An Ill Wind
Chapter Fifteen
Consolidation
OOO
16th Precinct
Special Victims Unit
9:02 A.M., November 22, 2005
"I just got a call from Kathy Stabler," Don Cragen said before the meeting began. "Elliot's surgery went fine. He should be home again tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest. With some physical therapy after he gets out of the cast, the doctor expects a complete recovery."
There was a collective sigh of relief and then he got them back to business with the question, "What have we learned?"
After Fin and Olivia's tiff the previous evening, he had sent them all home with an admonishment to get some real rest. They were then instructed to report to the squad room at eight a.m. to review all of the notes on the case in preparation for another discussion at nine.
"We were damned lucky," Fin said.
"How's that?" Cragen asked, wondering what could possibly be lucky about this case.
"So far, the only thing we seem to have missed that matters is the Barnard College connection to the writing workshop," Munch explained.
"And that did matter," Olivia interjected.
"How?"
Olivia gestured to Fin. He had done the work, so it was his part of the story to tell.
"I called Mrs. Fontaine," he said. "Annie O'Keefe entered the name and address information on a spreadsheet for her to use in making the name badges. It would have been nothing for her to copy it onto a disk for herself."
"So, what do we want to do?" Don asked.
"Well, now we know she was lying when she told me she didn't know any of the girls from twelve years ago," Huang said.
"Yeah, or she just forgot. After all, it was only the one day and then the building burned down," Munch said. When he got scowls and surprised looks all around he said in a slightly whiny, defensive voice, "Hey, I didn't say I believed it, but it's an argument her lawyer will use."
"We could pick her up for obstruction," Fin suggested. "Now we've got her in two lies, this one, and that BS about Daisy Lane."
"But what good would that do?" Liv asked. "She'll just keep trying to play us and manipulate us like she's been doing all along."
"It would make me feel better to put her ass in the cage for a while," Fin groused.
"But Olivia's right, it won't help us," Huang said. "I say we hold off until we catch DeVane or run out of leads. Then we'll have a reason to compel her to come in and talk to us. Maybe, when we have both of them, we can figure out just how deeply she was involved in what was happening twelve years ago."
"And put her ass in jail where it belongs," Fin added.
"And in the meantime, I think she enjoyed yanking Huang's chain enough that she'll come in again if we ask her nicely," Olivia reminded them all. Turning to the doctor, she continued, "After all, she gave you a private number where you can call her, right?"
George nodded, and opening his folder, said, "I checked it out with the phone company. It's a separate line to her home. Probably goes to her private study or her boudoir or something like that."
"Boudoir?" Fin mocked his choice of words.
Folding his arms across his chest, Munch peered at his partner. "We'll forgive you because of your academically deprived background," he taunted good naturedly, "but in that neighborhood, women do not have bedrooms."
"What's the difference?" Fin queried.
"Bedrooms are just for sleeping," John explained. "A boudoir is a place for entertaining that sometimes happens to have a bed."
"Oh, ok," Fin nodded his understanding, "like a ho' house."
"All right, can we get back to the case?" Cragen asked, sharing a smirk with Fin before Munch could respond. When everyone was attentive again, he continued, "So, we have a consensus, don't we? We try to wait until we have DeVane to bust Annie, and if we need to speak to her again before that, Huang calls her on her private line?"
"In her boudoir," Munch said with a mischievous smirk.
"Right. Her boudoir," Fin agreed.
Getting nods of agreement from Olivia and Huang, Don continued with a quirk of a smile. It was his turn to pick on someone. "Fin, what have we heard from your sex shop?"
Eyeing his captain warily, Fin said, "I told you last night it isn't my sex shop. Munch has been taking care of that."
John winked at the captain, letting Fin know for sure that his superior had been deliberately baiting him. Then clearing his throat, the tall detective shared his information with them.
"Mistress' name is actually Eunice Peebles," he began.
Olivia barely managed to stifle a laugh and said, "I can see why she prefers Mistress."
"Yeah, I know," Munch agreed. "Anyway, she's a surprisingly fit fifty-eight years old, and she's had her own business of one kind or another for the past thirty years, all strictly legit. In fact, the only thing I can find on her is a four-year-old unpaid parking ticket that was written on September 11, 2001. Given what was happening then, I doubt she even knew she'd received it.
"In 1976, when she was just eighteen she opened her first business in Kerhonkson, a few miles this side of Catskill State Park. It was a little boutique selling girlie things like barrettes, lip-gloss, stuff like that. She sold it for a tidy profit four years later and moved to the city where she opened a leather goods shop."
"And that's when she changed her name to Mistress, right?" Liv guessed.
Munch peered at her over his glasses. "Actually, it's not what you think."
He went back to his notes and began reading again, "Hide and Seek: Everything You're Looking for in Leather sold backpacks, brief cases, hand sewn shoes and cowboy boots . . . "
"Cowboy boots?" Fin couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice.
"Urban Cowboy came out in 1980," Munch reminded him.
The group nodded. They all knew him too well to be surprised by his knowledge of arcane trivia anymore.
He looked at his tablet again, "Anyway, she sold strictly stuff that average people would actually use and wear on the street until she realized that there was quite a profit to be made from a more adventurous clientele. When the shop next door closed down, she bought the space and knocked out a wall to make room for a new product line. Soon that became the bulk of her business. One of the sales reps she dealt with introduced her to the lifestyle, and that's when she moved into toys and other fetishes, closed Hide and Seek, and opened XxxTreme Emporium."
As he wrapped up his monologue, he looked around and saw the group looking at him with varying degrees of surprise and curiosity.
"What?"
Cragen gave him a puzzled look and asked, "How much of that information did you get from public records and how much did you get from the woman herself, John?"
Blushing slightly, Munch said, "We talked when I took Annie's picture to her last night."
"You could have faxed the picture, or e-mailed it," Olivia said with a smile.
"I was on my way home anyway," he explained.
Cragen frowned. "If I'm not mistaken, her shop and your apartment are in opposite directions from here." As he spoke, he pointed in the two general directions with his thumbs, like a hitchhiker who didn't really care which way he was going as long as he got there.
John squirmed uncomfortably as the captain grinned at him. "She's an interesting person to talk to," he said weakly.
"Man, just shut up," Fin muttered behind his hand. "Nothin' you can say will make it sound better now."
Sighing in frustration, John said, "She has no criminal history, and she's agreed to ask her friends about DeVane and Annie."
"Ok, that's all we needed to know," Don said, laughter bubbling in his voice. "And what do we have planned for today?"
"I'm in court on another case at ten," John said.
Looking at his watch, Cragen said, "Then you better go now."
Munch nodded his goodbyes, got his hat and coat, and left.
"I'm gonna touch base with Alice Richardson, the girlfriend at the bank, and make sure she hasn't forgotten about us," Fin said. "Then I have an interview scheduled at noon with one of the original victims and her family, and another around three."
"I need to get back to my office and catch up on some paperwork, but I could come back and sit in if you like," Huang offered.
"Yeah, sure," Fin agreed.
Liv glanced at a note that a junior detective handed her and said as she read it, "It looks like . . . I'm off to another crime scene. Lauren Sebastian and her fiancée never made their flight to Bermuda."
"Fin, go get the car, Olivia will be along in a minute. I'll have someone else call Alice. Doc, I'll see you this afternoon. Benson, I need to talk to you before you leave." The two detectives and the psychiatrist exchanged confused looks as the captain turned and strode to his office. Then the men headed out of the squad room while Olivia followed her CO to his inner sanctum.
"What's up, Sir?" she asked, keeping her tone formal and respectful just in case she was in trouble.
"Have a seat, Liv."
She breathed a sigh of relief when his tone was cordial and friendly.
"I didn't mention this yesterday because I knew nothing was going to come of it until after Elliot's surgery, but you know this case has made the news, right?"
"Yes, Sir," she nodded. "I've noticed. What about it?"
"Kathy wants you to break it to Elliot. She and Maureen have been shielding him so far, but she thinks once his surgery is over and he starts healing up a little, he's not gonna let them pamper him so much. Sooner or later, he's gonna read the paper or see it on TV or hear it on the radio."
"I see."
"I just wanted you to know that she would be calling. Naturally, you have my permission to take off any time you need in order to visit him."
Nodding, Olivia said, "Thank you, but, why me?"
"Because she knows he trusts you not to give him any BS, and I imagine she trusts you not to tell him anything he can't handle."
"Ok. I'll take care of it as soon as possible."
"Good. Now, don't keep Fin waiting." Don smiled as his detective left. She was trying to handle this new responsibility smoothly, but he could tell she was nervous about it. She was probably the only one who didn't think she was the best person to tell her partner about the series of murders that Elliot was bound to think he could have prevented if only he had been a little better at his job.
Don frowned as it occurred to him that it might be helpful to have Rebecca Hendrix on hand after Liv broke the news to Elliot. As he dialed St. Vincent's to talk to Kathy, he pulled his rolodex over and began looking up the psychiatrist's number.
Recovery Room
St. Vincent's Hospital, Manhattan
9:55 A.M., November 22, 2005
It was shoved in his mouth now, so deep down his throat he kept gagging. His ribs were on fire. Everything hurt. He could hear DeVane's heavy breathing and tried to shove him off, but the cuffs prevented him from doing so.
"Elliot!"
Muriel called his name, but he couldn't help her. He couldn't even help himself.
"Elliot!"
Desperate tears started to fall, and he struggled frantically to push DeVane away. Muriel was screaming now, a high, wordless shriek. DeVane slapped his face lightly, a gesture meant more to humiliate than hurt.
"Elliot!" Muriel called again.
DeVane smacked him harder this time, and his eyes popped open . . .
. . . to see a slightly horsey face looking worriedly down at him.
"You're all right, Elliot."
Teddy. It took a moment for him to recognize his doctor and remember that he was in the hospital. It's over, you're safe now.
More tears slipped from his eyes, both from the pain of the ventilator forcing his lungs to expand despite his damaged ribs and from the shame and terror of the memories evoked by the device's intrusion into his body.
"It's ok, Elliot," Teddy murmured. "You're safe here. I haven't left you. I'm not goin' to."
His eyes darted around the room, and he realized the shrieking in his hallucination had been an alarm. Another patient was in trouble and several doctors and nurses were crowded around a bed behind a curtain across the room. He heard the distinctive sound of a defibrillator shocking a body and winced. Then there was the steady beep of a beating heart, and he would have sighed in relief if the machine had allowed him to do so.
"I'm really sorry. You were supposed to be off the ventilator by now, but we've had a bit of an emergency," Teddy explained. "I just need you to relax and let the vent work for you, and as soon as things settle down, I'll have the anesthesiologist remove the breathin' tube, ok?"
He looked at her pleadingly, and she said, "I could do it myself in a pinch, but I'd rather wait for Dr. Choudhary. I could give you a little Versed in the meantime, help you relax until he can come."
At the thought of being drugged and incapacitated even further, he panicked and began struggling again.
"Ok, ok," she said, placing one hand on his chest and smoothing his hair back with the other, "I'll do it myself. Just . . . lie still."
Step-by-step, Teddy explained what she was doing, and whenever possible, she maintained some kind of physical contact with him.
"First, I need to make a note of your O2 levels," she said, pointing to a number on a display screen. "That's the readin' we get from the clothespin thingy we put on your finger before the surgery, remember?"
He thought a minute and the wiggled the finger in question to show that he did indeed recall.
"Right, and the number looks good, so the next thing I need to do is turn off the machine and make sure you can continue breathin' on your own." As she spoke, she adjusted a valve, flipped a switch, and the noise of the machine stopped. A moment later, Elliot inhaled for himself.
"Good," Teddy said in a softly encouraging tone. "Now we're gonna wait about five minutes to make sure you can keep it up."
He whimpered slightly, distressed at the thought of having to tolerate the tube even for five more minutes, but with it passing between his vocal cords, he didn't really make a sound.
While they waited, Teddy told him how his surgery went, spoke to one of the other doctors about the patient who had been in distress and assured him that she was going to be fine, and talked about the weather and her plans to go home for Thanksgiving. All the while, she held his good hand and stroked his arm soothingly.
"It's the first time in ten years all nine of us have managed to get together at home for the holiday," she said. "My brand new grandnephew, whom I haven't even met yet, is gonna be there. He's not quite a month old, but it's not such a long drive from Ohio, and he is my Daddy's first great-grandchild, so they are makin' the trip."
Looking at the monitor again, she said, "Your numbers are still good. You feelin' ok?"
He nodded slightly, and she adjusted his bed so he was sitting upright. Then she removed the strap that had been holding his wrist to the safety rail.
"I used soft restraints in case you should panic before you came round," she said apologetically. "I think it was a good thing I did."
Handing him an emesis basin, she said, "You might need this."
After detaching the tube from the ventilator, she wrapped a clean towel around the end of the tube protruding from his mouth and said, "I know this is gonna hurt a lot with your busted ribs, but when I say so, you need to take a really deep breath and then exhale like you're blowin' out a birthday cake, ok?"
A lean, brown-skinned man approached the bed to stand behind her and asked, "Would you like me to do that, Teddy?"
"I don't know Anoop, I think we're ok, aren't we, Elliot?" she asked, not glancing away from her patient for a moment.
She released her grip on the tube so he could nod or shake his head. He knew her, he trusted her, and he didn't want a stranger touching him right now. Without breaking eye contact, he nodded.
"Ok, then, I'll just stand here and make sure everything goes all right," the anesthesiologist said.
Teddy took hold of the tube again. "Ok, Elliot, breathe in, deeeeep breath."
It hurt like hell, but he did it because she told him to and he trusted her.
"And blow out."
It hurt even worse to do that, and as the tube slid out of his windpipe acid came rushing up from his stomach. He puked, getting most of it into the basin she had given him, groaned, and slumped back against the mattress.
"Thank you," he gasped after a moment, then asked, "Can I have a drink of water?"
"Not just yet," the anesthesiologist said, "but I'll give you something to rinse your mouth with and then you can have some ice chips, all right?"
Elliot nodded warily at the stranger, and when he was gone, Teddy reassured him, "That's Dr. Choudhary. He's a good guy, Elliot. I'll stay here with you, but we're gonna do what he says, ok? The recovery room is his show."
"Ok."
Using the same towel she had wrapped around the ventilator tube, Teddy wiped a thin dribble of vomit off his chin and dabbed away a couple of spots of it that had dripped onto his chest.
"You doin' all right?" she asked solicitously.
"Not really," he gasped quietly, "but I'll be ok as long as you don't leave me," he told her honestly.
"I'm not goin' anywhere. Our deal was I stay with you until you're in your own room with your family, and I intend to honor it."
Doctor Choudhary returned quickly, and after giving Teddy the mouthwash and ice chips, he began checking Elliot's monitors and IV. When he was done with that, he said, "Ok, Elliot, you seem to be doing fine. I just need to listen to your lungs for a moment to make sure they're clear and then I'll leave you alone for a while."
Elliot looked apprehensively at Teddy and without needing to be asked, she took his good hand in hers. He breathed and coughed as commanded; Dr. Choudhary told him he sounded fine, made a few notes on his chart, and excused himself.
"Ok, Elliot, now I just want you to close your eyes and rest. Go to sleep if you can," Teddy said quietly.
"But . . . "
"No buts," she interrupted. "Next time you wake up, we'll be movin' you back into the bed in your room. If you can keep your lunch down, you'll be home before your kids get out of school."
"If I can't?"
"We'll try again at dinner and hope to get you home by bedtime. Now hush and close your eyes."
He wanted to stay awake, but his eyelids were getting so heavy. Reluctantly, he nodded and allowed himself to doze off.
Apartment of Lauren Sebastian
236 East 84th Street
10:11 A.M., November 22, 2005
They were approaching the door of Lauren Sebastian's fifth-floor studio apartment when Fin stopped and turned to face Olivia.
"If this is anything like the last one, it's gonna be ugly," he warned her.
"They're all ugly," she said and moved to pass him, but he shifted to block her.
"Knowing what happened to Elliot is gonna make it harder," he said.
"I didn't read his statement," she reminded him.
"But you were with him for the exam," he replied.
"So I should be able to handle this," she snapped, and tried to pass on the other side.
"Liv," he said, taking her by the arm.
"Look, Fin, you warned me. Now, lead the way, or get out of mine."
He searched her face for a moment, trying to see how she was really doing. She was clearly nervous about confronting the carnage that was waiting for them, but there was a determination burning in her eyes, a light that said she would tear up hell if she had to in order to get justice for her partner. Yes, she was acting tough for his benefit, but, more importantly, she was strong enough to deal with it. Finally, he let go of her wrist and let her pass ahead of him.
"Olivia!" Melinda Warner called in surprise when she turned to see her friend and colleague entering the apartment. "I didn't think you were working this case."
"I wasn't," she said shortly. "Now I am. What have you got for us?"
Melinda shot a look at Fin, and Fin tilted his head and returned an expression that said, 'Just go with the flow.'
"They haven't been dead more than three hours," the ME said, "but he had them a good while before that."
"How can you tell?" Olivia asked, moving first to examine the woman's body, which was tied to a chair in a lewd position.
Warner came to stand beside her and indicated some of the welts on Lauren's flesh. "These wounds are beginning to scab over and the swelling has started to go down. It takes time for that to happen. I would say some of her wounds were at least twelve hours old when she died."
Liv checked her watch and said, "At least twelve and not more than fifteen."
"And how do you know that, Doctor Detective?" Melinda asked with one eyebrow raised.
"I was on the phone with her at seven o'clock last night to warn her that this bastard was out to get her." Crossing to the man's body, which was draped over one of the breakfast bar stools, hands cuffed to the support piece between the front legs and ankles tied to the back, and turned so he had a full view of the woman, she asked, "Fluids on both, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"Forced oral cop?"
"Male victim only."
"But his wounds are fresher, aren't they? Probably not more than three or four hours old?"
"That's right," Melinda said, her eyes tracking the agitated detective as she paced the apartment, "Olivia, how do you know this?"
"They don't live together, yet," Olivia explained, ignoring the question. Gesturing to the floral brocade suitcases beside the door, she said, "That's all her luggage. They were flying to Bermuda to get married this morning. He came to pick her up and drive her to the airport. His car must be parked somewhere outside."
She stopped pacing and wheeled on the ME. "That . . . bastard . . . " her voice cracked and she paused to regain control.
"He had her all night long, torturing her, waiting for her fiancée to show up so he had an audience. Then he made them each watch while he raped the other. He killed her first, didn't he?" she asked, on the verge of tears.
"Yeah, judging by the blood trail, that's what we figure," one of the CSU techs replied. "How'd you guess?"
Pointing to the man and thinking of her partner, she choked, "Because he was supposed to protect her and DeVane wanted him to know that he'd failed!"
Breathing hard for a moment, she suddenly realized she was making a fool of herself in front of her co-workers. "I gotta get out of here," she muttered, and she bolted for the door.
Out in the hall, she slumped down against the wall and rested her head against her knees. Taking slow, deep breaths, she tried to suppress her emotions. A few minutes later, Fin came out and crouched down in front of her. Even before he spoke, she smiled slightly as she realized that Elliot would have sat right beside her, but Fin was a little too pudgy and reserved to comfortably plonk his butt down on the floor next to hers.
"You ok?"
She sniffled and scrubbed the tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands.
"Yeah," she gasped, "I just . . . "
As she struggled for words, she clenched her hands into tight fists and brought them up beside her ears as if she was about to pound on something in front of her. Then she opened her fists, waved her hands in front of her for a moment, and dropped them to her sides, saying, "I could see Elliot."
She held her breath, waiting for the 'I told you so,' but it never came. After a minute, Fin just asked, "So, you ready to get back to work, or what?"
"Yeah, let's do it," she said, wiping her nose on the back of her hand in a most unladylike fashion and pushing herself up from her seated position before Fin could stand up straight.
Striding confidently into the room this time she asked for all to hear, "Was there a note like before?"
A CSU handed her a sealed plastic bag. She read the letter without taking it out.
Dear Elliot,
It's your fault they're dying, you know. If you had just let me wrap up my business twelve years ago, I could have moved on and the women of New York would have been safe from the likes of me.
Nobody can blame Muriel's first time on you, but Elliot, the second time, you should have come when she called. Sheila and Ralph, and now Lauren and Alex, they're all your fault. If you had stopped me at Muriel's, the rest of them would still be alive.
I know every cop in New York is looking for me, every cop except you, anyway. But I have to finish what I started. There are only three names left on my list, but that's six more lives, then, who knows?
Are you man enough to come get me, or are you still just my bitch? How long did I put you in the hospital last time? It was close to two weeks, wasn't it? And I know you were off work for months. Seems like every time we run into each other, you wind up getting hurt. I guess no one can blame you for being afraid of me.
Take care,
Rog
"I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch when we find him," Olivia muttered.
"Maybe we should turn this over to Bronx SVU," Fin muttered.
When Olivia gave him a sharp look, he explained, "Everyone in our squad feels the same way. If we catch him, he might not make it to trial."
If it were Elliot speaking, she would have known right away, just by his tone of voice, whether he was being serious or facetious, but to her, even after carefully studying his face, Fin was inscrutable.
Deciding that two could play his game, she responded cooly, "I don't have a problem with that."
The Stabler Residence
72-12 Castleside Street
Glen Oaks, Queens
10:00 A.M., November 23, 2005
Olivia rang the bell and waited nervously for someone to answer. She had returned from the crime scene yesterday to find a note from Kathy Stabler in the envelope taped to her locker. It wasn't Elliot's home number, so she had to guess that it was either Kathy's cell or her mom's house. They'd talked in hushed tones, with Kathy being deliberately vague, and Olivia correctly guessed that she was on her cell, sitting in the hospital room next to a sleeping Elliot.
Now, Olivia was here to speak with Elliot about things she knew he would rather forget but would never be able to. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and the kids had only half a day of school, so Kathy had asked her to come over fairly early. It would give Olivia time to break the news, and Rebecca Hendrix time to help him cope with it.
"Olivia, hi," Kathy said softly.
Liv smiled and stepped inside when Kathy held the door for her. "How's he doing?"
"He's in a pissy mood," she said. "Snapped at the kids over breakfast and went back to bed before nine. I told him he had a visitor coming, and he said he didn't want company. I told him I was going to let you in whether he was decent or not."
"Typical Elliot, huh?"
Kathy smiled sadly. "Yeah, but it's part of his charm." She gestured toward a door near the bottom of the stairs. "He's been sleeping in the guestroom. I'll be in the kitchen."
As Kathy walked away, Olivia moved toward the door. Tapping lightly, she called out, "Elliot?"
Getting no answer, she opened it just a crack and called into the space, "Elliot? It's me. Can I come in?"
"Go away, Liv."
"I'm sorry, I can't do that, partner. I need to talk to you. Ready or not, here I come."
She opened the door slowly to give him a chance to cover himself, compose himself, or do whatever he needed to do to make himself feel less vulnerable and more presentable when she first saw him. She found him sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room, his injured foot propped up on a small stool, reading a National Geographic magazine.
"Hey, how you doing?" she asked as she came uninvited to sit on the edge of the bed.
He sniffled slightly, took a moment to find some inner reserve of toughness. "This sucks," he finally said with feeling.
"Do you want to tell me about it?"
Liv couldn't identify the emotion that came over his face then, but it broke her heart. After a moment, his expression was placid again, and he said, "Rebecca Hendrix is coming in an hour. I'll talk to her, but Liv?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for asking."
She smiled, knowing how much she was about to upset him.
"So, what brings you here?"
She wanted to banter a bit, lighten the mood, but that would be selfish. He was down right now. To cheer him up and then drop the bomb she had brought with her would only be cruel.
"Liv?"
"I need to talk to you about DeVane."
Instantly, he was angry, and Olivia was relieved. She could cope with an angry Elliot. His fury wasn't nearly as scary to her as his tears.
"I thought you weren't working my case!" he snapped.
"I'm not," she said quietly.
The anger was replaced by shock then, and when she was sure he'd registered her meaning, she nodded. "DeVane's back in action. It's made the news, and Kathy wanted me to tell you before you found out for yourself."
"How many little girls so far?"
Olivia frowned, not sure how to explain things to him. He misinterpreted her expression and said, "It's been twelve years. He's had a long dry spell and he's probably looking to make up for lost time."
It gratified her to hear him talking like a cop, but she was afraid what she was about to say would hurt him.
"Four, but not little girls," she said.
He frowned. "Guys like DeVane don't change their MOs, Liv."
"He didn't really change," she tried to explain. "He . . . became something else."
"Olivia," he said in a warning tone, "tell me what the hell is going on, right now."
"We found out he had a list of names," she said. "Twelve years ago, they were little girls. Now, he's going after the same people, but they are grown women. He's . . . he's getting their significant others, too."
"Getting them?" His face was pale. He already knew what she meant, but he needed to hear her say it before he could deal with it.
"Sexual assault, torture, murder."
"That son of a bitch!" Elliot muttered with feeling. "I should have known twelve years ago that it couldn't have been that easy. I should have continued investigating."
"Elliot, twelve years ago you were in the hospital for two weeks, and recovering at home for almost a month after that."
He gave her a surprised look and she admitted, "Cragen and I talked to Alphonse."
Elliot nodded. "That's right, he told me about that the other day when I came by to sign my statement. So Alphonse told you I had three months of ass duty after I got back to work, didn't he?"
"He mentioned it, why?"
"Because it was plenty of time to keep investigating. I should have . . . " His voice choked off and he ran a trembling hand over his mouth. "Dammit, I should have known!"
Olivia could see the pain the increased tension was causing him. She knew he needed to be pacing right now, or beating the hell out of some lockers. His physical state and his emotional condition were conspiring to make each other worse.
"Elliot, you did your job twelve years ago," she told him, placing her hands on his forearms as they rested on the arms of the chair. "You were the one who connected all of DeVane's attacks. You rescued a frightened little girl from a violent child molester, and you put her attacker in jail. The case was closed, he was convicted on all counts. You did your job."
"I closed the case, Liv, but I never solved it," he argued. "I never figured out how or why he was choosing his victims."
"You put him in jail without it," she reminded him in a soothing tone. "You didn't need to know after that."
"And now I'm responsible for him becoming a serial killer," Elliot rambled on as if she hadn't spoken. "What he did to me made him feel powerful. If I had just cleared the house, this wouldn't be happening."
Olivia couldn't bear to watch him spiral down into depression because of this. He'd done his best, he'd done everything he could. This was just one time when the situation had been more than he could handle. He'd come out of it alive, and that was enough.
"This is my fault," he muttered. "It's all my fault."
"Elliot!" she barked at him.
He jumped, and while she regretted the pain she saw on his face, she could tell it had cleared his head and she was glad of that.
"Elliot, listen to me."
His eyes weren't quite focused.
"Are you listening to me?" she asked, and he met her gaze clearly this time.
"What happened at Muriel's is not your fault," she told him. "It was beyond your control. I know that because I know you. If there was anything more you could have done, you would have done it. If there had been any way humanly possible to stop him, you would have found it. You didn't stop him because you couldn't. It just wasn't in the cards. Do you understand that?"
He nodded.
"Then say it."
He fell back on the mantra Rebecca had asked him to memorize. "It isn't my fault. I made a mistake. I . . . "
His mouth fell open in consternation. Olivia could see that something had finally clicked for him. She hoped it was something good.
"That's not right," he said adamantly. "I didn't make a mistake, Liv. Fin was at her house. He told me what really happened. I couldn't have known he was there. It's not my fault! I did my best, Liv! No one can expect more than that!"
Tears of relief began to fall, and on an impulse, she took him into her arms. He pressed his face against her shoulder and repeated a new mantra. "I did my best. It's not my fault."
This time, it wasn't an excuse. It was an affirmation.
Author's Note: So, what do you all think? I do love the feedback, and to show my appreciation, I try to respond to every signed review. Detectivesweetheart and EnforcerAndAccuser fan, I know I still owe you replies. The reviews are in my inbox and I will get to them tomorrow. In the meantime, hey everyone, I'd love to hear what you think. Likes, dislikes, anything you found particularly emotional? When do you think they should tell Elliot about the notes DeVane has been leaving? What do you think his reaction will be? Well, thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed this installment. Jo