Title: Till Death Do Us Part (5/15)
Author: KatRose
Disclaimer: Simply put, Dick Wolf's, not mine.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None that I can think of
Author's Notes: The dates for this story are all 2004. I also have to thank kukrae for all her help, wisdom, cheerleading and browbeating me into getting this story written.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
CHAPTER 5
STABLER RESIDENCE
QUEENS
JUNE 4
Elliot sat in his car drained of all energy. Seeing his father was tough. Tougher still was explaining to him how his wife was killed and why. He didn't think he'd ever forget the look of accusation in his father's eyes or the overwhelming guilt he felt knowing his dad thought it was all his fault. He didn't relish going into his house, knowing he'd be facing similar faces, but he also couldn't sit outside much longer. His joints were aching with the moisture in the air and the lack of sleep over the past day.
Easing the front door open, he stepped gingerly inside. No noise greeted his ears. Hopefully that meant his kids and Olivia were sleeping, or at least getting a little needed rest. He crept around the doorway to the living room and was surprised by what he saw.
The three girls were curled up together on the couch with one of their mother's quilts thrown over them for warmth. Olivia sat in the overstuffed chair with Dickie on her lap sleeping with his head on Olivia's shoulder. Olivia looked up at the small noise his shoes made on the floor.
Elliot stood in the doorway looking at all the people he cared the most about in one room. Something shifted in his heart at the sight of his son in his partner's arms. He didn't know what it was, but it felt right somehow.
"Sssh," she whispered. "They finally wore themselves out just a while ago."
He nodded his understanding and slipped off his shoes to make as little noise as possible. He motioned that he was going to the kitchen for some coffee and asked if she wanted anything. She shook her head, looking down at the sleeping child in her arms. He smiled a little at her tender concern and decided that maybe coffee wasn't what he needed either. Grabbing an extra afghan from the back of the other side chair, he sat down, propped his feet on the coffee table and draped the afghan over his legs. He rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. "Just for a moment," he thought, "just to get this raging headache tamed."
Several hours later he awoke to the smell of breakfast being made. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched some of the kinks out of his spine before standing and walking across the room to join them. Five sets of eyes turned as one to watch his entrance. Four children flew at him from various points of the kitchen to hug him close.
"Daddy, you're awake!" shrieked Lizzie.
"Honey, I'm up," he said gathering her close. "I just needed some sleep."
"We wanted to wake you, but Olivia said to leave you alone."
"Thanks, guys. I guess I really needed the sleep," he said. "How are you doing this morning?"
Four sets of red eyes looked up at him and the tears started to flow again.
"I'm sorry, guys. I really am," he said, tears falling down his face too. Dickie clung to his side wanting to be reassured that nothing had happened to him while they'd been sleeping. Maureen touched his shoulder in comfort, both giving and receiving. Kathleen held onto Lizzie and Elliot simultaneously.
Olivia took the pan of pancakes off the stove and made to leave the family to their privacy. Elliot stopped her with, "Please stay. You're a part of this family too." Olivia turned to face them and tears fell. Lizzie grabbed Olivia's hand and pulled her into the family hug.
"This feels good," she thought.
"Too good," her little voice said. "This isn't my family. This is Elliot and Kathy's family."
"I'm only borrowing them for a little while," she answered herself. "It's not like they'll need me forever. Why can't I enjoy this while I can?"
The little voice replied, "Just don't get too attached, it'll only hurt worse when it goes away."
Elliot was the first to make a move to disengage the contact when he heard a distinctive growl from Dickie's stomach. "Sounds like you need food, son," he said, poking Dickie's middle. "Let's see of the pancakes are salvageable or if we need to start a new batch." Moving around the kitchen he assembled plates and glasses while Olivia flipped pancakes onto a platter and the girls got juice and milk out of the fridge. Dickie sat at the table with the look of absolute hunger on his face and residual fear in his eyes.
The family sat and ate their breakfast. The girls picked at the food, making the motions of eating without making it obvious that they weren't doing so. Dickie and Elliot on the other hand inhaled the food as if it was going to be their last meal ever. After breakfast was over, the kids took care of the dishes before heading upstairs to shower and change clothes. Elliot urged them all to lay down on their beds, if only to be horizontal for a little bit. He wanted them to ease into the day since there was so much they had to do.
Soon the house was quiet as the kids did as requested. Elliot turned to Olivia and said, "Thank you so much for being here. It means a lot to me and the kids."
"No problem, Elliot," she said. "But I think it's time I headed home myself. I need a shower and change of clothes and at least an hour in my own bed."
"Go, take it easy and watch your back," he said. "I don't want to worry about losing you too."
"I will. Get some sleep yourself. You could use it," she said walking up to him and giving him a quick hug. "Call me if you need anything."
"Thanks." He closed the door behind her and headed upstairs for a shower and a nap.
HOME OF LOUISE JENKINS
MORRIS HEIGHTS
APRIL 28
Fin and Munch reached the top of the stairs and knocked on the door of Louise Jenkins, sister to the late Lara Jenkins.
"Who's there?" a woman's voice yelled through the door.
"Detectives Munch and Tutuola," came the reply. "Are you Louise Jenkins?"
"Show me your badges. Hold them up to the peephole," the voice commanded.
Dutifully raising their badges to peephole level, Fin rolled his eyes at Munch who waited with patience for the woman to believe they really were cops. The sound of locks turning told them she did believe.
"What can I do you for?" the woman asked, holding the door partially closed in front of her.
"Are you Ms. Jenkins?" Fin asked.
"That would be me. What's the problem?" she asked with a bit of attitude.
"We wanted to ask you some questions about your sister," Fin said.
"Now? Five years after someone beat her up and left her dead in an alley? You come to me now for answers?" With each question her voice rose a little bit. "What, someone more important die the same way and now you come looking for cold clues?"
Munch stepped in sensing that his partner's famed irritation was about to make an entrance. "Not more important, Ms. Jenkins, just another young woman like your sister. Someone's friend, someone's sister, someone's daughter. We're hoping that something you remember might help us solve BOTH cases."
"Hmmph," she snorted. "Likely story, but come inside anyway. Don't mind the cats, they have a tendency to perch wherever there's a lap." She showed them into her small, cluttered apartment. She sat at the small kitchen table while Munch tried to perch on a small stool not covered by cats. Fin leaned against the wall hoping to avoid as much of the cat fur as possible. He didn't want to look like an angora sweater when he walked out the door.
"Ms. Jenkins," Munch started. "What can you remember about the last time you saw your sister?"
"It was September 22, 1999. She left here to meet a friend for dinner and a movie. I told her she needed to have him come pick her up, but she wouldn't listen to me. If she'd only done that, she'd be alive today," Louise said.
"Did she ever make it to dinner?" Munch asked.
"No, her friend called here about two hours after she left asking where she was. I told him she went to meet him at the restaurant. He said maybe she got lost and he'd call back later if she didn't show up. I didn't hear from him, so I figured she got there. It wasn't until the next morning when he called to see if she was home that I found out the bum had left the restaurant shortly after we talked. He figured that is Lara didn't have the decency to say she was going to be late, he didn't need to stick around waiting for her."
"Do you remember what her friend's name was?"
"Heavens, no," she replied. "That was five years ago. I'm lucky to remember all my cats' names." She mindlessly pet the one that leaped up into her lap and watched as Fin did a little dance in the doorway trying to avoid the three cats milling at his feet. Munch just ignored the two cats staring up at him, hoping that if he didn't acknowledge them, they'd go away.
"I do remember that she wore a black leather skirt that was shorter than I'd have liked to see her in and a red silk blouse with a short black jacket over it. She always liked to dress a little provocative, but never trashy."
"Did she have any friends that might remember anything else?" Fin asked, hoping to get out of the apartment before he started to sneeze his fool head off.
"Her friend, Maryanne from down the hall, moved a couple of years ago and I don't know where she went, so that won't help. There was Joe from the corner store, but I haven't seen him in years. He might still be there. Maybe Carla at the theater. They used to usher together before Lara died."
"Which store and what theater, Ms. Jenkins?" Munch asked, knowing his partner was getting antsy to leave.
"Jon's Market down the block to the right and Street Theater over on Sedgwick," she replied. "I hope you get this guy. Good girls are dying and no one's doing anything to stop it from happening again."
"We're trying, Ms. Jenkins," Munch said. "We're trying."
Munch was standing up to shake Louise's hand when he heard an undignified yelp from behind him. Turning quickly to see what was going on, he nearly bit his tongue trying not to laugh. Louise dashed around Munch and swatted the cat who'd sunk its claws into Fin's left leg. "Let go of the nice man, Punch," she said. "That's not one of your scratch toys." She tried to ease the claws out of Fin's leg, but the cat was having none of it. The more they tried to get him to let go, the deeper the claws went in.
Munch, finally having gotten the laughter under control walked over to Fin and knelt down in front of the cat. He whispered a few words into the cat's ear and gently pulled him off his partner's leg. Making a cursory look to see if the cat drew blood, he stood and motioned for Fin to lead the way out of the apartment. Fin threw Munch a nasty look and left in a hurry before the cat struck again.
Fin massaged his leg as Munch drove away. "What did you say to that man-eating feline?" he asked with venom in his voice.
"I merely told him that if he didn't let go, he'd probably develop a case of rabies."
It took Fin a few moments to realize what Munch was implying. He threw Munch a nasty look that promised retribution.
SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT
SQUAD ROOM
MAY 4
Cragen came out of his office and asked the room, "Any leads? Any clues? Anything at all?"
Munch came from around the coffee area and replied, "I've got some evidence the proves the moon landing was just a Hollywood stunt to swindle huge sums of money from the government and the American public and that Francis Ford Coppola was really the force behind the Kennedy assassination."
Cragen didn't dignify the comment with so much as a rolled eye. He looked at the rest of his detectives and said, "Anyone ELSE?"
Fin put down his pencil and said, "Cap, I think we might have two killers here. Somethin's not adding up here. Only four of the previous victims match up with our latest two. The rest, they're too scattered around and too inconsistent."
"Inconsistent how?"
"Dunno how to explain it, it just don't fit."
"What's the timeline then?" Cragen suggested.
"I'm thinking that maybe these three," Fin said pointing to the first, second and fourth, "all belong to the same perp. It's possible that six, eight and eleven are also the same guy, but there's something a little off about them."
"I think Fin's right," Olivia chimed in. "I think that three, seven, nine and ten are the same guy as our latest two. If you look at it, the spacing between the killings show consistent escalation. There's about nine months between the first two, then seven months, five months, three months and finally two weeks. They all have similar bruising and damage to the breasts and groin. All were sexually assaulted with probably the same weapon that they were beaten with. None of them had any trace evidence from the perp, which means that he's careful in spite of his anger."
"Sounds plausible," Cragen answered. "Anything that's sticking out in anyone's mind about why these women?"
Munch started pacing in front of the board mumbling to himself. "Marina, Jana, Tami, Anna, Lizette and our latest victim, name still unknown. Marina," he muttered, "known to her family as Marinochka. Jana is Tatjana; Tami is Tamara; and Anna is Anastasia."
"Munch, what are you muttering about over there?" Elliot asked.
"I don't know if this means anything, but all these women have Russian names. Or at least Americanized Russian names. Did anyone check to find out if they're immigrants?"
Olivia and Elliot grabbed the pile of reports and started going through them looking for any information about immigrant status.
Fin looked at his partner like he'd grown a second head. "How'd you come up with that?" he asked.
"Big brain," Munch retorted, tapping his head.
Olivia pulled several files together in front of her. "I think Munch is onto something," she said. "Marina Price was born Marinochka Khevetov and came to the U.S. four years ago. Jana Jones was born Tatjana Fomin. She came over three years ago. Tami Jenkins, born Tamara Belousov, immigrated three and a half years ago."
"Anna Chow was born Anastasia Petrov. Immigrated two years ago. And then we have Lizette Cullen. Born Lizette Dronin and came to New York six months ago," added Elliot.
"I'm sensing a pattern here, kids," Cragen interjected. "What could all these women be involved in that would get them killed within a few years of their immigration? What do they all have in common other than their country of origin?"
"Gotta be a mob connection in there somewhere, boss," Munch said. "Who's the biggest Russian mobster these days?"
"That would be Kelsii Hatagov," Fin said.
"And how did you know that?" Munch asked, surprised by his partner.
"Bigger brain."
Author: KatRose
Disclaimer: Simply put, Dick Wolf's, not mine.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None that I can think of
Author's Notes: The dates for this story are all 2004. I also have to thank kukrae for all her help, wisdom, cheerleading and browbeating me into getting this story written.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
CHAPTER 5
STABLER RESIDENCE
QUEENS
JUNE 4
Elliot sat in his car drained of all energy. Seeing his father was tough. Tougher still was explaining to him how his wife was killed and why. He didn't think he'd ever forget the look of accusation in his father's eyes or the overwhelming guilt he felt knowing his dad thought it was all his fault. He didn't relish going into his house, knowing he'd be facing similar faces, but he also couldn't sit outside much longer. His joints were aching with the moisture in the air and the lack of sleep over the past day.
Easing the front door open, he stepped gingerly inside. No noise greeted his ears. Hopefully that meant his kids and Olivia were sleeping, or at least getting a little needed rest. He crept around the doorway to the living room and was surprised by what he saw.
The three girls were curled up together on the couch with one of their mother's quilts thrown over them for warmth. Olivia sat in the overstuffed chair with Dickie on her lap sleeping with his head on Olivia's shoulder. Olivia looked up at the small noise his shoes made on the floor.
Elliot stood in the doorway looking at all the people he cared the most about in one room. Something shifted in his heart at the sight of his son in his partner's arms. He didn't know what it was, but it felt right somehow.
"Sssh," she whispered. "They finally wore themselves out just a while ago."
He nodded his understanding and slipped off his shoes to make as little noise as possible. He motioned that he was going to the kitchen for some coffee and asked if she wanted anything. She shook her head, looking down at the sleeping child in her arms. He smiled a little at her tender concern and decided that maybe coffee wasn't what he needed either. Grabbing an extra afghan from the back of the other side chair, he sat down, propped his feet on the coffee table and draped the afghan over his legs. He rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. "Just for a moment," he thought, "just to get this raging headache tamed."
Several hours later he awoke to the smell of breakfast being made. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched some of the kinks out of his spine before standing and walking across the room to join them. Five sets of eyes turned as one to watch his entrance. Four children flew at him from various points of the kitchen to hug him close.
"Daddy, you're awake!" shrieked Lizzie.
"Honey, I'm up," he said gathering her close. "I just needed some sleep."
"We wanted to wake you, but Olivia said to leave you alone."
"Thanks, guys. I guess I really needed the sleep," he said. "How are you doing this morning?"
Four sets of red eyes looked up at him and the tears started to flow again.
"I'm sorry, guys. I really am," he said, tears falling down his face too. Dickie clung to his side wanting to be reassured that nothing had happened to him while they'd been sleeping. Maureen touched his shoulder in comfort, both giving and receiving. Kathleen held onto Lizzie and Elliot simultaneously.
Olivia took the pan of pancakes off the stove and made to leave the family to their privacy. Elliot stopped her with, "Please stay. You're a part of this family too." Olivia turned to face them and tears fell. Lizzie grabbed Olivia's hand and pulled her into the family hug.
"This feels good," she thought.
"Too good," her little voice said. "This isn't my family. This is Elliot and Kathy's family."
"I'm only borrowing them for a little while," she answered herself. "It's not like they'll need me forever. Why can't I enjoy this while I can?"
The little voice replied, "Just don't get too attached, it'll only hurt worse when it goes away."
Elliot was the first to make a move to disengage the contact when he heard a distinctive growl from Dickie's stomach. "Sounds like you need food, son," he said, poking Dickie's middle. "Let's see of the pancakes are salvageable or if we need to start a new batch." Moving around the kitchen he assembled plates and glasses while Olivia flipped pancakes onto a platter and the girls got juice and milk out of the fridge. Dickie sat at the table with the look of absolute hunger on his face and residual fear in his eyes.
The family sat and ate their breakfast. The girls picked at the food, making the motions of eating without making it obvious that they weren't doing so. Dickie and Elliot on the other hand inhaled the food as if it was going to be their last meal ever. After breakfast was over, the kids took care of the dishes before heading upstairs to shower and change clothes. Elliot urged them all to lay down on their beds, if only to be horizontal for a little bit. He wanted them to ease into the day since there was so much they had to do.
Soon the house was quiet as the kids did as requested. Elliot turned to Olivia and said, "Thank you so much for being here. It means a lot to me and the kids."
"No problem, Elliot," she said. "But I think it's time I headed home myself. I need a shower and change of clothes and at least an hour in my own bed."
"Go, take it easy and watch your back," he said. "I don't want to worry about losing you too."
"I will. Get some sleep yourself. You could use it," she said walking up to him and giving him a quick hug. "Call me if you need anything."
"Thanks." He closed the door behind her and headed upstairs for a shower and a nap.
HOME OF LOUISE JENKINS
MORRIS HEIGHTS
APRIL 28
Fin and Munch reached the top of the stairs and knocked on the door of Louise Jenkins, sister to the late Lara Jenkins.
"Who's there?" a woman's voice yelled through the door.
"Detectives Munch and Tutuola," came the reply. "Are you Louise Jenkins?"
"Show me your badges. Hold them up to the peephole," the voice commanded.
Dutifully raising their badges to peephole level, Fin rolled his eyes at Munch who waited with patience for the woman to believe they really were cops. The sound of locks turning told them she did believe.
"What can I do you for?" the woman asked, holding the door partially closed in front of her.
"Are you Ms. Jenkins?" Fin asked.
"That would be me. What's the problem?" she asked with a bit of attitude.
"We wanted to ask you some questions about your sister," Fin said.
"Now? Five years after someone beat her up and left her dead in an alley? You come to me now for answers?" With each question her voice rose a little bit. "What, someone more important die the same way and now you come looking for cold clues?"
Munch stepped in sensing that his partner's famed irritation was about to make an entrance. "Not more important, Ms. Jenkins, just another young woman like your sister. Someone's friend, someone's sister, someone's daughter. We're hoping that something you remember might help us solve BOTH cases."
"Hmmph," she snorted. "Likely story, but come inside anyway. Don't mind the cats, they have a tendency to perch wherever there's a lap." She showed them into her small, cluttered apartment. She sat at the small kitchen table while Munch tried to perch on a small stool not covered by cats. Fin leaned against the wall hoping to avoid as much of the cat fur as possible. He didn't want to look like an angora sweater when he walked out the door.
"Ms. Jenkins," Munch started. "What can you remember about the last time you saw your sister?"
"It was September 22, 1999. She left here to meet a friend for dinner and a movie. I told her she needed to have him come pick her up, but she wouldn't listen to me. If she'd only done that, she'd be alive today," Louise said.
"Did she ever make it to dinner?" Munch asked.
"No, her friend called here about two hours after she left asking where she was. I told him she went to meet him at the restaurant. He said maybe she got lost and he'd call back later if she didn't show up. I didn't hear from him, so I figured she got there. It wasn't until the next morning when he called to see if she was home that I found out the bum had left the restaurant shortly after we talked. He figured that is Lara didn't have the decency to say she was going to be late, he didn't need to stick around waiting for her."
"Do you remember what her friend's name was?"
"Heavens, no," she replied. "That was five years ago. I'm lucky to remember all my cats' names." She mindlessly pet the one that leaped up into her lap and watched as Fin did a little dance in the doorway trying to avoid the three cats milling at his feet. Munch just ignored the two cats staring up at him, hoping that if he didn't acknowledge them, they'd go away.
"I do remember that she wore a black leather skirt that was shorter than I'd have liked to see her in and a red silk blouse with a short black jacket over it. She always liked to dress a little provocative, but never trashy."
"Did she have any friends that might remember anything else?" Fin asked, hoping to get out of the apartment before he started to sneeze his fool head off.
"Her friend, Maryanne from down the hall, moved a couple of years ago and I don't know where she went, so that won't help. There was Joe from the corner store, but I haven't seen him in years. He might still be there. Maybe Carla at the theater. They used to usher together before Lara died."
"Which store and what theater, Ms. Jenkins?" Munch asked, knowing his partner was getting antsy to leave.
"Jon's Market down the block to the right and Street Theater over on Sedgwick," she replied. "I hope you get this guy. Good girls are dying and no one's doing anything to stop it from happening again."
"We're trying, Ms. Jenkins," Munch said. "We're trying."
Munch was standing up to shake Louise's hand when he heard an undignified yelp from behind him. Turning quickly to see what was going on, he nearly bit his tongue trying not to laugh. Louise dashed around Munch and swatted the cat who'd sunk its claws into Fin's left leg. "Let go of the nice man, Punch," she said. "That's not one of your scratch toys." She tried to ease the claws out of Fin's leg, but the cat was having none of it. The more they tried to get him to let go, the deeper the claws went in.
Munch, finally having gotten the laughter under control walked over to Fin and knelt down in front of the cat. He whispered a few words into the cat's ear and gently pulled him off his partner's leg. Making a cursory look to see if the cat drew blood, he stood and motioned for Fin to lead the way out of the apartment. Fin threw Munch a nasty look and left in a hurry before the cat struck again.
Fin massaged his leg as Munch drove away. "What did you say to that man-eating feline?" he asked with venom in his voice.
"I merely told him that if he didn't let go, he'd probably develop a case of rabies."
It took Fin a few moments to realize what Munch was implying. He threw Munch a nasty look that promised retribution.
SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT
SQUAD ROOM
MAY 4
Cragen came out of his office and asked the room, "Any leads? Any clues? Anything at all?"
Munch came from around the coffee area and replied, "I've got some evidence the proves the moon landing was just a Hollywood stunt to swindle huge sums of money from the government and the American public and that Francis Ford Coppola was really the force behind the Kennedy assassination."
Cragen didn't dignify the comment with so much as a rolled eye. He looked at the rest of his detectives and said, "Anyone ELSE?"
Fin put down his pencil and said, "Cap, I think we might have two killers here. Somethin's not adding up here. Only four of the previous victims match up with our latest two. The rest, they're too scattered around and too inconsistent."
"Inconsistent how?"
"Dunno how to explain it, it just don't fit."
"What's the timeline then?" Cragen suggested.
"I'm thinking that maybe these three," Fin said pointing to the first, second and fourth, "all belong to the same perp. It's possible that six, eight and eleven are also the same guy, but there's something a little off about them."
"I think Fin's right," Olivia chimed in. "I think that three, seven, nine and ten are the same guy as our latest two. If you look at it, the spacing between the killings show consistent escalation. There's about nine months between the first two, then seven months, five months, three months and finally two weeks. They all have similar bruising and damage to the breasts and groin. All were sexually assaulted with probably the same weapon that they were beaten with. None of them had any trace evidence from the perp, which means that he's careful in spite of his anger."
"Sounds plausible," Cragen answered. "Anything that's sticking out in anyone's mind about why these women?"
Munch started pacing in front of the board mumbling to himself. "Marina, Jana, Tami, Anna, Lizette and our latest victim, name still unknown. Marina," he muttered, "known to her family as Marinochka. Jana is Tatjana; Tami is Tamara; and Anna is Anastasia."
"Munch, what are you muttering about over there?" Elliot asked.
"I don't know if this means anything, but all these women have Russian names. Or at least Americanized Russian names. Did anyone check to find out if they're immigrants?"
Olivia and Elliot grabbed the pile of reports and started going through them looking for any information about immigrant status.
Fin looked at his partner like he'd grown a second head. "How'd you come up with that?" he asked.
"Big brain," Munch retorted, tapping his head.
Olivia pulled several files together in front of her. "I think Munch is onto something," she said. "Marina Price was born Marinochka Khevetov and came to the U.S. four years ago. Jana Jones was born Tatjana Fomin. She came over three years ago. Tami Jenkins, born Tamara Belousov, immigrated three and a half years ago."
"Anna Chow was born Anastasia Petrov. Immigrated two years ago. And then we have Lizette Cullen. Born Lizette Dronin and came to New York six months ago," added Elliot.
"I'm sensing a pattern here, kids," Cragen interjected. "What could all these women be involved in that would get them killed within a few years of their immigration? What do they all have in common other than their country of origin?"
"Gotta be a mob connection in there somewhere, boss," Munch said. "Who's the biggest Russian mobster these days?"
"That would be Kelsii Hatagov," Fin said.
"And how did you know that?" Munch asked, surprised by his partner.
"Bigger brain."
