Title: Reunion
Author: Fins-Best-Friend
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.
Chapter 8
Zita's Bedroom
January 1, 2004
8:20 A.M
"Réveillez-vous, sleepyhead." (Wake up, sleepyhead.)
Someone was whispering in French.
Zita moaned. It was, in no way, time to get up yet. She refused to believe it. But who was that shaking her shoulder? Her mother? Could this all have possibly been a long dream? Her heart leapt at the thought, then sank just as quickly as she heard the sounds of New York City outside her closed window. Back in Paris the walls, interior and exterior, were soundproof. She was in America and it had all happened. But whose voice was that? Too perky at this hour to be Luc and too high-pitched and French to ever be John's or Etienne's. Xavier was still recovering from his bullet wound in the room at the Ritz until all of his stuff could be moved to the townhouse, so it was not him, either. No, it was a girl's voice. Olivia? Casey? Neither option sounded likely at all.
Whoever the voice belonged to continued to shake her arm. Zita tried to push her away, muttering something incomprehensible.
"Allons, Zita, se réveillent!" (Come on, Zita, wake up!) the voice said again, a bit louder this time.
Zita was now thoroughly annoyed. She opened her one eye and snapped in English, "Who are you and what do you wANT !"
She screamed the last part of the last word in surprise as the face belonging to the voice suddenly loomed very close to her own face.
Zita sat straight up as her best friend, Antoine's daughter, Lizzette, fell back on the bed. "Happy New Year!" she girl cried in a thick French accent, laughing at the look on Zita's face.
"Oh, you are the devil!" Zita yelled, laughing and lunging forward, sending both herself and Lizzette tumbling from the bed, landing on the floor in a pile of pillows and blankets.
Reggie, feeling that it might be dangerous to remain in a room with two tumbling girls, made a quick exit and began the arduous task (for his short, little legs) of going downstairs.
"What are you doing here? You weren't supposed to be here until noon!" Zita said, throwing a pillow at her friend.
"Me'n'Dad took an earlier flight. We've been here in New York since three this morning, but we didn't leave the airport until seven-thirty. It takes American airports forever to get cars unloaded!"
"You brought the Bentley?" Zita asked, jumping up and running to the window to see if it was parked outside.
"Oh my gosh, that is such an awesome car!" Lizzette gasped, falling back onto the bed.
Zita nodded, a look of sadness coming over her face. "Yeah, it was my mom's. She didn't drive much, so she more or less gave it to me."
"Hey," Lizzette said, standing up and walking over to where Zita was standing, "I'm sorry about your mom. She didn't deserve what happened to her."
Zita nodded. "Don't be sorry. It wasn't your fault." she said, anxious to change the subject. "So you just walked up to the door and introduced yourselves and John just let you in?"
Lizzette shook her head. "We called the precinct around seven to tell your American captain we were here. He gave us your address and Dad called Luc to tell him we were coming. I guess John was up and Luc told him. They're all down there drinking coffee."
Zita ran a brush through her long brown hair. "Let's go join them. I need caffeine."
SVU Squadroom
2:00 P.M.
The Antoine's, Munch, Luc, and Zita arrived at the stationhouse minutes before three taxies pulled up, carrying the necessary five other French officers.
Cragen wasted no time in pulling Antoine into his office for a briefing and a laying-down-of-law, which was just as well, because the reunion between the French officers, Luc, and Zita took, in comparison to American greetings, a ridiculously long time before Luc and Zita actually got around to introducing the newcomers to everyone else.
To the American captain's surprise, Luc had been right. Antoine understood and agreed that this, as it was caught by the American police, was an American case. Cragen knew the Frenchman knew the Plouvin family situation better and had just as much incentive, if not more, as he did. Why would he do something to jeopardize the case? As long as the French officers got along with his detectives, Cragen had a feeling that this would not be as bad as he had previously thought. Judging from the glimpse he caught of the eleven detectives through his office window, this case could be wrapped up very soon.
"My detectives will need transport to the chateau when we leave." Antoine said, "Getting one car on and off a plane took long enough. We'd've been all day with it if we'd brought squadcars."
"That won't be a problem." Cragen answered, leaning back in his chair. "You know, Zita's a great detective, especially for someone her age. She even solved a few of our cold cases. She says you taught her."
"Everything she didn't already know. Detective work is in her blood. Her mother taught her observation, I just sharpened the skills she had – but it's nice to be credited."
Zita tapped on the door, poking her head in. "Um, Fin's getting anxious and the jingling of his keys is making it very difficult to remain polite."
Cragen stood, nodding. "Are your officers ready, Captain?"
"As soon as your's are." the Frenchman replied, also standing, "And please, call me Antoine."
Cragen smiled, gesturing towards the door. "After you, Antione."
Outside the Gates of the Chateau Plouvin
8:30 P.M.
"Justin, are you sending that loop?"
"Look, this is not easy, Zi! Give the computer a minute!"
Zita crouched in the shrubbery outside the chateau's gates with ear and mic pieces attached to both John's and her cell phones and her laptop, wary of the many cameras that could be pointed her way. The police were waiting down the road, out of the cameras' range.
"Zita, what's going on up there?" Fin asked, impatiently.
Zita twisted the mic attached to John's phone back to her mouth. "He's working on it. His computer's slow."
"Is not!" came the indignant reply from Justin's end.
"Shut up, Justin."
"Well, tell him to speed it up." Fin said, "The longer we wait – "
"I know, I know, I know! If I could do it myself, I would!" she hissed back as she ducked out of the sight of a camera turning her way.
"No need to get angry." John told her, grabbing the phone away from Fin, leaning back against the wall of the armored truck that they were planning on using for an observation point and a prisoner-containment vehicle, as it has a blocked-off section that resembled the back of a squadcar.
"I'm not angry. It's just difficult to hide from cameras and other security stuff while carrying on conversations with two phones at the same time. Wait a second." Zita replied hotly, pushing the John-mic away and pulling the Zita-mic back up to her mouth. "What now, Justin?" she snapped.
"What side of the bed did you get up on this morning?"
"Get on with it, Mianovich."
Her words is not threaten, but her voice certainly did. Justin decided that it would be wise to 'get on with it, Mianovich.'
"I've got the indoor and outdoor cameras. Take a look at I-36."
Zita turned to her laptop, clicking on the small, grainy thumbnail link, bringing the camera's footage to full-screen view.
The picture was crystal clear now and what she saw both angered and sickened her at the same time.
"Send the loop of all the cameras except that one. I don't want any monitors noticing any vanishing acts. Cut the sensors in the lawn. Shut down the primary and secondary alarm systems. I don't want anyone knowing we're here until they hear the pounding on the doors." she ordered, sending the footage she was looking at, the real, un-looped footage, to the computers in the armored van.
"Ten-four, Houston."
Under normal circumstances, Zita would have replied with something to the ring of 'Call me Houston again and I'll deport you to NASA,' but tonight, right now, she was too worried. She pulled the John-mic back to her mouth. "Check out camera I-36. Orders?"
Cragen and Antoine squinted at the screen. Two people. Man and woman – no, girl. The girl fell to the floor for what appeared to be the latest time of many. Antoine sighed, shaking his head, and Cragen took Fin's phone from John. "Is that the man I think it is?"
Zita's reply came back quiet and ashamedly. "Meet my legal father, Pierre A. Plouvin."
Five minutes after Justin gave the signal, there was an officer at every exit, banging on the doors, shouting, "Police! Open up! You're surrounded!"
Chateau de Plouvin
9:00 P.M.
"Pierre Plouvin, you are under arrest for the multiple rapes of Zita and Bowan Plouvin and two counts of conspiracy to commit murder against Xavier Cousteau and Bowan Plouvin, and one count of assault. You have the right to remain silent, if you give up that right anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can not afford one, one will be provided for you."
"Bruno Arnoulle, you are under arrest for the multiple rapes of Zita and Bowan Plouvin, one count of attempted murder of Xavier Cousteau and one count of murder in the first degree of Bowan Plouvin. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can not afford one, one will be provided for you."
As Cragen and Elliot (along with many other uniformed officers – Bruno was a big guy) frogmarched Pierre and Bruno through the large double doors of the chateau's foyer, Pierre screamed at Zita, who was lounging against the doorway leading from the foyer to the hall with Munch and Fin nearby.
"You filthy whelp!" he screeched, "You will pay for this! You and all who helped you! What you have suffered has been nothing compared to what I will do to you and the rest of these gutless –"
"You have the right to remain silent, Pierre. I suggest you invoke it." Zita spat with just a little too much glee in her voice and smile, only serving to further Pierre's fury. Elliot and Luc dragged him through the doors, "accidently" knocking his head into the doorway, ignoring the vicious profanities being spouted by the angry Frenchman.
"Enjoying yourself, are you?" John asked, nudging her shoulder.
"Way too much, all things considered."
Zita jumped as a woman in a maid's uniform grabbed her hand and began speaking urgently in rapid Spanish. The American detectives recognized her as the woman Zita had told to look after the maid whose beating had been interrupted by their arrival.
The two were both going on in Spanish now, though Zita seemed confused and appeared to be trying to get the older woman to calm down. The maid began trying to pull Zita away and John grabbed her arm. "Zita, what's wrong? What is she going on about?"
Zita did not really answer his question per se. "See if you can get a message to that bus. We need it here yesterday." she told him.
John pulled out his cell phone, which Zita had returned to him, punching in 9-1-1 as Fin followed to two women up the stairs.
As they neared the door to the room where Zita had left the beaten maid, another maid dashed from the room, grabbing Zita's free hand and helping the Mexican woman drag her into the room, her big, brown eyes wide in fear. "Miss Zita, come quick, she's getting worse!"
The girl on the floor had begun seizing and blood trickled from a gash on her head that had managed to go unnoticed before, staining her blonde hair and the white carpet beneath.
"I know I shouldn't have let her," the second maid began to sob, "but she said she was all right. She wanted to get up and as soon as I let go of her arm, she blacked out and hit her head on the window sill when she fell. I didn't know she'd fall! I shouldn't have let go of her. Urgh, her head made this terrible sound when it hit the window – I thought she was dead!"
The girl began sobbing in earnest now, covering her tears with her hands and Zita's shoulder, which she was crying into. Zita pulled her into a hug as Fin left to check on the bus. Zita shook her head. Ani, the girl sobbing, should not have been there. The thirteen-year-old should have been back with her friends and family in Africa, far away from the misery of the Plouvin household. But that was all thanks to Pierre again, whose ancestors had owned slaves since the trade had started. Repulsed by the fact, both Bowan and Zita had paid the now-maids under the table. If Ani had not left the Sudan and come in contact with the Plouvin women, she would have been paid much less, if at all, but at least she would have been relatively happy.
Zita tipped Ani's face up to look into her own, wiping her tears away. "Ani, listen to me; this was not your fault. Y-"
"But I let her fall! If I hadn't let her get up, she wouldn't be the way she is now!" the young girl sniffed and jumped in surprise as the paramedics burst into the room.
Zita led the girl from the room and through the crowd of chateau staff surrounding the doorway. "And if Pierre hadn't beat her, she wouldn't have been on the floor, wanting to get up in the first place. He's at fault, not you."
Ani did not seem completely convinced, but she did not argue. It made her feel better. She looked shyly up at the older girl. "I'm sorry about what's been happening to you."
Zita was confused. "What do you mean, Ani? What's been happening to me?"
"When I saw the news, I knew what I thought had been going on was true. The Parliament has ousted Monsieur Plouvin because of what he and Monsieur Arnoulle have been doing to you and your mother. The news said that Monsieur Arnoulle killed your mother, too. Gabrielle took it the hardest. Monsieur Plouvin saw her watching the news and got angry at her. That's why he beat her."
Zita nodded and squeezed the girl's shoulder, suddenly feeling very guilty. If she had not contacted the media, Gabrielle would not have been hurt. "It's all over, now, Ani. Let's go outside; it's getting crowded in here."
SVU Squadroom
January 10, 2004
11:30 A.M.
After a tense day and two nights in a hospital in Rome, New York, Gabrielle Renoulle was deemed stable enough to be transported to Manhattan. As Ani had begged to stay with Zita, who had chosen to stay there with Gabrielle, and as John had refused to allow them to stay in Rome without him, he, Zita, and Ani stayed until Gabrielle was transported. Unfortunately for Ani, a judge decided soon after their arrival back in the city that she could not stay with the two detectives during an open investigation, but Zita could pick her up four days a week so she could be with her as long as Ani was back at the group home by seven in the evening.
Upon her arrival back in Manhattan, Cragen gave Zita the opportunity to interrogate the two "suspects," as they were technically referred to, in their cells at Rikers (Casey had had no difficulty convincing a judge to grant remand), but she had declined. She did not want to speak with either of them and was content to watch them squirm as the teams of French and American detectives grilled them while their lawyers, whom Pierre had flown over on private jets, sat by, unable or unwilling to adequately defend their clients. If there was anything to be said in the men's defense, the attorneys were saving it for the courtroom.
On the days that Ani had to stay at the group home, Zita and Luc continued to work on their French case. Now that Melinda was back in her lab, the two detectives wasted no time in reserving a slot in her schedule.
"You know how much of a stretch this is, don't you?" she asked when Zita and Luc had arrived two days before after taking Ani back to the home.
"We've got to start somewhere." Luc said, handing her the file.
"It could take a while for the results to come back. I'll call you when they come in."
"Thanks, Doc. We owe you." Zita said, gratefully.
"Find me some good French chocolate and we're square." Melinda replied, smiling as the two detectives reached the plastic flap that served her as a door.
"I'm on it!" Zita answered, her phone out and her fingers already dialing. "Josef ? . . . C'est Zita. . . Ouais, je suis très bien. . . J'ai besoin d'une faveur. . ." (Josef? . . . It's Zita . . . Yeah, I'm fine . . . I need a favor . . . )
It was a slow day at the precinct, or, at least it felt like it to Luc and Zita, who were busy trying to look busy. There was nothing else to be done on their case until the DNA results came back in.
So the two spent long, monotonous hours in their make-shift, nomadic office in any one of the unused interrogation rooms, or the lounge, or the desks of detectives who were out following leads for other cases, or, in a pinch, Zita's own tiny desk set at the ends of John's and Fin's desks. As there was little to do, Luc filled the time watching, what he told Zita, the French news on his laptop. What he was actually doing was watching a James Bond movie on his iPod, which was concealed under his hand when someone was looking. Zita, annoyed by the rumors spreading through the media and internet, agreed to one IM interview with a leading French newspaper and one sit-down interview with a New York Times reporter under the cover of a pseudonym. Every few moments, she would sigh and angrily close out her e-mail inbox, which seemed to be popping up non-stop as other newspapers and magazines sent e-mails requesting interviews. She had opened another e-mail account for the express purpose of avoiding the situation of a clogged personal inbox with begging media companies. She had never planned for all this trouble and attention. Fortunately, Antoine took most of the media brunt for her, appearing in newscast after newscast, newspaper column after newspaper column, almost everyday since he arrived. Lizzette was thrilled by all the attention, even if none of it was directed at her, and spent a good deal of every morning arriving at the Munch/Plouvin homestead at breakfast time with an armful of newspapers and magazines, cutting out articles even after Zita, Luc, and John left for the stationhouse. She even forgot about The Phantom of the Opera, which she had been unable to stop talking about until she became Evelyn Scissorhands
Zita was pondering a particularly personal question and Luc was enthralled in his movie, spittle flying across the table as he made shooting noises, when Elliot opened the door.
"Hey, we need the room. Could you move to one of the desks out there?" he asked, looking at Luc with an expression somewhere between curiosity and contained laughter. There was no way he was watching newscasts.
"Yeah, give us a second." Zita answered, stacking files and handing them to Luc, whom she had known all along had been watching James Bond.
"Scratch that, you two." Cragen said, poking his head in. "Pack it up, then head out to the morgue. Warner has something for you."
"Your stretch wasn't as long as we thought." Warner said when the two arrived in the lab.
"What'd you find, Doc?" Luc asked, glancing nervously at a cadaver on a metal table covered with a blue cloth.
Melinda Warner clipped an X-ray of the DNA found at the French crime scene up to a light board alongside another picture. "Take a look."
The shots were the same – exactly. There was no doubt.
"Where'd the other DNA come from?" Zita asked.
Warner did not say anything for a long moment.
"Melinda, what is it?"
"The other DNA is from your rape kit, Zita." she answered quietly, almost apologetically.
Zita resisted the urge to hit something. "Your chocolate should get to your house by tomorrow if it's not there when you get home today. Thanks, Doc." she said, nearly whispering, turning to leave.
Melinda stopped her. "Zita, are you okay?"
"I will be," Zita answered quietly, "when I find where he's hiding a little girl and when he's dead or behind bars for life."
Zita put the Bentley in gear as she tossed her phone to Luc. "Call John. Tell him we're headed to Rikers. I've got a date with Bruno Arnoulle."
Luc flipped through her contacts list, having not memorized her speed dial directory. "Zita, you'd better calm down. If you burst in there in one of your Lorena Bobbitt moods, we could both get in serious trouble and lose the case on a technicality . . . Hey, Mister Munch, it's me, Luc. We've got a break in our case and we need to head to Rikers to talk to Bruno . . . As far as I know, we're the only ones talking to him now . . . She's driving . . . " Luc paused, looking at the phone. "How do you set the speaker phone?"
Zita took the phone from him without taking her eyes from the road, pressing, what looked to Luc, like a random button.
"What's up, John?"
"You two're not going to Rikers alone." came the grainy reply.
"John, I've been to prisons with just Luc before; I'm not a child."
"You're seventeen, Zita. You're hardly an adult."
"Luc is, and the city of Paris, the country of France, and the freakin' Interpol think I'm old enough! Why can't you accept that?"
"Because, as of now and until your grandfather gets here, I'm your legal guardian, and, as such, I'm responsible for you. I'm sending Fin and calling Rikers. You're not going into an interrogation room without him."
"John! Y-"
"This is the last I'm saying on it, Zita. The sooner you accept authority, the sooner you'll get over it."
Zita had had enough and hung up. "Can you believe him? What is his problem?"
"At risk of straying from my neutral tendencies in family or family-like arguments, he's only trying to keep you safe. He just lost his fiancé and he's paranoid about losing her daughter. He's being what most fathers are – overprotective. Besides, what's wrong with Fin? I thought you liked him."
"I do, Benedict, but that's not the point. The point is that he's treating me like a five-year-old victim, not a detective on a case . . . and you're agreeing with him!"
"All right, forget what I said. I have no opinion on the matter." he said quickly, then, after a long pause, added, "But, by your own definition, you are a victim."
Zita gave him a withering glare. "Call me that again, and you're walking to Rikers."
Rikers Correctional Facility
1:45 P.M.
Fin had arrived in the parking lot at Rikers perhaps ten minutes after Zita and Luc. He seemed just as annoyed with the situation as Zita (well, maybe not that annoyed). Before she could say anything about John's decision, he cut her off. "Don't worry. I got good at blending in with the woodwork. I'm just here because my partner insisted on it and there was no future in arguing with him. I know you can handle yourself."
Zita shut her mouth. At least Fin believed in her capabilities. "Thanks."
BANG!!!! "Où est-elle, Arnoulle?" (Where is she, Arnoulle?)
"Qu'est arrivé à vous, Zita ? Vous aviez l'habitude d'être si doux-mannered. Même lorsque -" (What happened to you, Zita? You used to be so mild-mannered. Even when –)
"Répondez à ma question!" (Answer my question!) she interrupted angrily, her hand stinging from where she slammed it down on the table to refrain from hitting Bruno. Neither Luc nor Fin would have said anything, but it would have not gone over well if Jean-Claude Benoît, Bruno's attorney, brought it up in court. "Qu'avez-vous fait avec elle?" (What have you done with her?)
"Il n'y a aucun sens en se cachant plus, Bruno." (There's no sense in hiding anymore, Bruno.) Luc said, "Nous vous avons sur l'ADN. Dites-nous où elle est et nous pourrons parler à la poursuite au sujet de prendre la pénalité de mort outre de la table." (We have you on DNA. Tell us where she is and we'll be able to talk to the prosecution about taking the death penalty off the table.)
"Et si j'obtiens la pénalité de mort pour pour ce que je suis déjà ici?" (And if I get the death penalty for what I'm already here for?)
"Si vous recevez la pénalité de mort pour vos crimes ici, c'est votre défaut, pas nôtres. J'ai des hommes partout France la rechercher. Si elle est morte quand ils la trouvent, je serai là pour vous observer prendre votre dernier souffle, je le garantis." (If you receive the death penalty for your crimes here, it's your fault, not ours. I have men all over France looking for her. If she's dead when they find her, I'll be there to watch you take your last breath, I guarantee it.) Zita snarled.
"Vous ne m'effrayez pas, petite fille, et ils ne la trouveront pas. Vos petits amis peuvent rechercher partout la France - partout l'Europe! - et eux ne la trouvera jamais!" (You don't scare me, little girl, and they won't find her. Your little friends can search all over France – all over Europe! – and they'll never find her!)
"Ils ne pourraient pas, mais je . Et si elle est morte quand je , vous serez sentiment sa douleur. Et ma mère." (They might not, but I will. And if she's dead when I do, you'll be feeling her pain. And my mother's.)
"Allez-y et prenez-moi maintenant, parce qu'avant que vous la trouviez, je serai mort du vieil âge." (Go ahead and take me now, because by the time you find her, I'll have died of old age.)
That was it. Somehow, simply playing bad-cop was not good enough anymore. She lunged forward, only to be held back by Luc.
"Vous amélioreriez la rêne du fait irlandais gâchez à vous, ou vous finirez vers le haut comme votre mère." (You'd better rein in that Irish temper of yours, or you'll end up like your mother.) Bruno said, a sardonic grin plastered on his face. "Trop mauvais, celui. Nous avons perdu la seule chose qu'elle était bonne pour, grâce à ceci désordre." (Too bad, that. We lost the only thing she was good for, thanks to this mess.)
Luc almost lost her then and Fin had to come in and help haul her, kicking and struggling, from the room.
Zita's Bentley
3:00 P.M.
"What did he say to you in there?" Fin asked, glancing over at Zita, who was sitting, arms crossed, in the Bentley's passenger seat. It had not taken much convincing to get Luc to switch him cars so he could talk to Zita on the way back and get both cars to their respective homes, though talking Zita out of her driver's seat was another story. Nevertheless, Fin had managed to deposite her on the passenger side, explaining in with his usual diplomacy that he was not about to unleash an angry French girl on the streets of Manhattan or anywhere else. He was a cop and it was his job to protect those streets. It would be in direct opposition to his vocation to allow her to drive. "You looked like you were gonna kill him."
"Not what I wanted to hear, that's for sure." Zita grumbled, "And, if I had, he would've deserved it. No one talks about my mother that way. I don't care who he is."
Fin knew better than to ask what Bruno had said about Bowan. Re-igniting Zita's temper in a car as small as the one he was driving was not an engaging prospect. It was not an engaging prospect in any-sized vehicle or anywhere else. He changed the subject. "I take it you didn't get any of the information you went for?"
Zita sighed and was about to say 'no,' but then the truth of what, exactly, Bruno had said hit her. She sat up straight. "He didn't mean to, but he did." she answered, beginning to get excited. "Did you delete those GPS readings Justin sent you?"
"No. Why?"
"I'll be needing your computer."