Olivia had to jog down the dirty, busy New York street just to keep
up with her partner's long, angry stride. She brushed past people, ignoring
their glares and vitriol. It was of much more concern to her that her
partner's face wore a stony look, his eyes bearing a cold steel. It wasn't
at all suited to Elliot's normally genial personality. Yet she could
completely understand why he was so angry. She wasn't too happy herself -
it just hadn't got under her skin the way it had with him.
"Elliot!" She called breathlessly. "Elliot!"
He slowed down, albeit reluctantly. She fell into step beside him, glad that she too could slow down now. Her eyes observed him discreetly, but now she paid a little more attention to the crowds of people they were walking through. When Olivia realised Elliot wasn't going to speak to her, at least not without a little nudging, she took the lead.
"I'm upset about this too, Elliot-"
"Upset!" He laughed darkly, a sound that unsettled her. "I'm...furious. This guy's getting a walk."
Six months of hard work, weeks' worth of unpaid overtime, and three victims had fallen foul of a tough jury and tougher judge, both of whom had decided they didn't like the prosecution's case all that much. The guy prosecuting, a temporary stand-in for their usual ADA, had made a real mess of the closing statement, which hadn't helped.
"Five years is not a walk." She reminded him.
"He could be out in three."
It was a good point, one Olivia couldn't argue with - entirely plausible, and likely because the guy was no idiot. He would serve his time sensibly, building up the points with the authorities, and convincing everyone that he was fit to be released early, before...being released early. Way earlier than he deserved whatever happened.
"But he is going away for a while."
"Not long enough."
Olivia Benson was clever enough to realise she wasn't going to win against his line of argument, particularly when she believed it too. So she fell into that awkward silence again, where they were both desperate to just shout about how angry they were, and how wrong that judgement had been.
She rested a hand gently on her partner's arm in an attempt to calm him down. Elliot glanced sideways at her.
"Come on." Olivia said quietly. "There's a cup of coffee back at the station house with my name on it."
It wasn't their entrance that caught Munch and Fin's attention, but Stabler crashing into a chair. They took one look at the anger written all over his exhausted face, and both looked across at Olivia, who was leaning against her desk. She shook her head slightly. It was to be left alone, at least for now.
"How did the sentencing go?"
They jumped collectively. Munch and Fin twisted round to see Cragen standing unobtrusively in the doorway to his office, explaining why they hadn't heard him come in. They glanced back at Olivia, who looked more than a little uncomfortable at the question. Although she had refused to let them even ask the question, she had no real reason to refuse to answer her boss.
"Not well." Was the reluctant reply. "Five years."
"Five years?" Fin exclaimed in horror. That was nothing.
"Bad judge, bad jury, bad prosecutor." Olivia sighed. "Chambers won't be working this kind of case again in a hurry."
Munch's face wrinkled in obvious dislike. He and "the lawyer" as he referred to Chambers, didn't get along very well. "Shame."
Cragen didn't bother to admonish his detective. He shared a similar view of the flashy egotist, who thought more often about his numerous women than he did about the cases he prosecuted. They had had a few run-ins, and Cragen had raised hell about his temporary promotion to ADA. It was a shame it had come to this. No, - he corrected himself - it was a disaster. A guy who should have been locked up for upwards of twenty years, given a small sentence like that? A disaster.
"He could be out in three."
Everyone looked at the defeated figure in the chair near Olivia. They knew he was right.
"At least we got him for something." Cragen muttered.
Munch snorted. "Despite Chambers' best efforts."
A heavy silence fell on the team. They'd worked so hard, all of them, to collar this guy for the crimes he had undoubtedly committed, and now it seemed to be for nothing. There were few occasions when they wondered whether they were actually doing any good - and this was one of them. If a dead cert case like that could be taken apart, what chance was there for the rest of them?
The Captain, seeing the mood his team was in, regretted what he was about to land them with, but due to the pressure he was under, he had no choice. He cleared his throat to catch their attention and strolled determinedly out into the main work area. Four pairs of eyes watched him with suspicious interest.
"Guys - Ellie Whitfield."
A collective groan went up from the group. This was about a real mess of case, a twenty-five year old accountant, found brutally murdered in an alleyway. The case had originally belonged to Homicide, but they had handed it over after discovering that the victim had been raped. In other words, they didn't want to touch it with a ten-foot bargepole.
There was little evidence - a few black woollen fibres, of the type to be found in any mid-priced knit-item - and no eyewitnesses. She had been found when the garbage men had turned up to empty the bins. They'd gotten one hell of a shock, discovering her body - it was grotesque, even by death's standards. No hairs, no prints.
"We need to concentrate on this one." Cragen informed them. "All of us."
"Who did she know?" Munch asked cynically.
As it turned out, he wasn't too far from the truth. "The DA's niece worked with her. He is....keen for her killer to be uncovered yesterday, so let's get on this, OK?"
His team muttered under their breaths. They didn't feel that Whitfield's case deserved any less attention than it was about to get, just that it didn't deserve any more than their other, equally disturbing cases. It seemed like those who knew people were automatically more important.
Elliot stood reluctantly in the doorway, watching as Munch crouched down next to the horrifically mutilated body of a woman. Fin picked his way over and did the same, opposite his partner. They were obviously discussing the case, but he could barely hear their hushed voices from where he was, much less make out the words. From where he was, he could tell two immediate things about the victim. She had been in pretty good shape when she died, and she had put up one hell of a fight for her life. Also - also - it looked very much like the Whitfield case, in that her body was staged and mutilated.
He took a deep breath and swallowed, to combat the sudden wave of nausea that had hit him. Forensics would kill him if he threw up. Elliot closed his eyes, remembering the photographs of Ellie Whitfield's body. Capturing in glossy Technicolor the way she had been attacked - a razor, according to those who knew how to find out these things. Parts of her metres from her actual body. Parts of her still missing, presumed to have been taken by the killer as trophies. Amongst the carnage, the killer had left a business card. It was creamy-coloured, thick - the type businessmen use when trying to impress people with their wealth and success. But it was also blank. Ellie Whitfield had of course been raped - no evidence there either. The killer had thought it out.
A set of footsteps, not heavy, jerked Elliot out of his daze. He opened his eyes, knowing already that his partner was standing right next to him. Olivia let out a deep breath. She hadn't been fully prepared for how horrendous this scene was. Her eyes, over-stimulated by too much coffee, flickered from the body to her partner and back again. He had reclosed his eyes, remembering the second body.
Fourty-two year old Wilma Parks had left behind her a legion of distraught children, who had been sent to live with various aunts and uncles, excepting the two eldest. Unlike Whitfield, she had not been well- off. Her job as a nanny to one of New York's richer families had brought her into contact with money though. Three days a week she had slept at the Robinsons' luxurious home, without ever being able to even dream of being able to afford almost anything they owned.
It was hard to find similarities between the two victims. Ellie had been slim, young, blonde and successful. Wilma had been fast-approaching middle age, with a waistline falling victim to the effects of having seven kids. Her slightly olive complexion and engagingly red-dyed hair had made striking contrasts to the first victim. The hair, her most distinctive and least real feature, had been hacked off and strewn carelessly around. Her body had been mutilated and staged. A business card had been left at the scene, blank again.
"You OK, Elliot?" Olivia asked in a low, throaty voice, that suggested she was remembering a few things herself.
"Yeah. Cmon." He said abruptly.
They moved swiftly but carefully across the room. It was neat in a way that Wilma Parks' home hadn't been (they guessed it was hard to keep a place neat when you worked long days and had five kids at home), although both were pretty clean. Whitfield's case was a little different. Olivia crouched down slowly next to Fin, Elliot next to Munch. They surveyed the body. It had definitely been staged, that much was obvious. There could be no jumping to conclusions about this though.
After a report on the links between the Whitfield and Parks cases had been completed, many details had been leaked by persons unknown to the media. They'd jumped on it, writing article after article. It had come up on TV news as well, which was to be expected. A copycat might have taken advantage of that to blame this murder on "The Cutter" (an insensitive nickname assigned to the killer by some semi-competent journalist).
Benson spoke up. "What do we know so far?"
"Not much." Munch admitted. "Body's cold, she's been here a while. Holli Griffin, a twenty-six year old receptionist at a local window sales firm. She was engaged."
"Same killer?" Elliot asked anxiously.
His colleague shrugged. They couldn't be sure, but they all knew it looked like it. Olivia was getting a weird sinking feeling about all this. She noted the dubious glances between Munch and his partner. Fin took from his jacket pocket a small plastic bag, and handed it gingerly to Elliot. The latter smoothed out the wrinkled surface and read the card inside.
A cold sweat washed over her as she saw his face reflect first concentration, then digust, fear, anger, and finally sheer malevolence. But somehow the mask that covered all that got to her most. He was determined to catch this guy. It was......right, but unnerving.
Stabler handed Olivia the bag. "Read it." He said shortly.
She lowered her gaze and her heart went from sinking to sunk. Almost as soon as her fingers touched the plastic bag, the blurred letters embossed into the thick card became clear to her. Her own expression transformed to one of anger. It read simply - "ELLIOT STABLER - FOR YOU". Olivia swore under her breath. This was turning out to be a real bitch of a case.
"Elliot!" She called breathlessly. "Elliot!"
He slowed down, albeit reluctantly. She fell into step beside him, glad that she too could slow down now. Her eyes observed him discreetly, but now she paid a little more attention to the crowds of people they were walking through. When Olivia realised Elliot wasn't going to speak to her, at least not without a little nudging, she took the lead.
"I'm upset about this too, Elliot-"
"Upset!" He laughed darkly, a sound that unsettled her. "I'm...furious. This guy's getting a walk."
Six months of hard work, weeks' worth of unpaid overtime, and three victims had fallen foul of a tough jury and tougher judge, both of whom had decided they didn't like the prosecution's case all that much. The guy prosecuting, a temporary stand-in for their usual ADA, had made a real mess of the closing statement, which hadn't helped.
"Five years is not a walk." She reminded him.
"He could be out in three."
It was a good point, one Olivia couldn't argue with - entirely plausible, and likely because the guy was no idiot. He would serve his time sensibly, building up the points with the authorities, and convincing everyone that he was fit to be released early, before...being released early. Way earlier than he deserved whatever happened.
"But he is going away for a while."
"Not long enough."
Olivia Benson was clever enough to realise she wasn't going to win against his line of argument, particularly when she believed it too. So she fell into that awkward silence again, where they were both desperate to just shout about how angry they were, and how wrong that judgement had been.
She rested a hand gently on her partner's arm in an attempt to calm him down. Elliot glanced sideways at her.
"Come on." Olivia said quietly. "There's a cup of coffee back at the station house with my name on it."
It wasn't their entrance that caught Munch and Fin's attention, but Stabler crashing into a chair. They took one look at the anger written all over his exhausted face, and both looked across at Olivia, who was leaning against her desk. She shook her head slightly. It was to be left alone, at least for now.
"How did the sentencing go?"
They jumped collectively. Munch and Fin twisted round to see Cragen standing unobtrusively in the doorway to his office, explaining why they hadn't heard him come in. They glanced back at Olivia, who looked more than a little uncomfortable at the question. Although she had refused to let them even ask the question, she had no real reason to refuse to answer her boss.
"Not well." Was the reluctant reply. "Five years."
"Five years?" Fin exclaimed in horror. That was nothing.
"Bad judge, bad jury, bad prosecutor." Olivia sighed. "Chambers won't be working this kind of case again in a hurry."
Munch's face wrinkled in obvious dislike. He and "the lawyer" as he referred to Chambers, didn't get along very well. "Shame."
Cragen didn't bother to admonish his detective. He shared a similar view of the flashy egotist, who thought more often about his numerous women than he did about the cases he prosecuted. They had had a few run-ins, and Cragen had raised hell about his temporary promotion to ADA. It was a shame it had come to this. No, - he corrected himself - it was a disaster. A guy who should have been locked up for upwards of twenty years, given a small sentence like that? A disaster.
"He could be out in three."
Everyone looked at the defeated figure in the chair near Olivia. They knew he was right.
"At least we got him for something." Cragen muttered.
Munch snorted. "Despite Chambers' best efforts."
A heavy silence fell on the team. They'd worked so hard, all of them, to collar this guy for the crimes he had undoubtedly committed, and now it seemed to be for nothing. There were few occasions when they wondered whether they were actually doing any good - and this was one of them. If a dead cert case like that could be taken apart, what chance was there for the rest of them?
The Captain, seeing the mood his team was in, regretted what he was about to land them with, but due to the pressure he was under, he had no choice. He cleared his throat to catch their attention and strolled determinedly out into the main work area. Four pairs of eyes watched him with suspicious interest.
"Guys - Ellie Whitfield."
A collective groan went up from the group. This was about a real mess of case, a twenty-five year old accountant, found brutally murdered in an alleyway. The case had originally belonged to Homicide, but they had handed it over after discovering that the victim had been raped. In other words, they didn't want to touch it with a ten-foot bargepole.
There was little evidence - a few black woollen fibres, of the type to be found in any mid-priced knit-item - and no eyewitnesses. She had been found when the garbage men had turned up to empty the bins. They'd gotten one hell of a shock, discovering her body - it was grotesque, even by death's standards. No hairs, no prints.
"We need to concentrate on this one." Cragen informed them. "All of us."
"Who did she know?" Munch asked cynically.
As it turned out, he wasn't too far from the truth. "The DA's niece worked with her. He is....keen for her killer to be uncovered yesterday, so let's get on this, OK?"
His team muttered under their breaths. They didn't feel that Whitfield's case deserved any less attention than it was about to get, just that it didn't deserve any more than their other, equally disturbing cases. It seemed like those who knew people were automatically more important.
Elliot stood reluctantly in the doorway, watching as Munch crouched down next to the horrifically mutilated body of a woman. Fin picked his way over and did the same, opposite his partner. They were obviously discussing the case, but he could barely hear their hushed voices from where he was, much less make out the words. From where he was, he could tell two immediate things about the victim. She had been in pretty good shape when she died, and she had put up one hell of a fight for her life. Also - also - it looked very much like the Whitfield case, in that her body was staged and mutilated.
He took a deep breath and swallowed, to combat the sudden wave of nausea that had hit him. Forensics would kill him if he threw up. Elliot closed his eyes, remembering the photographs of Ellie Whitfield's body. Capturing in glossy Technicolor the way she had been attacked - a razor, according to those who knew how to find out these things. Parts of her metres from her actual body. Parts of her still missing, presumed to have been taken by the killer as trophies. Amongst the carnage, the killer had left a business card. It was creamy-coloured, thick - the type businessmen use when trying to impress people with their wealth and success. But it was also blank. Ellie Whitfield had of course been raped - no evidence there either. The killer had thought it out.
A set of footsteps, not heavy, jerked Elliot out of his daze. He opened his eyes, knowing already that his partner was standing right next to him. Olivia let out a deep breath. She hadn't been fully prepared for how horrendous this scene was. Her eyes, over-stimulated by too much coffee, flickered from the body to her partner and back again. He had reclosed his eyes, remembering the second body.
Fourty-two year old Wilma Parks had left behind her a legion of distraught children, who had been sent to live with various aunts and uncles, excepting the two eldest. Unlike Whitfield, she had not been well- off. Her job as a nanny to one of New York's richer families had brought her into contact with money though. Three days a week she had slept at the Robinsons' luxurious home, without ever being able to even dream of being able to afford almost anything they owned.
It was hard to find similarities between the two victims. Ellie had been slim, young, blonde and successful. Wilma had been fast-approaching middle age, with a waistline falling victim to the effects of having seven kids. Her slightly olive complexion and engagingly red-dyed hair had made striking contrasts to the first victim. The hair, her most distinctive and least real feature, had been hacked off and strewn carelessly around. Her body had been mutilated and staged. A business card had been left at the scene, blank again.
"You OK, Elliot?" Olivia asked in a low, throaty voice, that suggested she was remembering a few things herself.
"Yeah. Cmon." He said abruptly.
They moved swiftly but carefully across the room. It was neat in a way that Wilma Parks' home hadn't been (they guessed it was hard to keep a place neat when you worked long days and had five kids at home), although both were pretty clean. Whitfield's case was a little different. Olivia crouched down slowly next to Fin, Elliot next to Munch. They surveyed the body. It had definitely been staged, that much was obvious. There could be no jumping to conclusions about this though.
After a report on the links between the Whitfield and Parks cases had been completed, many details had been leaked by persons unknown to the media. They'd jumped on it, writing article after article. It had come up on TV news as well, which was to be expected. A copycat might have taken advantage of that to blame this murder on "The Cutter" (an insensitive nickname assigned to the killer by some semi-competent journalist).
Benson spoke up. "What do we know so far?"
"Not much." Munch admitted. "Body's cold, she's been here a while. Holli Griffin, a twenty-six year old receptionist at a local window sales firm. She was engaged."
"Same killer?" Elliot asked anxiously.
His colleague shrugged. They couldn't be sure, but they all knew it looked like it. Olivia was getting a weird sinking feeling about all this. She noted the dubious glances between Munch and his partner. Fin took from his jacket pocket a small plastic bag, and handed it gingerly to Elliot. The latter smoothed out the wrinkled surface and read the card inside.
A cold sweat washed over her as she saw his face reflect first concentration, then digust, fear, anger, and finally sheer malevolence. But somehow the mask that covered all that got to her most. He was determined to catch this guy. It was......right, but unnerving.
Stabler handed Olivia the bag. "Read it." He said shortly.
She lowered her gaze and her heart went from sinking to sunk. Almost as soon as her fingers touched the plastic bag, the blurred letters embossed into the thick card became clear to her. Her own expression transformed to one of anger. It read simply - "ELLIOT STABLER - FOR YOU". Olivia swore under her breath. This was turning out to be a real bitch of a case.