Chapter 4

"You're looking for a white male, probably in his mid to late thirties." George Huang stared at the photos on the board, carefully analyzing every detail. "He's meticulous, and he's been planning this for a long time. Every detail was carefully thought out…except the victim. I don't think he knew her, but he had a very good idea who he was looking for. She's white, middle aged, mid to upper class. This isn't his first time, but I think he's stepping outside his comfort zone. I would guess his previous victims were submissive. He chose her because he wanted her to fight, and sometime during the attack, something she said or did set him off. That's why he used the knife…to try to control her."

"So why the belt?" Cragen stepped closer, searching for a glimpse of something new, some insight into the case that frightened them all.

"Because it has significance to him, he's impatient. He's been waiting for this day to come for a long time. He picked a public place in a well-traveled park. He wasn't afraid of being caught. He wanted us to find the body right away. He's trying to make a statement. And he couldn't wait for you to discover that Olivia is missing so he went out of his way to make sure that you go looking for her. She's the key to figuring out who he is."

"So how do we find this guy?"

"He's playing games with you. I think his attack on Leslie Carlton is actually a cry for attention. He needs you to know that he has Olivia. He wants you to know that he has the ultimate control over her, and that she's at his mercy."

"How much time do we have?"

"Right now, he wants her alive. He's still playing games." Huang stopped for a moment, carefully phrasing his next words. "But he's extremely volatile. He has too much invested in this. If something she says or does sets him off, he could fly into another violent rage…"

"I just can't believe she's dead." Annabelle Watterson turned slowly to face John Munch. She brushed a slender hand through wispy tendrils of honey blond curls as he took a seat in front of her desk.

"Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?"

"Of course not. Everyone loved Leslie."

"What about a boyfriend? Was she seeing anyone?"

Annabelle shook her head. "Leslie always said she never had time for a boyfriend. She was very career-oriented. But, she was married once. Her husband died about five years ago from cancer. She never really got over it. I think she was afraid to open up again."

"How well did you know her?"

"About as well as most people. She was independent, assertive. She threw herself into her career after Matthew died and didn't really let anyone get too close."

Munch paused for a moment and pulled out a photograph, taking special care to avert his eyes away from the image. "Have you ever seen her with this woman?"

Annabelle shook her head. "No, I don't recognize her."

"She's a detective in the Special Victims unit. We found her business card tucked behind Leslie's driver's license. Do you have any idea how it could have gotten there?"

Annabelle looked genuinely surprised. "No, I can't imagine why. No one had been bothering her."

Munch took a deep breath. "You sure about that?" At her affirmative nod, he let it drop. "All right, when was the last time you saw her?"

"Well, she left the office early on Monday afternoon, said she had some errands to run. She told me she wouldn't be back in until Thursday morning. She was going to be working from home with our marketing directors to get ready for an upcoming fundraising gala. The gala was last Wednesday night. They were supposed to meet that next morning for breakfast to wrap everything up. When she didn't show up…"

Annabelle's lower lip was trembling, and she paused for a moment. "I….I knew something was up. She's been working on this project for six months. Our beneficiaries came in Thursday morning and were furious. They demanded to know where she had been the night before. I told them they must be mistaken. She wouldn't miss it for the world." Her eyes welled up slightly at the memory. "She told me she was on her way to pick up her dress when I talked to her Wednesday afternoon."

"Do you happen to have the name of the dress shop?" He waited, the pen in his hand poised.

"Sure, Leslie always goes to the same place. The name is Estello's. I….I think I have a business card somewhere." She dug around for a moment before passing a card to Munch. He slipped it in his pocket before turning back to her.

"Did Leslie have any family in the area?" Munch had already scanned the office for any photographs and wasn't surprised at the answer.

"No, she never talked about any family. Her parents passed away when she was in college, and she was an only child. After her husband got sick, she was all alone."

"All right, thanks for your time." Munch stood up and dug through his pocket. "Here's my card. If you think of anything else that might be helpful, let me know."

"Melinda, please tell me you have something." Elliot crossed the room to where Warner stood, her back to him.

Melinda looked up from the paperwork in her hand and crossed over to the examination table. "Official cause of death is ligature strangulation, but he put her through hell and back first." She brushed back the sheet covering Leslie's body and gently reached for her arm. "Restraint marks on the wrists indicate she was probably tied up for a long period of time."

"Any idea what he used?" Fin stepped closer to examine the markings carefully.

"We found blue fibers that we matched up to this ratcheting strap." Melinda reached for a photo and handed it to Fin. "Unfortunately, it's available just about anywhere."

"So no way to trace it back to the perp." Elliot's frustration was evident. "What else?"

"The cuts on her neck and chest were all inflicted pre-mortem. No sign of a knife, but you're looking for a blade about three to five inches long with a serrated edge."

Melinda took a deep breath and stepped closer to the body, raising an imaginary knife to demonstrate her point. "It looks like he lost control. All of the wounds are slashing as if he was lashing out at her, but he missed the carotid artery. Not enough damage to kill her, but enough to put her in a severe state of shock."

"Was she raped?" Fin's voice was grim, preparing himself for the inevitable answer.

Melinda nodded affirmatively. She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Yes, and from the looks of it…repeatedly." She didn't elaborate. They didn't need to know the details. It wouldn't help. But even as she tried to cushion the blow, she knew it was too late.

Elliot turned away and took a long, deep breath as he fought for control. "Any fluids?" His voice cracked as he spoke.

She smiled for the first time. "Rape kit turned up traces of semen. We've got his DNA, but he's not in the system."

"Got to love a perp that leaves his calling card," Fin commented quietly. The DNA would help convict once they had a suspect, but it also meant that several of the suspects Munch was looking at could be cleared very easily. He pulled out his phone and started dialing.

As Fin turned away, Melinda turned back to Elliot. "There's one more thing. Her tox screen came back."

"Alcohol in the system?" Elliot suggested.

"No, Midazolam."

He frowned. "What's that?"

"It's a benzodiazepine derivative frequently used for minor dental surgeries."

"A tranquilizer?"

"Yes, there's a puncture mark I initially missed because it was hidden behind the bruising. He used a small amount, enough to render her unable to fight back, but still enough that she would have been aware of everything he did to her.

Sensing the finality in her voice, Elliot started toward the door. "All right, Melinda. If you get anything else…"

"Don't worry, Elliot. You'll be the first to know."

As the door swung shut behind him accompanied by the chime of a bell, Munch brushed a bead of sweat off his forehead. He was exhausted--emotionally and physically. It had been a long and disappointing day, but he knew that the pounding headache and burning fever were nothing compared to what Olivia must be going through now. "Hello?" He turned toward the counter, searching for some sign of life.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll be with you in just a moment." The words were muffled. The man in front of him slipped a pin out of his mouth and used it to drape the leftover fabric in his hand over a mannequin. He quickly crossed over to where Munch stood. "Sorry about that." He smiled ruefully. "I guess I didn't hear you come in. What can I do to help you?"

Munch's initial surprise rapidly dissipated. He flashed his shield. "Detective John Munch."

"Anthony Estello," he responded. "Is everything all right?"

Munch pulled out a photo of Leslie Carlton. "Do you recognize this woman?"

Anthony took the photograph in his hand, surveying it hastily. "Leslie Carlton. Sure, I know her." He brushed back a shock of dark hair with a boyish smile. "She's been coming here for years."

"When's the last time you saw her?"

Anthony paused, searching his memory. "This past week, it was Tuesday…no Wednesday afternoon. She came to pick up a dress. It was a rush order…said in all her planning, it had completely slipped her mind."

"Which dress did she order?"

"Oh, she didn't order one…at least not in that sense. Leslie needed something for some big gala dinner. We always do custom designs for big events like that." He paused briefly. "Even on short notice."

"Custom designs. How much does that run?"

Anthony shrugged casually. "This one was only about three thousand dollars."

"Three grand for a dress you wear one night! No wonder my exes keep taking me to court for more alimony."

An amused look crossed over Anthony's face. "She had impeccable taste, but she wasn't like many of our other clients, very down to earth. I think this was one of the few places she really chose to indulge herself."

"Can you describe this dress?"

Anthony turned his back to Munch and dug through a stack of files. "I can do you one better." Triumphantly, he flipped open the file and pulled out a picture. "Here's a rendering of the design."

Munch nodded. "Mind if I take this with me?"

He shook his head. "Nope. I never reuse a design. Is everything okay with Leslie?"

"Leslie was attacked on Saturday night." Munch gauged his reaction carefully.

There was a shocked silence before he responded. "What happened? Is she okay?"

"She was murdered."

Anthony sat down, the color draining from his face. "Murdered…but who would ever want to hurt Leslie?"

Munch's voice softened. "That's what we're trying to find out. Were you two close?"

"No, no. I mean…I've known Leslie for years. She's one of my best customers, but she pretty much kept to herself. I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt her." His face was troubled. "Please, if there's anything I can do to help, let me know."

"When she came in the other day, was she alone?"

"Yes, she always came in alone."

Munch looked around. "Did you see anyone paying special attention to her?"

Anthony shook his head. "I wish I could help, but it's pretty quiet around here. I never saw anyone else."

"Okay, thanks." Munch reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card. "If you think of anything else…"

"Don't worry, I'll be sure to call you."

"Well, that was a big waste of time," Fin grunted as he crossed the street to meet Elliot. "No one saw or heard anything. In fact, I'm not so sure they even know who their own neighbors are."

Elliot nodded in response. "I knew that going in. Olivia wasn't any better. She said she spent too much time looking at my ugly mug." His eyes were trained straight ahead, and his jaw was clenched tightly. For a brief moment, he paused uncertainly outside the heavy mahogany door in front of him. His fingers closed around the knob, and as the door swung open, they both stepped inside.

"Fin. Elliot. What can I get for you?" Ray Maloney dismissed the man who stood before them with a quick glance and stepped over to take his place at the bar.

Fin took the lead, sliding in an empty seat. "We're not here for pleasure, Ray. You remember seein' Olivia here Friday night?"

"Sure." Ray nodded to Elliot. "She came in with you for a couple hours." The curiosity on his face was evident.

"How about after I left?" Elliot's voice was strained.

Ray paused as he wracked his memory. "Well, I closed out her tab before you left. But I kind of remember seein' her talking to some new guy. They seemed to know each other. I think he uh…even helped her out when she'd had a little too much…if you know what I mean."

Elliot's head shot up. "I thought you said you'd closed out her tab."

"Yeah."

"She wasn't drunk when I left. What happened?"

"I don't know. Maybe her boyfriend bought her a drink."

Fin traded a look with Elliot. "Liv wouldn't accept a drink from someone she didn't know. You recognize anyone that night?" Elliot shook his head wordlessly.

"They seemed awful cozy when they left," Ray added. He paused, sensing the tension. "She okay?"

Elliot's phone rang, and he stepped aside for a moment. "Stabler."

Fin turned back to Ray. "We don't know. We're tryin' to find her. I don't suppose this guy happened to use a credit card?"

Ray paused. "Can't remember. Give me a minute." He shuffled through the paperwork he'd been working on when they came in. "Here's your guy, scotch on the rocks…" His eyes scanned over the receipt. "And it looks like it's your lucky day."

Fin nodded silently. Finally, a solid lead. "All right. We're gonna need a copy of that."

Ray handed it to him. No problem, anything I can do to help. I can run off another one for our records."

Fin slid off the bar stool. "Thanks for your help." He turned toward Elliot as he snapped his phone shut.

"That was Captain. Munch has got something. Let's get back to the house."