I'm sorry for the lateness of my last posting D: My computer wouldn't upload the file to my account, I dunno why….Oh well, well I'll be posting more regularly now I think so we should be good. Well, I can't wait until we get to the reunion of Alex and Liv, but for now, enjoy the technicalities of SVU that we all love. For those of you who remember 'Ghost', here's where we first meet Antonio. Read and Review!!!! 3 Love you.
It took hardly fifteen minutes for the forensics team and NYPD officers to arrive, sweeping onto the scene with the swiftness of a summer monsoon, gathering all the evidence they could find. Olivia and Elliot stood to the side, watching the other officers clean, swab, and test every inch of surface, using their proficiency for details to fully cover the crime scene.
A forensic tech stepped up beside the pair. "Field tested the blood around the chair. Same type as the victim."
Elliot nodded; there was nothing unexpected. This wasn't a first time offender. There was still a shot on the forensics of the house. "Our perp leave anything behind?"
The tech shook his head. "No prints here or at the office. Killer knows forensics, whole place was wiped down with bleach."
"He was just as careful with the body. I haven't found any trace evidence," the ME reported, wiping his gloved hands against his coat.
"Who was killed first, Jason or Elena?" Olivia broke in.
"Elena," the ME informed her. "Jason's been dead for only about twelve hours."
She nodded, digesting this. So Elena was the first victim, then the perp went to her home and found Jason. However, that left a large gap between the couple's deaths. Why hadn't Jason called his wife while he was in Miami? And why wasn't he in Miami when the killer had come knocking at the door? There were more than a few things odd about this double murder; that was definitive.
"Well, his plane got in from Miami at ten last night," Elliot put in, clarifying. "Same cause of death?"
The ME nodded agreeably. "Yes, his throat was cut. There's also trauma to the back of his head."
"So Jason comes home, the perp blitzes him, drags him to the chair, tapes him up…"
Olivia spotted an evidence bag out of the corner of her eye and lifted it her brow furrowing as she took in the lettering emblazoned on the object. "Monogrammed keychain, E.B. – Elena Brevet. Bastard took her keys to let himself in."
Elliot turned to her, his face taut with antipathy for the perp. This was more than some random, drugged up street murder. This was personal. "The guy waited all weekend for Jason to come home?"
"He tortured the both of them. Had to be looking for something," she replied.
"Detectives," the forensic scientist called. "I think he found it upstairs."
Olivia and Elliot exchanged a quick look and followed him upstairs to an expensive, sleek safe wide open and gaping.
"Built in safe," Elliot said aloud, grimly.
"Not just any safe," the forensic tech added, a bit of admiration coloring his instructive tone. "The Yates 6000. Totally pick-proof."
"He tortured Jason for the combination, then cleaned him out," Olivia summed up, tucking a lock of hair behind one ear.
The tech nodded. "I'm hoping the gas chromatograph might tell us what was in there."
"How do you test for what's gone?"
"New technology. Lets us analyze trace odors, fragrances, chemical vapors. Every chemical or organic compound has a unique olfactory profile."
The tech began to download the intel he'd collected onto a glossy new laptop, analyzing. A few disjointed taps, and he smiled broadly.
"That's the signature."
"Drugs?" Elliot asked curiously. Was this just another deal gone badly?
The tech shook his head. "No, that's the smell of money. Well, specifically, the dye in the ink. From the concentration of the sample, had to be a few cubic feet of cash."
Elliot and Olivia simultaneously sucked in their breath. Elliot spoke first. "Even in small bills, that's got to be at least a million bucks."
The forensic tech nodded approvingly. "Looks like that's your answer."
…
After being back at the station, it was apparent that the Brevets were not the classy, educated couple they appeared to be, after financial records had revealed the investments company was nothing more than a dolled up con job.
"So all those huge profits were phony?" Olivia asked disbelievingly. When they'd visited the company after Elena had first been found, it'd seemed clean and legitimated. Little had they known that Elena was more of a Bernie Maydolf than a wealthy young woman.
Munch nodded amiably. "Yeah, they'd take money from one client's, pay another's dividends, take the rest for themselves."
"And one of their 'investors' got pissed off, bad enough to kill 'em," Elliot surmised.
"They're laundering drug money?" Fin queried.
Munch grinned. "Yeah, and skimming it, too. From one guy in particular, a shell company out of Columbia called Casa Vega Enterprises."
"Check with narcotics, see if Casa Vega rings any bells," Cragen ordered, his face somber.
Fin considered this. "I got a guy over there we can trust."
"Let's go," Olivia told them, and slid off of the edge of her desk where she'd been perched. They nodded and followed her as she headed into the blazing sunlight.
…
Within the hour, they had the name they needed. Detective Sandoval, Fin's contact in narcotics, had led them on the right path to the man who made investments in the Brevet Company. This, their only lead, was what had brought them to the front door of the Montoya family.
Olivia had fallen back, to a crouch by the door, leaning flat against the wall. As Elliot, Olivia and Michael Sandoval's shared nod, Sandoval kicked the door open roughly and they entered.
"Guess no one's home," he called. "Senor Montoya! Policia."
"Mr. Montoya," Olivia called gently to the seemingly empty, dark house. "Police."
They all looked around at the din, when suddenly, Olivia saw it.
Two bodies lay sprawled on the couch in unnatural positions, clearly dead. The gunshot wounds were evident against the dead translucence of their skin. Blood branched off in little tributaries down the slant of their limbs, accentuating the lost life.
Elliot followed her gaze, as did Sandoval. Both took in sharp intakes of breath.
"Dead," Elliot said with finality.
"But not for long," Olivia pointed out, from her position by the couch. "The bodies are still warm."
"In here," Sandoval called from the back of the house, down the hallway into another room. Olivia followed the call of his voice until she saw the continuation of the horror in the living room. A small boy lay in a little bed, a pillow obscuring his face and a gunshot evident through the stuffing.
Sandoval's face was twisted with disgust. "Bastard kills a kid, doesn't even have the balls to look at him," he snarled, looking down at the small boy. He lifted up the pillow. There, upon the boy's head, was a bloody wound. Olivia looked away, unable to keep staring at the curve of the boy's cheek distorted with blood.
Suddenly, the boy groaned, a low moan that came out weak. It was barely a sound, but it was surely enough to get the attention of all three detectives. "Oh, my God!" Sandoval yelped. "Call for a bus!"
…
She let the tears fall down the slant of her face, feeling the warmth against her cheek when all she felt was emptiness. There was nothing but emptiness, and she was all alone.
Emily cried.