Social Networking

Olivia watched as Elliot answered the landline on his desk and answered curtly "We'll be right there."

"Mark wants us to come down and have a look at that cell phone." He explained to Olivia. "He's got a name for us and something else he wants us to see."

Olivia walked with Elliot to the elevator. They'd canvassed all of the townhouses in the immediate area of the crime scene, but of course, no one had seen or heard a thing until the newspaper delivery man noticed the body as he was making his morning rounds. They were counting on the phone to give them some leads.

Mark had it waiting on the table in front of him. "The vic's name is Brian Wildsmith," he told them. His account is listed with a PO Box in Brooklyn; they don't have another address for him. "

"Brooklyn," mused Elliot. "He didn't exactly die on his own home turf, did he?"

"If he even lived in Brooklyn," added Olivia. "He could pick up his mail near where he works."

"True," said Mark, picking up the phone. "But here's the interesting part—he had an application called Foursquare on his phone."

Olivia leaned in to watch as Mark pressed an icon and a screen popped up on the tiny phone. "What's Foursquare?"

"It's a GPS based application," Mark explained, holding the phone so they could both see the screen. "The phone uses the GPS to figure out where the user is and gives them a list of nearby places. The user checks in to show where they are. It's a form of social networking—let's your friends know where you are, let's you see if any of your friends are in the same place."

Elliot reached for the phone to take a closer look. "And makes it public information?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mark. "The user can choose where to share the information—via Facebook, Twitter, etc"

Olivia and Elliot exchanged glances. "It would certainly make him easy to find if someone were looking for him." Said Olivia.

Elliot read the screen. "So, according to this, it shows that he last checked in at the "Tool Box" on 2nd Ave?"

"Yes, and I just googled it," said Mark, turning to the screen of the computer on the table next to him. "It's a gay bar."

"A gay bar named the "Tool Box." scoffed Elliot. "How….original."

"And before that," said Mark, taking the phone and scrolling down the list. "He was at a gym on Madison Street—a gay-friendly gym."

"Crime of passion?" suggested Olivia, jotting down the addresses in a notebook. "Well, this gives us a place to start. Let's go by the morgue and see if they have a picture of Mr. Wildsmith for us yet."

"Wait a sec," said Elliot, looking at the phone again. "Did you check his recent calls?"

"I'm working on that," said Mark. "He's got several calls to and from a blocked number. The provider is tracking it down for me."

"Give us a buzz when you've got something," said Elliot, "And make us a list of everyplace he's checked in on that Foursquare in the last few days." He followed Olivia back to the elevator. The door opened and they stepped in. Elliot pressed the button for street level and shook his head.

"Social networking," he sighed. "Why don't they just call it what it is—giving predators a head start."

The decided to begin with the gym, as the bar wasn't likely to be open at this time of day. Melinda had given them a head shot to use, but even cleaned up the, the body wasn't a pretty sight. Wildsmith's face was covered with cuts and bruises. The ME told them he'd been kicked repeatedly in the head and torso by several assailants, one wearing steel-toed boots. Her preliminary COD was internal bleeding from a particular vicious kick to the temple. It would have taken the young man several hours to die, but thankfully, he would have been unconscious. Unfortunately, it appeared that the rape had occurred before the blows to the head.

Exhale (another name that made Elliot scoff) gave the impression of being more interested in atmosphere and comfort than fitness. The sign outside the door advertised 15 "therapy "rooms and listed a variety of yoga and relaxation classes. Elliot shook his head as they opened the heavy glass doors and headed to the plush reception desk. Olivia elbowed him in the side and hissed "Behave!" as they approached a young blonde man with Buddy Holly glasses. His name tag read "Bobby!" He eyed them suspiciously as they walked up.

Olivia showed him her ID. "I'm Detective Benson, and this is my partner, Detective Stabler." They never discussed ahead of time who would take the lead in any part of an investigation; but somehow it always worked out. They both had a good sense of which people would prefer to talk to a woman, and which would prefer soft versus a tough approach—roles they were equally good at playing.

"Bobby, we understand this man was here last night," said Elliot, pulling the picture out of his pocket.

"Around 7 pm," added Olivia, checking her notebook.

The young man peered at the picture, and then recoiled in horror. "What happened to him? Is he…."

"Dead." Said Elliot firmly. "Found raped and murdered last night. We have reason to believe he was here shortly before he died."

"I don't think I rec…" began Bobby!, taking another look. "I was working last night until we closed but it's hard to tell from that picture…oh wait!" He turned back to the desk and flipped through a log book in front of him. "There was a man who came in around 7, looking for one of our regulars. He was rather peeved when I wouldn't tell him if he was here or not. We're a members-only club." He added a bit too proudly. "We respect the privacy of our members."

He turned the book so the detectives could see the signature. "I made him sign in before I told him I couldn't help him," he said, smirking a bit. "That made him even more pissed off."

"Brian Wildsmith," read Olivia.

"What did he do when you couldn't help him?" asked Elliot.

"Oh, he gave me all kinds of attitude, but he left." Replied the receptionist. He brushed his blonde hair off his forehead and glared at Elliot.

"And who was he looking for?" asked Olivia, pen in hand.

Bobby! looked perturbed. "I can't violate a member's privacy." He huffed. "That's exactly what I told that man last night."

Elliot moved so that he was in his face. "We're investigating a murder." He hissed. "Every minute is crucial. You can tell us now, or you can tell us in a few hours when we come back, very pissed off, with a warrant."

Bobby! hesitated, looked from Olivia to Elliot and then down at his desk. "He was looking for Robert Addison," he said finally.

"The Mayor's aide?" asked Olivia. Bobby! nodded, clearly disgruntled at having given been forced to give up his best card.

Olivia handed the receptionist one of her cards and asked him to call if he thought of any other details. She and Elliot walked back to the car.

"This is getting interesting," said Elliot, unlocking the doors and climbing in the driver's seat. "Isn't Addison the one who was pushing for the stricter penalties for gay prostitution?"

"That's him," said Olivia, buckling her seatbelt. They looked at each other.

"Where next?" Asked Elliot, starting the car.

"Back to the station," Olivia replied. "Let's see if we can track down an address for Wildsmith and see if he has any family to be notified."

Elliot nodded and pulled out into traffic. "And then I can call Kathy to set up our lunch date." Added Olivia, smiling as Elliot shook his head.