Greenwich Village
Friday, March 17
Elliot entered the small apartment a little apprehensively. There were policemen everywhere, bagging evidence and taking notes.He spotted Olivia in the back of the apartment, just inside the bedroom. She was squatting and talking quietly with one of the cops. As Elliot drew closer, he noticed that they were right next to the body of a young woman. Blood was pooled near her head, and she was completely naked.
"We think she's the next victim in our serial case," Olivia said as she spotted Elliot. She stood up, looking down at the young woman. "Maja Benke, twenty-five. She's been dead at least ten hours." Elliot kneeled down and suspected the pale body before him. There were bruises on her arms and legs, definitely signs of struggle. He shook his head.
"Signs of foul play," he said, standing up again.
"She was such a sweet girl," someone said from the front of the apartment. Elliot turned to see a man, about forty, making his way toward them. "I don't understand how this could have happened!"
"Detective Stabler," Elliot introduced himself. "My partner Detective Benson. You the landlord here?"
"Yes, for the past ten years," the man said, looking over Elliot's shoulder at Maja's dead body and shaking his head. "Maja, she was always quiet, never caused any trouble. Always paid her rent on time. She was friendly to the other residents. I can't imagine anyone who'd want to do this to her."
"You hear anything unusual last night?" Olivia asked.
"No, I wasn't here last night. I took my oldest daughter out for a birthday dinner, and then I was at my girlfriend's for the night. I just got back a few hours ago. There's a doorman here twenty-four hours though. The one who would have been here, his shift ended three hours ago, but I can give you his home phone number if you'd like."
Elliot nodded and the landlord went off to get the information. He sighed. The adrenaline that came with a rush at the phone call from Olivia was quickly ebbing away and being replaced by exhaustion. He wished he could be at home right now. Samantha was probably clearing the table and making coffee. He could almost smell the luscious pungent fragrance of her favorite blend permeating the entire house. He rubbed his tired eyes. He was determined to go home again tonight to sleep in his own bed.
Samantha had just started the dishwasher and was getting ready to settle down in the living room with a new book. A mug of steaming coffee was waiting for her on the coffee table. She fell into the squashy cushions and sighed happily, wrapping her small hands around her favorite mug and inhaling the rich scent of her hot drink. She was slightly put out that Elliot had run out on her, but she was consoled a little by the thought of the delicious thriller novel she was about to delve into. Just as she put her bare feet up on the coffee table, the phone rang.
"Damn," she cursed to herself, putting her book down and getting up. She padded to the kitchen and picked up the receiver of the portable.
"Hello?" she asked, leaning against the kitchen wall. There was no response. Samantha sighed in annoyance. "Hello?" She was about to hang up when she heard breathing on the other end. She furrowed her brow and folded her arms across her small chest.
"Hello?" she asked again, a little nervously this time. More breathing, and then a click on the other end as whoever it was hung up. A little irked, she hung up and pulled her sweater closer to her. She wished Elliot were home. She made her way back to the living room, making sure all the doors were locked as she went. Maybe it would be better just to go to bed.
She was half-asleep when Elliot slid in between the warm flannel sheets and put one strong arm around his wife. She felt him kiss the back of her neck and she turned over to look at him.
"I'm glad you're home," she said, stroking his face with her hand. It was rough with stubble, but she didn't mind. Her husband was home. She could tell by the look in his eyes that tonight had added another complication in the case. She wished she knew how to help.
"Me too. Anything interesting happen while I was gone?" he asked, closing his eyes against her hand. She brushed her thumb back and forth across his cheek.
"No," she answered immediately, but then she remembered the eerie phone call. "Well, I did get a bizarre phone call this evening. It was just someone breathing on the other end. Then they hung up."
"Maybe it was a wrong number," Elliot said, shifting to get more comfortable.
"Maybe. But it still freaked me out a little."
"We should invest in a dog," he joked. Samantha pursed her lips, even though he couldn't see her.
"Or you should be home more often," she retorted, frustration apparent in her tone. Elliot opened his eyes to look at her.
"Samantha," he started. She shook her head. They had had this argument before, and she was much too tired to deal with it now.
"I know," she said. She snuggled herself closer to Elliot, breathing in the scent of his cologne. He held her tighter and kissed her forehead.
"Alright," he replied, closing his eyes again. "I love you."
"Love you too." Samantha closed her eyes and soon found herself drifting off to sleep.
Elliot awoke to the sounds of someone being sick in the bathroom.
He quickly got out of bed and peered around the bathroom door, which was ajar. Samantha was sitting on the floor, leaning over the toilet.
"Honey?" he asked, his voice full of concern. He rushed toward her and she looked up, her face pale and her hair hanging limply in her face.
"Morning," she said with a weak smile. She leaned over the toilet as she got sick again.
"Oh, baby, what's wrong?" Elliot asked. He retrieved a hair band from one of the drawers and put her hair in a lose ponytail to keep it off her face and out of the way.
"I don't know," she said, her head still in the toilet. "I woke up around five feeling incredibly ill and I've been throwing up since. It must have been something I ate." Elliot sat on the edge of the tub and rubbed her bare shoulders.
"I need to go into work this morning," Elliot said. He sounded disappointed. Even though he loved his job, he was worried about Samantha and the reason for her sickness. She nodded.
"There's oatmeal…" She got sick again. "Downstairs. If you're hungry." She looked up at him, her eyes watering with exertion and frustration. Elliot frowned. He didn't want to leave, but this last murder needed his attention, and Olivia expected him in to help.
"I'll call you later today to see how you're doing," he said. "I love you."
Samantha could only nod.