Elliot

Wednesday, September 13th

"You're kidding, right?" Kathy asked with an amused smile. She bit into a carrot, then sat down a plate of vegetables and dip on the footstool between us. She looked different now- her hair was lighter, she smiled more. It was like some big weight had been lifted off her. I guess the weight had been me.

They were living in her mom's house. It was hardly a move down for them- the house was slightly larger than the one we had shared. Since her dad had passed away four years ago, her mom hadn't been doing too well on her own. Had we stayed together, her mom probably would have been living with us anyways. Now she just worked. She had someone else to do the cooking and cleaning for her. And her mom was happy to have someone to take care of again. It worked out well for everyone. Except for me, that is.

"No, I'm serious. She got into Manhattan Prep. You know how smart she is."

"I'm not surprised she got in. I live with her, Elliot. I'm the one who makes her go to sleep and who picks up the last-minute supplies for her projects. I'm the one who drives her in on the days she sleeps past her bus because she was up too late studying."

"I get it, Kathy, I really do. Can we not go into how much of a failure I've been as a father today though?"

She sighed. "That wasn't what I was trying to do. But I don't appreciate you talking to me like I don't know our daughter. What I was having trouble believing was that a- she applied, b- they gave her a full scholarship, and c-you're even considering this. Didn't you refer to Manhattan Prep as "The Rich Prick" School?"

I shrugged. "This isn't about me. And this isn't about you. This is about what's best for our daughter." She rolled her eyes at the word our. "She said you two hadn't been getting along lately. What's that about?"

"She's seventeen, Elliot. We fight. It happens."

"It was never like this with Maureen."

"How would you know?" she snapped. "Kathleen's bored with school, it makes her moody."

"Even more reason to let her change. Let's suspend reality for a second here, and think of what's best for her. She wants to go to Princeton, and she's got the grades for it. From public school. She's not going to be able to compete with everyone coming from their private schools. And we both know that there's no way we can afford to pay for it, even if she gets in. She can get a scholarship this way."

Before Kathy had a chance to answer, the front door slammed and Kathleen came into the living room, her school bag slung over one shoulder. "Sorry, I had to stay late. Whose side am I on?"

"No one's," I told her, motioning to an empty armchair. "We're throwing around ideas."

"I'm not comfortable with you spending ninety minutes a day on the subway," Kathy told her.

Kathleen popped a cherry tomato into her mouth and chewed quickly. "That's why I want to move in with dad." She looked over at me, then back at Kathy and her eyes grew wide. "You hadn't gotten to that yet, had you?"

"Move in with you?" She glared at me.

"Don't get mad at him," Kathleen said quickly. "You always blame him. This was my idea. It makes more sense. Besides, it would be nice to not spend an hour fighting with you every night."

"Don't be so dramatic." She turned to me. "Fine, she moves in with you. Then what happens when you work late, stay out all night? Who's going to take care of her then?"

"Uh, I'm still in the room. I'm seventeen mom. I can take care of myself. I know how to make dinner and do my own laundry."

Kathy stared at me, tight lipped. I knew I had won, despite not knowing myself whether it would work or not.

"We have to establish some very serious ground rules. And the first sign of trouble, you're moving back home."

I didn't sleep much that night. Kathy's last words kept playing over in my mind.

"El," she had said softly when I was about to leave. "That girl from Kathleen's school they found. . ."

"How did you hear about that?" The media had been on tight orders not to report her death until tomorrow.

"One of the doctors I work with told me that she had to go get her daughter. . . that she had called and said that detectives had come to her school to talk to her. That he best friend was killed. You caught that case, didn't you?"

"How do you know?"

She shrugged. "I know you Elliot. I know how you react to certain situations. And I know that that had to have come into consideration when you were thinking about this."

"That's why you gave in so quickly?"

She nodded. "I know this is going to sound ironic coming from me but find him. Find him and make sure he can never do it again."

"Why would that be ironic?"

"Because that's why we split up."

"We split up because you didn't love me anymore."

She closed her eyes for a minute, then opened them again without looking at me. Her evasiveness was a sure sign she was crying. "I'll see you Saturday."

I didn't know how I was going to do this. It was like becoming a dad all over again. But worse. This time I didn't have Kathy to screw up with me. But this wasn't two-AM feedings and diaper duty. It was waiting 'til she came home and two and hoping nothing was pierced or tattooed.

Would I be able to do this? Could I really be there for Kathleen? She was a middle child, and she did know how to take care of herself. But if I wasn't around, would she be able to sneak out without me finding out? Would she bring friends over and drink?

Would I completely fail?

Olivia

Thursday, September 14th

ME's Office

"Do we have a cause of death?" Elliot asked Warner the next morning.

She shook her head. "I can't figure it out. But it wasn't the bullet or the stab wounds that killed her."

"How do you know that?"

"She hadn't lost enough blood. If her heard had been beating when either happened, there would have been considerable blood loss. There was almost none here. And even on the smaller stab wounds, there's no swelling, which would have had time to happen before she died."

"Did you run a tox screen?" I asked.

She nodded and brought out the paper. "It was negative for all the standard tests. No drugs, but she had a blood alcohol of almost 0.2."

"Could it have been alcohol poisoning?"

She shook her head. "I checked her stomach contents- if she had had poisoning, she would have thrown up before she passed out. Her stomach was still full."

"So you're telling me that an otherwise healthy sixteen year old just dropped dead and we can't figure out why?" I could hear the tension in Elliot's voice.

"Could she have had any medical conditions?" I asked, trying to diffuse him.

"Nothing in her medical history other than a couple of broken bones."

"Maybe she fell. . . she passed out and hit her head or something?"

Warner shook her head again. "I'll keep looking, running other tests. I'll send out her blood for more complete screening. But that will take a couple of days."

"This is ridiculous."

"I get it, detective," Warner said with annoyance creeping into her voice. "I'll see what I can do. I've sent the bullet over to ballistics. They might have something."

"Detectives," Morales greeted us as soon as we walked in. "I was about to call you."

"You found something?" I asked hopefully.

"Well, we got into her computer system. There was nothing really out of the ordinary, except for a couple of e-mails to a Daniel Stephens talking about a party two nights ago." I looked over at the screen and read over the coordinates for the party. It was to take place on the Upper West Side, not far from where we found her body. Elliot's phone rang and he went out of earshot to answer. A minute later he came back.

"El," I said, slipping up. We weren't that close anymore. I didn't feel like I should be calling him by a nickname. "What was the name of the boy Angela's friend mentioned?"

"Daniel, why?"

"We may have found where she was Tuesday night."

"We might not have to. That was ballistics. They matched the gun that shot Angela in the head."

"Registered?"

"To a Wayne Miller. He was just paroled from Rikers."

"What was he in for?"

"Rape and manslaughter."

"Where is he now?"

Elliot

Frank's Auto Body Shop

"Can I help you?" the brown haired receptionist asked with a crack of her gum.

"Yeah, I'm looking for Wayne Miller?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Why you lookin' for him?"

"We think he might have witnessed a crime last night. I just want to see if he knows anything."

She shrugged and pushed her long fingernail against the intercom system.

"Wayne," she yelled shrilly.

"What?" through the glass looking out to where the workers were, I could see him respond.

"Someone's here to see you."

"Who."

"I don't know. Some police dude and chick."

For a second he froze, then bolted out the door. I pushed my way through the door marked "No Entry" and started running after him. He was fast, but I managed to get him back in my line of vision. From the other side came Olivia, running faster than I remembered her running before. She quickly grabbed him and forced him onto the floor.

"Wayne Miller," she began, "you're under arrest for the murder of Angela Manning. You have the right to remain silent. . ."

Back at the precinct, he refused to talk to us. He just called his lawyer and barked some instructions at her. Olivia and I waited in the lounge until she came.

"I heard you moved," I said slowly, trying not to sound too nosy.

"Yeah. The Feds got someone into my apartment right away, and they're not willing to leave anytime soon. They owed me money for that, plus my closing bonus, and eight weeks of back pay. I decided to put a down payment on a townhouse instead of trying to find another apartment."

"How is it?"

She laughed. "It's gutted. The only rooms that still exist are the bathrooms. I was planning on taking some time off to work on it."

"What happened?"

"Cragen called, said you needed a partner. Turns out staying away is harder than I ever thought."

I was going to say more, but I spotted Roger Kressler entering the unit. We both headed down the stairs. "Hello detectives, I see you've managed to arrest the wrong client of mine yet again. Where is Mr. Miller?"

"Interrogation two. We'll take you there."

"Why don't you join us?" he suggested. I exchanged glances with Olivia and followed him in."

"Did you bring it?" Wayne asked quickly?

"I sure did." Kressler put down his suit case, opened it up, and handed me a police report.

"What is this?" I asked.

"You can confirm this with the cops who took his statement, but I think you can see that's an authentic report. Mr. Miller was robbed two weeks ago, and under missing items is the gun used in the murder in question. I know that we're supposed to leave the detective work to the police, but this one's a no-brainer. You're looking for whoever robbed my client. Now if you'll excuse us, we've got a complaint to write up."