Rune Alignment
Chapter 43
Huang rounded the corner from the elevators.
"We'll talk about this later," Deakins said to Bobby.
"Dr. Huang, what have you got for us?"
The two men shook hands and turned toward the conference room. Deakins turned back and said to the pair, "Get Bishop and Sledge and meet in the conference room in ten minutes."
Eames stood up and walked over to their colleagues. Bobby sat and leaned back, thinking, I am not going to drive a desk for the next six weeks; I'm not doing it. Bobby saw his portfolio right where he had left it yesterday. He flipped it open and found his to-do list
have Jerry in Audio secure a redirect bypass feed from Gleason's home phone; disable outgoing service
all incoming calls go directly to Jerry for tracing, taping and analysis
contact Gleason's phone service for taped copies of her messages; see Carver re a warrant
have Martin in Audio copy messages from cell phone and service to disc
have Martin voiceprint each message from cell and service
have Louise in Transcription do her thing with disc
give Huang at SVU an audio copy and transcription of all messages
have Huang profile the caller
pull in-system voiceprints matching profile from Huang
have Martin compare caller voiceprints with others that match caller's profile
get numbers from home caller ID
locate call sites from home and cell; pay phones?
map the sites
determine the site chronology
compare distance and time between calls
find out Elliott, the student's, last name; in the system?
let me know everything
He read down the list and mentally checked off numbers one, two, four, five, six, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen. He drew a mental line through number seventeen. Bobby reached for a pen and his huge fist couldn't pick it up. He tried again but the fingertips of his left hand weren't enough to grasp anything; he found that out this morning in the bathroom.
Eames, Bishop and Sledge walked back toward Bobby's desk. "Well, well, well, looks like the Heavy Weight Champion of the World is back. You took that wall out in, what, one round? But it took three swings, so I hear."
"Edward," Eames said sadly.
"Jesus, Sledge," Bishop muttered.
Bobby shut his eyes, his lips tightened and he didn't respond. He flipped shut his portfolio, lifted it with his right hand and walked toward the conference room.
"Gleason, Gleason open your eyes. I need to take your temperature. Gleason. Wake up." The nurse put her hand under Gleason's upper arm patted her gently. Gleason opened her eyes and the nurse held out the thermometer. "Open your mouth. That's it." She set the thermometer on Gleason's tongue and watched the digital readout climb. Ninety-two, -four, -nine, one hundred, one hundred-one, -two, -three, and it stopped. It's higher, the nurse thought.
"How are you feeling?" the nurse asked as she recorded Gleason's temperature.
She opened her eyes again and whispered, "Thirsty."
The nurse poured water into the plastic glass and situated the straw. "Here you are dear." Gleason tried to lift her head, the nurse slid her hand under Gleason's neck and tilted the cup and straw, "Now just a sip."
Gleason sipped. "Good?" the nurse asked. "Are you ready for some food? How about some gelatin?"
"What happened to me?" she whispered. She felt so weak.
"You had surgery last night," the nurse evaded.
"Why? What kind of surgery?"
The nurse looked at the lovely woman lying in the bed. "Honey, you were shot yesterday; a man opened fire on the second floor of Belzberg Hall. You had surgery to repair your wounds. You rest now; I'll go get you some good cool gelatin."
The nurse left and Gleason drifted off to sleep.
Everyone gathered around the table in the conference room, and Sledge went to retrieve extra chairs. Huang looked at each of the detectives around the table. He noticed how Eames was keeping her head low, seeming to read something. She'd not yet made eye contact with him. Bishop was her usual open self, waiting expectantly. Then he looked at Bobby.
"Detective, I hope the other guy is still alive," Huang said smiling and nodding to Bobby's hand.
"Yeah, well I got the worst of it. And it was a wall, not a person."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, you should set him up with some anger management classes, Doc." Sledge said, pulling out a chair for Deakins.
Bobby closed his eyes and rubbed his right hand across them, ignoring Sledge. Jesus Christ, he doesn't stop, Bobby said to himself.
"Well, I've listened to the messages and have come to some conclusions about the caller. He is probably late thirties to late forties, white, educated. It was hard to tell, but I think he has an accent, English or Australian."
"You could hear that? The guys in audio couldn't hear it until they saw it on the voiceprint," Bishop asked incredulously.
"I know what to listen for; it helps." Dr. Huang smiled.
Bobby tried to write with his right hand, he couldn't even hold the pencil and threw it across the table, in frustration. Sledge ducked, "Ha! You can't throw right-handed either." Bobby shot him a dark look and slouched back in his chair, his wounded hand in his lap, right hand flicking the bottom edge of the tablet in his portfolio.
"Knock it off, will you?" Deakins asked with exasperation, and then to Huang, "Sorry, forgive this clown. Go on Doctor."
"His libido is out of control. This man knows the professor, he's no stranger. He could have stalked her in the past and is now acting on his desires, but I think he's been more intimate than that. He may be a former co-worker, lover even.
Bobby sat up and watched the psychiatrist as he described what might be a big part of Gleason's past.
"He associates sex with this woman. Every time he thinks of her, he becomes aroused. His arousal makes him think of her, and he becomes more aroused. He's caught in this vicious cycle until he has to masturbate to orgasm to relieve his desire.
"The anger you hear in the messages, while he pleasures himself, comes from his frustration in not actually having her. He's in pursuit of her; his desire for her is so great, nearly out of control. He calls her to try to talk with her. He plans to masturbate while he talks with her; but, when he gets her machine, he goes wild with frustration and he reverts to the horrible threats. He wants to punish her for not being available to him.
"He's a sexual deviant, likes to be in control, he dominates his partner and probably inflicts pain. He's into mind control; he threatens her into silence."
"What kind of pain would he inflict? Physical or mental?" Bobby asked.
"Both. The physical pain would be intense."
"During sex or after?"
Huang looked at the detective, where is he going with this, he wondered. "The sex would be degrading, humiliating to his partner. He would not, or could not, bring his partner to climax. Many deviants of this sort inflict some kind of physical pain afterward, substituting the pain for his partner's orgasm ."
"What kind of pain, though?" Bobby insisted.
"Detective, I'm not sure I understand what you are asking. The pain would be intense, real."
"Would he mark her, scar her in some way?" Bobby's mind was racing, oh, God, it's Clive, not Elliott.
"Goren, what are you getting at?" Deakins asked.
Bobby ignored his boss, "Would he? Would he mark her?" Bobby sat forward.
"Over here," Bobby shouted, "I've found it."
Gleason walked to where he stood and looked. "What?" she asked.
"Here. See it? It's right there," he looked into her eyes. "Here."
"Bobby, I don't know . . ."
"Come on." She watched Bobby walk off.
"It's right here. Look. Gleason, you're looking right at it. Don't you see it?"
Gleason stared, searched, swept her eyes everywhere. She saw snowy city streets, the empty sidewalks dirty with litter tossing along the gutters. An empty lot lay ahead and to the right, encircled with rusty chain link fencing, dirty snow piled up against it. The stink of decay drifted from the overturned trash bin, rotted food, crumpled papers and a dead animal lay strewn around. The sky above darkened and thunder rumbled somewhere, announcing the coming end. Lightning flashed overhead, making snowflakes sparkle.
Bobby stood and watched her, then he turned and started to walk away, "It's been right in front of you, each of these few days. You won't let yourself see it. You never will. And now it's too late." The snow fell hader.
Gleason stirred in her sleep, cold, so cold; she shivered, and started to gasp. Canna, canna brea . . . and then she convulsed.