Riverside Park
Tennis Courts at W 96th Street
30 June

Travis Cutter had been missing an hour before the case became Benson's responsibility. The situation began when Travis, white male, four years and two months old, dark brown hair and eyes, wearing denim shorts, a red T-shirt with a black dinosaur design, and black sneakers, wandered from where his parents were playing tennis the RCTA courts in Riverside Park. The boy exited through the only gate without anyone noticing him then vanished.

"I swear, I'd just turned to look at Travis. I'd just looked at him. He was there!"

Amanda Cutter, late twenties and wearing tennis-white shorts and a sleeveless shirt, kept repeating that same refrain. Her husband, Daniel Cutter, held her close and tried to smile at Olivia.

"Mandy's right. Travis always sits by the fence while we play. We bring a bucket of toys to keep him occupied. We've done this every week since April. He's very good at occupying himself; he knows if he plays quietly during our game, we'll visit the dinosaurs at the playground.."

Olivia used her professional smile…

…the one that looks like I care, but doesn't promise anything… I've handled too many of these to guarantee success or even hope….

…as she assured them that everything was being done to find their son.

That much is true… we've got the area cordoned off—of course, the Two-Four did that before we got here… we're interviewing anyone who might have been in the area when Travis disappeared... dozens of people are searching the park, the riverfront, and the area between here and West End Avenue….

What changed Travis Cutter's disappearance from a lost child case to a possible stranger abduction was information from Mike Jurgens, a teenager who was waiting for the next court to open up. He repeated his story to Tutuola.

"I was about to turn into the parking lot and I saw a little kid talking with this guy on the river path."

Fin put his pen to his notepad. "Tell me what the kid looked like."

"A boy—I don't know how old, but he was wearing a red shirt and he had brown hair. I only saw him from the back."

"What about the man he was talking to?"

"Not as old as my dad—he's forty-two. Maybe late thirties? He was kinda fat and his hair was all wet like he'd been sweating. He was wearing a NY Yankees t-shirt—the one with the logo in camo, and jeans. He was staring at the kid like he was funny-looking—y'know, like the kid had a weird face or something that made him puke to look at it."

"Did you see the boy go with him?"

"No. I just saw them talking when I drove by. They were over there."

Jurgens pointed past the far end of the parking lot, where the loop from the Henry Hudson Parkway ran closest to the paved path along the Hudson River.

"I didn't pay much attention. Guess I should have."

"Don't worry about it," Fin told him, "you're doing fine now. I got some photos to look at; see if any of them is the man you saw with Travis."

Jurgens nodded. Fin handed him the stack of "local perverts" that a sector car had just brought him; the printout included photos. Jurgens recoiled from touching the stack.

"These guys do little kids? That's sick!"

"We're just making sure Travis isn't with any of these men. You see him?"

Jurgens shuffled through the photos. One caught his attention; he pulled it from the stack and handed it to Tutuola.

"Might be this one. If it isn't him, it looks a lot like him."

Fin noted the name then thanked the young man for his help before heading to Benson. She was by the grandstand outside the tennis court fence talking with Tierney and White.

"May have something," Fin announced. "Jurgens says this looks like the man who was talking with Travis last time anyone saw him."

Olivia took the paper and read it. "Brian Boylston, thirty-seven, address on W 105th Street, paroled from Attica three months ago—"

She looked up at Fin. "—for sodomy with a thirteen-year-old cousin."

"Big age difference there," noted Fin. "If he likes them near-puberty, little kids might not do it for him."

"On the other hand," Tammy said, "when opportunity walks up and says 'Hi,' Boylston might not say, 'No, not my type."

Olivia handed the paper to Fred.

"Fred, you and Tammy check out Boylston. If he smells funny to you, take him back to the house and see why he smells. Fin, if you'll take those sheets and go over where Sergeant Kyle is, he's got another group of walkers and bikers rounded up for us. Don't let word of Boylston get back to the Cutters."

None of the detectives took offense at her reminder of something so basic. The Cutters were holding together very well for people suffering through the worst fear of a parent; no one wanted to tip them into panic. All three left quickly, leaving Benson alone with her concerns.

Almost two hours since Travis disappeared and a witness puts him in the company of a pedophile... damn—I could use better news than that....

Upstairs Lounge
SVU Squadroom
30 June

Her long-sleeved cotton sweater was tossed over the back of the sofa. That left Hanah Sofarelli in a sleeveless pink shell and an ankle-length tan skirt that mostly hid the fact that she was standing in hu gul jaseh, her weight on her left leg, her right shoulder facing her husband as she glared at him.

One of the ways Hanah shows she's angry... she stands in fighting stance while she tells me off....

"That's no reason to be mad at me!" she told him.

Had his wife been at home, at the Hudson Street do jang, at church or anywhere else, Couch would have greeted her with a grin and a big hug.

But she's here... she's here because Judith asked her to translate for her... partner or not, she had no call putting my wife in harm's way... and Hanah should have said "No" when Judith asked.…

"It is, too."

Hanah tilted her head and regarded her husband with raised eyebrows, challenging him to explain.

I shouldn't have to explain the obvious....

"Judith had no call asking you to translate for her."

"So, you don't trust me?" his wife shot back. "Is that what you're saying? I walk into situations like this every day with only a clipboard and a can of pepper spray and you don't say a word. This time, I'm with a sergeant, three officers, and your partner and you freak. I guess you don't think much of their abilities—huh?"

"Judith should have cleared this with me first. Partners don't blindside partners."

And yes, Judith's abilities do bother me... she isn't sleeping; she keeps zoning out... but if I tell you that, you'll start worrying about my safety....

"I decide what's too dangerous for me," Hanah shot back. "Not you and not your partner—got it?"

She snatched her sweater from the sofa and started down the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

His wife did not answer, but a glance at the clock told him her destination.

She's heading to Hudson Street for the last class and to work out... the way she's stomping down those stairs, we're going to need a new bag....

He left the railing to check the one-way glass of the Children's Interview Room, where Hanah and Judith had parked the three Eshan children after they brought them in. Atiqullah, a small-framed ten-year-old in khakis and a white polo shirt, was paging through a picture book, his lips forming the English words as he read. His sisters in their long blue skirts and blouses, their hair and faces screened from Couch's sight by white scarves, worked on a farmyard jigsaw puzzle at the round table in the center of the room.

They look no worse for wear... before she blew up at me, Hanah said the couple who came to get them left when they saw the uniforms and Judith... but what if they hadn't? What if the mosque had sent more people? Or if the neighbors had supported them? Attitude and a badge can carry you only so far... a shield won't stop a bullet or an angry mob... no way should Judith have risked my wife like that—no way....

"Things okay?"

The question came from Munch, who climbed the last two stairs to join him after asking it.

"Fine," Couch told him, "just fine."

"So I see. I also saw your wife march past me like a tsunami through Indonesia. She looked just fine, too."

Couch tensed.

I'm not interested in discussing my problems with you, John… let it lie….

John jerked his head in the direction of the squadroom.

"Otten left with your wife; she told Chloe she'll be right back. Sgt. Neville says Imam Talal Rahmani is downstairs waiting to pick up Eshan's children. Elliot says to release them if you've got Eshan's permission."

Couch blew out the breath he'd been holding, very grateful that John had veered away from personal matters.

"I got it. Eshan said he'll go to Rahmani's place as soon as Asma is released from the ER."

"Are we transporting him?" John asked. "Making sure no one tracks where he and his family will be tonight? Will they be available at trial if we need them?"

Couch nodded again. "I talked to Rahmani. His group will shelter the Eshans until we're finished with them then settle them in a new city."

"Good. You get the kids; I'll go close the doors by the holding tank so their uncle won't see them when they come downstairs."

After Munch left, Couch explained to the three children where they were going and how their father and sister would join them later; he then led shepherded them down the stairs. They clustered close to him at the bottom so Couch paused to give them time to look around.

Judith and Hanah brought them up the elevator then straight to the Children's room... they need a chance to look around to make sense of what's happening to them....

Atiqullah's attention was caught by the flat screens on each desk; Couch answered his technical questions as best he could. Ghazal, four years older than her brother and almost a foot taller, spun about slowly, taking in everything before she fixed her gaze on Officer Taylor talking with Chloe by the coffee machine.

"Everyone works in this one room?" she asked Couch. "There are no curtains separating the women from the men?"

Hanah would call this a teachable moment….

"How would we work together if half of us must hide behind a screen?"

She didn't answer, but the way she looked again at Taylor and Chloe told Couch she was thinking hard about the matter.

Ghoty, a year younger than her brother, drifted near to the one-way glass of Interview One. When Sofarelli came to get her, she pointed to the man sitting slumped in a chair.

"Is he a criminal?" she asked.

"No, he is a suspect. We're trying to find out if he committed a crime. If he didn't, we will let him go home."

The young girl kept her attention on the man in the chair. Her scarf hid her expression from Couch, but her voice shook when she asked her next question.

"Madar and Amoo —are they criminals?"

Yes, your mother and uncle are criminals, but I'll soften the answer a little….

"They were taking your sister to someplace where she would be hurt. That's a crime here."

"Madar said she had no choice."

Couch squatted down next to her. Had she been American, he would have patted her shoulder, but physical comfort from a man not her close relative was foreign to Ghoty. As it was, she tipped her head down to avoid eye contact.

She's only trusting me because I speak her language and her father told her she should when he called… so it's not real trust, only obedience….

"Things here are different from your home town," he told her, "Your father wants to follow the rules here, your mother, and your uncle the customs they learned in Ghazni. I think your father is right because, under our rules, Asma doesn't get hurt."

"Will I see Madar soon?"

"Your father will arrange that. We have to go now."

It's a cop-out answer, but I don't have the heart to say "No" or "Yes, but not until her trial"….

Imam Rahmani had brought his wife, a matronly woman in a floral cotton skirt and long-sleeved shirt, and his two children, a girl close to Ghoty's age and a boy Ghazal's age. Both children wore jeans and plain t-shirts. Couch made the introductions them made sure that an unmarked car would be watching the Rahmanis' residence to keep the Eshans safe from reprisals. By the time he had finished, all five children were chatting together as though long-time friends and Mrs. Rahmani had Ghoty's hand clasped firmly in hers.

Couch watched them depart through the main entrance and remembered.

One step outside the wire fence surrounding the company compound and I was on Saudi soil; I had to follow their rules, their customs… at first, it was a shock to see my mother cover herself to go visit local friends, to see her walk behind Mr. Watkins if he and his wife went with her, to have someone chastise me for talking to a female friend in public, but we had to follow Saudi customs on Saudi soil… just like the Eshans have to follow our customs her and not their local ones… it's the inability to adapt that makes trouble… like it was for me at Dharan, the burden is on them to change, not us….

He said a silent prayer that Admad Eshan and his children would weather the changes facing them before returning to his own job of getting confessions from Saira and Nurzai Eshan.

Outside Interview One
30 June

Stabler and Tierney, both in shirtsleeves, both frowning slightly, stared through the one-way glass at the suspect in Travis Cutter's disappearance. Fred had brought Brian Boylston in; Tammy had stayed at the park to assist Olivia with the canvassing for witnesses.

From the corner of his eye, Stabler saw Couch lead the Eshan children from the squadroom.

Glad that one's going well... although Hanah didn't look too happy when she left... guess Couch will get the couch tonight....

His snort of laughter caught Fred's attention.

"What?"

Stabler waved off the question.

"Nothing. You getting the same vibe I'm getting from Boylston?"

Inside, Brian Boylston stood facing them, his hands gripping the chair back as though afraid he'd float away without it. His gaze darted from window to file cabinets to the door and his breath came so fast, he was almost panting. Although he had showered and changed before Tierney and White picked him up, he had sweat through his T-shirt and his hair was damp and disarrayed from his nervous way of running his fingers through it.

"He's scared, but not of us," Tierney said.

"Yeah, that's what I got. Someone else has him spooked. Did his story change any from when you picked him up?"

"No," Fred replied. "He told us he was walking down the river path like he does every evening and he didn't talk to anyone, especially not a small boy. You heard him repeat that."

"Yeah," Stabler repeated, "over and over and it doesn't make sense. If Boylston thinks we picked him up only for being a paroled pedophile, he should be angry, not scared shitless. If he did talk to Travis, or did worse, he'd be faking anger, pretending to be pissed at us."

He placed his finger on the glass right over Boylston's heart.

"Something's not right here."

Riverside Park
Near the Cherry Walk tunnel under the Henry Hudson Parkway
30 June

A uniform found him five blocks north of the tennis courts where the retaining wall runs along the loop leading to the parking lots. Drivers exiting from the parkway would have had trouble spotting him, their attention focused on negotiating the curve and blocking the light from the setting sun, not the brief sight of red and denim blue crumpled twenty feet from the edge of the pavement.

"The M.E. been called?" Benson asked.

It was an obvious question, but the brain latches on to the obvious as a protection from unwanted reality…

… and finding Travis Cutter dead is a reality no one wanted….

Jim Kyle, the sergeant from the Two-Four nodded.

"And CSU," he said. "As soon as Hacker reported finding the body."

Benson stepped forward and examined the scene.

Twice my height of hewed stone retaining wall, straight down to ground littered with rock, not much ground cover—just enough to obscure a small boy….

She knelt by the body.

Looks like a fall to me… no signs of injuries inconsistent with a fall from a height… no marks visible around his wrists or throat… the M.E. will tell for certain… if it weren't for the bit of blood above his right ear, that tiny abrasion from the rock he landed on, I'd say he was asleep….

Olivia heard a car pull up behind her. A few seconds later, Tammy knelt beside her.

"Jeez," she said, "exactly what we didn't want to happen. Damn."

She repeated Olivia's visual exam of the scene.

"He must have been walking the top of the wall and fell. Seems like a little kid thing to do."

Olivia nodded. "No parent with him to say it was dangerous. I don't see how he could have resisted."

"You okay?" Tammy asked, her voice too low for anyone else to hear.

"No," Olivia answered, "but I'll be fine. Can you take charge here? I'm going to notify the parents."

Tammy drew in a breath. Olivia spoke before she could say anything.

"I owe you one for thinking about offering to take my place."

Tammy stood up and dusted off her knees.

"It's the crappiest part of the job. I'll hold the fort and call you when the M.E. and CSU arrive. Want me to contact Elliot and Cragen?"

SVU Squadroom
30 June

The ring of his cellphone brought Elliot back to his desk. He answered then listened to Olivia's recitation of the facts.

"Shit… I'm sorry it turned out this way… yeah, these things happen… you call Cap? Still voicemail? Someone must have locked them in and thrown away the key… No, Couch and Judith are doing one Eshan at a time; John's observing… send Tammy back as soon as you can and Fin when you're finished with him… something's not right with Boylston and I want to find it out before we cut him loose…."

The flat tone of Olivia's side of the conversation, obvious even through his cell phone, told him how hard the boy's death had hit her. He could picture her riding the front seat of an RMP back to the parents, her lips compressed until they cramped, holding her disappointment and sorrow inside so she could do her job.

All that effort… all the hopes and prayers… shit….

"You okay?" he asked.

She brushed off his concern with a "I'll call in before I leave here" then she hung up. The abruptness of her answer set his teeth on edge.

Yeah, you got a rough case… no need to dump on me….

Stabler rolled his head and listened to the cartilage crackle and pop.

Not that things are easy here… working my own cases and playing C.O…. if I wanted to run things, I'd have taken the sergeant's exam….

He returned to where Fred was observing Boylston and gave him the bad news. Fred's face and shoulders sagged as the weight of perceived failure settled on him. Elliot clasped his upper arm in a gesture of comradely comfort then he pointed at Boylston.

"We tried. Now, let's find out what he knows about why Travis ran off."

He let Fred work this round solo so he could observe. Tierney wasted no time on pleasantries. He slammed the door shut behind him, an action that made the already jumpy suspect bolt upright in his chair. Fred then stood by that chair and leaned over until his face was even with Boylston's, their noses only inches apart.

"We found Travis Cutter dead."

Boylston scooted his chair back so fast he nearly tipped over.

"No—no, that's not true. You're lying. This is just another one of their tricks. Even if you aren't lying, I didn't do nothing to that kid. I didn't talk to him, I didn't touch him. I didn't talk to the other kids and I didn't talk to this one. You're just trying to get me sent back again, but I'm not—I didn't—no way!"

Fred stayed right in his face.

"No way what, Brian?"

Boylston leaned back and licked his lips nervously.

"No way I talked to that kid. I'm not supposed to talk to kids; that's part of my parole agreement—no kids, not even family. I talk to one, they send me back."

Fred straightened up, giving Boylston some space while staying well inside his personal perimeter. Elliot smiled in approval of the tactic.

Ease up, but only a little… if Boylston is hung up on the word "talk", try another one….

"Okay, you didn't talk to him. Did you see Travis Cutter near the tennis courts today?"

Boylston ran both hands through his hair. Their trembling was obvious even from Elliot's position.

"If you're going to trap me for just seeing a kid, I can't win. There's kids everywhere."

Elliot heard Tierney's sigh through the speaker.

"We're not trying to trap you, Brian. We're trying find out how Travis Cutter died. If you had nothing to do with him or his death, then you're safe—I promise."

Elliot held his breath while Boylston stared at Tierney, weighing his offer.

"Okay," he said. "I saw the kid. He was alive when I saw him."

"What was he doing?"

"He was walking along the path all by himself, just like the other ones."

"Did you say anything to him?"

Boylston slammed his fist against the table.

"I keep telling you—I didn't talk to him. I'm not allowed to talk to him. I go back if I talk to him. I don't care what you try—I'm not talking to no kids!"

Tierney held his hands up, open in a gesture of surrender.

"I believe you. But, did Travis say anything to you?"

Boylston wet his lips again. His gaze flicked from Tierney to the window and back again. Elliot held his breath as he urged Boylston to give it up.

"The kid—yeah, he talked to me, but I didn't answer. It's not talking if I don't say something back—it's isn't!"

Fred grabbed a chair, turned it around and straddled it.

Friendly position that puts the interrogator on the suspect's level... engages his trust... the friendliness rewards one admission and solicits another.... it sounded so hokey in the classroom, but it does work....

"Now we're getting somewhere. Okay, Brian, I know you didn't talk to Travis so tell me—what did he say to you?"

Fred's show of support brought a sigh of relief from his suspect. He ran one hand through his hair, without trembling this time, and answered without further hesitation.

"The kid asked if I knew where the dinosaurs were. He wanted to see them."

"And you said…nothing?"

"Damn right I said nothing. I just side-stepped the little fucker and got the hell out of there. You guys keep trying to trick me but you're wasting your time."

"My apologies," Tierney said. "What happened next?"

"I guess the kid went looking for dinosaurs. I don't know. Like I said, I got the hell out of there."

Fred nodded. On his side of the glass, Elliot matched the motion.

Great... you got him talking... now, nail down why he didn't report the kid missing....

"On your way back from your walk, did you see any signs that police were searching the park for a missing child?"

"Yeah, I saw them beating the bushes, but so what? It's bad enough you're trying to trap me—I'm not walking up to some cop and telling him some kid tried to make me violate parole. There's laws against making me incriminate myself."

Elliot entered the interview room. He caught Fred's gaze and, with a raised eyebrow and a tip of his head, asked permission to take over, permission Fred gave by stepping back from the suspect.

"Mr. Boylston," Elliot said, knowing the formal address would signal a change in topic and authority, "we aren't trying to send you back to Attica. As long as you behave, I don't care what you do."

That's a lie... I care what every cousin-raping pervert does... but Travis Cutter is my concern now....

He sat down across from Boylston and clasped his hands in front of him.

"We only want to know how and why Travis Cutter died, but…"

Elliot curved his lips up just slightly so he would appear to be on the man's side.

"…but, if someone is trying to trap you, we need to know who that person is."

Boylston stiffened. His narrowed eyes searched Elliot's face for signs of insincerity. Elliot held still under the pressure, but behind his pleasant expression, he was watching Boylston with the same intensity.

Finally, after his hands made one more trip through his hair, he answered.

"Simma Woolridge. She's the caseworker my cousin has. She's trying to trap me and send me back. She hates me."

Hallway outside the SVU squadroom
30 June

Elliot asked Officer Taylor to watch Boylston then he and Fred called John, Judith, and Couch together for a quick conference. There was some jostling as they gathered around him; Couch avoided Judith, Judith avoided both him and John, Couch edged away from John as they both tried to be on the same side of Fred. Elliot crossed his arms and glared at the lot of them until they found a place and stood still in it.

I thought we learned to line up in kindergarten….

"Any on you ever hear anything about CPS using children in a sting against convicted pedophiles?"

Three expressions of disbelief answered his question.

Shit... just what we need tonight… another case… better call Cap—or his voicemail... must be something damned important to keep him incommunicado for entire shift....

Chambers Tavern
30 June

Its name came from the street outside, not from the thick oak wainscoting and leather upholstery nor the judges, lawyers, and politicos drinking inside. Cragen glanced around to see if he recognized anyone, but Felix bustled him to a corner booth so fast that the people blurred passed him. The others in their party, Deputy Chief Francis Brynes, Captain Heidi Petit, and Inspector John Ward slid into the booth on either side of him and Inspector Lofslici.

"Bristol," Lofslici called out, "a bottle of your best Irish and water!"

The waiter, a tall, bone-thin man with eyebrows like white bat-wings, swooped away to fill the order.

"Felix, I've seen you drink," Heidi said. "You wouldn't know good Irish if it hit you with a shillelagh."

"Doesn't matter," Lofslici responded. "We're celebrating and the Captains Endowment Fund is paying. After all, every NYPD labor organization has spent years trying to get the city to listen to reason—"

"Twenty-eight months is not 'years,'" she objected.

"It's more than months, less than decades. Anyway, I'm on a roll, so shut up and listen—where was I?"

Frannie Byrnes pointed a finger at Felix.

"You were saying that First Deputy Commissioner J. Edwards Tillman, of the Mayor's Office of Labor Relations, has been a thorn in all our paws for the last eight of those twenty-eight months."

"Diplomatically put, Frannie," Ward told him. "That asshole—don't shake your head at me, Heidi—you've called him worse. That asshole has personally obstructed every concrete proposal we've made—"

"—after sounding so conciliatory and pro-cop when he joined the Mayor's team," Heidi joined in. "No one could figure out why the change—"

"—until Donnie gets drafted to the cause," Felix stated. "Without breaking a sweat, he hands us the solution to our problem and the logjam breaks, the doors swing open, and a new contract is in our grasp!"

Cragen felt his cheeks warm at the fulsome praise.

"All I did," he said, "was point out that Tillman had to be upset by what cops were saying about him on the contract discussion website."

"You mean ," Ward noted, "'the forum for NYPD officers of all ranks to express their concern over the lack of meaningful employment agreements with the City of New York.'"

Everyone laughed at the official description of what actually was an unmoderated spewfest of insults, curses, and vituperation that expressed everyone's frustration at the lack of contracts. J. Edwards Tillman, a.k.a. Jackass Backwards Killhim, was the most frequent target of their wrath.

"Like I said," Cragen continued, "it was the personal attacks, especially after his granddaughter did an on-line search to show her classmates how important her grandfather was and the first hits were from that site."

All four had the decency to wince at the thought of Amanda Tillman, age eight, innocently showing her friends what the citizens of New York City thought of her grandpa. Cragen shook his head at the obviousness of Tillman's reason for blocking negotiations.

The bargaining teams were so bent on getting their desired results that they forgot they were dealing with real people with real feelings… once we closed that site to outsiders—especially young children—and got some of the posters to apologize to Tillman, his ruffled feathers calmed down and he started working with us again….

Bristol returned to place a footed, tulip-shaped glass before each of the celebrants. In front of Lofslici, he also set a bottle of Midleton Very Rare Irish Whiskey and a brushed aluminum seltzer siphon. Felix splashed whiskey into four of the glasses then added water to it from the siphon before filing Cragen's glass from the siphon.

He raised his glass, a move followed by the other three.

"To Captain Donald Cragen, solver of problems, soother of angry negotiators, and the reason we'll have a settled contract for our people!"

A wide smile brightened Don's face at the toast and at the good will directed at him.

Feels good…can't say I mind, but I owe most of this to Andrew Beale…he's the one who was sitting one table over from Tillman and his wife at Breslau… he overheard Tillman swearing he'd never give us anything after what Amanda saw on-line… he gave me the info in the hope it would be useful… boy, was it useful… it's great to have a friend like Andrew….