Chapter Nine: Frustration

16th Precinct

Manhattan SVU

10:48 P.M., March 15, 2006

George stood up and crossed to the coffee machine in the corner of the interview room. He wasn't sure exactly when or how he'd gotten so confounded, but he knew he needed a moment to regroup.

"Would you like some coffee?" he offered, pouring a cup as he spoke.

"I'm fine, thanks," Veronica replied, "but you go ahead."

"You're a smart lady," George said. "It's probably been sitting here since the dayshift started at eight this morning."

He took his time and made a great show of doctoring the beverage with sugar and creamer, tasting it, and sweetening it some more. As he stirred each of the additions into his cup, he considered his next move.

Veronica had been surprisingly forthcoming about her personal information, only becoming vague and resistant when he asked her about Elliot. Maybe it was time to forget about the detective altogether. If he could get enough personal data on her, they would be able to find out what she had to do with Elliot and know what to do about her.

"You know, it's interesting that you see things in so much detail," he began, wanting to talk first about the very thing that she claimed had brought her to the squad. "From what I understand, most psychics just get vague impressions of future events."

"I'm not psychic," Veronica insisted. "As I have already told you, this has never happened to me before."

"So you did," George remembered, "and that brings me back to my previous question, why now, or, more precisely, why you now?"

"I don't understand," she said. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you've never had visions before. Why would you start now? What is different about you compared to how you were, yesterday, last week, or three months ago?" He wanted her to talk about her husband more on the chance that they would be able to identify her through him, but he didn't want to be too obvious about it.

"I don't know, but I have had visions before," Veronica reminded him. "This is just the first time I have ever felt compelled to do more than draw them."

"Of course you have, that's right. I'm sorry," George responded as if he truly had forgotten. "Have you ever suffered from compulsive behavior before?"

"Suffered from it?" She shook her head. "I wouldn't say I've suffered, but I do have the occasional bout of insomnia that only goes away when I get an image out of my head and onto paper."

"I see, and do you usually work like you have been today, for hours on end producing large numbers of drawings in a short time? Do you often work for hours or days at a time and then just quit for long periods?" History was riddled with artists and geniuses who demonstrated bipolar tendencies.

"Are you mad?" she asked in an amused and mildly offended tone. "I have a son to raise. I don't have time to spend my whole day drawing. I am only here because these are very unusual circumstances."

"I'm sorry," George apologized. "I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just trying to get a better sense of who you are. It might help me figure out the source of these visions you're having."

"Well, that's all well and good," she told him a bit sarcastically, "but what will it do to keep Elliot safe? He's why I'm here."

"Well, if I can explain things in a way that he will understand, he might be more inclined to take you seriously."

"Try this," Veronica commanded leaning close. "If he leaves here tonight, he will die. If he stays, he will live to fight another day. Even if he doesn't believe me, it's better safe than sorry, isn't it?"

George nodded. "I can't imagine how he could argue with that," he said, "and I know the other detectives have pointed it out to him already." He was sure it had occurred to someone to mention it, even if it was just Munch being sarcastically facetious.

They were silent for a while. Veronica sat staring at her fingers while they played with her pencil, and George sat staring at Veronica. Eventually she looked up and started slightly to find the doctor watching her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

He laughed slightly. "I'm trying to understand you."

"Understand me?"

"Yes. You are compelled to draw, and I am compelled to understand why people do what they do. I'm trying to understand why you have to do these sketches and why you couldn't stop yourself from coming here today." He went still for a moment as if debating whether to say what he was thinking.

"You know," he finally began reluctantly, not wanting to be so obvious about her husband, but not sure at the moment how else to get the details from her, "emotional trauma can often make people more compulsive and prone to delusions, hallucinations, and visions. Losing your husband must have been, most likely still is, very painful."

"You think I'm delusional?" she asked in a shocked, accusatory tone. "Do you think I'm hallucinating a threat to the life of a man I don't even know? Who's crazy now?"

"I don't think you're crazy, Veronica," he told her gently, "but his death has probably affected you in ways you don't even know. How was he killed?"

She was quiet for a long time, but the sympathetic look in his eyes finally encouraged her to speak.

"Matt had a Christmas Eve mission behind enemy lines," she said in a flat tone that sounded as if she had learned to use it to distance herself from the pain. "One lucky shot hit his fuel tank. He tried to make it back, but he ran out of gas over the water. For some reason, he failed to eject. The fuel vapors that remained in the tank ignited on impact and he went up in a ball of flame before the debris sank to the ocean floor. I didn't even get a body to bury."

"That must have been very difficult for you and your son," George sympathized.

She shrugged. "Like I said earlier, I understand that we all must make sacrifices in times like these, but Nathan?" She shook her head. "All my son knows is that he is going to grow up without a father."

"Surely your parents will help," George encouraged her, despite knowing that often, that was not the case. "Your father will take an interest in his own grandchild, won't he?"

"Oh, I'm sure he will," Veronica agreed, "but Nathan is just like Matthew. He has a strongly defined sense of right and wrong. There are no shades of gray in that boy's eyes. My father, on the other hand, has a shining public façade, but he's like a beautiful old building with a bad case of termites. He has plenty of money and power, has all the right friends, and is involved in all the right causes, but he's hardly what you would consider an honorable man. Nathan has no respect for him at all, nor do I."

"So you are pretty much on your own, then," George commented.

She gave a bitter laugh. "My parents provide us with somewhere to live and plenty to eat, an allowance for personal items and entertainment, and sufficient funds for Nathan's schooling, but when it comes to teaching him the values his father and I want him to adhere to, yes, I am alone. I am very fortunate to have a good relationship with my son, and even luckier that he worshipped Matt. It gives me a solid foundation to build on."

"Still, it would be easier if you had someone to help you, another honorable man like your husband, perhaps?" George raised his eyebrows as he made the comment, hoping his words would strike a chord.

"I beg your pardon? My husband has been gone less than three months! Who are you to suggest that I move on so soon?"

"I'm not suggesting anything," George said evenly. "I'm just surprised the thought hasn't occurred to you."

Veronica's frown deepened and then sudden understanding lit her face. "Shame on you!" she snapped, her fury making George jump slightly. "Is that why you think I'm here? You're insane!"

"The military has services to help surviving family members cope after a loss like yours, Veronica," he tried to soothe her now that she had made the connection. "If you like, I can help you contact them."

"Listen to yourself!" she railed at him. "First of all, I loved my husband! I am not going to run out and replace him like he was some . . . some wayward servant I had to fire!"

"I wasn't implying anything like that," George tried to explain.

"Yes, you were," she told him angrily. "Look, why don't you stop worrying about me and see what you can do to save your friend's life. That's why I came here. If I need . . . help, I have other people I can turn to."

"Who, your parents?" He made a point of sounding like he had tried, and failed, to keep the disdain out of his voice.

"No, friends," she snapped. "And it's none of your business who they are! Now, if you're the friend you claim to be, you'll leave me alone and go check on Elliot!"

George wasn't sure what to do. He had finished his prepared questions, and he had pissed off Veronica enough that he wasn't going to get much more out of her if he didn't back off for a while. He needed some time to regroup once again and find out what the squad had learned from the information he had wheedled out of her. Once he had a few answers, he would have a better idea of what to ask next. Giving her some time to stew over the implications of her obsession with Elliot could also help his cause. Once she realized that something was not right about her behavior, he could use that to probe deeper, find out how she had latched on to Elliot and what she intended for the future. He was certain that, given how much time and energy she had devoted to stalking the detective, she would have a plan for when she finally caught him.

Deciding to use her request as a cue to make a graceful exit, he nodded. "All right then, if you'll excuse me, I'll go talk to him now."

"Please, do," she said brusquely. "And make sure he stays here tonight."

vvvvvvv

"Nothing?" George echoed in shock his, voice rising to an unnaturally high pitch on the one disbelieving word. "What do you mean, nothing? I got you more information in one interview than the rest of you uncovered all night and you still came up with nothing? What have you people been doing out here?"

"Well, Munch, Fin, and I were shooting craps in the men's room while Olivia skipped out to have her nails done and the Captain was playing some online game," Elliot quipped sarcastically.

George suddenly understood the detective's sometimes too-frequent need to yell, throw things, and beat the hell out of people and inanimate objects. He rounded on Elliot.

"How can you of all people stand there and crack jokes?" he asked. To a stranger he would have seemed merely surprised, but to those who knew him well, his tone revealed an uncharacteristically high level of irritation. "This is your family she's messing with."

Elliot stepped forward and towered over the smaller man. Getting right in his face he asked in a deceptively calm tone, "Do you think I don't know that?"

To his credit, the doctor didn't give an inch. "The fact that you can joke about it makes me wonder," he said.

Elliot tensed and leaned in closer. George must have known he had pushed it too far, but he didn't back down. In fact, he stood up straighter. He might not be as big and strong as the detective, but if Elliot took a swing at him he was capable of defending himself.

"Ok, that's enough, you two," Cragen said, stepping up to stand close to the two men.

After another mutual glare, Elliot and Huang each took a couple of steps back.

"Doc, we've checked out everything you got us," Cragen said. "I had an old friend in the air force run down the names of all U.S. pilots killed in action since we went after Bin Laden. No Matt or Matthew with any family in the area."

"It's not like you're working with a bunch of academy recruits here, you know," Elliot grumbled softly.

George cut him a sullen look and said, "Yeah. Sorry about that. It's just that with everything she gave us, we should be able to figure out who she is by now."

Elliot shook his head. "I called my wife and kids. None of them knows a Nathan who fits our story."

"And I just got off the phone with IAB," Munch said. "I feel like I need a shower, but they say they have released no information on the cases she mentioned."

"Are you sure?" Huang asked.

"Well, nobody here has any love for the rat squad," Munch told him, though it went without saying, "but I doubt even they would jerk us around when we have some freak stalking one of our detectives and his family."

"Maybe she's lying to you," Fin suggested.

Huang shook his head. "I didn't get that from her," he said. "It might not be true, but she believes what she's saying."

"Yeah, or she's a really good liar," Elliot interjected.

Huang turned on him testily, offended that his judgment was being questioned even thought he'd already had the same thought himself. "So, what do you want to do, assume everything's a lie and forget about checking it out?"

"Well, it would take a hell of a lot less time and accomplish just as much!" Elliot responded in a heated tone.

George took a step back, disappointed in himself for getting so agitated. It was out of character for him, but he was frustrated to think that everything he had uncovered had amounted to nothing.

He took a deep breath and apologized to Elliot. "Look, I'm sorry, I really am. We don't need to be arguing."

Elliot nodded, again accepting the apology, knowing that all of their nerves were a bit strained. "It's all right," he said. "Me, too. You know, she was right on the money about those cases she mentioned."

Looking at Elliot, Olivia asked, "What does she know about your dad? Could he be the connection?"

Giving her a shuttered look, he said tersely, "No."

It was obviously a sore spot, and even if it was the key, Elliot wasn't ready to discuss it right now, so when Olivia opened her mouth to speak again and looked like she was about to pursue the matter, Huang interrupted her.

"What we need to do is find out who she is and what she wants and keep you and your family safe in the meantime," he said. "What would you be doing tonight if you weren't here?"

Elliot shrugged. "Go home, eat some dinner, call my kids, nothing exciting."

"No chance that you'd be interfering with anyone's plans?"

Elliot shook his head. "My life isn't exactly a thrill a minute, Doc."

"So that's another dead end," Fin said as if he were checking off a list in his mind.

"We're talking about my life here," Elliot grumbled slightly. "Could you find another metaphor, maybe something that doesn't include the word dead?"

Fin gave him a devilish smile. "Sorry. Didn't realize what I was saying."

"Yeah, right."

Fin managed a wounded look, but there was an amused glint in his eye.

"Maybe she doesn't want to keep you from going home," Fin suggested. "Maybe she wants to keep you here."

Elliot gave his suggestion a dismissive look. "What for?"

"I dunno," Fin admitted. "It was just a thought."

"Maybe we should think about it a little longer," Cragen said. "Our shifts all ended, what, six hours ago? What if Elliot isn't even her target? What if someone else in the squad is, or maybe the whole squad? I think it's pretty clear as soon as you walk in here that we take care of our own. Screw with one of us, and you take on all of us. Anybody else have plans they had to cancel tonight?"

Elliot felt warmed by the captain's words. The squad truly did follow the credo of all for one and one for all. Even when his family abandoned him, his colleagues had stood by him. He almost laughed as one by one, each of them shook their heads. He wasn't the only one with no social life.

"Then what could be accomplished by keeping us all busy here tonight?" Cragen asked.

"Is everybody up to date on their paperwork?" Liv asked. Not long ago, she'd narrowly avoided contempt charges by pulling back-to-back all-nighters to finish the paperwork on a case. By the second morning, she had been so exhausted that Elliot had to proofread for her while she caught an hour's sleep in the crib and a shower before she ran the file over to the court.

One after another, everyone nodded. She made a face and said, "I hate you all."

"Please tell me nobody has files at home," Cragen pleaded.

No one did.

"Maybe we need to search the office," Munch said.

"For what?" Fin asked, automatically challenging his partner's paranoia.

Munch began enumerating items, counting them off on his fingers as he went. "Listening devices, video surveillance, missing files and evidence, planted files and evidence, explosives, chemical and biological weapons. There's no telling who might have put what where while we were all busy running down the leads we got from Veronica."

Fin made a sour face and said, "Man, just because you don't sleep at night doesn't mean the rest of us need to stay up and worry about who is out to get us."

"But he does have a point," Liv said.

"I know," Fin conceded, "that's what pisses me off."

"Ok," Cragen said, "you each take your own desks and lockers and then divide the rest of our office space amongst yourselves. I'll take care of my own office."

vvvvvvv

16th Precinct

Manhattan SVU

11:26 P.M., March 15, 2006

"Well?" Cragen asked as the group gathered once more. Huang worked out of a federal office building, so he had helped by corralling a few junior detectives and uniformed officers and heading up the dreaded task of searching the toilets, workout room, showers, and interview rooms.

"Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zip. Zilch," came the responses.

"Me either," Don sighed. Turning to Huang, he asked, "What kind of read did you get on Veronica anyway? Why do you think she targeted Elliot to begin with?"

Huang crossed his arms and shrugged. "She's lost her husband, the father of her son, and she's looking for a replacement. She needs someone to love her, to make her feel safe, to help her stand up to her parents, and somewhere along the line she bumped into Elliot and decided he would be the perfect man."

Elliot laughed bitterly. "Maybe she can have a talk with Kathy."

George smiled a little sadly. The divorce had been very difficult on his friend, and though he would never say so in front of the others, he knew Elliot still mourned the loss of his family.

"She probably would if you asked her," he said. "Right now, her only concern seems to be your welfare."

Elliot just laughed slightly and shook his head. "So what do we do now?"

George unwittingly mimicked his behavior with a laugh and a shake of the head. "I guess we just keep doing what we're doing and hope we stumble across something. I'll give her a little more time to think about things and then see if she will talk to me some more."

"You know," Munch said, "there is one possibility that we haven't considered yet."

"What's that?"

"That she is exactly what she seems," he offered.

"Well, I guess that's possible," Huang said a little sarcastically, "if you want to accept that she's a psychic who just happens to have had visions of Elliot's death and knew how to find him without ever having met him before."

"Come on, Munch, you know better than that," Elliot snapped. "Remember Sebastian Ballantine or whatever the hell his real name was. At least he was a convincing fraud. This girl is just a fraud."

Munch held up his hands and said, "Ok, ok, don't kill the messenger. It's just an idea I wanted to put out there."

"Yeah, well, it was a bad one."

Looking over his glasses at Elliot, John said, "You know, she did have a point when she was in there talking to the Doc. It's better safe than sorry. Maybe you should stick around here for the night."

"Oh, no way," Elliot replied. "I do that and she gets exactly what she wanted."

"Seems to me she's already gotten it," Munch said. "You're wife and kids are scared shitless under armed police guard, and we're here going crazy trying to figure out who the hell she is and why she's here."

The group exchanged uneasy glances. Munch did have a point, but none of them knew what to do about it. One by one, they drifted apart, going back to what they had been doing before Huang finished the interview. Despite his anxiety, Elliot was touched to see that none of them took advantage of the opportunity to go home now that they seemed to have nothing left to investigate.