Olivia waits on her computer guy to finish analyzing the pictures. Finally he finishes.
"Well, are they real?" she questions.
"They are authentic," he reveals.
Olivia points to the screen. In the photo is a window.
"Can you show me who took this picture, using the reflective surface of the window?"
"I can try."
He enhances the image.
"That's him. Can you print that?"
"Of course."
She grabs the picture, and heads back to the squad room. Her cell phone rings as she's stepping of the elevator. She finishes her phone call before she reaches the phone call.
"So does her story check out?" Elliot questions.
Olivia hands him a picture, "Yes. He was following her."
"Do we know who he is?"
"Elijah Keller. I need to find him, before he finds her."
"Liv, are you sure?"
"DNA was just confirmed."
Hours later Elijah Keller is picked up. Fin tosses him in an interview room. Elliot, and Olivia stand outside the room.
"I'll go," Elliot offers.
"You can go with me."
"Why do I get the feeling that you have a personal vendetta against this guy?"
"Maybe I do."
"Are you going to ruin this case?"
"What case? We're still waiting on case files from South Carolina. All we have him on right now, is stalking."
"So how are we going to get him to confess?"
"Give me a minute alone with him."
"What are you going to do to him?"
"Nothing. Just give me a minute, and them follow my lead."
"Ok," he agrees.
Olivia takes a deep breath, and then moves toward the door. She opens the door to the interview room, and pushes it open. She steps into the room. She closes the door behind her. Elliot watches, and listens from the other side.
Elijah stares at the floor. She stands in the doorway for a moment. She then walks over to the table. She pulls out the chair, and sits down. She stares at him.
He stares at his shoes. "I'm not saying anything," he informs her.
"Don't say a word," she taunts.
His head jerks up. He stares at her in disbelief. She sits across the table from him, calmly waiting.
"You didn't think that you would see me again, did you?"
He doesn't answer. "You can't be in here. You can't interview me."
"I can do whatever I want. I can say whatever I want. I can ask you whatever I want. And you better answer me."
"Not if you want this to end in your favor."
"You're right," she nods, "I guess I'll have to let my partner do the talking, but you should know he is very protective. Just wait until he sees that file. He will not show you any mercy."
"I'm not guilty."
"We both know, that is a lie," she pushes out her chair, and walks away from the table. She exits the room. Elliot stares at her in confusion.
"Where are you going?" he asks.
"Give him a minute to stew, I'll be right back. I'm just going to my desk," she promises.
He nods. She goes to her desk. She pulls opens the bottom, left-hand drawer. She lifts up all of the documents, and clutter inside. She pulls out a file on the very bottom. She closes the drawer, and returns.
He points to the file, "What's that?"
She hands it to him, "The file we need."
"I thought that we were waiting on the file from South Carolina."
"This file is better."
"You want him to think I have the file?"
"No, that is the original file, a copy of it. Not everything was lost in the fire. This contains everything that you need to know."
"How did you get this? Why do you have this?"
"When was your last vacation?"
"I don't know? When was your last vacation?"
"My last vacation was seventeen years ago, I went to Myrtle Beach. The weather was terrible. The drive was worse. And a maniac was on the loose while I was there. There is a reason that I haven't been on vacation since," she reveals. She walks past him. She steps into the interrogation room. She pushes the chair against the wall, under the window. She takes a seat on it. She just stares at the criminal on the other side of the room.
"Do you expect me to reveal something, to you?"
"No. I am just sitting here, waiting for my partner."
"Waiting for what?"
"For him to finish reading the file."
"What's left of the file? It must be pretty thin by now."
"I have the original, well a copy of the original."
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?"
"How would you get a copy of that file?"
"That is the benefit of being a cop. You didn't know I was a cop, did you?"
"It's kind of obvious."
"Before recently?"
"I hadn't met you, until recently," he replies coyly.
"My partner reads pretty fast. He's going to read the file, and he's going to come flying in here, and I'll probably have to restrain him. His temper gets the best of him sometimes."
"I don't believe you."
"You don't have to. You don't have to say a word. I know what you did. I know who you are."
"And it kills you, that I am never going to be brought to justice?"
"You are a monster. You will get what you deserve."
Elliot sits outside the room, flipping through the file. He flips through pictures of the crime scene. He begins flipping through photos of the victim. Her broken, bloodied, bruised ankle. Her smashed toes. Her bruised knee caps. Bruises on her legs. Bruises on her waist. Ligature marks on her wrists. Cuts on her palms. Pieces of broken glass, embedded in her hands, and arms. Hand prints on her upper arms. A hand print on her neck. He flips to the next picture. A wound to the neck, near the artery. An earlobe, with the earring clearly ripped out of it. He stares at her swollen face. Pieces of glass in her chin. A split, swollen lip. A bloody nose, out of alignment. A bruised cheekbone. A black eye. A cut to her eye brow. A gash to her forehead. Each injury is documented separately. He flips to the final picture, one of her whole face. And that's when his blood boils.