Chapter Twelve:
It was shaping up to be a really tough day for Olivia as she stared down at the unresponsive face of Joan Arliss, the woman she had hoped to interview. Her skin was a sallow pale color with streaks of yellow, but she didn't seem to be experiencing any stress. She was clean and looked relatively well cared for. The detective sighed, shaking her head slightly. Her job tended to make her pessimistic about children, the elderly, and the handicapped. She was always alert, checking for signs of abuse even when there weren't any.
The laundry cart case had spiraled into a decades-long serial killing spree that she wasn't technically supposed to be investigating. Fin had helped track down the owner of an engagement ring that they had discovered in Gambel's little trophy box by going through old police reports, but apparently, the victim wasn't able to give her any more information.
Vivian Arliss, Joan's daughter and caretaker, looked up from where she was wiping her hands on a white towel, pulling Olivia from her thoughts. She looked old beyond her years, perhaps because of stress, and she had several very visible tattoos. "And you're her sole caregiver?" Olivia asked.
Feeling where Olivia's gaze lingered, Vivian said, "what, you think because of the ink I can't take care of her? You should have seen me before I sobered up. I was a wreck."
"Sorry, I just meant that taking care of an invalid is a lot of work." Although Olivia had never had to care for someone as dependent as Joan Arliss appeared to be, she had been forced to help look after her alcoholic mother when she was just a child. Sometimes, the burden and the memories still weighed heavily on her.
"When my Dad died, I promised him that I would keep her at home for as long as I could, so I do it for him." For a moment, Olivia felt a flash of pain as she saw the smile spreading across Vivian Arliss' thin lips. Obviously, she cherished the memory of her father and remembered him with great affection. Olivia could only give Vivian a silent nod of approval. After a pause, Vivian asked, "what did you want to talk to her about?"
"We recovered your mother's engagement ring." Olivia reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a plastic bag. Vivian's eyes followed the crinkling noise, focusing on the engagement band inside.
Vivan shook her head. "I'm sorry. You must have the wrong Joan Arliss. She has hers on."
"Um, she probably replaced it. This was stolen forty years ago."
Olivia watched cautiously as Vivian took a step backwards, shaking her head in disbelief. "Really? She never said anything about it..." They both turned to look at Joan, who was still resting silently in her bed, hands folded comfortably over the sheets. The new engagement ring glinted on her finger as it caught the light coming in through the open window. "Boy, you robbery cops never give up, do you? That's a long time. Why did you go through all the trouble to track her down?"
Olivia tried not to let her discomfort show on her face. A tight, coiling fear was beginning to burn in her gut, and she had a feeling that she had just opened up a door that she wouldn't be able to close. Glancing nervously to her left, she decided to make her escape before she made things worse. Forty years ago... Vivian Arliss looked to be about forty years old... "I think I've made a mistake. I've taken up enough of your time." Her mind was racing as she turned to leave the room, going through all of the possibilities. Perhaps this was a secret that was meant to stay hidden... If Joan Arliss had been attacked, if this was her engagement ring, could Vivian be the result? Part of her didn't want to know, and part of her was terrified of not knowing. She could only imagine what Vivian might be thinking.
"Hey, wait..." She ignored Vivian's voice calling after her as she walked down the front steps, forcing herself not to look back. "Hey, Detective... Wait! What's going on?" Olivia finally turned as Vivian followed her out of the house, approaching her car. "Did something happen to my mother?"
"I was just tracing back the ring," said Olivia, brushing the anxious woman's questions aside.
"To what?" Vivian said sharply, refusing to give up. Olivia reached into her pocket, trying to pull out her keys, but ended up letting them fall back into her coat. "You're hiding something, Detective. Tell me."
Parting her lips and taking a deep breath, Olivia turned back to face Vivian Arliss. "Vivian, I'm not a robbery detective. I'm with Special Victims Unit. And your mother's ring was recovered during a recent rape and murder investigation."
Vivian's brow tightened with concern as she tried to make sense of that information. "So the victim had my mom's ring?"
"Her attacker did," Olivia corrected. She turned her head to one side, unable to meet Vivian's confused, hurt-filled eyes. "Sometimes men take a souvenir from the assault–"
"Wait," Vivian interrupted. "Whose attacker? My mom's? My mom's attacker?" Olivia didn't answer. "My Mom was raped." It was a statement, not a question. "When?"
Olivia had been expecting that question next, and so she was prepared with the answer. "In February of 1970."
"1970," Vivian repeated. With an angry growl, she whirled around and headed back into the house, muttering to herself. "I was born in November of 1970... So that was nine months..." Olivia put it together in an instant, but nothing made sense anymore. If Gambel Jr. was their rapist and trophy collector, Vivian was too old to be his child and Joan was too old to be his victim. Could Gambel Sr. have started the collection before passing it on to his son? She squinted, trying to determine whether Vivian looked anything like Gambel...
What if it wasn't Gambel? There were other ways he could have gotten the box. Any rapist could have passed it to him. Olivia took a deep breath, trying to remember. What other trophies had been in the collection? A bracelet... a ring... a handkerchief...? A handkerchief. Her own mother had always carried a handkerchief. Always. Even on the night she was raped.
Suddenly, Olivia found herself studying Vivian Arliss for an entirely different reason. She and Vivian were the same age. Did they look alike? What if...
Both of them tensed as a sound shattered the awkward moment. A boy with brown hair and a yellow T-shirt was bouncing a basketball on the sidewalk, running around the side of the house from the backyard. "Mom!" he said, calling out to Vivian with a big smile.
When he approached her for a hug, the startled Vivian slapped the ball away, watching it roll to a stop on the grass of the front lawn. "Stop!" She closed her eyes, tension radiating from her body as she headed back into the house, slamming the door behind her. "Just... stop!"
It was only when Vivian was gone that the boy seemed to notice Olivia at all. He whirled on her with accusing eyes, his face angry and betrayed. "What did you do to my Mom?"
Olivia stepped away from the car, reaching out a hand, keeping her arm close to her body so that she wouldn't appear threatening. The kid was obviously upset, and she didn't want to do anything to agitate him. Sometimes, years of working with angry, scared, and abused children came in handy. "She's going to be okay," Olivia said gently. "She just... She just got some bad news and so she's a little bit upset."
Vivian's son stared at the ground, kicking his sneaker on the sidewalk in anger. "She's going to have another one of her headaches." Turning away from Olivia, he walked back the way he had come, following the line of the white picket fence. The detective let her eyes close. They suddenly felt heavy, and her shoulders slumped a little. How many times had she made that same excuse for her own mother?
"She never wants me around," he mumbled glumly. "That's why her pills make her feel better."
Staring at the boy's retreating back, Olivia knew what she had to do. This family was hurting, and she had obviously disrupted whatever fragile peace existed with her bad news.
...
Dr. George Huang leaned forwards on his desk, studying Olivia Benson with intense dark eyes as he tried to choose his words. "You think that Vivian Arliss is your half-sister?"
"Everything matches," Olivia protested, determined to make her case to the skeptical-looking psychologist. "After I told her about the ring, I found her drinking in the back yard and asked some questions. Both of our mothers went to the same college. They were attacked around the same time. Vivian's mother even looks like mine. She has dark hair, she's tall, she's thin... Lots of rapists have a type."
Huang shook his head, still not convinced. "The possibility is so remote..."
"We couldn't identify one of the trophies in Gambel's box," Olivia went on, ignoring him. "It was a handkerchief. My mother always carried one. What if it's hers?" The frightened question, uttered on an unsure breath, forced Olivia to break eye contact with Huang. She glanced at the wall instead, remembering.
"I wish that you had come and talked to me right after the shooting."
"I'm not imagining these details." Olivia leaned back into the chair across from Huang's desk, folding her arms over her chest and sending him a frustrated glare.
"Maybe so, but you're associating them in ways that aren't rational. Why did you tell Vivian about her mother?"
Olivia stared at him as though he had grown three heads. "I had no choice!" What did Huang think she was, crazy? Vivian had followed her out to her car and insisted that she explain herself. Did she really have a right to keep the information secret once she put the pieces together? "She demanded to know why I was there."
"Nobody forced you to tell her."
"She had to know..."
"Or did you do it for yourself?" Olivia was deliberately silent, refusing to answer the question. She didn't have an answer to give anyway. "Have you talked to Alex about any of this?"
That question was not any easier to respond to, but she tried. "No," Olivia admitted. "There hasn't been time. Besides, I'm sure she's busy... saving the world and stuff..."
"I think you should." Logically, Olivia knew that keeping all of these recent developments from her girlfriend was unwise. Emotionally, she didn't want to deal with any of it. "How are you coping with her absence, Olivia?"
"Badly," the detective admitted. "I roll over in bed and... she's not there. Then I can't fall back asleep. It's... I don't know. My life feels gray everywhere." Although the sentence seemed to make more sense in her head, Dr. Huang nodded as though he understood. Olivia wasn't sure whether he did or not. She did know one thing, however. Alex would understand. After this appointment, she had a phone call to make.
