Her dearest daddy was right when he said that school would drive him insane. Mona could be a nymphet - and the perfect friend for his Carmencita - but she had covered up the small - but so dangerous - nymphet with her piano lessons. Who are you seeing, Lolita? My Lolita, swallowing someone else's spit? Lost in the easy speech of anyone? Slipping through the sweat of gentlemen without shame? How can your Lo create a lie like that one and demoralize her dad? Humbert imagined his girl rocking on other beds, trapped in the clutches of another unhappy man, verbalizing love in various shades, tired. The piano lesson lasted two hours. In two hours, Humbert thought as he touched her-violently, relentlessly-she might have ceased the thirst of many men. Who are you with, Lolita? Who has your nymphet heart, my sweet sin?
New York would be better for several reasons: they found a good residence with a beautiful - but compact - grassy field with the most beautiful flowers on the street. A school only for girls without Mona or distractions - even if with regret Humbert would miss the old temptations - and where he would be all day, teaching to college students. Well, that's what he told his daughter. Dolores was ruined in leaving, but Mona had already tired her. She insisted on immoral matters like her incest case with Humby, which did not please her. Details? She has given her enough already. Dolores did not want to share it anymore. He wanted soft things, like morning milk, an interesting television show, and a neighborhood tour with her new bike. No more than the same.
Dolores would have no more the pleasure of her own phone - and that vehicle following them would now be following inappropriate clues. Humbert took care of watching her to prevent further leaks. She was captivating, captivated. Dolores saw his father with the money of the car' sale in hands,she saw him count note by note. Then, on the verge of tears, she saw him buy airplane tickets for them. She wept shyly in the airport bathroom before the flight took off. There was no cell phone to beg for help.
They new house in New York was not as she had thought: it was old and there was no place to ride a bike. The most beautiful flowers? Indeed, it was true. It was the only one in the neighborhood, so there was no competition. Her room had a noisy window that overlooked the not very busy street. Dolores ran her fingers through the door frame, staring at the pen marks that marked the growth of some child who had lived there before. What would it be like to have a normal family? Would her mother do that to her someday? If in an alternate universe Humbert Humby had not killed her poor mother, would she ever get to know how it is like to have a quiet suburban life? With a fluffy dog, a chubby baby, a school sweetheart, and a fixed place to live? Without the journeys, the sleepless nights, the aggression and without the malicious touches that accompanied her tears, every night, all the damn nights of her life? Would she get a bed to sleep where she would always look at that picture of a happy family instead of the shadows of her father against the light outside? Where she could be ... happy?
In the New York Special Department, Benson, Elliot, Munch, Fin, Cragen, and FBI Special Agent Huang debated Clare Quilty, who had been arrested for child pornography in New York. It was dozens, if not hundreds, of old-fashioned tapes since the fall of the Berlin Wall - which had been the subject of one of the videos, terrifyingly disturbing for the agents. Munch and Fin did the worst: they compared pictures of the children with other scenarios found in the police database. There were similarities, some known girls, other missing boys. They spoke to Vivian, her partner and author of several of the most macabre scripts for private films, which denied everything. Not even the warmth of the room-as Elliot used to, turning off the air-conditioning system-or even Benson's attempt to approach with her polite manner. Nothing.
But, unfortunately, her forbidden diary said the words she would never say.
"Ann has the red Botticelli of passion on her lips and even though her role as the new nymph of Q. was ideal, she belongs to the category of stubborn girls whose give me migraine does not know how to kiss right, does not know how to act and insists on playing the main role in Dolly's play.
Dolly is in love with Q. She thinks he saved her from whatever she has been going through. She plays tennis well and we need to create tactics to get away from her stepfather. She dreams of being famous, but Q. thinks she needs to start with the amateur before going to the theater. Until now she didn't want to. "
It was not difficult for Benson and his team to discover that "amateur" was the expression used for the filthy movies they both recorded in their residences. And then, the search began: Who was Dolly and where was she?