Chapter Two: Fruitless

16th Precinct

Manhattan SVU

3:28 P.M., March 15, 2006

Munch frowned and felt a chill pass through him. This woman didn't seem to be a garden-variety kook, and despite her ominous words, there didn't seem to be a hint of threat or malice about her. Still, he had a bad feeling.

Cupping his hand under her elbow, he said, "Come with me, please."

She offered no resistance, so he guided her into an interview room and asked her to wait. She assented by taking a seat at the table and inclining her head.

"Would you like something to drink?" he offered, hoping that making her comfortable would get him more information.

"I'm fine, thank you," she replied serenely and opened her portfolio to a blank page.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

She took out a pencil, gave him a mischievous smile, and said, "I didn't throw it to you."

At his mildly exasperated expression, she winked and said, "My name is Veronica Austin. I live on East 67th Street, a near the park."

Nodding, Munch backed out of the room. He stood outside the door for a minute, feeling perplexed. Then he headed for Cragen's office.

vvvvvvv

"She seems harmless," Munch said. "Sweet, even."

"But she threatened Elliot's life," Cragen responded, letting go of the drawing and watching the paper float down to his desk top. It was eerie how much detail there was in it. He almost expected the image to move.

"It didn't come across that way," John argued. "It was more like . . . a warning."

"That she was going to do something?" Don inquired.

"No, that she knew something was going to happen."

The captain sighed in frustration. "Ok, I'll put a call into the courthouse asking Elliot to come right back to the station when he's done with his testimony. You get someone to check her out. Then call Huang down here to observe the interview."

"You know, it could be someone he's worked with in the past," John suggested. "A victim who's finally and completely fallen apart."

Don looked at the drawing one more time and shook his head in concern. "Maybe, but she didn't do this sketch from memory or a newspaper photo," he said. "She's been watching him, and that worries me."

16th Precinct

Manhattan SVU

4:16 P.M., March 15, 2006

"How do you know this detective?" John asked in a friendly tone, not willing to give up Elliot's name.

"I don't," Veronica said, shading in the boards on what looked to be a large shipping crate as she spoke. "I've never met him."

"Then how did you do this drawing? It's incredibly good."

"Thank you," she beamed, looking up at him and giving her head a toss so a thick lock of auburn hair would get out of her eyes. "I like to draw."

"I can tell. But how did you draw him if you've never met him before?"

She shrugged. "I just did."

Munch was quiet for a minute, waiting to see if Veronica would feel compelled to fill the silence, but she didn't. The only sound in the room was the quiet scratching of her pencil, as she was content to sit there sketching. Her movements were graceful and feminine, but overtly confident and sure. In the thirty minutes he had been watching her, she hadn't hesitated over a single line and hadn't used the eraser once. It was as if the image was flowing from her to the paper and the pencil was a more of a conduit than a tool.

Folding his arms and leaning back in his chair, Munch asked, "And how did you know he was a policeman?"

"I saw his badge."

"Where?"

"In my sketch."

It was indeed there, the little 6313 as clear as day on the shield sketched on Elliot's belt.

"And where did you get the idea for your sketch?" John asked, peering over his glasses, no longer able to keep the frustration out of his voice.

"Please don't be angry at me," she implored pausing for the first time. "It just came into my head. It happens like that sometimes, and if I don't draw what I see in my mind's eye, it stays with me, wakes me at night. I just drew it because I saw it in my mind, and once I was finished, I knew I needed to talk to him, to warn him."

"About what?"

"I don't know," she pouted, looking over the drawing and nodding in satisfaction.

She tucked her newly completed sketch of Elliot standing beside a shipping crate with his gun drawn into her portfolio and took out another sheet of blank paper.

"How did you know you'd find him here?" Munch stared at her hands as she rapidly scratched out a picture frame and began sketching figures inside the rectangle.

"I followed my feet."

"I beg your pardon?"

She continued to draw, not even looking up. "I started walking and ended up here."

John ached to snatch the pencil out of her hand, snap it in two, yell in her face. He actually had to ball up his fists and put them under the table to prevent it.

Finally, she stopped her doodling and made eye contact. "It's frightfully odd, you know. Nothing like this has ever happened to me."

As she finished speaking, she smiled, her eyes lit up and she positively beamed. Turning in the direction of the squad room, her back to the one-way glass, she said, "He's here." Her tone was a mixture of excitement and relief. "May I see him now?"

There was a tap on the one-way glass, and John knew the captain was calling him out of the interview. As he exited the room to go join his CO and Dr. George Huang, he glanced into the squad room. Elliot was nowhere to be seen. On an impulse, he paused and waited a moment. Five seconds later, his colleague came striding through the doors, as confident and care free as he could be these days, his jacket slung over his shoulder, and John felt positively ill.