The red and blue lights that I see flashing a few feet away from where I'm standing are nothing new. For that matter, neither is the bright yellow crime scene tape. The crowds standing just outside the cordoned-off area are all talking in hushed voices, as if they think that if they get louder, they'll be told to leave the area. The Crime Scene Unit is going about their job as usual, taking note of anything that could help Fin and me in the investigation that will come along once they tell us what little they've managed to get from the scene. The medical examiner is present as well, turning the body over in what will probably turn out to be a futile search for identification. It's just what the unit needs, really, another unidentified body to deal with.
Fin flips his cell phone closed and turns to look at me over the roof of the car, telling me in no uncertain terms that on the other side of the call he's just finished was Olivia: she and Elliot have turned out another case that might just be related to ours. The thought brings no comfort. If indeed their case has anything to do with ours, it might just mean that we've got a serial killer on our hands. I say nothing and start walking towards the scene, reluctant, because I don't want to see our latest victim's face, but as it is, I don't have a choice.
The uniforms that have been assigned to keep the crowd under some resemblance of control eye the both of us suspiciously as we draw nearer to the scene. The streetlights flash off of the gold shields that the both of us are wearing, and they let us pass. The Crime Scene Unit looks up for a moment upon hearing our footsteps, but decide after a few seconds that at that present time, we are of little importance, and so they turn back to their tasks. The medical examiner, on the other hand, looks up, tired eyes locking onto ours as she starts to tell us what she knows, but I am not listening. There is a sheet covering the body behind her, but there is no blood on the sidewalk.
The outline is that of a child. In a line of work such as the one my partner and I are in, one becomes used to having children as victims, but being used to it doesn't make it any easier. If anything, it makes you feel as if you are somehow less human because that sort of thing no longer surprises you. The medical examiner's voice drones on, but my eyes remain fixed on the sheet-covered body behind her. A pair of tiny sandals is handed to Fin by one of the CSU techs; he looks at them for a moment before handing them to me as the medical examiner turns to direct her assistants.
Pink with white flowers. Typical shoes of a little six year old girl, one who dreams of being a fairy princess and often pretends that she is one. I can only imagine what she looked like before this. Fin eyes me for a minute before asking if I'm going to be all right with handling this particular case; I give him a look and tell him that I'll be fine, regardless of what he thinks at this point. He doesn't look convinced when he turns away, but he knows better than to press this issue with me, like I know not to press certain issues with him. The medical examiner leaves with her assistants and the body; a call will come to the squad room later on today, one that will only mean that the M.E. has more to tell us…more that we don't want to hear.
The crowd around the tape has started to disappear. Fin glances at me again and makes a wry comment about how many of them probably left because they don't want to be interviewed. Even so, it won't matter. Many of them probably live around here; we'll find them whether or not they want to be found. Those that remain look at the both of us resignedly, as if they know that because they stayed behind, they will be called upon to stay outside in the cold for a few hours while we start questioning. Most of them will be reluctant to say anything. A few of them will say that they know nothing, when they really know something. And a few of them will say they know something when they really know nothing. It is a run-around that both my partner and I are used to, but it doesn't mean we have to live it…and neither of us do.
The Crime Scene Unit decides that their work is done at this point, and they leave, taking whatever forensic evidence they've gotten along with them. The sandals remain in my hands, a plastic bag protecting them from any sort of contamination…things that could blow the trial that will more than likely come after our investigation. A locket in another plastic bag is in Fin's hands; he's asking the people around us if they recognize it, but all of them shake their heads. I wonder vaguely for a minute as I watch this whether or not the little girl whose life was taken on this night has anyone sitting up worrying over her…whether or not anyone was bothered to come out into the cold and rain to look for her. The fact that maybe no one is worrying and that maybe no one could be bothered to look for her bothers me, but it is a harsh reality that I've been made to face more times than I can count.
After a few minutes of mulling over this, I force myself to move, to help my partner in the questioning phase of things, though it won't be finished for at least another couple of days. Clues will point to new people, ones who weren't at the scene, and we'll get the same run-around from them that we did from those present now, and we'll get frustrated with it all, but we'll deal with it. After all, we're detectives…that's what we do. Emotions mean nothing in this world of ours: they remain hidden, bottled up inside of us until the pressure becomes too much to handle and we let it go in a way that could end up getting us sent to a shrink, or worse, suspended indefinitely. After a while, the crowd thins; those that have been talked to are gone, within the next hour, everyone has been talked to, and it is just the two of us standing there.
At this point, the rain decides to pick up, and since neither of us thought to bring an umbrella with us, we're both getting completely soaked as we walk, but neither of us pay it much attention. It's nothing compared to the thoughts that are running through both of us, thoughts of how the world is falling slowly from grace and of how disgusted we are by the fact that the public gets a kick out of standing around crime scenes, acting like they know something when they don't. Of course, if they did know something, if they knew anything, they'd probably run in the other direction, screaming. The things that our unit sees aren't exactly meant for the general public. We see things that would keep most people awake at night…things that keep us awake at night.
I hand the keys to Fin as we reach the car again, suddenly not in the mood to drive anywhere; he takes them and we get in without a word, grateful to finally be out of the raging storm. He makes a vague comment as we leave the scene, headed for the precinct, one that I don't hear. If he thinks I'm being rude, he doesn't indicate it, which I'm thankful for; for once, I don't feel like talking to anyone. But maybe his not indicating it is only a sign that he's become used to my moody silence after crime scenes in which a child is the victim. The streetlights glare off of the rain-streaked windows as I stare outside, watching the city go by, wondering how in the world a place that seems as wonderful as this could hold so many dark secrets within its limits. And it isn't even that the crime rate in this part of New York City is a secret. Everyone knows about it. It's just the fact that no one really cares enough to do anything about it. Sometimes not even the cops care enough to do anything about it.
The locket that was in Fin's hands earlier is in mine; the pink-and-white sandals are sitting in my lap, silent, but they won't be for long. We should've given them over to CSU before they took off, but we didn't, and now we'll have to go down to the Crime Lab to see if forensics will give these two seemingly random items a voice that will tell us what we need to know. With our luck, it'll give us nothing, and we'll be right back to where we were: an unidentified child, a locket that no one recognizes, and shoes that will only serve to remind us of what this child once was before her innocence was taken…before her life was taken. The thought is enough to keep me awake without any form of caffeine, which is probably a good thing: I have the feeling that neither the two of us nor Elliot and Olivia will be leaving the precinct to go home anytime soon.
The lights inside the precinct are a lot brighter than I thought they were; either that, or I'm just getting old and my eyes can't take it anymore. Fin decides to leave me behind at this point; I can see him turning the corner a few feet ahead of me, but for once, I don't care. Being alone after something like what we just saw isn't really a good idea, but sometimes one can't help but want to be alone, left to their thoughts and whatever mental torment they feel like putting themselves through at that moment. Either way, it doesn't matter. I'll reach the squad room soon enough, and I'll probably be made to answer the same questions Fin will probably have to answer when he gets there.
That's the thing with this unit, I muse as I continue to walk. Even if you want to be alone and you don't want to talk to anyone, and you think no one knows that something's bothering you, chances are, someone does know, and they're not going to leave you alone until you tell them. That's probably one of the main reasons none of us have completely lost it yet. That, and the fact that we're all made to go through psychiatric evaluations every now and then, just to make sure that none of us are even remotely close to cracking. Or so the brass likes to say.
Voices drift out of the squad room as I reach the hallway leading to it, voices that I recognize, but don't particularly want to respond to. But the façade of being all right with whatever I'm investigating is one that I've been able to keep up ever since I came here seven years ago, and it's not one that I'm about to let fall. I close my eyes for a minute, drawing in a breath and exhaling loudly before I go walking in, glancing at my watch as I do so.
It's midnight. And as much as I want to admit that my life on the streets is starting to get to me, I can't. It's probably just my not wanting to appear weak in front of my colleagues, even though I know they won't care. Part of it's just my not wanting to have to go home to an empty apartment, even though every time I leave the precinct for home, that's exactly what I do. It's something else, though, that's keeping me here, something else that's making me feel as if I belong here, doing what I'm doing. No matter how late it gets, or how annoyed I might get with my partner or our colleagues, that same thing keeps me here, keeps me from going anywhere else, from leaving this unit, this department, even though I probably should retire.
But that's not really something I'm ready for. And because of that, I can't get tired, or the streets will retire me themselves.
A/N: Wards off the corporate lawyers Come on, people! If you haven't figured out by now that LOSVU isn't mine and that I know that, you're more stupid than I thought you were…just kidding. But seriously, it's not mine. And I do know that. But I still think Munch is awesome, and therefore, this fic…