title: possession - chapter six
author: duck (all the good ones end in "-uck")
rating: pg-13. one day i'll write one that's not, i promise.
author note: i am one person, unless you count my multiple personalities. or kukrae shouting ideas from the back.
disclaimer: mine? no. we know this by now.
------
"So, Elliot," Olivia said in her most conversational tone. Her partner glanced at her from the driver's seat. "I was just sitting at my desk this morning, typing up Cassandra's statement. You know, while you were off helping Cragen with Alex?"
Elliot nodded slowly as he came to a stop at a red light. "Yeah?"
"Well, I was just sitting there and I turn around and see Danny Adler running by the doors to the squad room from the direction of the interrogation rooms." She eyed him carefully.
"Oh, really?" He was obviously feigning his unconcern. She decided to play along.
"I don't suppose you'd know why he screamed when I called his name, would you?" Danny hadn't screamed exactly; it had been more like a startled yelp. Still, it was curious and demanded investigation.
He considered her for a moment. "No clue, but if I'd been in an interrogation room with John for more than five minutes I'd probably run screaming too."
"Right, well, I figured I'd ask him," she said. He cleared his throat and turned back to the road as the light turned green.
"And what'd he say?" Oh that's definitely nervousness, Stabler, she grinned to herself.
"He said to ask you," she said.
"Did he now?"
She arched an eyebrow at him, hoping to coax out whatever he was holding back. "Now, I don't know why since you said you were with Cragen at the time."
"Yep, in one of the interrogation rooms with Alex," he confirmed quickly.
"I don't suppose you'd know then why Danny was last seen throwing up on the sidewalk outside?"
"Throwing up, huh?" Elliot shook his head in pity. Olivia could tell he was fighting a smile. "Poor kid. No idea."
"Uh-huh," she said in a tone of disbelief.
"What?"
"Nothing."
- Special Victims Unit Squad Room -
- Thursday September 2nd 12:39pm -
Elliot strode through the doors first, Olivia trailing in his wake. Munch was just hanging up the phone and turned to greet them. He almost snickered; it looked like Elliot was running from Olivia.
"We've got a new local area for our guy," Elliot announced.
"And we've got one better," Munch countered. "Just got off the phone with a tattoo artist. Said a guy fitting his description came in to buy some ink. He was warned by a friend of his from Marcus's old stomping grounds."
"Must've run out," Olivia said, brightening visibly. "Did he sell it to him?"
"He told him he couldn't sell it to him right there, but that he'd have it delivered that afternoon to his place," Munch said, smiling. "Guy's an ex-Marine and he said he's willing to help any way possible."
"We have an address?" Elliot asked, closing the distance to Munch's desk.
"An apartment down on 3rd Street," Munch confirmed. He waved a piece of paper in the air. "Got it right here."
"3rd Street," Elliot said. He grabbed the paper from Munch's hand. "This must be in the apartments down the street from the hospital."
"And we thought he was a smart guy," Olivia said, shaking her head.
"Hey, Bill Clinton was a Rhodes Scholar; look what he managed to accomplish," Munch grinned.
- Fall-Out Shelter Tattoos and Piercing -
- 2:34pm -
"Excuse me," Elliot said. The woman behind the reception counter looked up from her magazine.
"Can I help you?" she asked in an indifferent tone. "If you want a tattoo you'll have to make an appointment. Piercings are done on a walk-in basis." She gave Olivia a once over. "We specialize in body piercing and as you can see from the walls, military art and tribal designs. We can do anything by flash and--"
Elliot whipped out his badge. "We're here to speak to Tony."
"Right," the girl continued in the same tone. She turned and disappeared behind a curtain.
"Helpful," Olivia commented, imitating her nonchalant voice. Elliot grinned at her.
"We're this close, Liv," he said.
"I know." She reached out and started to flip through the book of designs that lay on the counter. "What do you think?"
"About what?"
"Should I get a tattoo?" He laughed.
"They're quite nice," he commented, looking over her shoulder. She flipped past the first few pages of butterflies. "What, you took me seriously? No fanciful butterfly for you?"
"I can't see myself having one, no," she said, elbowing him in the stomach. "Besides, who would want that on their body for the rest of their life?"
Elliot looked away from her. "I have no idea."
He could see her examining his profile out of the corner of his eye. "What?"
"What do you mean, 'what?'" he asked, hoping his expression was neutral enough.
She looked like she was going to pursue it again--he'd had a hard enough time resisting her in the car earlier--but they were interrupted by the arrival of a man who could only be Tony, their artist-informant. He still had his signature military buzz cut, although his somewhat ample girth spoke of many years out of the service.
"You the guy I talked to on the phone?" he asked, his voice thick with the accent of New York.
"No," Elliot said. "I'm Detective Stabler; this is my partner Detective Benson."
"Okay," Tony said agreeably as he placed a small box on the counter. "This is an empty box we get ink shipped to us in. I told him one of my guys would be running it over after six o'clock when we close up so you guys got plenty of time. If you got anybody that has tats or anything it'd probably be best to send them in first as my guy."
"I got a couple," Elliot said, grinning. He rolled up his right sleeve to show him his Marine Corps tattoo. Tony grinned back at him.
"How long of a stint?" he asked.
"Only three years," Elliot answered. "Came back and went to school, then the academy. You?"
"Nine," Tony said. "Busted my leg in combat, got an honorable discharge and opened this place. You catch this freak, ya hear?"
"I hear," Elliot said. He reached out and clasped the other man's hand. "Thanks for all your help."
- 530 West 3rd Street -
- 6:24pm -
Elliot frowned as he pulled the black tank top he was wearing down, trying to straighten it out. He glanced down the hall and turned back to Olivia and Cragen who stood next to him. He thought for a second that Olivia had been staring at him, but she handed him the empty box. He grabbed it and flexed his arm muscles, stretching them above his head.
"Okay," he said, turning around. "My gun secure?"
He looked over his shoulder at Olivia, who was giving off the distinct impression that she was looking instead at his ass as she bit her lower lip. He grinned as she grabbed his gun in its holster and shook it slightly. "You're good to go," she said as he tugged at the sides of his jeans with his free hand.
"So do I look the part?" he asked. They both looked him up and down and Olivia smiled at him, her eyebrows raising slightly.
"You look like a burnout pushing middle age," she said. He glanced down at the crucifixion tattoo that covered his upper left arm.
"A Christian middle aged burnout," he corrected. He hefted his right arm in the air. "With a military past."
"Right," she said. "You be careful."
"We're right behind you, Elliot," Cragen said, nodding in the direction of the six uniformed cops behind him. Elliot nodded his head as he started to walk down the hall. He knew Munch and Fin had taken up position in the alley outside in case Marcus caught on and decided to bolt. From all indications he didn't have a gun or any other kind of weapon. It should be a piece of cake. Didn't mean he wouldn't be any less careful.
He stopped in front of apartment 45 and looked back at Liv down the hall. Their eyes connected for a moment and he gave her a reassuring half smile. She had her gun out like everyone else, but still managed to look worried. He took a deep breath and knocked.
He held the empty box in his left hand and he shifted on his feet so his tattoo could be seen through the peephole. He stared down the hallway towards the rest of the team, acting as indifferently as he could manage. Adrenaline started to kick in when he heard scuffling noise behind the door.
"Who is it?" a male voice asked. Elliot raised his right arm to scratch absently at his hair before answering.
"Tony sent me with a delivery," he said. He turned to face the door and held up the box. "I've got some ink here for you."
"Just leave it in front of the door," the man said through the door.
"Sorry, can't." Elliot shrugged as he looked directly into the peephole. "Tony only does direct deliveries, right into your hands. He's not supposed to be doing this in the first place. Either I give it to you or I leave with it. He's already got your money; makes no difference to him."
"Hang on a second." Elliot could hear the clack of locks being undone and he squeezed his right hand, loosening the muscles as he prepared to go for his gun. The other cops had already started to creep silently down the hall.
The door opened a crack and a man who looked exactly like Alexander Marcus peered out from behind it. He shoved his hand out and said "Give it here."
"Bobby Marcus?" Elliot asked. The man looked confused for a second.
"How'd you know that?"
"Just a guess," Elliot said, shrugging. His tightly coiled muscles exploded into action as he raised his foot and kicked the door inward, simultaneously whipping his gun out from his back. "New York City Police. Don't move."
Marcus stared dumbly up as police swarmed into his apartment. He'd been knocked on his butt by the force of Elliot's kick and he put up no resistance as Elliot flipped him over and snapped handcuffs into place.
"You are under arrest for the rape of Cassandra Bentley, the kidnapping, assault, and rape of Sheila Connors, the kidnapping, assault, and rape of Andrea Grant, and the kidnapping, assault, and rape of Demora Hughes," he said as he hauled him to his feet. "You want to Mirandize him, Liv?" he asked his partner, who'd stopped next to him. The rest of the police were already searching the apartment.
"My pleasure, Elliot," she said as they led him out of the apartment.
[tbc]
author: duck (all the good ones end in "-uck")
rating: pg-13. one day i'll write one that's not, i promise.
author note: i am one person, unless you count my multiple personalities. or kukrae shouting ideas from the back.
disclaimer: mine? no. we know this by now.
------
"So, Elliot," Olivia said in her most conversational tone. Her partner glanced at her from the driver's seat. "I was just sitting at my desk this morning, typing up Cassandra's statement. You know, while you were off helping Cragen with Alex?"
Elliot nodded slowly as he came to a stop at a red light. "Yeah?"
"Well, I was just sitting there and I turn around and see Danny Adler running by the doors to the squad room from the direction of the interrogation rooms." She eyed him carefully.
"Oh, really?" He was obviously feigning his unconcern. She decided to play along.
"I don't suppose you'd know why he screamed when I called his name, would you?" Danny hadn't screamed exactly; it had been more like a startled yelp. Still, it was curious and demanded investigation.
He considered her for a moment. "No clue, but if I'd been in an interrogation room with John for more than five minutes I'd probably run screaming too."
"Right, well, I figured I'd ask him," she said. He cleared his throat and turned back to the road as the light turned green.
"And what'd he say?" Oh that's definitely nervousness, Stabler, she grinned to herself.
"He said to ask you," she said.
"Did he now?"
She arched an eyebrow at him, hoping to coax out whatever he was holding back. "Now, I don't know why since you said you were with Cragen at the time."
"Yep, in one of the interrogation rooms with Alex," he confirmed quickly.
"I don't suppose you'd know then why Danny was last seen throwing up on the sidewalk outside?"
"Throwing up, huh?" Elliot shook his head in pity. Olivia could tell he was fighting a smile. "Poor kid. No idea."
"Uh-huh," she said in a tone of disbelief.
"What?"
"Nothing."
- Special Victims Unit Squad Room -
- Thursday September 2nd 12:39pm -
Elliot strode through the doors first, Olivia trailing in his wake. Munch was just hanging up the phone and turned to greet them. He almost snickered; it looked like Elliot was running from Olivia.
"We've got a new local area for our guy," Elliot announced.
"And we've got one better," Munch countered. "Just got off the phone with a tattoo artist. Said a guy fitting his description came in to buy some ink. He was warned by a friend of his from Marcus's old stomping grounds."
"Must've run out," Olivia said, brightening visibly. "Did he sell it to him?"
"He told him he couldn't sell it to him right there, but that he'd have it delivered that afternoon to his place," Munch said, smiling. "Guy's an ex-Marine and he said he's willing to help any way possible."
"We have an address?" Elliot asked, closing the distance to Munch's desk.
"An apartment down on 3rd Street," Munch confirmed. He waved a piece of paper in the air. "Got it right here."
"3rd Street," Elliot said. He grabbed the paper from Munch's hand. "This must be in the apartments down the street from the hospital."
"And we thought he was a smart guy," Olivia said, shaking her head.
"Hey, Bill Clinton was a Rhodes Scholar; look what he managed to accomplish," Munch grinned.
- Fall-Out Shelter Tattoos and Piercing -
- 2:34pm -
"Excuse me," Elliot said. The woman behind the reception counter looked up from her magazine.
"Can I help you?" she asked in an indifferent tone. "If you want a tattoo you'll have to make an appointment. Piercings are done on a walk-in basis." She gave Olivia a once over. "We specialize in body piercing and as you can see from the walls, military art and tribal designs. We can do anything by flash and--"
Elliot whipped out his badge. "We're here to speak to Tony."
"Right," the girl continued in the same tone. She turned and disappeared behind a curtain.
"Helpful," Olivia commented, imitating her nonchalant voice. Elliot grinned at her.
"We're this close, Liv," he said.
"I know." She reached out and started to flip through the book of designs that lay on the counter. "What do you think?"
"About what?"
"Should I get a tattoo?" He laughed.
"They're quite nice," he commented, looking over her shoulder. She flipped past the first few pages of butterflies. "What, you took me seriously? No fanciful butterfly for you?"
"I can't see myself having one, no," she said, elbowing him in the stomach. "Besides, who would want that on their body for the rest of their life?"
Elliot looked away from her. "I have no idea."
He could see her examining his profile out of the corner of his eye. "What?"
"What do you mean, 'what?'" he asked, hoping his expression was neutral enough.
She looked like she was going to pursue it again--he'd had a hard enough time resisting her in the car earlier--but they were interrupted by the arrival of a man who could only be Tony, their artist-informant. He still had his signature military buzz cut, although his somewhat ample girth spoke of many years out of the service.
"You the guy I talked to on the phone?" he asked, his voice thick with the accent of New York.
"No," Elliot said. "I'm Detective Stabler; this is my partner Detective Benson."
"Okay," Tony said agreeably as he placed a small box on the counter. "This is an empty box we get ink shipped to us in. I told him one of my guys would be running it over after six o'clock when we close up so you guys got plenty of time. If you got anybody that has tats or anything it'd probably be best to send them in first as my guy."
"I got a couple," Elliot said, grinning. He rolled up his right sleeve to show him his Marine Corps tattoo. Tony grinned back at him.
"How long of a stint?" he asked.
"Only three years," Elliot answered. "Came back and went to school, then the academy. You?"
"Nine," Tony said. "Busted my leg in combat, got an honorable discharge and opened this place. You catch this freak, ya hear?"
"I hear," Elliot said. He reached out and clasped the other man's hand. "Thanks for all your help."
- 530 West 3rd Street -
- 6:24pm -
Elliot frowned as he pulled the black tank top he was wearing down, trying to straighten it out. He glanced down the hall and turned back to Olivia and Cragen who stood next to him. He thought for a second that Olivia had been staring at him, but she handed him the empty box. He grabbed it and flexed his arm muscles, stretching them above his head.
"Okay," he said, turning around. "My gun secure?"
He looked over his shoulder at Olivia, who was giving off the distinct impression that she was looking instead at his ass as she bit her lower lip. He grinned as she grabbed his gun in its holster and shook it slightly. "You're good to go," she said as he tugged at the sides of his jeans with his free hand.
"So do I look the part?" he asked. They both looked him up and down and Olivia smiled at him, her eyebrows raising slightly.
"You look like a burnout pushing middle age," she said. He glanced down at the crucifixion tattoo that covered his upper left arm.
"A Christian middle aged burnout," he corrected. He hefted his right arm in the air. "With a military past."
"Right," she said. "You be careful."
"We're right behind you, Elliot," Cragen said, nodding in the direction of the six uniformed cops behind him. Elliot nodded his head as he started to walk down the hall. He knew Munch and Fin had taken up position in the alley outside in case Marcus caught on and decided to bolt. From all indications he didn't have a gun or any other kind of weapon. It should be a piece of cake. Didn't mean he wouldn't be any less careful.
He stopped in front of apartment 45 and looked back at Liv down the hall. Their eyes connected for a moment and he gave her a reassuring half smile. She had her gun out like everyone else, but still managed to look worried. He took a deep breath and knocked.
He held the empty box in his left hand and he shifted on his feet so his tattoo could be seen through the peephole. He stared down the hallway towards the rest of the team, acting as indifferently as he could manage. Adrenaline started to kick in when he heard scuffling noise behind the door.
"Who is it?" a male voice asked. Elliot raised his right arm to scratch absently at his hair before answering.
"Tony sent me with a delivery," he said. He turned to face the door and held up the box. "I've got some ink here for you."
"Just leave it in front of the door," the man said through the door.
"Sorry, can't." Elliot shrugged as he looked directly into the peephole. "Tony only does direct deliveries, right into your hands. He's not supposed to be doing this in the first place. Either I give it to you or I leave with it. He's already got your money; makes no difference to him."
"Hang on a second." Elliot could hear the clack of locks being undone and he squeezed his right hand, loosening the muscles as he prepared to go for his gun. The other cops had already started to creep silently down the hall.
The door opened a crack and a man who looked exactly like Alexander Marcus peered out from behind it. He shoved his hand out and said "Give it here."
"Bobby Marcus?" Elliot asked. The man looked confused for a second.
"How'd you know that?"
"Just a guess," Elliot said, shrugging. His tightly coiled muscles exploded into action as he raised his foot and kicked the door inward, simultaneously whipping his gun out from his back. "New York City Police. Don't move."
Marcus stared dumbly up as police swarmed into his apartment. He'd been knocked on his butt by the force of Elliot's kick and he put up no resistance as Elliot flipped him over and snapped handcuffs into place.
"You are under arrest for the rape of Cassandra Bentley, the kidnapping, assault, and rape of Sheila Connors, the kidnapping, assault, and rape of Andrea Grant, and the kidnapping, assault, and rape of Demora Hughes," he said as he hauled him to his feet. "You want to Mirandize him, Liv?" he asked his partner, who'd stopped next to him. The rest of the police were already searching the apartment.
"My pleasure, Elliot," she said as they led him out of the apartment.
[tbc]