A/N: I'm changing a canonical SVU character to suit my story. Lake will travel better without the insomnia, the rare books, the Vidocq Society, his magical affinity for Manhattan, and all the other dreck with which the writers saddled him.
As usual, any deviation between actual police or legal procedure and those depicted in this story are for the purpose of entertainment. This is not a textbook.
Office of Captain Donald Cragen
Manhattan SVU
15 July
On shift-changes days, Cragen worked the double shift with whichever of his shifts was on for the double. Today, that meant sixteen hours with Brewster's detectives.
It also means I get to watch Munch and Otten prepare for tomorrow's surveillance of Bennett Park....
As he worked on his reports, Cragen kept track of the two detectives. He listened via the interview room speaker while they ran through the proposed operation with Larsen and Reinholdt. He observed their movements around the squadroom as they collated info from the cases, and made phone calls to confirm the arrangements for equipment and personnel. He also noted the time they left together for a late lunch.
And I noted the time Munch came back... an hour ago and alone... still no sign of Otten... it's time I asked what's going on....
Cragen left his office and entered the interview room. Munch was at the laptop, his attention switching between its screen and a folder open beside it.
"Where are you on tomorrow's operation?"
At the sound of his captain's voice, Munch looked up from his work.
"I just got the names of the uniforms who will be working the Bennett Park area tomorrow afternoon shift. Sergeant Hendricks will have them contact Otten before their shift so she can fill them in on the current situation."
"And Detective Otten is working on ...?"
"She's interviewing some of the witnesses, seeing if they remember anything else. A few more details about this guy would be helpful."
Cragen observed Munch closely as he replied.
I did say they could work independently if it were case-related... but Munch's gaze is too steady, and his answer feels rehearsed....
He walked to the desk phone on the table beside Munch and picked up its receiver. Munch's gaze shifted between Cragen's face and the phone buttons as Cragen punched in a number.
Yes, Munch—I'm checking out your story... there's no reason to trust you on this....
Two rings later, Otten's voice said her name in his ear.
"Cragen," he replied. "Where are you and what are you doing?"
He noticed Munch tensing ever so slightly and Otten's hesitation before she told him that she was talking to Abu Saeed, a limo driver who was at the Saudi embassy when Adnan Baghdadi disappeared.
Cragen considered her answer.
Could be true... except someone named Saeed would have an accent her partner can fake... she may be at Sofarelli's place helping him cram for tomorrow's exam... a good deed, but completely forbidden by the discipline orders she signed....
He placed his hand over the receiver's mouthpiece.
"Get your cell phone and call Couch," he told Munch. "Put it on speaker."
Munch's jaw dropped open. He gaped at Cragen, his disbelief at the order halting his obedience.
"Do it now!"
While Munch scrambled in his jacket pocket for his cell, Cragen told Otten to hand her phone to Abu Saeed.
"Yes, sir," she said, "just a minute."
He heard her voice faintly as though she were holding the phone far from her face. Her only clear words were "Captain Cragen."
Either it's an introduction or she's coaching Couch... for both their sakes, it had better be the first one....
Next to him, Munch had his cell in-hand. It rang twice before a female voice answered through the speaker.
"Detective Sofarelli's phone."
"Hanan? It's John Munch. Is Couch available?"
"Sure. I'll go get him."
Through the desk phone receiver, Cragen heard his rank and name spoken in a Middle Eastern accent. In the background were faint horn honks and other street noises.
"Mr. Saeed, I'm calling to verify my detective's location. Where are you and she right now?"
"Yes, yes—we are in my limo on Broad Street. I wait here for a customer in a meeting—very important meeting. Detective Otten—she asks about the day His Excellency's son was taken. Very sad that day."
Through the speaker on Munch's phone, he also heard Couch's voice.
"Hey, John. Whatcha need?"
Munch held his phone out for Cragen to take. Cragen waved it away to concentrate on his own call.
"Thank you, Mr. Saeed. I appreciate your help. Could I speak to Detective Otten?"
"You are most very welcome."
Otten's voice came through the receiver next. Cragen told her to swing by the Thirteenth Precinct to pick up the case files on Daniel Munka.
"I've cleared it with her lieutenant. Sergeant Hastings will have them for you at the desk."
Cragen replaced the receiver without waiting for her reply. He ignored Munch's indignant frown and left the interview room.
I'll let Munch explain to Couch the reason for his call... if he wants to admit I don't trust him or Otten... it's fine with me... because it's true....
"The Crib"
Sixteenth Precinct
16 July
When Otten returned with the Munka files, they went through that case's info and her notes in the interview room. John kept everything strictly business, ignoring his desire to ask about Fontana.
That speaker on the wall behind me crackles faintly when switched on... and Cragen switched it on the second she entered this room... so, instead of Joe, we talk about Daniel Munka... he left a Cub Scout meeting at his church to visit the little boy's room and never returned... his body was found the next morning in the bed of a utility truck parked near Ninth and West 206th....
Munka's case notes prompted Otten to mark one more sighting of the brown-haired man on the white board.
The church's secretary told Detective Atwood she saw a Caucasian man in jeans and a blue wool shirt near the back entrance earlier that evening... she thought he was Dumpster-diving and shooed him away....
Otten also spent a good part of the evening on her cell phone.
Judging from the way Otten kept leaving the room to talk, those calls had to be from other family members... news of Joe's firing must have hit the grapevine... that's just what she needs right now—another reason for them to chew her out....
Cragen left at eleven past midnight, but John decided to err on the side of caution and hold his tongue until he and Otten were in the crib. He slid his cell phone under his pillow, its alarm feature set to vibrate at 6:30 a.m., then he stretched out and waited for Otten to finish her nightly routine.
I am so damned sick of this room... scratchy sheets, pillow stuffed with extruded chemical foam, the funk of pressure, stress, and sleep-deprived cops filling the air... not to mention the growing hole in my finances... I did not budget for laundry services, take-out for every meal, the cost of restocking the food currently spoiling in my fridge nor for the late fees on the bills I should have mailed this week... all this extra expense is somewhat canceled out by the alcohol not drunk by me at McMulllen's, but that goes on my tab... it won't help this month's spending....
The thought of the ten C-notes hidden in the back of his squadroom locker tugged at his brain, but only for a moment.
Those go back to Fontana... even if he doesn't seem to need them and I certainly could put them to good use... alimony is the difference between 'love them and leave them' and 'marry them and watch them leave me'... I should have stuck with the first method; it was definitely easier on the pocketbook....
A wedge of fluorescent light cut through the gloom when the door to the women's locker room opened and Otten entered. She was wearing a navy tank top and gray cotton gym shorts; her hair was plaited behind her ears in two pigtails. John shook off his melancholy, and rolled over on his side to face Otten as she settled into her cot.
"I'm fairly certain Cragen hasn't bugged this place," he told her, "so we should be able to talk freely. What's going on with Joe? Did the brass really give him the boot?"
He listened as Otten expanded on what she told him that afternoon.
"When Green and I got to Joe's place, he was on the phone with Balzano."
"First Deputy Commissioner Balzano? Didn't he preside over Joe's hearing?"
"Yeah. Joe called him because they belong to the same club; he figured he could get the real story behind the hearing from him."
"And?"
"Balzano told him he was pushing retirement age anyway and, since he had enough outside income, being fired wouldn't be a hardship on him. Joe then chewed him out in both English and Italian before hanging up on him."
Way to burn your bridges, Fontana....
"And then?"
"Well, Ed and I listened to Joe rant for a while—he's completely justified, as far as I'm concerned. If there was a rule or reg followed, I'm having trouble finding it."
"Is Joe appealing? Strike that question—I already know you find him appealing."
Otten scowled at his joke.
"Joe said no one is taking his shield without a fight. He was about to leave for a meeting with his DEA rep to discuss how to proceed. That's why Green and I didn't spend much time at his place."
"Good for him. You tell him I'll help out in any way I can."
"I'll do that. Sooner or later, he's going to run out of steam and realize what really happened today. You standing behind him on this will mean a lot."
John rolled onto his back, giving his elbow a rest from supporting his weight.
Great... I've impressed the NBC Peacock....
A long pause followed her words. John was about to ask if something was wrong when Otten broke the silence.
"Connie called me. She said you spoke up for Joe and you told her the truth about his review. You got her rethinking her opinion about him. Thanks."
John smiled to himself.
I sidestepped that land mine....
"You're welcome," he replied. "Speaking of saying things, you should know that Cragen had me call Couch to verify you really were talking to Abu Saeed and not your partner with a fake accent."
Otten winced so blatantly that her pigtails bobbed on her shoulders.
"I was hoping things would get back to normal when we finish this case. Doesn't look like much chance of that."
John stared at the slat of the cot above him.
No, the way things are falling apart... not much chance at all....
Manhattan SVU Squadroom
16 July
Munch's day started too early when his cell rang at 6:03 a.m. The call was from Sam McDowell, the Vitiligo Association's web master.
Seven click-throughs already to Shanice's KidzBFriendz page... one from Australia, one from Taiwan, another from the Czech Republic, four from this country—Kansas City—the one in Kansas, Redwood City, California... and two from our area....
He thanked McDowell for the info.
Although another twenty-seven minutes of sleep and I'd be more grateful....
Otten sat up the moment he poked her shoulder.
"We've got two IP addresses," he told her, "one in Union City, one in Manhattan."
She stared at him with bleary eyes.
"Are judges signing search warrants at this hour?"
"I doubt it."
"Then why are we up?"
"Early birds get the worms, Otten."
"Worms aren't kosher."
With that, she got up and headed for the women's locker room.
"First one dressed orders breakfast," John called after her.
'First one dressed' turned out to be him, so John phoned in the order. By the time Otten arrived in the squadroom, he had made coffee.
"Breakfast this fine morning will be the local deli's smoked fish platter with bagels, juice and coffee—all guaranteed to contain no worms. I also called Casey; she and her staff have our search warrants as top priority. She even pulled in one of the DA investigators to run the names associated with those IP addresses. That way, we can concentrate on Bennett Park."
Otten sank into her desk chair and yawned until her jaw crackled.
"Great. We take pictures at the park and compare them to DMV photos of people who looked at Shanice's web page. We get a match and voilà! We have our serial killer."
She raised her index finger as though about to make a point. John spoke quickly to cut her off.
"Don't say 'It can't be this easy'. If you say it, it won't be. Don't say it; don't even think it."
Otten folded her finger back into her fist.
"Okay, no jinxing the investigation—just coffee, breakfast, and finding who the new guys are."
The first of the two transferring detectives arrived at seven-twenty, before any of the rest of the shift had come in. He was not quite six foot with dark skin and dark hair. His leather jacket concealed his shoulder holster, and his desk and personal items were contained inside a banker's box.
Both John and Otten greeted him with a unison "Lake?"
"Yep," Chester Lake replied. "That's me"
"What are you doing on this side of the Bridge?" John asked.
Lake set his box on the floor by Munch's desk before sitting in his side chair.
"Complaining. Captain Rakemore called me into her office Wednesday and told me the Chief of Ds had reassigned me at the request of Captain Cragen. She called it a 'fay-tah complee'."
"But there's a wait list for SVU," Otten said. "I should know; I sat on it long enough. What about those people and what about your cases?"
"They're all SOL," Lake told her, "just like me. Pardon me for repeating it, but I didn't ask for this transfer."
"I understand," John told him. "From your point of view, it sucks. From my point of view, however...."
He leaned over to fish Lake's coffee mug from his box. "I'm so happy to see an experienced sex crimes detective that your first cup is on me. I'll explain everything after you get with Cragen and Benson."
Olivia was the next to arrive, bustling in at 7:25 as though she were late. After a quick greeting to her colleagues and a gesture towards Lake asking for patience, she put her bag in her locker.
"My apologies," she called over her shoulder. "I was hoping to get here before you. Let's head into the captain's office and get your paperwork going.
Lake leaned closer to John.
"If I refuse," he asked in a whisper, "can I go back home?"
Both detectives shook their heads. Lake gave an exaggerated sigh before slowly getting to his feet to follow Olivia into Cragen's office.
Fin arrived ten minutes later, followed closely by Elliot. Both griped about Friday morning traffic, complaints John missed due to another phone call from Sam McDowell.
"Two more click-throughs," he announced to Otten. "One in Tribeca, one from Staten Island."
Elliot paused between their desks, his dash for morning coffee halted by the unfamiliar term.
"Click-throughs?"
"It's from our fake web page," Otten told him. "People who click on the bait photo at the Vitiligo site and get sent to the KidzBFriendzpage are called 'click-throughs.' John thinks one of them will be our serial killer."
Elliot gave John a long, hard stare.
"Maybe," he said to the room at-large, "we should stop betting on John's absence excuses, and start guessing which investigative technique he'll pull out next."
Even Otten snickered at the suggestion. John glared at Elliot.
"I prefer to use my brain when catching criminals, not my fists."
Elliot grinned at him.
"Right, John. I'm sure Lt. Cutler will agree on that."
Elliot turned for the coffee pot while John mentally thanked him for the low blow.
That punch was 'a thing of beauty' as Couch would tell you if he weren't off taking the sergeant's exam... you just watch, Stabler... watch while I close nineteen child murders....
At five minutes to eight, Captain Cragen, dressed in his uniform, showed up. He was accompanied by a woman in her late thirties. Although no one looked at her directly, everyone, from Olivia still in Cragen's office with Lake, to Fin and Elliot at the coffee pot, checked her out.
John catalogued her attributes.
Five feet eight inches, slender and athletic, short brown hair well-coiffed, slacks, blouse, and jacket expensive, but suited to the street... that box in her arms tells me she's moving in....
A hiss from Otten drew his attention from the woman.
"Think that's Tullia?" she asked John.
He put an elbow on his desk and leaned toward Otten's desk.
"We decided Tullia," he whispered back, "was Don's pet name for Andrew Beale. If that's Beale, then he's had some very expensive surgery."
A glare from Cragen in his direction ended his speculation. The same glare, swept over the squadroom, gathered everyone to the captain.
"Good morning," he greeted them, ignoring the weak response from his detectives. "Let me introduce our new team members. I think most of you know Chester Lake, Brooklyn SVU. Shelly was good enough to let me steal one of her best."
Munch peered at Cragen while everyone else greeted Lake.
"Shelly'? Since when did you start using Captain Rakemore's first name in an official setting? And, since I know 'Shelly' swears like a longshoreman, wonder what she's saying about you to her people right now?
Cragen next indicated the woman who had come in with him.
"This is Donna Loudoun. She worked Special Frauds and, before that, Narcotics."
John checked his coworkers' responses.
Fin's not impressed... if I were talking to him, I'd ask what he knows about her... Elliot's giving her a grin—you dog, I thought you were working things out with Kathy... Otten is looking her over carefully—smart, since we'll be using her today... Olivia doesn't look too happy... that's her 'making the best of it' smile... she asked me about a friend who wanted to transfer here... I think I told her Cragen would make sure we only got the best... I'm not sure that's true anymore....
"Lake, Loudoun," Cragen announced, "you'll be working with Munch and Otten on their stakeout today. They'll show you the ropes. Any questions?"
The silence that followed served as their answer.
"Munch, you get the warrants lined up with Novak?"
John nodded.
"Good. I'll be at One P.P. until noon. Call me if you need me."
With that, Cragen left. Lake and Loudoun looked to their new coworkers for an explanation for his abruptness; the shrugs they received in reply did not appear to reassure them. Olivia beckoned Loudoun into Cragen's office for her paperwork while the rest of the unit got to work. Lake picked up his banker's box then asked John which of the two vacant desks was which.
"The farthest one was Fred's," John told him. "Tammy's was behind me."
Lake nodded. He then placed his box on Tammy's desk and began to unload his possessions.
Nice touch, Lake... you know it's going to be awkward seeing new people sitting there... taking Tammy's desk makes it harder to picture her there instead of you... in a way, it hurts more, but it also helps us move past the grief of change....
"Hey, Judith," Elliot called from his desk. "You seen the Ledger this morning? Check out their website."
She started typing on her keyboard. Out of curiosity, John called the site up on his computer.
Lead story... 'Cop Who Killed Kid Cop-killer Canned'... ouch....
"Lovely," Otten groused. "The brass didn't waste any time getting that out to the press."
"The article lists four complaints of force in the past fourteen months," Elliot noted. "Makes firing Fontana look like the right decision."
"Only if you're not on the job," Fin chimed in. "We know he should have been suspended for a couple months then gotten placed on dismissal probation. Fontana could file against it—force the brass to reexamine their decision, or he could get the courts involved. At his age and with his history, it won't be easy."
Otten nodded. "They could drag it out until Joe's past retirement age or runs out of money."
Snorts of derision greeted her comment.
"Okay," she replied, "he's got money, but not enough to outspend the city of New York."
"Is Fontana going to fight this?" Elliot asked.
Olivia and Loudoun emerged from Cragen's office. While Otten told Elliot "Damn right he is," John stood up.
"Liv, is everyone cleared for duty?"
"Yes," she replied, "they're all yours."
John pointed at the interview room.
"Then let's get started."
The next hour was spent bringing Lake and Loudoun up to speed on the serial killer case. Lake took in the background information quickly and asked intelligent questions.
No learning curve with him... but Don poaching him from Brooklyn SVU will bite us down the road.... they won't be as eager to help out and our next get-together won't be as jovial....
Donna Loudoun sat on the opposite side of the table from Lake and Munch.
Arms crossed on her chest... head tipped to the right... she's skeptical of my theory....
While John briefed the two detectives, Otten verified their surveillance van and equipment requisitions for the operation. As soon as Otten joined them in the interview room, John addressed the objectives of the operation.
"We'll be looking for people who are at the playground for no obvious reason. We'll take pictures, and then follow them to their homes. If a suspect's address matches one of the addresses obtained from the Internet Service Providers, then we'll get search and arrest warrants for that suspect."
I hope... I'll know for certain when Casey calls to tell me the judge signed off on this...."
He handed Lake and Loudoun copies of the sketches of the brown-haired man from the case files.
"We're concentrating on men who resemble this guy, but don't ignore anyone obviously waiting for a child to show up—"
"—and who shows disappointment when she doesn't," Otten added.
"That, too. Our target has been searching for this kid for more than a year. I expect him to be there before noon today—in place and ready to pounce the second Shanice comes out to play."
"Sounds easy," Lake said. "How are you deploying us?"
"Otten and I are known in the area," John replied. "I live across from the park and Otten's parents live a block away so we'll take the unmarked cars and stick you with the park. CSU will work the surveillance van and handle the photo-taking; contact them if you see someone fitting the profile. If you get a live one, Otten and I will follow him on foot or by car and note the address he goes to. I'll decide who follows based on the means of transport."
"Foot patrols know we're working the park?" Loudoun asked.
"They've been advised. We'll use them if we end up with more suspects than we can track. You two can move around, eat lunch, pretend to read the paper—whatever makes you blend in."
Lake looked at Loudoun. "Sounds like an easy first day."
Loudoun frowned.
"Aren't you screwed if this guy doesn't check the Vitiligo web site? What if he isn't looking for this girl? What if he gave up already?"
All three SVU detectives spoke up at once, but Otten and Lake ceded the floor to John.
"He searched fifteen months before locating his Down Syndrome victim and almost a year for the albino one. This isn't a hobby to him; it's an obsession and he will use every tool available to find the victim who completes his collection."
"It's more like he's jonesing for his next fix," Lake said, "and not like him choosing his next mark. Think of Narcotics, not Fraud."
Loudoun grinned at the allusion to her background.
"So, serial killers are the SVU equivalent of addicts," she said. "I can handle that."
John caught Lake's attention and raised an eyebrow.
I hope you're going to explain the facts of SVU to her....
Lake nodded.
Good... she needs to know ASAP....
Chambers of Judge Lena Petrovsky
New York County Supreme Court
100 Centre Street
16 July
Casey Novak stood before the wide oak desk and tried not to feel like a pupil called to the principal's office.
I know judge's chambers are designed to be impressive... judges like to cow attorneys and feed their judicial egos....
"So, Novak," the older woman greeted Casey, "what is it this time?"
Casey Novak ignored the dismissive words and handed over the warrant requests.
She has to read them anyway... it's faster to let her skim it before answering her questions... there will be plenty of them... Petrovsky can barely handle e-mail... this stuff is 'way beyond her....
The farther Petrovsky paged into Casey's requests, the deeper her puzzlement grew. Finally, she stacked the papers neatly before her and tapped them with her forefinger.
"You want one for every Internet provider whose customers look at a kid's web page?"
"No," Casey corrected her. "I need one only for each person who goes to a specific Bfriendz page via its link on the Vitiligo Foundation's web site. We're interested in one path and one path only. Anyone reaching that KidzBFriendz page by accident or via a search for words or phrases used on that page is beyond the scope of this request."
Petrovsky considered her answer for several seconds longer than Casey thought necessary.
Why couldn't a younger judge be on warrant duty this morning? Why do I always get stuck with the Luddites?
"Do you have sufficient cause," Petrovsky asked, "to believe that a person who reaches this web page using that one method will match the description of the person of interest in this investigation?"
"Yes, your Honor. We're also verifying the people who live at the addresses obtained through these warrants against DMV records, and against a list of visitors to the park playground mentioned on the web page. Only those persons who view the web page, match one of the physical descriptions of possible suspects from the nineteen open cases, and who also visit the park will be questioned by police."
"And the rest of the information obtained will be destroyed?"
"Of course, your Honor."
Petrovsky reached for her pen.
"I liked it better," she told Casey, "when the police stuck to cameras and direct eyeball surveillance. This Internet stuff—it's too much like science fiction for my taste."
Casey opened her mouth to assure the judge. Petrovsky spoke first.
"I know—it's bad enough the law can't keep up with technology. It's worse when judges refuse to."
She signed the four warrants, one for each of the IP addresses given to Casey by Munch.
"Will there be more of these?"
"Detective Munch estimates no more than ten; that's based on the average daily hits on the Vitiligo Association's web site."
Petrovsky capped her pen and cradled it in her hand as though comforted by its simple technology.
"I'll give him some wiggle room on that estimate. I don't trust your average daily hits any more than l like the current Top Forty hits."
The judge smiled to show she had cracked a joke. Casey forced a polite laugh.
Stay on her good side... it's hard enough to find it....
"Good one, your Honor and thank you for these."
"You're welcome, Casey. Next time, bring me something simple."
How about a request for an arrest warrant for a serial killer? If Munch is right, you should have one forthwith....