A/N: Once again, so sorry for the very long delay in updating. I'll try to do better! This was also broken up into 2 parts because it's a really long day.
Enjoy!
John & Emily Eames' House
It had been a while since John left him alone in the kitchen. He would look periodically toward the chair Alex's father had once occupied and bite his bottom lip in thought. In a way, he was glad he was alone, he was used to the solidarity, but a part of him wished he had stayed just for the company. Bobby didn't think that they had any more to say to each other; all the important things were already out in the open.
The sense of desperation that was starting to engulf him was suddenly broken by the ringing of his cell. Hurrying to answer it before it woke the people in the other room; he flipped it open and softly answered, "Goren."
"You awake?"
It was Stabler. Bobby rubbed at his tired eyes and nodded into the phone. "Yeah."
"Are you awake enough to go on a stakeout with me?"
At the mention of work, he sat up straighter in the chair. In a more alert and clearer voice, lacking the tiredness and desperation, he answered, "Uh, yeah…Who? Where?"
"A colleague of yours gave us reason to suspect him."
Bobby immediately knew who he was talking about. The thought of Stone and his possible involvement with Alex's disappearance turned his stomach and spurred his rage. "I'm…not at home. In Queens, Forest Hills."
"Great, I'm in Glen Oaks. Give me the address and I'll be there in twenty."
Bobby quickly gave him the address as he got up from the table and emptied the cup of cold coffee into the sink. After he got off the phone with Stabler, he used the pen and notepad next to the phone to leave a short 'thank you' message for John. Making sure the door locked behind him, he left the house and waited on the small porch for Stabler to arrive.
Less than twenty minutes later, he spotted a dark SUV coming down the street. It slowed to a slow stop in front of him as the window slid down. Stabler was behind the wheel and waved him over.
"Munch has been watching him since five," Stabler told him as soon as he buckled his seat belt. "Have you been to bed yet?"
"Do I look that bad?"
Stabler glanced at him and gave a curt nod, "Yeah. At least you shower."
Bobby laughed a little even though it hurt to do it. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally; he was laughing at a stupid joke while Alex was still missing and possibly being tortured. "Where's your partner?"
"She's hanging with Fin tonight. They're already at Stone's townhouse. Once we get there, we'll be watching the front while they take back." Stabler was quiet and they didn't speak much for the rest of the drive through Queens. It wasn't until they were on the Williamsburg Bridge, crossing into Manhattan, when he told him, "Liv's worried about you being invited."
Bobby was a little surprised to hear that coming from Stabler, and about Benson. She was the one who usually had his back between the two detectives. "What, uh…what'd you think?"
"I'm the one who invited you."
Bobby glanced at Stabler before turning back to watching the city get bigger and bigger. It was a simple statement, and a simple request, but it held loads of meaning. He took the rest of the time it took them to cross the bridge thinking about it before he shifted gears to focus on the job.
Blake Stone's Townhouse
445 W. 23rd Street
Chelsea, Manhattan
Detective Stone lived in a townhouse on the corner of 23rd Street and 10th Avenue. Fin and Benson were stationed on 10th facing North toward 24th and directly on the corner of the alley that went along the back of the townhouses. He and Stabler were on 23rd facing East toward 9th, and they had been there for over an hour.
Bobby was staring out of the windshield at the front door of the townhouse as he told Stabler, "I don't think it's him." He had been trying to fit Stone into the profile had created of the killer and the arrogant detective just didn't, and wouldn't, fit.
"What makes you say that?"
"He's not this smart." Bobby took a hesitant glance at Stabler, the other detective wasn't paying any attention to him, before continuing, "He's...unorganized, has no patience, and he's an overall coward. In a heated moment he has the balls, but this...its way too, clever. Stone isn't clever."
"I agree."
Bobby turned to look at Stabler who was looking at him, having gotten his full attention. He didn't expect him to agree, and it surprised yet thrilled him.
"I got that from him too. Stone's impulsive and has a quick temper--much quicker than mine," Stabler added jokingly. "I do think that he might've killed the FBI guy though."
"Yeah, that fits him. Like you said, he's impulsive and quick tempered...so, he had an impulsive reaction to whatever happened between him and the FBI Agent and killed him. Or, it could've been an accident and he didn't realize who he had killed until after." Bobby liked the former explanation better; he didn't want anyone to be a ruthless killer, even a hot-head like Stone.
"Think he held onto the knife?"
Bobby relaxed against the door, covering his mouth with his right hand as he muttered honestly, "I don't know. Maybe."
"You think I gave him reason to get rid of the knife?"
That question was so full of guilt and anguish that it shook him for a moment. Bobby heard the underlining meaning of that. Stabler wanted to know if he was responsible for Stone getting away with murder. "I, uh...I don't know." It was the only thing he could say, because he didn't.
Bobby quickly opened the door and got out. The air was getting too heavy and thick between the two of them that he needed to get some that was fresh. He walked about two car lengths down from the SUV and lit a cigarette. In a moment of weakness earlier that day he broke down and bought a pack. He was doing a lot of breaking down recently, except for physically which would come eventually.
Looking around the street, he watched as a few taxi cabs went by. The street wasn't too busy seeing how it was two in the morning, but it wasn't dull either. A few people would pass by him every so often as they went home or was just leaving. The nightlife in New York never stopped; it went on 'til dawn. A movement at the townhouse door caught his attention.
Stone was leaving.
Bobby hurried to the truck and tapped on the window. Once it was slid down halfway, he told Stabler, "I'm following on foot." He didn't give the detective time to answer, or yell at him, before he was across the street.
For being a Major Case detective, Stone was an easy tail. He was oblivious to his surroundings and the fact that he was being followed by not only him, but a SUV as well. Bobby could see the dim lights and hear the humming motor of the SUV as it followed at a distance. Crossing over 9th, he pulled up the collar on his jacket as the lights from the commercial area brightened the street. On that side of 9th, there were restaurants, stores, and a bodega that Stone slipped into.
Coming to a stop next to the window, Bobby peered through and saw Stone using an ATM before exiting. They continued on their way, and Bobby worked slowly on the cigarette in his mouth as Stone watched the women who walked by them. At Stone turned him head, Bobby ducked his as he walked closer to the sidewalk. It appeared the Stone only had eyes for the two brunettes and had no idea he was even there.
Bobby shook his head as he put his cigarette out on a light pole before flicking it into the trash bin on the corner. As they crossed over 8th Avenue, he saw where they were going. Stone was getting on the subway. Slowly his steps, he let Stone get ahead of him and get down the landing before he hurried after him. He was afraid if he had followed right along with Stone that he would have looked back to see who was coming down behind him.
He caught sight of Stone already going through the turnstile and he quickly pulled out his wallet a pass-card and slid it through for payment. As soon as he slipped his wallet back into his pocket and slid through the turnstile, Stone turned.
The moment their eyes locked, Stone took off on a dead run.
Bobby wasn't too far behind him. The platform was thankfully empty as he chased Stone across it and into the train going uptown. Stone was darting down an aisle and going from car to car before jumping out back to the platform. He barely made it out of the train before the doors closed and hurried to jump on the train Stone had gotten on, the one heading downtown, just as the doors closed behind him.
Bobby huffed in some air as he looked around and caught a blur of the man coming toward him before a fist collided with the left side of his face. He stumbled to the side, into the seats, as Stone descended upon him. Another fist caught him on his right side of his chin before he was able to defend himself. Seeing the other fist coming, he blocked it before pounding a solid punch to Stone's gut before landing his left fist into his the side of his head.
Stone fell to the floor and rolled around for a moment. Bobby was keeping his eyes on him until the train car went black. The lights starting flicking on and off, making it hard to see that Stone was getting up and lunging toward him. Stone impacted his legs and wrapped his arms around his waist. He felt the weight push down on his right knee a give.
Bobby screamed as the pain shot from his knee up the entire right side of his body as he fell to the train floor with Stone on top of him. He started to see red and it wasn't all from the pain that ripped through his body but from the eruption of his anger. Stone threw a hard right toward him but Bobby caught the fist in his hot hand and twisted the arm hard as his right hand shot up and gripped Stone's throat.
He could see the sudden fear and panic in Stone's eyes as he started panicking, using his left hand to scratch and pull at his tight hand on his throat. Bobby held firmly as he suddenly pulled Stone's right arm across his chest hard while at the same time throwing his head to his left in the opposite direction and then let go of both. Stone couldn't stop the momentum of his body it impacted the seats next to them hard.
Bobby rolled to his right, away from Stone's collapsing body, and grabbed the seat next to him. He pulled himself up and sat down with a 'thump' as he tried to control his breathing. Leaning his head back against the window he rubbed at his face and threw his hair trying to calm his anger before he did something worse to Stone, like kill him. He had his gun—having gotten it when he had gone home earlier. It dug into his back, under his flannel shirt reminding him that it was still there. He didn't want to use it, and he hoped he wouldn't have to, not on another officer anyway.
Watching the other man, Bobby knew he was hurt. Stone was moaning against the floor holding the right side of his head and favoring the left side of his body. It took a long while, but Stone finally was able to pull himself up into the seats and sit down, facing him. He saw the blood trickle down his face from the small gash by his right eye. Stone winced in pain as he tried to shift his weight to his left and held his ribs. Some could have been fractured; he had taken a hard enough hit.
Neither one of them spoke for several long minutes. Bobby stared out the opposite window as the train came to various stops before continuing on its way. He had a good idea where they were going but had no idea how far along the line they were.
"I didn't take Alex."
Bobby blinked back and stared into Stone's painful looking eyes. "I know."
The pain turned to confusion as he asked, "Then why were you following me?"
Bobby didn't want to tell him that he was also suspected in the murder of the FBI Agent, so he took out the pack of cigarettes and lit one up. He might as well; his chest was already killing him. "Okay, I lied. I did think you had something to do with her disappearance."
Stone's eyes narrowed slightly. It took him all of ten seconds to distrust him. "Now that's a lie. And, this is a smoke-free train," he said as he leaned forward on his knees. "Give me one."
And it took twenty seconds for his arrogance to return. Bobby tapped out another cigarette, lit it, and then handed it to him.
Stone was quiet for a long time as they passed through more tunnels and by more stations. "It was the knife, wasn't it?"
That was said with a great conviction that hung in the air between them. Bobby could have grabbed onto it and went after the man who was puffing on the smoke like it was a lifeline. Instead, he remained quiet and waited.
"Christ," Stone breathed out and stabbed the cigarette out on the floor of the train car. "How was I supposed to know that some wacko serial was using the same kind?"
It was a soft question, spoken to his self but meant for Bobby to answer. He didn't answer it. He stared at the smoke in his own hand that he has barely tasted as he inquired, "Do you still have it?"
If Stone did, he didn't tell him. The detective threw out his own question instead. "Is it just the SVU guys, or is the FBI in on it too?"
Bobby didn't understand Stone's calmness; it could have been a front, or the man could have really not cared. "I can't answer that. I'm not going to answer that. All I can tell you is no matter what, no matter who's going after you, you're not going to win."
That got a nod out of the placid detective. It was like he was having a normal, easy conversation with a guy about baseball. Stone hardly moved, hardly raised his voice, he hardly blinked. Maybe he was scared to death.
"I can beat it the rap, just without losing my job. I can always get another job."
Bobby blinked back at that. The guy really didn't care. "It's possible that you'll lose everything."
"No," Stone finally shifted his eyes away from the space he was staring at somewhere behind his left ear. "It's more possible that you're the one that's going to lose everything. Doesn't matter if you are cleared...that wacko is still gonna beat you."
The smart-ass had to take one last jab at him, didn't he? The train slid to a stop and Stone got up and come over next to where he was sitting. He held on to the pole by the door as he waited for it to open. "How can you not care?"
"I do," Stone told him without any emotion another than slight irritation. "I just can't afford to let it eat me up."
Bobby watched him cross the platform and start up the stairs before he could even get up and off the train. One look toward the signs and he groaned at where they ended up. It was Broadway and Fulton Street station, in the Wall Street district. It was the last stop before the train crossed into Brooklyn.
His knee was killing him as he slowly and easily made his way across the platform and up the many flights of stairs. By the time he stepped foot on the sidewalk, he was covered in sweat. Taking out his always available handkerchief, he wiped the sweat from his brows and neck as he pulled out his cell phone.
After one ring, Stabler's voice yelled into his ear, "Where the hell are you?"
He leaned against the wall of a building as he told him, "A block from the World Trade Center site, on Broadway and Fulton." Bobby heard an inaudible curse and felt a slight smile pull at the corners of his tight lips.
"I'll be there in soon. Give me fifteen minutes."
Bobby was looking around the block and spotted an all too welcoming neon sign across the street and down half a block. "Okay, I'll be at O'Riley's down the street." He flipped his cell shut and headed toward the pub.
O'Riley Pub
Wall Street District, Manhattan
At that hour, the bar was barely moving inside which he was more than fine with. Bobby limped his way passed the empty and occupied bar stools to the very end, on the corner. From there he could see the door and watch for Stabler. He noticed a few taxi drivers conversing in a booth along the back wall, a few nurses from the hospital a few blocks over were at a table, and the guys at the bar were on dressed in street clothes. The place was dead.
During the working hours of nine-to-five, the place was always packed with business men and women having a drink with clients or getting lunch. Then after working hours until about ten or so, it was with those same business men and women having a drink before going home or trying to get someone to go home with them. Tonight, everyone in there just wanted and needed a drink.
The bartender came up to him and asked, "What'd ya have?"
Bobby dug into his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a twenty. "Give me a, um, shot of whiskey, doesn't matter which, and a glass of beer…whateve's on tap's fine."
In seconds, the shot glass was in front of him and he downed it with an urgency of a man in pain. That worked better than any pain meds a doctor could prescribe. His muscles were beginning to relax and his eyes were growing heavy. He knew that it was coming; he could feel his body crashing and giving up on him the moment he sat down across from a hurt Detective Stone.
Burying his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and willed himself to stay awake, at least until Stabler showed. His head was still sweating but this time it was from the stuffiness in the pub. Pulling at his shirt collar, he tried to no avail to cool himself off and make his neck a lot less hot. It wasn't working. His flannel shirt's top two buttons were undone and the t-shirt underneath was constricting all the air from reaching his body.
Noticing the glass in from of him filled and foaming at the top, he took a drink and stared at the dark marble bar top. A couple more desperate gulps of the beer, and he laid his head on his arm that was outstretched on that marble top and closed his eyes.
To his word, he walked in fifteen minutes later and he couldn't believe what he saw. There was Detective Goren with his eyes closed and head resting on his arm on top of the bar. He was dead asleep.
Elliot shook his head and cursed under his breath.
"He only had one shot, and he barely drank half the beer."
Looking over at the bartender as he stopped next to the big Major Case detective passed out on the bar. "How'd he look when he came in here?"
"Like shit, except half awake and limping."
Elliot looked back down at the sleeping man. He was limping? "Which side was he favoring?"
"The, uh...left I think."
That was the knee Goren had to have surgery on. "Damn," he cursed again and shook his head. "Looks like I'm gonna have to carry him."
"Need help?"
Elliot grabbed the arm he was lying on and pulled it out from under him. The guy didn't even move. He wrapped that arm around his neck as he put his left arm across his back and under his left shoulder. "Nah, I got him."
At least, he hoped he had him. Once he slid him off the stool and all his heavy weight was on him, Elliot groaned. God, he was bigger than he looked.
"Sure you don't need help?"
Elliot dug into his pants pocket on tossed his keys to the bartender. "Open my doors for me and help me put him in."
The bartender followed him out as he dragged Goren out of the bar and onto the sidewalk. He was panting and straining to keep from dropping the big guy once they reached the SUV. "Hold him while I get in the other side; I think it'll be easier to pull him in from inside."
The bartender took hold of Goren and nearly fell over as Elliot rounded the SUV and got in the back of the SUV. He grabbed the detective under his shoulders and heaved him into the backseats as the bartender watched.
"Anything else I can do?"
Elliot was gasping for air with the big detective laying half on him as he stared at the guy. "I got it." Looking down at him, he shook his head. He couldn't believe he was going through all of this, and for Robert Goren at that.
A couple of minutes later he was pulling away from the pub and heading home to Queens. He could have easily dropped Goren off at home on the way, but he didn't feel like making anymore stops. Besides, once he heaved the big guy out of the SUV and into his house, he would be too tired and worn out to do much else. The morning was slowly approaching and in a few hours it would be daylight again.
Crossing over the bridge into Brooklyn and then cutting up to Queens, Elliot hoped he was able to get enough sleep before having to go back into work.
Elliot Stabler's House
Glen Oaks, Queens
He felt trapped. His whole body was unmovable and felt like it weighed a ton. The heavy darkness that had clouded his mind was lifting as a dull ache invaded his awareness. Trying to move, he felt a soft cushion against his face and under him. Blinking his eyes slowly open, having to really think about it to do it, he saw a dark shade of green in front of his eyes.
Confusion filled his tired thoughts that were swirling around in his head as he looked around. He wasn't at home, and this wasn't his couch that he was stuffed against and into. His right arm was buried down in the back of the couch in the place reserved for fallen change and the television remote. Pulling it out, the arm was dead until he rubbed at the muscles then in was in tingling pain as needles ripped through his entire arm.
There were too many questions and not enough answers to satisfy him as he rolled onto his back and then to his left side and sat up on the edge of the couch. Looking around and still rubbing his arm, he saw framed pictures all around him on the tables, walls, and on the mantle above the fireplace.
He had to admit, Stabler had a beautiful family.
Satisfying one of his questions, he got up and ventured around the house. Finding the kitchen, he headed straight for the coffee maker that was brewing. Grabbing a coffee cup from the strainer, he didn't wait for it to be done before he took and pot and quickly filled the cup. Some coffee drips splashed onto the hot plate and sizzled before he replaced the pot and took a small sip.
In the refrigerator there was cream and he added a decent amount to the coffee before he relaxed into a chair at the table and drank the cup as quickly as the heat would allow him. It was a nice kitchen, and very clean and quiet. Didn't Stabler have a family?
Bobby looked around and saw no evidence of that family being in that house recently. He wondered about that for a brief couple of minutes before his mind switched gears. It landed on a person and the information he knew about that person.
The name had been on the list Stabler had given him, and even then he wondered about it. Maybe not as much as he had with Stone's name, but he still would think about the man just the same.
He needed a computer. Getting up, he searched the house and came to a room on the first floor that must have been the family computer room. Slipping inside, he turned the computer on and as he waited for it to boot, grabbed a notepad and pencil that was on the desk.
Accessing his NYPD account, he typed in the name 'Anderson, Clifford' and waited. It didn't take long before the detective's file came up. Bobby looked up at the screen and his heart stopped. It was the eyes. Cliff's eyes had always sparked recognition with him since the very first day he met him. He didn't know why, never making the connection, until now. They were the eyes of the killer boy he had been witness to thirty years ago.
A shiver went down his spine as he stared at the screen and asked a silent question; the same silent question he had asked himself all those years ago: "why?"
As he read through the file, all the unanswered questions were clicking into place. Little pieces of the bigger puzzle were finally starting to come together. Cliff was a rookie with the 4-0 which was in the lowest point of the Bronx by the Harlem River. When Cliff transferred to Homicide for Narcotics, it was to the 3-5. That department patrolled the northern most neighborhoods of Manhattan, and it was bordered by both the Hudson and Harlem Rivers. That was where the Washington Heights neighborhood was where they had found Stella Cole.
He had the knife, he knew the neighborhoods and rivers, he had grown up in the Bronx and he still lived there even now. Most importantly, he had a positive identification of him.
Those damn eyes that still haunted his dreams.
Not wanting to wake Stabler, he wrote him a quick note and told him about the information he found on the computer and to call him later. Then he had another cup of coffee before leaving the house.
One Police Plaza
It was early and he knew that hardly anyone would be in the squad room. The captain wouldn't even be in yet. Bobby didn't have to show the guard at the gate his ID; they've known each other for over four years so the Officer Allison waved him on through. He looked up at the big building as he approached the doors and hoped he was right in thinking no one would be up on the eleventh floor. His head and hand were in enough pain already that he didn't want to have to deal with some colleague of his saying something to him. In the state he was in, he knew he would use his fist to answer any questions instead of his words.
Passing through the lobby, he hurried to the elevators and spotted one about to close going up. Sticking his hand in, he stopped the doors and casually slipped through the opening doors. A woman detective with Missing Persons was the only person on the elevator and he smiled at her like he always did when they crossed paths before pushing the button for his floor.
At eight, the doors opened and she got off, but not without her usual slight wave and shy smile. Bobby knew that she liked him and he was all too grateful for the fact that she never acted on it. Still, the normalcy of that one act made his stomach turn and with the eleventh floor approaching fast, his stomach knotted as his throat tightened. He hadn't been back to the squad room since the night Alex was taken.
Going down the hall, he caught sight of both of their empty desks and he nearly stopped moving as his breath caught. His long strides involuntarily slowed before he even crossed through the doors. Seeing their empty adjoined desks sent his knot in his stomach up to his heart and it twisted and pulled at him until he couldn't do anything except stare at her desk and feel nothing but that ache.
A noise down the hall startled him. Bobby jerked his head as he stiffened and prepared for the worst. The janitor rounded the corner from the interrogation rooms with a mop bucket and cart. He let his breath out and shook his head. Getting back on the task he came there to do, he searched around his desk until he found the right form he needed. There had to a form for everything in the NYPD, even to turn in your own weapon.
Signing his name on the right lines and dating it for yesterday, Bobby pulled his gun out from pressing against his back and locked it in his gun locker. Taking the form, he put it on Deakins desk and as quickly as he came into the squad room he left it. This time, he went by the elevators and took the stairwell up two more floors.
The locker room was empty. He heard no talking and felt no steam from the showers. The beds that were set up for them in the room to bunk-out on if they stayed at work too long were all empty. Bobby pulled open his locker and eyed the suit hanging in it. He didn't feel like wearing a suit unless he it was with his shield clipped to it. Pulling out the gym bag at the floor, he opened it and looked at the contents. A pair of blue jeans, black NYPD t-shirt, black buttoned up long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of socks, boxers, and his sneakers. Perfect.
It didn't take him long to shower or change but by the time he got done it was going on seven. He heard voices around the corner from his locker as he tossed the gym bag back to the floor with the clothes in it that he had worn yesterday. Quickly snapping the lock back on the door, he didn't bother to wait around to see who the people were as he hurried to the elevators and took it down to the lobby.
Once out of the building, he passed through the now busy security gate and headed across the plaza and toward the subway.
Blake Stone's Townhouse
Olivia checked her cell as she entered the house along with several uniformed officers. Elliot had something else he had to do so she would be alone in the search of the detective's house. Just great.
She sighed heavily and handed the search warrant to Stone who was standing in his kitchen with everything on but his tie which was hanging loosely around his neck. "Detective Blake Stone, we're here to search your home."
Stone didn't look phased and he shouldn't. With the run in he had with Bobby Goren earlier that morning, she was surprised the guy stuck around at all. "Whatever you're looking for, I don't have it."
Olivia just gave him a look and left the kitchen. The FBI Agents had followed her there or they were psychic seeing how no one told them they would be getting the search warrant that morning.
Agent Parsons didn't even give her an 'hello' as he pushed up her and went right up to Stone. "Blake Stone, you're to come with us for questioning involving the murder of Agent Collins."
Olivia had to admit that Stone's name fit him, the detective barely flinched and his face remained as hard as a rock as he tossed the warrant down, tied his tie, and then grabbed his coat. "So I guess this means you're laying off Goren?"
"No."
Olivia crossed her arms and stared hard Agent Parsons. "What'd you mean no? The only reason you guys were invited to the party was for the fact that the knife used in our case matched the one in yours. Now, you have a suspect," she said as she waved at Stone. "And it's not Detective Goren. So, the serial case is no longer a priority to you."
"Accomplice, Detective Benson."
"Accomplice for what?" Olivia nearly yelled out the door as the Agents took Stone with them. At receiving nothing but silence, she turned and barked at a uniform standing behind her, "What're you standing around for? Start searching."
Cliff Anderson's House
146 West 12th Street
Greenwich Village, Manhattan
He paced the sidewalk a block down from the brownstone Cliff lived in with a burning cigarette hanging loosely between his index and middle finger of his left hand and in his right he held his cell phone up to his ear. Jeff Foster was guy he knew with the county property trustee's office and he was talking very loudly in his ear.
"What's the address?"
"1-4-6 West 12th Street, in the village."
"All right, hang on just a moment Bobby and I'll have the information for you."
"Okay." He was placed on hold as he leaned against over a newspaper stand with the front page of the 'New York Ledger' staring up at him.
Today, he wasn't on the front page; instead, there was a picture of the New York Yankees. They had beat Boston last night 10 to 7 to win the first game of the American League Championship Series.
Jeff's voice came back on the line as he told him, "It looks like Mr. Anderson bought the townhouse just two years ago. It's all four floors plus the basement apartment off the main sidewalk."
"Who owned it before?"
"That would be…um…Ah, Arthur Lennox."
"Have anything on Mr. Lennox you can tell me?"
"Age fifty-two, bought a house in Westchester County. That's all I know on my end."
Bobby breathed heavily into the phone as he spotted a familiar looking truck coming down the street. "Okay, thanks Jeff." Flipping the phone shut, he took one last drag off the cigarette before putting it out on the side of the newspaper stand before tossing it into the trash bin on the corner.
He smiled for the first time that day as he opened the passenger door and got in. "What'd you think?"
Stabler eased the truck up a couple of spaces before killing the engine. He eyed the brownstone before eyeing him. "I think you're out of your mind, but…I must be too since I agree with you. I looked him up myself and I've got to admit, Cliff looks good for it." He studied his face closely as he told him, "Benson said the FBI guys took Stone with them to their office. They said he's your accomplice."
Bobby frowned as that information rattled his thoughts. What was the FBI's problem with him anyway? He couldn't afford to let them get to him now, not with Alex still missing. "Did she find the knife?"
Stabler shook his head. "He must have gotten rid of it."
Bobby saw the dark look that crossed Stabler's features. "It's not your fault. If he was smart, he tossed it before you rattled his cage."
Stabler was silent as they both watched the house from across the street and down maybe twenty feet. "What's your plan?"
He shifted on the leather seat as he gathered his straying thoughts. "I'm going to go in there and talk to him."
"Then what?" Stabler asked as the looked over at him with his curiously stern blue eyes.
Bobby was caught off guard by that look and was reminded about how good of a cop Stabler was. Just that one look could get a guy to think twice about lying to him. "Then, I'm going to come out, get in back in the truck and then wait for him to come out. You're going to pick him up for questioning and take him back to your department."
"And in the meantime, what're you going to do?"
Bobby didn't answer that; he couldn't without putting Stabler in a bad spot. Later on, if he was caught, the SVU detective could plead immunity.
"Christ," Stabler said under his breath as he shook it. After a moment of tense silence, he said, "What if refuses to go with me?"
Bobby shifted his own hard eyes to him as he said, "Make sure he doesn't refuse." He opened the door quickly and got out.
It was a short walk to the front door of the brownstone but the wind was getting cold and bitter, biting his skin as he crossed the street and went up to the front door. There was a button for a bell so he pushed it first before knocking. He could hear chimes like church bells echoing through the house and then footsteps coming up to the door.
A lock clicked and then the door swung open and he was staring into the eyes of a man he hadn't seen in nearly nine years. If Cliff showed any emotion at all it was still disbelief because nothing changed on the man's face.
Bobby acted confused and surprised as he stepped back away from the door, looked at the number and then looked back at Cliff. "Uh…Do you live here?" he asked and knowing he did and had been for two years.
Cliff didn't even fake pleasantries as he nodded. The detective was dressed in white painters pants with various colored paint stains dotting them, a old white shirt that was also stained with dry paint, and a Yankees cap on his dirty blond hair. The guy needed a shave as badly as he did as he rubbed at his jaw. "Don't I know you?" he asked.
The voice was as cold as the air assaulting his skin and there was a slight accent in the voice. He was sure it was Canadian with the subtle hint of French in the pronunciation of some words. Bobby smiled a little. "Narcotics, right?"
Cliff finally let a smile touch his solid features. "Right. What're you doing here?"
Bobby played it off with a little laugh as he shook his head and rubbed at it like he was still confused on why that man had opened the door. "I knew the guy that lived here. Lennox…Art Lennox. How long have you been here? I haven't seen Arty in…uh, three years."
"I've been here two. Mr. Lennox sold it to me and moved up to Westchester County."
"You have his address," it was more of a stated fact than a question. He had a hunch that if Cliff knew the guys name and where he lived, he might have the address just in case some mail came to that house for Mr. Lennox.
"I might still have it." Cliff invited him in with a wave of his hand and Bobby was quickly in the house and having the door shut behind him.
The brownstone was empty except for one paint bucket, paint brushes, and rollers gathered in the middle of the room. Dry cloth covered the few pieces of furniture as well as the floors around the walls. Three of the four walls were painted an off white while the fourth was still a metallic grey.
There was no where to sit and no where to stand unless he was going to help the guy finishing painting that room. Bobby wondered around the bottom floor, looking into all the rooms that had been painted or not yet painted. The kitchen was in the very back and it was the only room untouched. There were empty paint buckets by the back door and dirty dishes in the sink. The table was covered in newspapers and on them were a cup of old coffee, fast food containers, and an overflowing ash tray.
Cliff came into the kitchen and smiled warmly at him like they had been friends for years. "Here," he handed it to him before moving across the floor. "Would you like a cup of coffee before you go?"
Bobby wondered at the sudden change in Cliff. He had been icy cold and stoic at the door, and now he was friendly and showing emotion. The affect was all wrong though. The nice in his voice was off and it wasn't genuine. He preferred the cold to the fakeness of the smile Cliff was giving him. "Uh, yeah, thanks. Black, please."
As Cliff turned to hand him the cup, Bobby slipped his hand in his pocket to pull out the pack of cigarettes but fumbled getting them out and out fell his switchblade onto the floor. He muttered a sharp curse as he bent down to pick the knife up.
Cliff's reaction had been telling. When he had reached into this pocket, the man nearly froze as his eyes widened slightly and there was obvious relief when he saw the pack and not a gun. And he was now watching him, or rather watching the knife as he tossed it on the table as he pulled out a lighter.
"Habit."
Cliff blinked and shifted his eyes to his. "What?"
"The knife," he pointed to it after he lit the cigarette, put the lighter away, and then took the cup as he picked up the switchblade off the table. Bobby pressed the release button and watched the blade pop out before closing it. "It's a habit to carry it, ya know, since being in Narcotics. It comes in handy, even now."
Cliff didn't respond to that, just nodded a little as he picked the cup of old coffee off the table and dumped it out before refilling it with the hot new stuff in the pot.
"You still have one?"
Cliff turned to him and leaned back against the counter as he sipped on the cup. "I never did carry one as a Narc."
"No? Huh, I thought everyone did."
"I didn't do much undercover work. I mostly sat in the vans and did surveillance." Cliff never took his eyes off him as the room grew quiet. Suddenly, he asked, "Why are you looking for Lennox now after three years?"
Bobby stuffed the knife back in his pocket as he took a long drink of the coffee. The coffee had a different taste than what he was used to but it was good. "You read the papers?"
Cliff glanced at the kitchen table and nodded.
"Then you know that I'm in…that, things are bad right now, with my partner missing. Art, he, uh, owes me a few favors I need to collect on."
Cliff didn't respond to that either; he just stared at him until he was satisfied with what he was seeing. He gave a small twist of his lips that Bobby could have mistaken for a smile if the venom in his eyes hadn't made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "I hope he can help you out."
Bobby brought the cup up to his lips and drained it; after swallowing the warm coffee down his throat, he agreed, "Me too." He took a few satisfying drags off the smoke before it burned away to ashes and put it out in the ash tray that was beyond its limitations. "Thanks again."
He turned around and headed back the way he had come in. "You're good, with the painting, I mean."
"I was a painter before I was a cop."
"Yeah?" Bobby looked back at Cliff just in time to act like he didn't see the open paint bucket in front of him. "I should get your number for the next time I need my place--" his legs hit the bucket and he stumbled forward and was able to get over the bucket as it fell.
White paint spilled out all over the floor and over the white clothes and some splashed over the bottom of his pant legs and on Cliff's.
Cliff stared at the floor, his jaw tightening and working hard to keep from dropping.
"Oh, shit, I'm sorry, man," he apologized as his cheeks warmed and he stared at the floor before raising his scared, apologetic eyes to Cliff. "I-I, uh…didn't see it."
Cliff's jaw was so tense that Bobby thought he could hear his teeth grinding together. "It's okay," he lied. "I'll…I have to get more anyway. It's fine." He plastered a fake smile on again and showed him to the door.
"Hey, look, I'm really sorry," Bobby apologized again as the door was opened. He pulled out his wallet and asked, "How much do they cost?"
"Don't worry 'bout it," Cliff told him as he nearly pushed him out of the doorway and onto the steps.
"I can help you clean it up."
"No thanks," and with that the door was shut in his face.
Bobby stared at it to give enough time in case Cliff looked out the window at him to act stunned. Then he turned and walked down the steps. The truck wasn't in the same spot as he left it. It was down the street further and parked on the on the adjacent street.
Stabler watched him the entire way. "How'd it go?" he asked once he had the door closed.
Bobby looked over at him and smiled. "He should be coming out soon."
It was no more than ten minutes later when Cliff left the brownstone and started down the street in the opposite direction of them.
Bobby told Stabler "Good luck" before getting out again.
"Hey, Bobby?"
He stopped at the use of his first name. Turning back to Stabler, Bobby saw a real genuine smile and it made him smile just at seeing it.
"You too."
Undisclosed Location
She had been hearing footsteps all day long going from on end of the ceiling to the other. The smell of paint and coffee would drift down through the vents. The paint smell stung her nose while the coffee made her mouth water and stomach turn at the same time. Her stomach was growling and twisting with acid pains. She had not been fed or given any water as the duct tape remained covering her mouth.
The rope bindings were getting worn down as it frayed where she had been rubbing them against the corner of wall. She kept trying to get her hands loose but they were still too tight around her wrists for her to pull them through.
A little while ago she had heard the front door open and low voices talking. She couldn't make out the voices but she had hope that it was someone who could help her. Maybe it was the police? The two footsteps became four as the other person walked around up above her and then the steps faded further into the house to where she couldn't hear.
She groaned and bit her bottom lip before trying to get the tape off. Using her tongue, she moistened the tape that she could feel when she parted her lips and tried to wet as much of it as she could. Sucking air in, she huffed and blew it against the tape to get the stickiness to dry so it would no longer stay on her lips.
The footsteps returned and new person in the house must have been taller and heavier than the guy who had her because the steps were louder and spaced further apart. Suddenly, something slammed against the ceiling, the floor up above, and she jumped at the sound. The voices continued as the steps got closer to the door and then the door was slammed shut. She knew it was because it rattled the window that was above her.
Breathing hard, she closed her eyes and felt her body shake. Someone had been there and they were now gone and unable to help her. If she could get the tape off then maybe if that person came back or if someone else showed up, she could yell.
There was a sound. She stilled and pressed herself against the wall. It sounded like a door opening. Those lighter footsteps stomped down what sounded like stairs and echoed through the walls. Her pulse quickened as she heard the locks clicking together and then the door opening.
A man walked in that she didn't recognize. He was tall but not as tall as Bobby and he was thin and wearing paint clothes. A Yankees ball cap was pulled down to shade his upper face and all she could make out was his mouth and chin. His face was narrow and his lips had a crocked look to them like his teeth weren't all that straight in his mouth. As he got closer, she could see a scar over his top lip on the right.
The man stopped in front of her and shook his head slowly. He never spoke as he drew a fist back and threw it toward her. She moved quickly to her left and rolled toward the man's legs. Her midsection collided with his ankles, making him stumble forward along with his momentum and he landed against the wall.
"God…damn, you bitch," he yelled.
She didn't make it far with her legs and hands still bound; he grabbed her by the back of her head and it only took one slam against the floor for her head to explode in hot white pain before darkness settled over her.
Special Victims Unit
Bobby strolled into the department thirty minutes after he received the call from Stabler. His neck was hurting from the ride over and his patience was slipping due to the search of Cliff's house that revealed nothing except for a can of coffee, bad porn, and L'Oreal body and hand lotion.
The main floor was mostly empty and he was glad as he ventured over to Stabler's desk. The detective was squeezing the life out of the blue stress ball that Alex had thrown at his head a week ago. He nodded to Benson as he came to a stop and leaned over the desks.
Stabler tossed the ball down as he asked, "How'd it go?"
Bobby shook his head.
Stabler nodded. "Okay," he said without explaining to Benson who was looking at them both with confused worry. "We had to let Cliff go. He confirmed everything: the purchase of the knife, knowing about Eames being missing, and having the membership to the gym. However, he swears on an alibi of being caught in traffic coming back from Jersey on the night she was taken. There's no proof of it though seeing how he paid all the tolls and gas with cash."
"What about a search warrant?"
"Our A.D.A. said she'll see what she can do and hopefully we'll have one tomorrow or the next day."
Bobby's hands clenched into fists. "Tomorrow or the next day? Are you fucking kidding me? Is she crazy?"
"No, Detective Goren, I'm not."
Bobby stood at the voice and turned around to be facing Casey Novak. He eyed the woman in front of him as he barely controlled the anger that was pushing up from underneath his usually calm demeanor. It wouldn't take much to push him over that edge. "We had less on Detective Stone and you got a warrant for him. We have a hell of a lot more on Anderson and you're choosing now to waste time."
"How'd you know it's him?"
"I can positively ID him, that's how I know."
Novak either saw the building anger and she chose to ignore it, or she didn't recognized the signs as she told him, "You can positively ID a man you saw one time when you were a child. Hardly."
Bobby stepped right up to her and stared down at her. "He has her. I know he does. And it has been three days. Three. We've only got two left and…and you're telling me it'll be tomorrow or the next day for a warrant. I'll go to a judge myself and get one."
The hard stubbornness he had seen in Novak was breaking as she nearly flinched at his close proximity to her and the tone of his voice. She took a step back but continued to eye him as she said, "Carver warned me about you."
"Not nearly enough," Bobby bitterly told her as he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was pulling him back. His body stiffened as he glared over his right shoulder at Stabler who had his hand on him.
Stabler pulled him back a little more as he stepped up to his side and warned him, "You need to take a minute and get a hold of yourself."
Bobby shrugged the hand off his shoulder and threw a hard look at Novak before he stalked off over to the table against the wall and made himself a cup of coffee. His anger was getting to him and the edge he was riding crumbled. Before he realized what he was doing everything that was on the table besides the pots of coffee went flying against the wall and over the floor.
Realizing what he had done and where he was, he took in a few deep breaths as he left the room and pounded steps out of the building. Once outside he dug around in his pockets for a cigarette and lighter. His hands shook as he lit it before dropping the lighter back into his pocket.
Elliot had watched as Bobby cleared the table in anger before hurrying out of the department. He rubbed at his jaw as he stared over at Casey. "What're you doing? He said he could ID the guy. You have the same information about Detective Anderson as we do, and there's more than enough there for probable cause for a warrant."
"I'm not saying there isn't, Elliot. I've seen the file and I heard the interview. I was there."
"Then what's the problem?"
"The fact that the last cop were went after for this is innocent and is now being questioned by the FBI. It was hard enough going after one cop, and a Major Case detective at that, but to go after another one. You have no idea what it's like for me right now. I'm getting heat from every angle on this one."
"I'm sorry about that," Elliot told her as he stepped up to her, but not as close as Bobby had. "But Stone was still guilty."
"And what if Detective Anderson is innocent? I'll be made a fool of once and I'm not going to let it happen again because some egotistical detective thinks he can control the whole justice system."
Before anything else could be said, Captain Cragen opened the door to his office. "Knock it off," he ordered.
Elliot turned to Cragen with a jerk and the whole room silenced. He watched as his Captain came across the floor to them with wide eyes that held the command of an experienced cop.
Cragen stopped in front of him and then turned to Casey. "I just got off the phone with the FBI. It seems that Detective Stone confessed to the murder of their agent." He then looked at him. "Go find Detective Goren."
"Why?" Elliot asked and fearing the answer.
"He's due back at One Police Plaza. Stone also denied having to do anything with the serial case and the FBI has to drop their investigation into it. As of now, Goren is cleared for duty and Captain Deakins wants to talk to him."
Elliot didn't waste any time thanking his captain of saying anything else to Casey as he hurried out of the department in search of Bobby.
TBC pt2…
