Author's Chapter Notes:

Sorry, everyone about the delay in getting this up. I finally have my internet back, but getting settled has taken a little longer than expected. This has been a difficult chapter to write and I want to preface this by warning you that it is very dark. But hopefully this will help bring to light an important issue that is rarely talked about, but very much real. Thanks for all the reviews so far and for all the encouragement as we go along. I appreciate it more than you'll ever know.


Chapter 28


"Who are you?"

Elliot stepped closer to the partially opened door in front of him and held up his shield. "Detective Stabler, Special Victims Unit."

"I already told those other cops—I can't help you," Margaret answered hesitantly.

Elliot nodded. "I know." He took a deep breath. "You don't have to tell me anything. That's not why I'm here."

Margaret studied him carefully. When she finally spoke, her voice was trembling. "Then why are you here?"

Elliot took a cautious step forward and watched as the door widened ever so slightly. "Because there's somebody I'd like for you to meet."

Olivia stepped forward out of the shadows. Margaret's eyes darted back and forth between them. "You're one of the detectives who came to campus asking questions about Michaela."

Olivia nodded. "Yes," she confirmed softly. "My name is Olivia. I'm here because I want to help you, but before I can do that…" She steadied her voice. "Before I do that, you deserve to know who I really am." She glanced over at Elliot. "Can we come in?"

There was no response, but the door opened fully and Margaret stepped aside, allowing her eyes to slide closed for a brief moment. When she opened them again, both Elliot and Olivia had stepped through and were surveying her apartment. Grudgingly, she followed them in and waited as they took a seat on the couch. "I don't understand. I thought you said you were a detective." Her focus was on Olivia as she shifted her weight back and forth nervously.

"I am," Olivia confirmed quietly. She took a deep breath. "But I'm also the person who's on trial for your husband's murder."

Margaret froze. Her fingers gripped the headrest of the armchair in front of her. The voice that escaped was barely more than a whisper. "Why are you here?"

"Because I'm about ready to go to prison for a crime that I didn't commit," Olivia responded hesitantly. "I'm about to lose my job, my friends, my family…" Olivia's voice finally broke as her eyes dropped down to the floor. "My partner," she finished quietly. She glanced back up, finally meeting Margaret's gaze. "And before that happens, I just need to know…I need to understand what happened."

Slowly, Margaret came around and slid into the chair beside her. "What makes you think that I can help you with that?" she demanded, her voice trembling.

"Because I think that you know what happened to Michaela," Olivia told her gently. "And I think that you know what happened to your husband. But I don't think you're a cold-blooded killer. Now I can help you. But you have to tell me the truth."

Margaret's face was stricken. She studied Olivia for a long moment in silence before finally she began to crumble. The first traces of tears slowly traced a path down her cheek. She didn't bother to brush them away. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I never meant for anyone else to…to get hurt."

Olivia nodded. "Then tell me what happened."

Margaret's voice was halting when she finally spoke. "I was living in Quebec when I…when I first met Pasha," she began softly. She glanced back up at both of them. "I was teaching at a school there. And at first I thought it was too good to be true—he was handsome, charming…a brilliant dancer. "

"You fell in love with him," Olivia encouraged her softly.

Margaret nodded. "He took care of me. I'd never really had that before. When he asked me to marry him, I couldn't be happier."

"But then things changed," Olivia prompted her gently. She watched the expression on Margaret's face become troubled. "What happened?"

"We moved here when he was offered the job at Hudson, and I started up the school in Brooklyn. I used to do different outreach programs with some of the schools in the tri-state area. We would take the girls there for lecture demonstrations and they'd have the chance to perform outside of the city while we exposed other prospective dancers to our program. But…he kept telling me that the girls were too old—that we needed to start going to the elementary schools."

"He was using you as bait," Olivia murmured quietly. She met Elliot's eyes, and he silently encouraged her to continue on alone. "He let you get close to them, and then he lured the girls out."

Margaret nodded. "He was so supportive."

"Margaret, he wasn't being supportive. He was using you," Olivia interrupted gently.

"I know that now," Margaret managed quietly. She swallowed hard. "But I didn't know what he was doing until…until it was too late."

Olivia studied her carefully. Elliot was finally the one to break the silence. He tore his gaze away from Olivia and focused it solely on Margaret. His voice was steady, unwavering. "How did you find out?"

Margaret shook her head. "I…can't." She averted her eyes away.

"Did you find him with the other girls?" Olivia asked gently.

Margaret pursed her lips, her face turning pale. "No, I can't. I don't want to talk about it."

Elliot glanced over at Olivia and nodded. He turned his attention back to Margaret. "Your husband raped dozens of defenseless teenagers, and you stood by and let him do it," he seethed, his voice hardening.

Margaret drew herself up to her feet. "No, I…I didn't," she protested weakly.

Elliot stood up and crossed over to her quickly until they were eye to eye. "Yeah, you did," he spat back. "You helped him lure those girls out so that he could rape them."

Margaret shook her head. "No," she repeated. You've got it all wrong. I took care of them!"

"You didn't take care of them. You set them up to be raped," Elliot continued harshly. "You watched him take them aside. You watched him tell them that he wanted to have a child with them. And you did nothing to stop him."

Margaret's voice was trembling. "You don't understand. I couldn't stop him."

"You could have told somebody. You could have gotten help. But instead, you let him get away with it," Elliot shot back, his voice cold. "You let him get away with it, and then you murdered Michaela Spring to try to cover for him."

"No," Margaret insisted. "You're wrong. I…" Her voice was escalating rapidly until finally she realized she was shouting back at him. "I tried to help Michaela!" As soon as the words sank in, she froze in place. Her knees collapsed beneath her, and she slid to the floor, tears streaming down her face. "I tried to help her," she repeated woodenly.

Olivia took a step closer and knelt down beside her. "How?" she asked gently. "Margaret, how did you try to help her?"

Slowly, Margaret raised a tear-stained face. "It's all my fault," she admitted quietly. "I told her what he had planned for her baby. I tried to warn her, but she couldn't take it."

Olivia's voice was soft, comforting. "Couldn't take what?"

Margaret brushed back a single tear and rocked back on her feet. "The day she died, Michaela told him she would never let him have her baby." She swallowed hard. "And then…and then we watched her jump out the window." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "She would rather kill herself then go back to him and let him take her baby. And…and there was nothing I could do to stop her."



"Hey, come take a look at this."

Fin glanced up from the file in front of him and rubbed his eyes. "Did you find something?" he demanded quickly.

Munch nodded hesitantly. "It's our vics. You know how we couldn't find anything in common with them?"

Fin crossed his arms. "Yeah, they're all over the map—different ages, races, hair color, body type. There's no constant."

"That's where you're wrong," Munch mused. "Take a look at this—Kayla Cox was fourteen, Sasha Minden—fifteen. And Michaela Cox was sixteen."

"Yeah, but none of the other missing girls entered into CODIS fit that pattern," Fin interrupted. "All of the other girls were…" He hesitated and glanced at the file in front of him. He furrowed his brow. "All of them are between the ages of ten and twelve."

"Exactly, so why did Pasha suddenly change his mind and decide to go for older girls?" Munch declared triumphantly. "It doesn't fit with his previous pattern."

"A pedophile usually snatches another girl when his original victim ages out," Fin added. "Not go for someone older."

"But he's not a pedophile." Munch argued. "Think about it—Regina is his most recent victim. She's twenty. So why the age gap?"

Fin shook his head. "She may be twenty years old, but she still looks like she's about fourteen."

"She looks like she's fourteen," Munch corrected him. "But physiologically, she is twenty years old."

Fin nodded slowly. "You're saying that the whole pregnancy thing wasn't just to get her to sleep with him. You think there was something more to it?"

Munch pointed at him. "Bingo." He glanced back at the photos in front of him. "A woman is most fertile in her late teens to early twenties."

Fin shot him a look. "I'm not even going to ask how you know that," he mumbled.

Munch glared back at him and drew himself to his feet. "Yeah, well you try having four wives."

Fin ducked his head to hide the faintest hint of a smile. "No thanks. Once was enough for me."

"Yeah, well it's the proverbial curse of matrimony," Munch continued, his voice completely serious. "Sooner or later, that biological clock starts ticking, and you're the one who gets to hear all about it when it does."

Fin rolled his eyes. "Okay, so then why would Pasha actually want to get them pregnant? What exactly does he plan to do with all these babies?"

Munch pushed up his glasses and sighed. "After narcotics and weapons, what's the most profitable crime in the United States today?"

Fin sighed. "Human trafficking," he answered softly.

Munch nodded. "Right again," he answered quietly. "And Pasha managed to hit a double whammy. The only thing better than getting your money's worth out of one girl is getting double your money. Get a teen pregnant and it's two for the price of one."

Fin drew his head up slowly. "Those girls are still out there. We've got to find them."

Munch shook his head. "The only way we're going to find them is if we can get Margaret Stilton to talk. She's the only one who can tell us where Pasha was keeping those girls."



"Margaret, what was he going to do with the baby?"

Margaret drew in a shaky breath and turned away from Olivia. "The first one was an accident. He never meant for her to get pregnant. But afterwards, there was a…a demand for it," Margaret began slowly. She shot a helpless look over at Olivia. "If it was a boy, he'd just sell him off. But the girls…" She swallowed hard. "He'd take the girls to a special gynecologist who would inspect her and if he thought her…" Margaret broke off, unable to finish.

Olivia rocked back on her heels, a lump in her throat. "You're talking about touching," she managed quietly.

Elliot turned toward her confused. "What do you mean touching?"

Olivia turned toward him. "It's a practice in Nigeria where traffickers force young teens to have sex until they become pregnant. Then they take the girls that are born, inspect their genitals, and if they're deemed suitable, adopt them and force them into prostitution as soon as they're old enough."

Margaret nodded quietly. "There's a high demand for virgins, especially in the Asian and Indian communities. There's a superstition that many men from India believe a virgin can cure STD's or AIDS. If they were young enough, Pasha could make two or three times more for them."

Elliot swallowed hard. He drew his head up slowly. "How many men are we talking about here?"

Margaret dropped her head down and averted her eyes away from his. "On a good day…up to fourteen."

"And you did nothing to stop him?" Elliot demanded. "You let him send those girls to be raped more than a dozen times a day?"

"I couldn't stop him!" Margaret cried out bitterly. "I didn't know what else to do. I wanted to help them, and the only thing that I could do was try to convince them to listen to him."

"And what happened when they didn't?" Olivia ventured quietly.

Margaret brushed aside a tear. "When they didn't, he would put them in isolation. He would chain them up to a bed where he would beat them and rape them over and over until they finally gave in to him."

Olivia searched her eyes. "Is that what happened to you?" she prodded gently.

Margaret's eyes fluttered shut. "I married him," she admitted quietly, her voice haunted. "A girl doesn't marry a man who would do that to her."

Olivia nodded quietly. "That's not what I asked. Margaret, did he rape you?"

Her eyes finally opened and when she spoke, the voice that escaped was barely more than a whisper. "Yes."

Olivia's eyes darted over to Elliot's for a brief moment before returning to Margaret. "Is that why you killed him?"

Margaret's shoulders slumped forward dejectedly. "No." She swallowed hard. "We got in a fight. He started to beat me with a lamp. When it was over, I started to walk away, but then I saw…" She drew in a shaky breath. "In the entryway, there was a bag. The gun had fallen out of it, and it was like some sort of gift."

"So you went back in and shot him?" Olivia pressed gently.

Margaret nodded. "He didn't even know what hit him. He never knew about my trips to the shooting range. I didn't know what else to do."

Olivia gently encouraged her to look back up. "Margaret, if you knew how to protect yourself, why would you let him hurt you? Why would you let him hurt all those girls?"

Margaret bit down on her lip. "It wasn't Pasha I was worried about."

Her words sank in slowly. Olivia sat back for a moment. "He was working with a partner," she managed. Her eyes darted over at Elliot. "Margaret, I promise you that we'll protect you. He can't hurt you if you just tell me who he is. Now I know that you don't want anything more to happen to those girls, but this is really important. Where did he take them?"

Margaret shook her head adamantly. "I can't tell you."

"Margaret." Olivia leaned forward so that she was at eye level with her. "Margaret, there are still girls out there that are missing. And if they're still alive, we can help them. But you have to tell me where they are."

Margaret slowly raised a tear-stained face to meet Olivia's eyes. She swallowed hard. "You don't understand," she managed, her voice unsteady. "I can't stop him. I've never been able to stop him. And if he finds out that I've spoken to you…"

"He's not going to find out," Olivia promised her. "Margaret, we're going to arrest him. We're going to put him someplace where he can never hurt another girl again. I promise you that, but you have to tell me who he is."

Margaret's eyes fluttered shut. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. "His name is Dale—Dale Spring." She bit down on her lip. "Am I going to go to jail now?"

Olivia sighed. "We'll talk to the ADA. We'll see what she can do." She hesitated. "Margaret, there's still one thing I don't understand. Why shoot him now after all these years? What changed?"

Margaret drew her feet into her chest. "A couple of months ago, I found out I was pregnant." She buried her head in her knees. "I couldn't let him take away my baby too."