Also, I claim no knowledge of our legal system. I look up what I can, and the research is done, but I do not back up what I have written from a legal stand point. However, just because something is wrong does not mean I want it to stay that way. If you catch a boo-boo, please LET ME KNOW!! I will do what I can to [hopefully] fix it, or warn people of the mistake.
Chapter Eight: Playing the Game
"She's your wildcard, so see what you can get without her." Alex turned to Munch from the two-way mirror that showed Philip Kip in his seat and his cousin pacing. "Brooks said that Kip wouldn't even talk to him. Just wanted to hear his rights, then spent the rest of his time smiling at the mirror."
"Practicing his crazy rap," snarled Fin.
"Remember," Alex continued. "We've already got the proof. The labs are going to turn up DNA as evidence of his crimes, so we don't just need a confession. You have to get him to admit he did it with all his cards in the deck and possible premeditation."
"I don't think he needs to admit to premeditation, Counselor." Stabler interrupted. "The kidnapping might have been spur of the moment, but he kept these last two women for days. And there's nothing he can do that will hide from a jury the patient torture he inflicted on them."
Cabot's mood shifted almost imperceptibly, but John felt it. An air of challenger and the challenged. There had been this rift between her and Elliot since a case involving piquerism, almost half a year ago, and there were no signs of it healing over anytime soon.
"It would help, Detective." She turned back to Munch. "If it's not a sane admission you get in there, he's gonna get off on an insanity plea."
"He knows that we've got the proof. He's not gonna break. Not even with that picture." Fin motioned with his head towards the file.
Alex turned to him, crossing her arms. "He doesn't know we have it. We have to hope that he'll be surprised enough to forgo his stratagem."
John nodded in agreement, then looked to his captain, getting the go-ahead to leave the crowded viewing room. Though the relatively small area held the ADA, the SVU captain, Stabler, his own partner and the shrink-on-loan, he would have rather stayed with the herd than to have ventured into the pasture. He felt a little fatuous and detached without his partner by his side. He knew the feelings were absurd. Stabler was a whiz at grilling a suspect, easily the best in the department, so technically there was no one better suited to back up John. But he still needed some sense of familiarity. And lately, fresh breaths of the accustomed were coming in few and far between.
He handed the file to Stabler, taking the recorder and opened the door. As he entered the room he was met by the smug face of Philip Kip, staring expectantly up at him. Brooks stood against the wall with his arms crossed, and watched the interaction between suspect and police officer warily. Munch was going to learn very quickly just whose side this man was on.
As Stabler followed into the room, Kip's eyebrows lifted in surprise but he said nothing. He looked to the mirror, and his smug grin grew, knowing Fin was watching from within. Munch knew his partner was ready to break something in two.
That same conceited look found its way to Munch. New partner? it asked.
Munch kept his face vacant of any expression and sat across from the racist murderer. He placed the tape deck on the table, pushed the record button and sat back in the chair. As he stared into those glazed, black eyes, remembering when they had sparked angrily like a live wire, he suddenly realized something imperative to breaking Kip.
His mother wasn't just John's wildcard, she was his only card. She and what she did psychologically to her son were his only chips to gamble with. Kip was too cunning to give him anything, to afraid of the cell that awaited any single mistake. The man knew he had two choices and had decided to play the part that would eventually get him cognitive treatment instead of a cold hard bed in a cold hard environment.
Clearly, Kip knew the game and had ever since he risked his first intentional kill. Munch, suddenly more dubious of his part, wasn't sure if he was the right player to be challenging the master. But he was here and this was his job, his purpose. This was what he was good at: bringing the bad guys down. And he'd be damned to hell and beyond if he let this malignancy of society beat him.
With a renewed sense of self that he knew to be temporary, he decided to skip the counselor's advice and start right in on the psychological third degree. Nothing else would penetrate that thick wall of padding that Kip had pulled around himself.
In his mind he could see everyone's reaction to his controversial method: Cabot's lips would purse and she'd shake her head in exasperation; Cregan would be completely unfazed, his restless eyes watching with keen interest; his partner would be pleased with the harsh and direct treatment, grim smile so tight his lips would pale... He faltered for a minute, catching himself wondering how Seymour would react. Did it matter?
Get on with it.
He frowned at the man opposite him and cocked his head in mock curiosity. "Do you know who Penny Pence is, Phil?" Kip merely continued grinning. Munch guessed by the man's lack of reaction that the name hadn't struck a memory cord. At least he hoped that it hadn't.
Nodding, he continued. "No. I didn't think she'd tell you her working name. I mean, there was no real reason for you to know, was there?"
A slight change in the expression: life behind the eyes, less of a smile, more interest.
I hope to God Seymour's right. There was no time for doubt, no margin for error.
"You know what I think, Phil?" he began, standing up and moving to the window. He stared innocently, merely taking in the view. "I think you'd have to be pretty unbalanced to want to fuck your own mother."
As if they worked on a series circuit, Stabler threw the file towards Kip before the man could even blink. It landed on the table and slid, stopping two inches from Kip's hands.
"But that's just me." He turned, time seeming to slow to one-fourth its actual speed, and he saw Philip Kip staring at the file, nothing registering on the man's undisturbed face. He was not smiling but there was... nothing.
For a moment his heart skipped in disappointment, thinking that something had gone wrong, maybe the profile was wrong. How could it be? he asked himself desperately. She looks just like the others. Then he saw Kip's trembling hand slowly moving from his lap up to the file, and noticed the bottom inch of Lana Kip's photo was protruding from the manila folder. Munch watched with bated breath as Kip opened the folder to see his mother in the police photo. His face distorted, a sudden mask of putrid fury and pure misery, and he just stared.
This is it, his mind clamored. You've caught him completely by surprise. But this shock will eventually wear off, probably sooner than later. Now that everything's out, you've got to let him make the first move, then move yourself, and quickly.
He didn't have to wait long for Kip's move. Closing his eyes tightly as if he feared the picture would burn them, blinding him, he spoke. "You have no idea what I went through, you filthy Jew-fuck."
Munch took a deep breath, trying to make it seem as standard as his other breaths, but this one had meditative qualities. "Don't I?" He paused. "Mama's Boy." He didn't take well to racism.
About his comment, there had been no real reaction whatsoever from Brooks, seeming too confused about the current situation to remember his job. Kip, however, looked up at him. The hatred in the man's eyes was palpable, but missing was the glazed over, deadness. These were the crystal clear eyes of a mentally competent, if not all together sane, man who had lived through too much and thought himself above all others.
Munch let a silent prayer lift off in hopes that the jury would see Kip exactly as he was now. Stabler caught Munch's eye, and Munch nodded, knowing what Elliot had in mind. False motive and false psychological background, always worse than the truth, mixed with fact often motivated the suspects to admit their crimes in indignation.
Stabler was great at that aspect of interrogations. He moved two steps from his rock solid position against the wall, catching Kip's attention for the second time that day. "I know what happened, John. Philip here was a bad boy, weren't you? Or is naughty more accurate?"
Kip's eyes lowered on the detective, but he said nothing. Munch had feared the shock would wear off quickly, but not this soon. The man was simply desensitized to a ridiculous degree. The only way to work this is to get him over-emotional, he thought in hopes that Brooks would stay out of it.
Stabler could tell they were losing him and stepped closer to the table. "You thought your mother was hot, didn't you?" He nodded confidentially, his voice almost sympathetic. "You wanted her, wanted to have sex with her, right?"
Munch, following his lead, strolled up to the table and leaned in close enough to feel the breath coming from Kip's open mouth. "But you knew she'd never have you," he said softly.
Stabler continued. "So you found women that looked like her. You had sex with them, and you knew it was wrong. So, you killed them."
Kip was still staring at Munch. "You killed them because of your own lust."
"NO!!" Kip shouted loudly and grabbed the table, knuckles instantly turning white. Munch stood back from the table, indiscreetly glancing at the recorder to make sure it was on. "You're completely wrong you, stupid shits!"
And now: the Feature Presentation, he thought.
And sure enough Kip continued. He stood up and leaned on the table, voice lowering and eyes going back and forth between the two detectives. "I killed them because they were the same as my mother. They were doing the same things as her! I NEVER wanted to fuck her! I hated her for what she did to me, being so loud in the next room, not caring for me!" His voice began to break, becoming more emotional. "Giving more affection to the niggers and cunts she'd have in there, but never offering a hug or a smile to me! Then, when I could only get it up for bitches that looked like her-" His eyes burned with rage and disgust. "It was like some kind of fucking curse. He took his seat again, becoming somewhat calmer. "All whores are the same. I was only ridding the world of sluts, lewd bed meat. The world ain't gonna miss them, and you can quote me on that."
Munch smiled, closing the distance again, and pointed to the tape recorder. "I think I will, Phil."
Kip's heated eyes took a moment to adjust on Munch's arm, then it slowly traversed the sleeve, then the hand, at last landing on the recorder. Alex's words came back to John as he watched the man staring, almost uncomprehending, at the machine. "We have to hope that he'll be surprised enough to forgo his stratagem."
Surprised and angry enough, he thought.
A moment later Kip breathed in and out harshly as if just realizing that he had given a confession of his crimes. The detectives had gotten the better of him, and what he had said would most certainly make it more difficult for anyone to work an insanity plea.
Munch grinned at him. "That's right. Try convincing people now, you sick bastard." Kip's head swiveled to meet the detective's gaze. Munch saw the undiluted fury within, a primal hatred that ran the span of the man's life and body.
"You clipped-dick heeb." he snarled menacingly. A mere millisecond later John felt the pain exploding from the right side of his head, including his eye. Having not seen the fist coming at him, he stumbled backward for a moment, stunned, wondering where the pain had come from. Then he opened his eyes and saw nothing but Kip rushing forward. Kip's a lefty, he thought, a little dazed.
As he blundered into the wall grabbing the right side of his head and feeling one hand slide on blood, he heard Kip yelling and saw Stabler had jumped forward and, with the aid of a bewildered Brooks, was holding the furious man back, but just barely. He heard the door to the interrogation room slam open.
"John!" He turned to see his enraged friend and partner hurrying towards the rapist and he moved to block the quaking man, still holding his ever more painful head. Hoping to keep him from thrashing Kip and ending a good career, he pushed his partner back, and guided him through the door. He turned to make sure that Stabler was doing fine. Not that a scrawny man like himself could make much of a difference, but he'd rather take his chances with trying to help pin down the venomous rapist, than trust his partner to the same job.
Elliot nodded at him. "Be right there."
John walked in beside his partner, closing the door behind him. He noticed that Seymour and Cabot were missing.
"Did she see-" he started.
Cregan nodded. "Yeah. She went to call the DA." He paused, looking at his detective. "How's the head, John?"
"Never been better." he lied. "The eye hurts like hell though."
"Well, you did a damn good job. You and Stabler got-"
He stopped as he and Munch saw Fin quickly heading back towards the door.
"What're you-"
Fin interrupted Munch. "He's trying to destroy the tape." Sure enough, Kip was becoming rowdy again, kicking at the recorder. It was taking both men to hold him back, and they could do nothing about the tape deck.
Fin went in and Munch followed, more out of hoping his presence could keep his partner from doing anything rash than thinking he could help.
Kip's eyes met Fin instantly. "Fuck you, spade," he yelled. "You better not even TOUCH me."
But he wasn't after Kip. He grabbed the recorder and slid it down the table to Munch, who caught it. Fin turned back to the struggling man and, standing about four feet away, calmly drew his gun. Munch's heart pounded in his chest as he watched his partner bring the weapon to eye Philip Kip's eye level. "Calm down," Odafin said quietly but firmly.
"Kiss my ass." Kip hissed, but stopped moving long enough for Elliot to cuff him and push him into his seat. Fin put his gun in its holster, and walked out, followed by Munch, Stabler, then Brooks who closed the door behind him.
"That's the last time I leave my gun behind during an interrogation." Stabler was wiping away perspiration from his forehead.
The door opened and Seymour came in with a couple paper towels. "Here." She handed them to Munch. He could feel heavy coldness inside and she looked at him sheepishly. "I couldn't find the ice-packs."
"I'll get one." Fin stomped out of the room.
Munch nodded to the kid and mumbled a thanks. Losing the adrenaline rush, and other things to keep his mind occupied, his head now began to pound fiercely.
Alex walked into the room looking behind her at the retreating figure of Fin. "Did I miss something?"