Two: The Wild
Cragen left our desks and told Sydney to get comfortable at John's desk. As Cragen's office door closed, Sydney looked at us. "How cursed is this desk?" That was blunt. "Come again?" Liv was first to ask, first to defend of own. Sydney sat on the desk chair. "I want to know if I have to sage it. Rid it of energies I don't want." she began removing the personal, or what was left of the items, off his desk. "The only energy that Munch has, is smartassery." Fin sat next to her right across her, desks flipped. "I wouldn't worry, Voodoo queen, he probably already had a Shaman to bless the desk," Fin explained.
"Call me a witch if you must, but I believe everyone leaves a type of energy behind. It's a working theory I believe in." Energies? Maybe she thought every perp left evidence at a crime scene. "I wouldn't call it energy. Maybe just a taste in your mouth, you know, when someone walks by? Whether it be good or bad." She shrugged. Just as Liv was going to tell her this was all just about gut feeling, George walked into the conversion. "It's called an aura." He walked into the circle of us with his head in a case file. He shut the file and placed it on a desk, mine specifically. "Hi, I'm Dr. George Huang, the psychiatrist for this division." They shook hands, although, her shake was much briefer.
"It's called a gut feeling," Liv interjected. "No, wait! It's most definitely an aura! I read about it in a psychology book, so it's def a thing," Sydney butted in. Liv just shook her head. "According to spiritual beliefs, an aura or energy field is a colored emanation said to enclose a human body or any animal or object. In some esoteric positions, the aura is described as a subtle body," George said it like he was reciting it from an actual book he had in his hands. "See. I knew it. It's so much more than Hood-do," Sydney pointed at Fin. Fin held his hands up in defeat, already. "If the doctor says it, then it must be right." Sydney turned her head at me. "What do you think Elliot?" "About Hood-do?" I asked, though I really didn't have an opinion on it. I think people believe what they want to believe in. "About projection, you know?" She pulled in her chair next to mine, backward in the laid-back style, hand draped over the back. She slouched into her thoughts. "Like, as if you can feel someone's presence. As if you can feel them, but they're really not there." I cocked my head as if I grew another one on my shoulders. "I think people believe what they wanna believe. Religion, witchcraft, throwing chicken's blood on an altar, it's what we all believe in. That's what we believe in," I sighed, not wanting to get more into it. "But-," Sydney began before Fin butted in with a phone call. My saving grace. "Hood-do, and chicken's blood gonna have to wait, we got a call from Chinatown 'bout a body." I looked at Sydney, and she locked eyes with me, pensive, but curious eyes. "Ready, Rookie?" She smiled. "At your foot, Detective."
Grabbing her bag, which notably was larger, she took off with me into the hallway. She huffed as she tried to keep up with my pace. "You know, if you're already out of breath, then you're already messed up, Martinez." I half laughed, although partly serious. She huffed again, and scurried next to me, by the time we entered the squad car. "Doesn't help that you're six feet and I'm only five four, without heels I might add. Don't let it get to your head." She tossed her bag in the center console and put her seatbelt on. She tightened the belt close to herself. I was right after her in safety, putting mine on. "Height ain't got nothing to do with it. How will you run after perps who are over a foot and a half taller than you," I questioned as I pulled out of the precinct. She laughed and preceded to take her notepad and an array of pens out of her purse. "Taller people are more likely to make mistakes when fleeing. Gangly, buff, of fit, they'll trip on something eventually." There was silence after that driving to Chinatown before we hit a long light ten minutes away from our destination.
"Why did you get transferred here?" I had to ask. Who wants the SVU beat? She takes her attention away from her window and looks at me though, I'm not looking directly back, with me driving. "What makes you think I was transferred?" That response was a bit cold. I came back with defense. "I'm just asking. Not many people move to a different part of the country." She sighed. "A lot of Chicago drama. I was working on homicides mostly. People just kill each up there." A cop beat with a whole of killings. Typical. "So just a change of scenery?" Sydney nodded. "I was tired of looking at the Bean." "You worked downtown?" She laughed, as the light finally changed. "No, Eillot. I worked in the straight ghetto, but when I say I'm from Chicago, no one knows where the 'burbs are."
The Ghetto. She worked where people killed others for much less. I pulled that last thought as we pulled into an alley where the CSU team was setting up shop. She grabbed her notepad and a small pocketbook that she stuffed into the inside of her coat. I turned to her and locked the door automatically again before she could walk out the car door. "Are you ready for this?" She turned her head, cocked it to the side, and said bluntly, "I've seen a dead body before, Elliot." "I know that, it's just different than homicide." She nodded. "I know, and thanks, but I can handle myself." She popped the lock and got out of the car with a huff, and slammed the door with a little more force than necessary.
The wind bit with the smell of a dead body cooking up. Sydney was right next to me when we slid under the tape before the small news crew could hound us with the usual questions about what was really laying there. The usual 'no comment' was thrown. Sydney came faster with quick quips of no commenting, though because she was smaller, she weaved easier through the small crowd. She was quick. I'd give her that. She bit back on the comment from the reporter who wanted to know if the victim was a street walker and if they were a vigilante on the loose.
One of the CSI techs came up and handed the report to me. "What's the COD," I asked the tech. There wasn't much on it. Great. "Not entirely sure, but once Linda gets in, we'll know for sure, but honestly my guess," the CSI pointed to her neck, "is asphyxiation by triangulation. Dark bruises already forming on the Vic's neck. Perp must have had a lot of strength to take her down." Sydney shook her head. I turned towards her and asked, "What you don't think the perp had to be strong?" She pursed her lips and said, "The Vic isn't above 5'5, Elliot. Plus look at her," and I did. "So?" "So? She can't be any older than 18. This isn't strength. This is rage." She was right. The Vic was small in stature, couldn't be over 120 pounds soaking wet, and appear adolescent. Sydney bent down, already gloved up to move the Vic's hair that was matted to her forehead. "Pure rage, along with impotency." That got my attention. "So soon, you can make that assumption? That he couldn't finish?" She looked up from where she was examining. "You can't assault a woman properly? What do you do?" "Kill her," I questioned. She lifted the Vic's sheet that was covering her modesty down just enough to see it. "You fake it." I looked and saw it. This was going to be tough without the evidence I was hoping for.