almost in unison, "Did he leave any contact information?"
"No, uh, sirs," Jeremy answered, doing his best to reply to both. "He just said he'd be back in a week or so for the rest."
Munch sighed, and Fin said, "I think it's time we talked to the captain."
Author's note: Here I am, begging for reviews again. This story is on twenty-one alerts lists and nine favorites lists, but I only got two reviews for the last chapter. I can understand you all being busy at the holidays, heaven knows I was, but I hope you will be especially generous this time. I'm sure those of you who have posted your own stories know how much it means to me to hear from the readers, and for those who don't, trust me, getting the reviews (good, bad, constructive, and ugly) is almost as much fun as writing the story.
If you do review, I'd love to know what you think of Teddy and of Cragen's thoughts about Huang. Thanks so much for reading, whether you review or not.
Jo