Chapter 13

"Well, if it didn't come from you, then who…" Cragen's words died out, and he held the receiver to his ear, intently listening to the words on the other end. He reclined back in his chair, the expression on his face troubled. "Yes, sir, I understand. Thank you."

Gingerly, Cragen replaced the receiver and stood up, crossing the room quickly. Abruptly, his hands reached for the blinds. As light flooded his office, he carefully surveyed the detectives gathered around the squad room. He felt a growing uneasiness wrestling within him. It was an internal instinct that had served him well through the years. It was the ability to know, to sense when something was off kilter--the ability to recognize what others merely overlooked. It had been the one thing he had never challenged, never questioned…until now. But now if he allowed himself to acknowledge the implication behind the growing trepidation, he didn't know where it left any of them.

What the hell was going on with this case?

His decision made, Cragen flipped the blinds shut again, sweeping the room into darkness. It was too early for questions, too early for assumptions because the truth of what it might mean scared the hell out of him. It meant that the one thing they had come to rely on above everything else was no longer safe.

Cragen turned toward the door and silently slipped through it. He needed to focus, needed to concentrate. He needed to find answers. They all did. "All right, what have we got?"

Elliot turned toward him, snatching the single sheet of paper rolling out of the printer. A satisfied smirk played on his face as he held it out. "Michael Pasley--we've got an address for him right here in Manhattan."

Fin nodded. "Yeah, it fits with the time frame of the assault too. Elliot left Liv about ten o'clock. The time stamp on the receipt from Maloney's is 11:47 pm. That doesn't give the perp much time. Leslie Carlton was killed between midnight and 2 am."

Munch pointed to the timeline he had established on the board. "That gives him less than two hours to take Olivia to the basement, chain her to the bed, rape her the first time, kill Leslie, and dump her body."

Elliot's face was pale as he stared back at Munch. Rape her the first time. The words echoed in his head. He had tried to deny it. He had needed to deny it, but the truth of it all hit him now with a force that stole every last breath from his body.

"What makes you think he attacked Olivia first?" Cragen contemplated carefully.

Fin's words were quiet when he spoke. "Had to, Captain. Leslie was strangled with her belt." The omission behind his words didn't go unheard.

Munch turned toward the map on the board. "There's more, Captain. Here's Maloney's, the dress shop, the park, and Elliot's apartment." Munch dropped a yellow pin in place on the map at each location.

Cragen nodded in agreement. "They're all within a five block radius."

"Bingo." Munch turned toward them, the tiniest smile tugging at the corner of his lips."That must mean that Olivia was held somewhere in that five blocks. With onlytwo hours, the perp wouldn't have had time to go much further." The realization hit Cragen hard. All that time, and she had been so close.

Elliot finally spoke. He reached over for the final pin in Munch's hand, placing it smack dab in the middle of the others. "And here's Michael Pasley's apartment."

Cragen eyed him carefully. "All right, what do you say we bring him in for a little chat." As they all turned toward the door, he hesitated. "Munch, Fin, go. Elliot, I need to talk to you in my office."

Olivia stared straight ahead at the wall in front of her without seeing anything. She closed her eyes again, relishing the security of the darkness surrounding her. It was so cold. Slowly, as if in a daze, she realized that the water pounding her body was now ice cold. Opening her eyes again, she reached forward, turning the knob in her hand and watched as the last bit of water swirled away effortlessly down the drain. She stepped out of the shower, reaching for the towel that hung from the rack. It was still damp. They all were. She wanted to wash away the memory of that night, wanted to scrub away every bruise that littered her body, wanted to wipe away the blood…wait, the blood.

Slowly, Olivia looked down and realized that the water had long since faded away, but in its absence, her skin was raw from the material now draped guiltily in herhand. The gash on her chest was now gushing fresh blood. Her fingers were shaking as she re-wrapped the wound. She reached for the sweat suit she had left on the counter.

Once fully dressed, she retreated back to the kitchen. She poured herself another cup of coffee and watched as the sugar swirled around in the cup, melting together until the two became one. Her fingers laced around the mug, feeling the warmth that radiated from it. She lifted the steaming liquid to her lips, barely noticing the scalding liquid as it burned down her throat. Her fingers gripped the cup in her hand, and finally she dared to cross the room again. She stared out the window, fighting back the wave of panic. It was still there. Her eyes stared across the street at the dark sedan parked alongside the curb directly in front of her apartment, a shadowy figure her only indication of its occupant.

"Michael Pasley," Fin snarled, staring at the man who sat before him in the interrogation room, his words dripping with satisfaction. "Or do you prefer Mikey?"

"No, I think he prefers to go by Roger?" Munch suggested mildly.

The man smirked back. "Look, I know my rights. You ain't got nothin' on me. What do you want?"

"Oh, I'd say we have a hell of a lot on you. Looks like you've been in trouble before, huh Mikey?" Munch jumped in, opening the file in his hand. "Identity theft, forgery, insurance fraud…shall I go on?"

"Yeah, well that was all a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding," Fin repeated harshly. "Well, Mikey, why don't you help us clear up another misunderstanding?"

Munch threw a plastic evidence bag across the table. "You want to tell us about this?"

Mikey stared down at the license in front of him. He crossed his arms and leaned back. "I never seen this before in my life."

"Oh, really, cause your fingerprints were all over it," Fin grunted.

"Yeah, well I don't know how they got there."

"Oh, that's a real nice one. Why don't you come up with something a little more original next time--give us something to look forward to," Munch commented sarcastically.

"Fine, maybe it was someone who came into the store where I work. I touch a lot of licenses there."

Fin leaned in, his face only inches away. "Yeah, what kind of store?"

Taking note of the sudden silence, Munch turned around, intrigued. "Come on Mikey, why don't you tell us what kind of store?"

"Look, you people think it's easy to get a job with a record?" Mikey broke in, defensively. "I had to take a job wherever I could."

"You didn't answer the question," Fin commanded coldly.

Mikey stared back in silence. "It's a dress shop," he finally muttered.

Both men's heads snapped up. Munch was the first to speak. "What's the name of the dress shop?"

Mikey rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, like you've ever heard of it. The name is Estello's."

Cragen leaned in and pressed the button in front of him, sweeping the room into silence.

Casey was the first one to speak. "Well, that was easy."

Cragen frowned. "Yeah, too easy. The guy we're looking for is smart. He left virtually no forensic evidence on either of his victims. And he somehow was able to charm both Kathy and Olivia. This guy…"

"Yeah, he's none of those things," Casey interrupted dryly. She arched her eyebrows inquisitively. "So we've got the wrong guy?"

"Well, if he is our guy, he's certainly not working alone." Cragen leaned forward again, releasing the button.

"Yeah, sure I worked Wednesday morning. The boss sent me home early--said it was too slow for two of us to stay there."

"That must have pissed you off. After all, you don't work, you don't get paid, right?" Munch suggested.

"Whatever," Mikey shrugged his shoulders. "As it turns out, I got lucky that night so no hard feelings."

Fin leaned forward menacingly. "Excuse me?"

Mikey crossed his arms in front of him chest. "Yeah, I went to my weekly poker night with some friends, and I raked in the cash."

Munch closed his eyes. He tossed a legal pad and pen across the table. "Names?" he commanded.

As Mikey scrawled on the pad, he smirked back at them. "I'm sure they will be more than happy to account for my whereabouts that night. Is there anything else, Detectives?"

"Yeah," Fin added. "Why don't you get comfortable cause we're nowhere near done. Now tell me again, where you were on Friday night?"

Mikey sighed. "I told you before. I was home alone."

"How convenient," Munch added quickly. "I believe that's what we call no alibi."

"I didn't know I needed one," Mikey shot back. "Now what's all this about anyway?"

"Oh, I think you know exactly what this is about." Fin slid a photo across the table. "You remember seeing her on Wednesday?"

Mikey shrugged. "Never seen her before in my life."

"Yeah, how about this one? Let me guess, you've never seen her before either?" Fin slid a second photo over.

"Now this is one I'd definitely remember," he purred. "I didn't see her, but if I had, I would have been more than happy to…" Before he could finish, Fin had lifted him up out of his chair and backed him up against the wall. His forearm was locked across his throat. "What did you say?"

Mikey gasped for breath. "I…can't…breathe."

"Easy there, Fin," Munch cautioned quickly.

Fin's face hardened, and then grudgingly he released his hold. Mikey's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. "I've never seen her before," he sputtered.

"You're going to wish you never had," Fin sneered.

"Come on Mikey. A woman mysteriously disappears from the dress shop that you work for and shows up dead in a park two blocks from your apartment," Munch asserted quickly. "Your fingerprints were found on a fake driver's license under the name Roger Hammond. The person using that card drugged, kidnapped, and raped a cop before trying to kill her."

"Yeah, and if you think a jury is going to believe you when you say you've never seen her before, I can assure you they won't give a damn," Fin added with a glare.

Mikey stared back at him, the color draining from his face. "I swear to God I never raped or murdered anyone!"

"Yeah, let me guess. It's just a misunderstanding." Fin laughed mirthlessly. "Let me tell you how much cops hate it when you hurt one of their own."

Mikey glanced back and forth between the two of them. "I mean it. I never touched either of those women!"

Munch crossed back over to them. "So help us out here, Mikey. Why don't you tell us one more time about the license?"

Mikey's shoulders slumped forward. "I do a little business on the side. One day, out of the blue, I get this call from some new guy--said he needed a license and credit card. He was real specific about the details--especially the address. It seemed a little odd, but he paid me double what I normally charge so I figured what the hell."

"I need a name," Fin snapped.

Mikey hesitated. "What are you gonna do for me if I tell you?"

Munch glared down at him. "If you're information checks out, we'll see what we can do."

"All right, all I know is a first name--Garrett something or other."

"Where do we find him?" Fin demanded coldly.

"I don't have an address or anything like that. I sent the cards to a post office box." Munch nudged the legal pad closer. Mikey's hand hesitated as he jotted down the info. "You're still gonna help me out, right?"

"Yeah, sure" Fin snatched up the legal pad and rolled his eyes. Hearing the rap at the window he followed Munch out the door.

Olivia's eyes wandered down to her wrist--10:36 pm. She forced herself to her feet, forced herself to tread her way back to the kitchen. She was midway through pouring a cup of coffee when she heard it--the soft footsteps approaching. They stopped outside her doorway. Olivia dropped the mug in her hand and staggered back, completely oblivious to the scalding liquid on her skin. Unable to retreat any further, she froze, her body pressed up against the cupboards.

She was trapped. There was nowhere to go, no way to retreat from the approaching footsteps. With a certain helplessness, she willed her body to move, but it refused to respond. She tried to fight him off as he moved closer, but she suddenly had no control over her limbs. She tried to scream, but no sound escaped.

Olivia let out a whimper as she slid to the floor. "No…please…stop."

"Olivia!" The voice that called out was filled with alarm, but it was familiar. Olivia raised her head slowly. She brushed back the curtain of bangs that fell in her face. "Olivia." The voice was softer now, and this time there was no mistaking it. She drew herself up to her feet and crossed over to the door, stopping only long enough to grab the Glock from the kitchen countertop. Glancing through the peephole in the door, she tensed slightly. "Olivia, please."

Olivia reached over and turned the deadbolt. Cautiously, she raised her gun before pushing the door open. Her voice was shaking when she finally managed to speak. "What are you doing here?"