Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.
Disclaimer Two: I do not own any concepts or characters from the D.C or Marvel comic book universes. Nor do I own the characters; Supergirl, Paris-Site, or Lex Luthor. They belong to the original creators, company and present owners.
A/N: Managed to spit another chapter out, me happy. Reviews are welcome, remember that people, thanks to everyone who has taken the time, I really appreciate it.
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"A black and white took the call early this morning from a couple of frantic fisherman at pier forty-seven. Craned the sucker out and called us in." CSU analyst in charge Derek Roberts started as he led Detectives Stabler, Tutuola and Gage through a maze of various vehicles all in different stages of human forensic probing.
"We shipped the body off to your M.E about an hour ago, expect a report soon, but I can already tell you how he died." He continued as welder kicked on while they passed by a crushed SUV.
"How's that?" Elliot asked over the cutting torch's hiss.
"He drowned." Derek replied as they finally reached the foul river smelling Crown Victoria with a sun rotted vinyl top and noticeable primer spots. It was obvious the car had seen better days.
Derek picked up the digital clipboard that was laid on a nearby forensic table amidst a binder, evidence bags, various finely crafted forensic tools and an ultraviolet light.
"'Eighty-Seven Ford Crown Vic, registered to a Christopher Harris," Andrew shifted slightly at the stated name, the agitation it didn't go unnoticed by Fin, "or James Gibson same guy. Gibson's one of his aliases."
"He hands his where ducted taped to the steering wheel and was he strapped into the seat by duct tape too. We found a wedge caught beneath the driver side dash, most likely the piece used for forced acceleration." He gestured at the wooden plank creating moisture humidity in an evidence bag.
"I'll let your M.E tell you his list of injuries but he looked pretty bad, even with the bloated stomach I could tell his ribs where just a mesh of broken bones. To put simply he had the shit beat out of him."
"Was he alive when the car was submerged?" Elliot questioned.
"I'm not sure…But what really drew my attention was when we hit the lights. Ae, Jimmy hit the lights for a minute!" Derek shouted across the massive garage, a chorus of annoyance echoed about the room from the other forensic specialists in the middle of their own investigations.
Derek ignored the complaints from his subordinates.
The lights dimmed and Derek picked up the ultraviolet light and aimed it over the smeary, but clear Crown Vic's windshield.
"ITS JUST BUSINESS"
Same agitation, same frantic finger painting, only it was written on the inside of the vehicle's windshield, thus it appeared backwards to the detectives and forensic officer.
But the meaning was the same.
Fin bit his lip; Elliot crossed his arms and Andrew felt extremely uncomfortable.
Satisfied, Derek clicked the ultraviolet light off and asked for the lights to be flipped back on, the hustle and bustle of the forensic specialists continued as if nothing had happened.
"You where at the Jack Kershaw crime scene." Fin muttered and Derek nodded.
"Who or what on earth are we dealing with?" Derek quietly questioned leaning toward the detectives, avoiding curious glances from other forensic specialists.
"We're not quite sure yet, so keep this quiet. Our captain will want a full report within the hour." Elliot added, Derek smiled and reached into a binder that sat next to the ultraviolet light, he handed Elliot a manila folder.
Forensic Analyst Derek Roberts, efficiency his middle name.
"I like to think ahead and tell Melinda Warner 'hi' for me." Derek winked.
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"What do ya got?" Fin asked clasping his hands together in anticipation in the climate controlled New York City morgue.
M.E Melinda Warner didn't answer instead she and pulled the damp blue sheet back from the recently autopsied Christopher Harris.
Cate Monty's confirmed third murder.
"She pulverized his stomach," she started. "This Cate Monty, her fists would be covered cuts and bruises. So keep your eyes peeled for that. But he got off a few hits too." Warner stated as she lifted his right hand to show the many fresh nicks and blemishes of bare combat.
"He had some heroin in his system, not a whole lot, not enough to impair. He was a seller too. Nero did a background check for me just before you arrived." Warner added.
"Was he alive when the car was submerged?" Andrew asked the attempting to hide the remorse in his voice.
Warner nodded.
"What evidence of Monty did you find on him?" Elliot questioned.
"From his left hand, his index, middle and ring finger nails where loaded with blood, skin and some small hair follicles. The duct tape preserved it very well. She'd have a huge mark somewhere that near her scalp and hair-line most likely." She gestured to the upper portion of her face to give a general idea.
Fin nodded making a quick mental note.
"Anything else?" Elliot inquired.
"He had a bottle broken over his head, I dug out quite a bit of glass. Not much else except he put up one hell of a fight. Nero said he had some background in box—"
"Cruiserweight boxing champion, ring name the Tripp-Shank." Andrew answered before he could stop himself.
The two detectives and the M.E looked at him in shock.
"You knew this guy?" Fin asked intently.
"No, not personally." Andrew recovered quickly, "Back in the late 'eighties I had a little gambling problem. So I gambled on horses, sports, boxing, you name it. Anyway, I went to a few illegal matches in Mexico, this is before I became a cop…lets just say I won a lot of money off this guy."
"And you're telling us this now?" Fin said in slight accusation.
"I didn't recognize him till now." Andrew muttered.
A thin, awkward silence followed until Warner sought to shatter it.
"Well," Warner said sensing the autopsy report was over and started peeling her blue latex gloves off then plopped them on an examination tray, "that's it, now if you would excuse me I haven't eaten all day. This Cate Monty has been keeping me quite busy."
"It's what the city pays you for." Fin chimed.
"Not paying me enough." She replied, her stomach voiced a growl as if on cue.
"Oh shit." Fin laughed and followed her out, Elliot not far behind.
Andrew took one last lingering look at the bloated and Y-incision Christopher Harris and clenched his fist in anger.
We've all got secrets.
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"Andy-man, wanna grab a drink at Vasquez's? Everybody's going." Nadia asked as five o-clock rolled around while she slipped on her dark maroon fringe leather jacket, un-tucking her long, brown hair from beneath the leather nape.
Andrew shook his head pulling his own jacket on, "Sorry, partner. I have to meet a source. Next time, 'k."
She sighed sarcastically, "You and your sources, I must just be anti-social because I can't keep any of mine."
Andrew laughed, "Yeah, that's it. See you tomorrow."
"Laters."
Andrew walked toward the elevator headed for the ground level, nodded to other officers after the ride down and exited out of the main lobby then walked down the extensive concrete steps to hail a cab.
"Where to?"
"Central Park."
The cab ride was uneventful; Andrew paid his fare and entered the park.
He noted the various people relaxing after a long day, people jogging, walking dogs and bagging their shit, children at play, patrol officers on horseback, vendors here and there, life everywhere and the strong smells of the city mingled with freshly cut grass.
Andrew spoke to no one and continued on his walk, moving for various people on the pebble covered concrete walk, until he finally reached his destination, The Obelisk.
The monument wasn't particularly crowded today, most of the benches where empty, save for the gentleman with his back to Andrew, who was reading the New York Times while facing the massive Egyptian stone.
Andrew pocketed his hands in his slacks and seated himself next to what would appear as a stranger to anyone observing.
"You're late." The reader noted moving another page of the newspaper.
Andrew glanced at his watch; it read five-ten p.m.
"Sorry about that."
"You're call said this was urgent, I sincerely hope it is." He folded the newspaper in half, laid it on his knee and stated marking certain stocks with a cheap pen.
"It is, I wouldn't have risked breaking cover if it wasn't." Andrew replied focusing on various worn hieroglyphics etched on the ancient stone.
"Well, what is it that's gotten you so, spooked?" He asked glancing at his young counterpart over expensive glasses.
Andrew hesitated, "Jack Kershaw's dead."
He scoffed his breathing, tilting his head toward The Obelisk, "Jack was an idiot to begin with and he was always getting his dick into trouble. I don't miss the fuck." He looked back at the neatly typed stocks.
"Who did it? Not that I care."
Andrew paused, "Cate Monty."
His fellow bench mate nearly tore the newspaper with the ball-point.
"What? She's dead, East River made sure of that. She's probably caught and rotting in a turbine somewhere."
"She killed Chris Harris too and some baby rapper, Mark Garston." Andrew said very seriously.
The older gentleman leaned back on the wooden bench, in disbelief, staring up at the blue hazed sky, contemplating and processing the new information.
"How do you know it's her?" He asked, focusing on a flock of pigeons over head.
"DNA doesn't lie."
The man nodded and sat up straight again gazing at the monument.
"DNA…I miss the good 'ol days when that couldn't be traced. But there's something else isn't there?" He asked turning and locking eyes with Andrew.
Andrew nodded, "She's been leaving calling cards at the crime scenes written in blood, 'Its just business'."
He nodded again.
"What do you want me to do?" Andrew asked awaiting new instructions from his superior.
He pursed his lips, "Contact David Hebel, tell him to get the word out to everyone that Cate's alive and out for revenge and that they might want to leave the city. I doubt many of them will, though. As far as your task, continue on with the hit, I want that pig dead."
Andrew nodded, stood and was about to leave, "And Jon," Andrew paused looking back at his superior, "watch yourself. She'll be coming after you too."
He shrugged, "Maybe not, Bensyn or Anita will kill her mostly likely. Jack was a pussy, Chris was a hardass, but Bensyn has a fucking army behind him and Anita…she's one sadistic bitch. They won't go down as easily."
"What about you?"
Andrew felt a feral snap in his stomach, "If Cate Monty comes near me, I'll put a fuckin' bullet in her brain."
Lengsfeild Philips smiled at his young protégé, "I sincerely hope you do."
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The Third Day
August 12, 2005 Friday
"This is ridiculous!" Sarah Thorne hissed as she approached her husband Michael Throne and Detectives Benson and Munch outside the station children's observation room.
A uniform attempted to stop her, "Ma'am, you can't go back there."
"Outta my damn way!" She cursed furiously.
"It's all right, Damon." Olivia called; he glanced back at her then backed away.
"Why didn't you call me earlier?" She demanded, her eyes locking with her husband, their teenage daughter with lovely pink streaks in her blonde hair, not far behind her mother.
Olivia braced herself about to be chewed out by a pissed mother.
It's way too early for this. She mourned.
A day had passed since Cragen ordered the child Nathan Thorne, to be brought in for an extensive interview and observation by Doctor George Huang.
Olivia and Nadia made the trip to the Thorne resident early yesterday evening, located in a nice suburb outside of the city, requesting that Nathan be brought into the station the next morning.
Mrs. Thorne was absent; she worked evenings and nights as an RN at Booth Hospital, where as her husband reluctantly agreed, but was thoroughly upset.
He didn't want his son to think about his ordeal anymore, but what he wanted didn't happen. Ever since they'd taken their son home he had been drawing and coloring the same thing over and over; The Nice Lady.
Nathan Thorne's was six years old; his room was adorned with comic book heroes of the D.C and Marvel universes. He had his action figures, his comic books and licensed clothing with the legendary and imaginary paper hero's stitched and pasted on them.
Now all of those hero's had been discarded and forgotten.
Today and probably for the rest of his life, Nathan Thorne had a new hero, a real flesh and blood hero.
The 'Nice Lady' this 'Hooded Woman', his real hero.
"What is going on! Don't you know he's been through enough!" Sarah spat with scorn, their daughter kept her eyes averted; she didn't want to watch her parents about to have a screaming match in the middle of a police precinct.
"Ma'am, this is necessary—" Olivia started.
"He gave you a statement! He—he had to relive it again in that hospital while he spoke to your—your Detectives!" She was turning hostile and hysterical.
"Sarah. Sarah!" Michael soothed and caught her by the shoulders; she showed no signs of calming.
"This—this—"
"Sarah, look at me." Michael said sternly, she paused and breathed hard holding her head as if it hurt and then slowly looked up at him.
"You allowed this to happen." She said harshly.
"No damnit, listen to me." She peered up at him, "This woman that Nate has idolized—"
"The one who saved him."
"Let me finish," he said raising a few fingers. "She's killed other people too. She murdered them. They are just trying to find her, there are only three witnesses who've seen her and Nate is one of them. Just let them do their job. Nate doesn't need any more pressure, least of all from us. So stop bitchin' and all of this will go a lot smoother." Michael finished, a little coarser than he meant to be.
Olivia expected Sarah Thorne to explode, she waited for the dam to break but nothing happened.
Sarah only nodded and looked away.
"How long will this take?" She directed at Olivia.
"As long as it has too, your son will set the pace."
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"Hi, I'm Elliot." Elliot started in slight father-like reversion, his voice turned calm and cool, like he was talking to one of his own children at age six.
But he wasn't, he was talking to a young boy who'd been sodomized and molested by a vicious man, a monster, someone Elliot had trouble even considering human.
But a dead man, no less.
Another bastard the world didn't need.
Elliot didn't trust himself to voice his own opinion of what he really thought about this woman. His argument with Olivia was still fresh on his mind.
"She a vigilante, 'Liv! Someone we don't need running around the city—"
"Yeah I know that. But she saved the girl! She'd be dead if not for her!"
"And murdered—no, slaughtered a man doing it!"
"Do you honesty think he really deserved to live?"
"No. But the last thing we need is a vigilante or worst for the press to hear about this…that there's some 'Hooded Woman' out there taking the law into her own hands…it's like giving license to anyone to do that."
"I know but—"
He wondered what she would have said if his phone hadn't rang.
Part of what he said was true, they didn't need a vigilante running around the city, but she was doing something that a badge couldn't.
Just because Cate Monty had 'hit the nail on the head' so far in murdering people who deserved to die in his own opinion, sooner or later she'd mess up and take a life that deserved to continue living.
Only a matter of time.
"You're Nathan, right?" Elliot continued.
Nathan Thorne looked up from his pile of crayons and drawings then nodded; he extended his hand in a pre-formal handshake. That surprised Elliot some.
The little boy grasped his hand in a warm, firm All-American handshake. Elliot returned the gesture, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Can I sit with you?" Elliot asked politely.
Nathan nodded and scooted over a bit on the brightly colored carpeted floor of the child observation room; filled with stuffed animals of various size and continent of origin, plastic building blocks, a train set, children's books, coloring books and a short children's table complete with small children's chairs.
He could never fit into one even if he tried.
Elliot readjusted his legs into a cross-legged style until he found a position his body would allow. He wondered again why his captain wanted him to talk with the boy; this was more of Olivia's area.
The ear receiver cracked with static and he cut his eyes with annoyance at the two way mirror; George, Cragen, Andrew and Fin where all observing him interact with the child.
"What are you drawing?" Elliot questioned.
"The Lady." Nathan replied not looking up.
"Can I draw with you?"
Nathan nodded again not looking up, instead he pushed the crayons and blank paper his way.
Elliot took them gratefully and said thanks.
"Why are you drawing her?"
"She's my hero."
"What kind of hero? Like a superhero?"
"Yeah, she stopped the bad man. She's like Supergirl. She even has super-strength."
"Push that." George's voiced cracked with slight interference, as he guided Elliot.
"Super-strength? Did you see her use her super-strength?"
Nathan nodded, "Yeah, she lifted the bad man and threw him against the wall, even made a dent in it, like Supergirl did to the Paris-Site."
"Oh." Elliot nodded, making stray marks with a blue crayon on his sheet of paper.
"What else did she do?"
"She cut the ropes with the broken bottle and talked to me."
"What did she say?"
"Things."
"What kind of things?"
"Super-hero kind of things."
He was avoiding, Elliot glanced at the mirror, "Don't let that go." George ordered.
"Did she not want you to tell me?"
"No."
"Can you tell me?"
"Yes. Can you hand me the black?" Nathan requested Elliot obliged.
Elliot paused, about to push it again when Nathan perked up.
"She said don't be scared, because I was crying. She cleaned my face and held me like my mom does when I'm scared." He continued to etch away at his sheet, filling in the crude drawing of Cate Monty's legs with the child safe black wax.
"Then I wasn't scared anymore. She carried me like Supergirl out of the room, then we where on the street, walking. I asked if she was talking me home, she said close but that I had to go see the doctor before I got to go home. I cried again because I thought I was going to get a shot…" He trailed off, leafing his fingers though the pile of crayons till he found his desired choice, a red.
"She said maybe, but I had to go see the doctor. She said I was brave and that they weren't going to hurt me but help me. She said not to be sacred of them or the police that where going to talk to me. She said I was going to be fine. I believe her."
Nathan stopped talking and continued to color; Elliot paused making sure he was done.
This is a long shot, but what could it hurt?
"Did you see her face?"
"Yeah."
Elliot nearly had a conniption.
In Nadia and Andrew's report there was no mention of Nathan seeing her face, everything was accurate except for this bomb shell.
He composed himself and tried to listen to the near shout of George in his earpiece.
"Don't let that go! So help me…"
"When did you see her face?"
"Before I went into the hospital."
He's going to make me drag it out of him, Elliot thought.
"Why didn't you tell the other officers this? Nadia and Andrew, you remember them right?"
"I don't like him." Nathan said quietly, admiring his drawing then he continued to color it.
"Don't like who?"
"Andrew, he's like Lex Luthor."
"Lex Luthor! What the hell!"
Elliot heard Andrew in the background of the earpiece, his eardrum nearly burst from all of the arguing behind the glass. Elliot clamped his hand over his left ear trying to stanch the assaulting sounds.
He shot a 'Shut-the hell-up' look at the mirror.
Silence followed.
"Yeah, I don't like him either," Elliot heard a puff of annoyance in the background of his earpiece.
"So you didn't tell him because you don't like him? What about Nadia you like her, right?"
Nathan eyes lit up at the mention of Nadia.
"She's pretty, I like her."
"Yeah, me too." Elliot the recently divorced agreed.
Another puff of annoyance over his earpiece.
"So why didn't you tell Nadia you saw your hero's face?"
"Because he was in the room."
The slight distrust he already felt toward Andrew was reinforced by Nathan's words at that moment; for some reason he felt warily around the rookie to begin with, "Ah, you know I have a friend who can draw really well. Could you describe her face for him?"
"Yeah! Could I have one too? Mine aren't very good." Nathan rifled though a stack of already colored and drawn sheets of paper. Withdrew a drawing of crude crayon image of a face and handed it to Elliot.
"Well, you can have copy too. But this one looks really good." He gestured at the image.
Nathan shrugged, "Are you going to kill my hero?"
Elliot froze at his statement, a pure, innocent and legitimate question. He realized just how quickly he'd forgotten that children would ask anything, uncensored and without consideration of who's feeling it might hurt or offend.
He wondered what Nathan's first encounter with death was. The Viking-like burial for a goldfish headed to the septic tank or is it was something deeper like a grandparent.
Either way, Nathan knew that there where two constants on this earth; life and death, and then the sin of killing.
Elliot stared into those large, blue eyes the shapes of whole moons and answered slowly and carefully.
"No, I don't kill heroes."
(End Chapter Four)
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