An Ill Wind
Chapter Sixteen
Lull
OOO
Stabler Residence
72-12 Castleside Street
Glen Oaks, Queens
7:25 A.M., November 27, 2005
"Remember when I was little and you used to sneak into my room and wake me early on Sunday mornings so we could go get donuts for breakfast?" Kathleen asked as she and her dad sat watching Higglytown on the Disney Channel.
"Yeah, you always liked sprinkles. I had to fight you to get a couple of plain crullers in the box. Funny, I hadn't thought of that in years," Elliot said. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, it's Sunday morning and no one else is up."
He shot her a sideways glance and pursed his lips thoughtfully. He should have been suspicious when she came down before the rest of the household was awake. Kathleen was like her mother and younger sibling in that she preferred to sleep in whenever she could. Only Maureen was an early riser like him.
"I used to love that time alone together, having my daddy all to myself," she told him. "I used to imagine the other kids were so jealous."
"I'm sure they were, I'm a popular guy," he joked.
"Daddy!" She gave him a bit of a shove, and he laughed trying to cover the pain from his complaining ribs.
"Sorry," she said when she saw him wince despite himself. "Are you ok?"
"Yeah, just a little sore."
They sat there until the next commercial break, just enjoying being together, then she turned to him and said, "So, are we gonna go get donuts or not?"
"Kathleen," he said uneasily, not wanting her to know how frightening it still was for him to leave the security of his home. "With my hand in a cast and my foot in a splint, I can't drive."
"I can."
He opened his mouth to remind her of the night she was picked up for DUI, how he had saved her ass, called in a lot of favors, and gotten some good cops to stick their necks out on her behalf, but he knew that would be cruel. She'd suffered for it plenty and she'd stayed out of trouble since then. He knew from personal experience that although constantly reminding a child of every screw up and failure might make them think twice the next time, it did more harm than good by undermining their self-esteem and making them feel unworthy of their parents' love.
"I . . . don't really feel up to it," he said. "Maybe another time."
"You don't have to be scared," she said, taking him completely by surprise.
He turned to look at her, trying to cover his shock, and she said, "Drinking and driving was incredibly stupid, but I am a good driver."
He smiled at her, relieved that she hadn't realized the depth or nature of his fear and pleased that he hadn't been the one to mention the DUI incident.
"Sweetie, I wasn't even thinking of that," he lied. "I know you made a mistake, and I don't think you'll make it again. I really just don't feel up to it. Maybe next week, when my ribs aren't so sore."
He hated to disappoint her, but it had barely been more than a week since the attack, and so far, the only time he had even felt close to comfortable leaving the house had been with Kathy. In his current state, he couldn't protect his daughter if anything went wrong, and that frightened him. He also knew he could still go into a panic attack at any time and that would only upset her and force him to give a very difficult explanation. He'd been aware several times of Kathy pulling him back from the edge, but Kathleen wouldn't know what to look for. Hell, she didn't know she should be looking for anything!
"Please? Just to the Krispy Kreme? It'll only take twenty minutes. You were ok to go all the way to Grandma's on Thanksgiving."
He felt like such a tremendous coward. He couldn't tell her the truth, he didn't want to lie, and he couldn't explain why he was so damned afraid without telling her what had happened. If he continued to refuse, she might think it was because of her driving, and he didn't want to make her doubt herself or her abilities that way.
"It's Sunday morning and traffic is light," she persisted.
He was getting all worked up over what should be a simple thing. Going to the donut shop with his daughter should have been the easiest thing in the world, but it wasn't.
She put a hand on his arm and he jumped, then groaned at the pain it cause his ribs.
"Daddy? Are you ok?"
He looked at her and tried a smile.
"Daddy, I'm sorry."
It was obvious that she didn't know why she was apologizing. She was confused and worried now, because of his stupid indecision. He had to make it right, make sure she knew it wasn't her fault. He knew what he had to do, and that frightened him even more.
"I'm . . . afraid, Sweetheart," he admitted, amazed that he could get the words out.
"Of my driving?"
Part of him was amused by the naïve question and he laughed slightly.
"No, Baby, of what might happen."
His heart rate was already slowing. The hardest part was over.
"I don't understand," she said.
"Neither do I," he admitted, "but I'll explain what I can."
She nodded, the worry still plain on her face, and said, "I'm listening."
"I've been hurt on the job before, but not like this," he said. "Usually, a guy takes a swing at me, I can give as good as I get. Even if I don't win, he knows he's been in a fight, but this guy, he was all over me before I could react. Now, if I can't defend myself, how am I supposed to protect you?"
"But you were ok to go places with Mom," she reminded him.
He shrugged. "She's an adult."
"Daddy, I'm seventeen."
"You'll be eighty years old, Kathleen, and if I'm still around, you'll still be my little girl, and it will still be my job to protect you," he informed her. "It's just part of being a dad."
"And that's why you won't go with me?" her voice was incredulous. "Because you're afraid someone will attack us in the twenty minutes we're out getting donuts?"
"I know it's stupid, but that's how I feel right now."
"No, Daddy, it's not stupid," she said, surprising him with her compassion, "but it's not normal either. If you keep thinking that way, you'll never leave here again. There's a chance something might happen every time one of us steps out that door, and if that's not bad enough, there's always the chance that someone might come in here."
"You know, you're not really helping matters, Kathleen," he said, but the truth was, she'd already helped him, just by listening, and he let her know it with a pained smile.
She shrugged. "Sorry, but you know it's true, probably better than I do."
He just nodded.
"Look," she said after a minute, "it's only a few blocks away, and I'll take my cell phone so we can call if there's a problem. If you start getting too scared, I'll come right home."
He was still reluctant.
"We'll take your Valium with us."
He gave her a sharp look and she shrugged again. "Maureen told me the doctor prescribed it, in case you need it when she and Mom aren't home to get it for you."
"Don't I get to have any secrets any more?"
She tilted her head and said, "You shouldn't need to. We all love you, no matter what."
She gave him a moment to digest that, and then asked, "So, what do you say to some donuts? I won't even argue with you about the crullers."
He smiled and slowly stood up. "You've made me an offer I can't refuse."
An Ill Wind
Twenty minutes had turned into thirty because Elliot's injuries slowed them down, but between Kathleen's chattering and the task of choosing the donuts, he had made the trip without panicking or taking a Valium. It was a step in the right direction but he was still relieved to get home, and when he hobbled into the living room, he sank into the sofa with a grateful sigh.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Kathleen asked as she walked by him on her way to the kitchen.
"It was like chewing glass," he grumbled, "but I'm glad you convinced me to go."
From behind the couch, she leaned over and wrapped an arm around him kissing him on the cheek. "I'm glad you came," she said, "and how do you know what chewing glass is like?"
The unexpected contact from behind frightened him and flooded his system with adrenaline and made his heart start pounding, but he was safe at home and it was his daughter hugging him. As she moved away, he called out, "It's just a figure of speech."
Then he took a few deep breaths to calm himself.
A few minutes later, Kathleen was back with two cups of coffee and a precariously balanced plate of donuts. Not yet trusting himself to hold the cup without shaking and spilling it all over, he gestured for her to set it on the coffee table in front of them. Taking a seat beside him, she cuddled against him, careful not to jostle him because of his ribs.
A moment later she pulled away.
"Ewww. Daddy, you're all sweaty!" She looked at him and gasped. "And you're pale. Are you all right? Maybe I should get Mom."
He grabbed her wrist to prevent her from moving away and said shakily, "I'm all right, Kathleen. It's just nerves."
"Do you need a Valium?"
"No, I'm ok," he said, finding a steady and reassuring voice from somewhere inside himself. "I just need a minute."
"But, Daddy . . ."
"Really. It's just nerves. I'll be fine."
She peered at him closely then, and he tried to steady his breathing and hide the fear in his eyes, but she knew him too well. Leaning a little closer, she asked, "What happened to you? What did he do to you?"
He bit his lip, lowered his eyes, tried to think. Maureen had figured it out for herself because she could handle it. He could talk to her about it because she wasn't just older than her sister; she was also more mature. Kathleen was still a bit childish for her age, and he knew she wouldn't be able to cope with the truth, but he didn't want to lie to her either.
Looking up, he met her eyes and said, "I don't want to talk about it, Kathleen. You just have to trust me when I tell you I'm doing all right."
She frowned, not sure if she could really take him at his word. Finally, to his relief, she nodded. "Ok, but if you need me to do something, ask, all right?"
He nodded. "I will. Right now, I'd like it if you would sit back down with me."
She did, and after a minute, she cuddled carefully beside him.
"Your heart's still pounding," she said softly.
He kissed her hair and said, "It'll be ok."
She turned on the TV. He took a bite of cruller and drank some coffee without spilling a drop.
Examination Room
St. Vincent's Hospital, Manhattan
9:42 A.M., December 12, 2005
When Dr. Theodora Wells entered the exam room, Kathy was ashamed of the first thought that struck her. Teddy was not an attractive woman. She had thick, curly red hair pulled back with a headband this time instead of a braid, but it was a bit too orange to be auburn and a bit to frizzy to look glamorous. While most women wished to be a little taller, Teddy's six-foot-four stature made her imposing rather than statuesque. She had nice legs, but because of her height, she wouldn't wear heels, so she couldn't show them off to her best advantage. She was too thin to have a figure, and so bony she appeared to have sharp edges. Nearly every inch of exposed skin was covered with a multitude of dark freckles from too much time spent in the sun, and her face was covered with a mesh of fine lines and creases that made her look older than her years. She had gorgeous, light green eyes, but they were set a tad too far apart and made her look just a bit dimwitted. And when she turned her radiant smile on Elliot, with her wide eyes and narrow chin, she reminded Kathy of nothing so much as a horse.
Teddy was also intelligent, funny, compassionate, and completely charming. Before Elliot's surgery, Kathy had looked up her bio on the hospital's website and learned that she was a gifted surgeon, a pioneer in her field, and a respected teacher as well. Sadly, only her family, patients, and colleagues would ever know her best features were all in her personality because no man would ever look at her twice, let alone go out of his way to make conversation.
Kathy shifted uncomfortably when the doctor shook her hand in greeting. Her preoccupation with the woman's looks was shallow and shameful and oddly akin to jealousy and Kathy knew it, but she could neither excuse it nor explain it because she didn't understand it.
Elliot seemed comfortable talking with Teddy, so Kathy sat quietly and brooded while the doctor examined his surgical incision, explained that an assistant would be giving him a hard plastic splint before he left to help keep the healing bones still between physical therapy sessions for a few more weeks until they were strong again and then turned the conversation to his condition in general.
"Well, you haven't called the office," Teddy said cheerfully. "So I can only assume that you haven't been having too much trouble since the surgery."
Elliot nodded, "Yeah, my hand's felt a lot better since you fixed it."
"Are you still taking pain meds?" she asked.
"I take one percodan when I get up in the morning and another after dinner," he told her easily.
Teddy grinned. "Perc's are great aren't they?"
Elliot nodded. "They sure are."
"And two a day is enough to manage your pain?" she asked in surprise.
"Yeah," Elliot told her. "Sometimes my hand will ache when I'm out in the cold, but mostly, I take them for my ribs."
Teddy shook her head regretfully and said, "I wish I could fix those for you as easily as I did your hand."
"So do I, Doc," Elliot agreed in a gloomy tone. "In the morning before the meds kick in and in the evening when they start to wear off every movement hurts, opening the pill bottles, lifting the glass to drink the water to wash them down, even breathing. It just sucks."
Teddy frowned thoughtfully and opened her folder. "It says here that you can take up to four tablets a day," she said. "Why aren't you taking more?"
"As long as it's working, I don't want to overdo it and start acting dopey or, worse yet, become addicted," Elliot admitted.
Teddy eyed him skeptically. "If you're hurting that much, it's not working," she said. "The drug is losing its effectiveness before the next dose. Instead of taking one tablet every twelve hours, take one every eight hours. It's still less than the maximum allowed amount, and it should be enough that it doesn't quit working between doses."
"Yeah, but the more I take, the greater the risk of addiction," he argued.
"That's not true, Elliot," she told him. "As long as you take it on a schedule and only take enough to manage your pain, your risk of getting hooked is minimal at best. Why are you so worried about it? Do you have a history of addiction?"
"What? No!" he answered adamantly.
"Then who does?" Teddy asked. At Elliot's shocked look, she smiled sympathetically and said, "Only experience could make someone so afraid. So, tell me, who's the addict in your background?"
He looked down and started playing with the wrinkles in the fabric of his jeans where his knee bent. "My dad," he replied softly. "He drank a lot when I was a kid, and he was a mean drunk."
"And you're afraid of turning into him, aren't you?"
Elliot shrugged, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. "Kind of."
"Do you crave the percodan between doses?"
"Not really," he said. "I just want to stop hurting."
"Do you drink alcohol?"
"Sometimes."
"To excess?"
"A couple of times."
"In your life?"
"Yeah."
"Do you crave it frequently?"
"Not frequently."
"Just after the occasional bad day, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"How often do you have bad days, usually?"
"Maybe once a month."
"And what do you do then?"
"Have a beer with my friends."
"A beer? As in one?"
He shrugged. "Maybe two."
"I see." Teddy couldn't hide a chuckle. "Elliot, addiction is partly genetic for some people, but not all. Judging by your history, your demanding career, the stress of raising four kids, and the fact that you're not already popping percodan and Xanax like breath mints, I would say your odds of becoming an addict are extremely low. Take three a day. You'll feel better."
"I don't know, what if . . ." he hesitated.
"Let me tell you what I do know," Teddy interrupted. "You're taking half the maximum daily dosage now, and you're still in pain. Prolonging your pain is hindering your physical and emotional recovery. If you hurt less, you can move more, blood flow to the injuries is better, and they heal faster. Healing faster makes you feel physically better which gives you more energy to cope with your emotional pain. One more percodan a day will still have you under the max, and it will relieve your pain. The benefits far outweigh the risks. Now, it's your choice, but making yourself suffer needlessly is just foolish."
As Elliot finally nodded his consent, Kathy suddenly realized what Teddy had that she did not. Then she realized that she had every reason in the world to be jealous of the doctor. Elliot trusted her.
W. 146th St. and Lenox Ave.
Harlem, New York
3:24 P.M., December 14, 2005
"Dammit!" Olivia shouted when she saw the condition of Alex Bartlett's brand new Chevy Impala. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!"
The last word came out on a strangled sob and Munch placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. When Bartlett's car had not been found outside of Lauren Sebastian's apartment building nor in his usual parking garage near his own home, they had at least had some idea what DeVane had been driving. Now that the car had been abandoned and subsequently stripped for parts, all of their leads were gone.
"It'll be all right, Olivia," John tried to soothe her, but she roughly batted his hand away, turned, and gave him a shove.
"No, it won't, Munch!" she shouted and inelegantly wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She was obviously struggling not to cry and John didn't know whether to comfort her or share in her indignation. "That car was our last lead. Now, DeVane is in the wind, and we won't get another shot at him until he kills another couple."
"We'll get him, Liv," John insisted.
"Not until we have another set of victims," she told him, dabbing at her eyes, "and in the meantime, I get to tell Elliot we lost him again."
"He'll understand," Munch said gently.
Olivia glared at him. "Would you?" Now the frustrated tears were flowing and she had given up trying to stop them.
John held out his hands to her in a helpless gesture. "I'm sorry, Liv, I don't know what to say. This is killing us all because Elliot is our friend, but it's obviously toughest on you. All we can do is our jobs, and sooner or later, we will get him."
"You don't know that," she sniffled.
He took a step closer and said sympathetically, "No, I don't, but I choose to believe it because there is no other alternative."
She stood there a moment, biting her lip and trying not to cry. Not knowing what else to do, John stepped forward and took her into a hug. She clung to him then, sobbing like a frightened child.
The past three and a half weeks had been very difficult on all of them, but things had been especially bad for Olivia. Unfortunately, the rapists and child molesters of New York hadn't gone on sabbatical until they could apprehend Roger DeVane, so they'd all had to work the usual cases in addition to Elliot's. With her partner out of commission, Olivia had been forced to pair off with other detectives, with less than ideal results.
She'd gone through the junior detectives like they were toilet paper, three of them in one day a week ago. The last of them to feel her wrath had spoken to John privately, saying, "We all know Stabler is a hard ass, it's part of his charm and it makes him a good detective, but none of us expected her to be such a bitch. I know they're good friends and all, but if she can't work with anyone but him, maybe they're too close."
Munch wanted to explain that Olivia's anger wasn't about Elliot being gone so much as it was about the way he had gone. They were all feeling it, her and him and Fin and Cragen, the rage that one of their own had been hurt and the frustrated impotence that they had been unable to locate the man who had done it. Instead, he just looked at the young man and said, "That's sexist. If she were a man, you'd be calling her a hard ass just like Stabler, and you would be eager to learn from her years of experience. Get out of here and don't come whining to me again."
Munch noted that Olivia's tears were abating. He held her for a few more minutes, glad that he, Fin, and Cragen had been able to hang in there with her. When she refused to work with the junior detectives any more the three of them had taken turns partnering with her whenever she had business that took her out of the squad room. Fin had told him about her reaction to the last crime scene, and though Cragen hadn't mentioned it, John wouldn't be surprised if she had suffered a similar outburst with him. He didn't doubt that what the others saw as bitchiness was really Olivia trying to conceal the grief and frustration she could only let out around her closest friends in the squad.
Liv pulled away from him, still sniffling, and offered a tremulous smile. "Sorry about that," she gasped. "And thanks."
John just gave her a smile and a nod, and then they called CSU to go over what was left of the vehicle. When they were done at the scene, it was towed to the police garage where the forensic team would do a more detailed analysis. Neither of them wanted to admit it, but they knew if the garage didn't turn up anything, they would have to shelve this case until DeVane struck again.
Stabler Residence
72-12 Castleside Street
Glen Oaks, Queens
7:19 P.M., December 16, 2005
Elliot sighed as he lay back in the recliner, an issue of Sports Illustrated spread open in his lap. The twins were upstairs cleaning their rooms and Kathleen was in the kitchen helping her mother wrap Christmas presents. Maureen had yet to come home from wherever she had gone.
Elliot had been to physical therapy for his hand for the second time today, and even though he'd only worked on fine motor skills by moving small beads from a tray into a paper cup and then turning the pages in a phone book, it was tiring. The splint Teddy had provided him supported the injury and kept the healing bones stable, but it did nothing to strengthen his grip. So, when his left hand had started to shake with the effort of holding the magazine, he had laid it down and leaned back in the chair to rest and think.
His life had fallen into a comfortable, if dull, routine of medical visits, counseling sessions, and Sunday morning donut runs, and the days were starting to blur together. A random thought of returning to desk duty wandered through his unsuspecting mind. The mere idea of having to face monsters and perverts like DeVane every day was so shocking that his heart began to thump, and he had to shy away from it. The idea that his colleagues would know what had happened to him was almost as bad, and with a quiet groan, he tried to distract himself by turning on the TV.
As he flipped aimlessly through lame sitcom reruns, old westerns he'd seen dozens of times, a few kiddie shows, and enough news channels to give anyone information overload, his mind began to wander again. Slowly, sneakily, his thoughts sidled around to his job again, but this time, subtly, just contemplating what was going on in his absence, not demanding a decision on whether he'd ever go back to it.
For almost a month, someone from the squad had been dropping by or calling a couple of times a week, just to see how he was doing, and Liv had been checking on him every day. His answer, when they asked him, was always the same, "Fine." Then Rebecca Hendrix had stopped making house calls a week ago after he made a follow-up visit to his family doctor and was told he didn't need the crutch for his bum ankle anymore, that the splint would provide enough support until it healed. Kathy had driven him to her office in Manhattan three times that week, and he had let her see that he most definitely was not "fine," but he didn't want to worry his colleagues.
They had enough on their minds trying to track Roger DeVane. He'd seen the news stories and was amazed and grateful that they'd managed to keep his name out of it so far. They didn't talk much about the case when they called, but he knew from what little they said that things had stalled. There hadn't been any new attacks since the day of his surgery, but none of their leads had panned out either. At one point they thought they knew what he was driving, but that turned up in Harlem two weeks ago, abandoned and stripped for parts. The lab had turned up some latent prints and some tinted cement dust on the vehicle, but so far nothing had come of it. The dust had been from the victim's most recent worksite, and until they located the thief who had left his mark on the vehicle all they could do was wait for something to happen.
Elliot realized his colleagues had probably been forced to move on to other investigations by now, but Olivia certainly, and Cragen, Munch, and Fin probably were still devoting as much of their free time as they could to finding DeVane. While on the one hand, he was warmed by their show of support, on the other hand, he felt guilty that they were giving so much of themselves on his behalf. Part of him wanted to tell them that they could stop killing themselves, but most of him was still too afraid to consider the possibility of letting DeVane go until he struck again.
He heard Maureen come in through the back door and tell her mother she'd picked up the mail.
Talking to Rebecca had really helped him. He hadn't had a panic attack since he'd woken up in the recovery room after Teddy had fixed his hand, and he'd made the trip to the Krispy Kreme with Kathleen on three consecutive Sundays; but for the past couple of days, he had known in the back of his mind that he was approaching the one-month anniversary of the attack, and it had left him feeling distinctly depressed.
He knew Rebecca would want to know how he was feeling, and as he lay there with his eyes closed, he tried to think about it.
He was depressed. He was glum. He was unmotivated. All he wanted to do was sleep.
Did he want to go back to work?
He felt something twist in his stomach and his heart started to pound. He definitely wasn't ready for that. Hell, he was still scared!
He wondered if she would want to put him on antidepressants. He knew he'd refuse. He didn't need drugs. He wasn't suicidal or anything, he just needed to get his shit together and get on with things.
"That's for your dad," he heard Kathy tell the girls, and he smiled when he heard them oooh and ahh. Ordinarily, he would find every excuse in the world to keep going into the kitchen and trying to get a peek at his presents. Usually, he was as excited at this time of year as the children were, but he just didn't have it in him anymore. He was angry that DeVane had taken that away from him.
"Aiyiyiyiyieee!"
The sound of Maureen screaming like a whipped puppy had him launching himself out of the recliner and charging into the kitchen to see what was wrong. He vaguely registered Kathy sweeping something small and dark into her lap at the same time as he realized how much his body was protesting the sudden abuse. His ribs and ankle didn't usually bother him much unless he overdid it, but now they were complaining about his mad dash to rescue his daughter. Kathy read his expression and automatically shoved a chair in his direction. Gratefully, eased himself into it.
A moment later the twins came bounding downstairs. "What is it? What happened?"
"I GOT IT!" Maureen shouted excitedly, beaming at them all. "The internship with Safe Horizon here in Queens. They've accepted me!"
"Sweetie, that's wonderful!" Kathy congratulated her.
Having worked for years with crime victims, Elliot wasn't as excited as his wife was, but Maureen had gotten what she wanted and he was pleased for her.
"Good for you, Kiddo," he smiled.
Maureen scanned the letter, mumbling rapidly to herself. "I work six hours a day and spend every other weekend on call . . . two hours a day in training . . . Nine credits for working and six for the training," she said, "so I'll still be a full time student and can collect my financial aid . . . and they're paying me . . . oh, my goodness, they're paying me over six thousand dollars! That's insane!"
Amid the awed responses from the rest of the family, Elliot gave her a small smile and said, "Trust me, Sweetheart, you'll earn it."
"Wait a minute, this isn't right," Maureen said, sounding confused now. "They want me in the Child Advocacy Center three days a week and in the Supervised Visitation Program the other two."
"What's supervised visitation?" Dickie asked.
Maureen, Kathy, and Elliot shared a look, and Elliot took charge of explaining. "When a parent hurts a child, but decides to get help to learn better ways to deal with his or her frustration, the court will let him or her visit the child, but only with someone there to watch them."
"You mean so the kid doesn't get hurt again, right?" Dickie asked.
"That's right."
Looking to Maureen, the young teen asked, "And they want you to watch?"
She nodded.
"Why would they let them see the kid at all?"
Maureen looked at her dad and knew from the expression on his face what he wanted to say. Looking back to Dickie, she explained, "You know, it doesn't make much sense to me either, but when the parent really wants to change, when he or she really wants to do things right, it helps both of them to be able to see each other."
"Oh."
She could tell Dickie wasn't convinced, but he didn't argue, so she let it drop. She wasn't sure she could adequately explain a position she didn't support herself anyway, so it was best to avoid the discussion.
"Daddy, I applied to work in the Rape Crisis Center. Did you have anything to do with this?"
"Oh, no!" Elliot quickly denied the accusation. "No way! I minded my own business, just like you asked, Maureen, but I will tell you this, if I had decided to meddle, I would have done anything to prevent you from working with children."
"What? Why?"
She sounded angry and offended and Elliot rushed to explain.
"Sweetie, I think you'll be great at it, but I know how hard it will be," he said. "Nothing you do there will be easy, but dealing with child victims is the toughest . . . "
Suddenly he was feeling emotional and it was hard to finish his thought. He was proud of his little girl for getting the job, but his heart was breaking to know what was in store for her. He wanted to forbid her to take it for her protection, but she was a grown woman now and she'd always had a mind of her own.
"Nobody can handle the crimes against children, Maureen." He knew he'd heard that somewhere before and realized Liv had said it on one of their earliest cases together. "If it were up to me, I'd rather see you do almost anything else, but this is your decision and I'll honor it and support you, whatever you choose to do."
He got up and started to walk out of the kitchen because he didn't want to upset his family with his dark thoughts, but he paused on his way out and looked over his shoulder at his eldest child. "I want you to know that I am proud of you, Sweetheart, I'm just worried because I know how hard this will be on you."
He was sitting on the sofa feeling gloomy when Maureen came to join him a few minutes later. She sat beside him and snuggled up close, and he wrapped his arm around her. For a long time, they just sat together, listening to each other breathe.
Finally she asked, "You really don't want me to do this, do you Daddy?"
He kissed the top of her head and said honestly, "No, Baby Girl, I don't, but it's not up to me. It's your life, and you have to follow your heart. If this is what you want, you should do it. I'll support you."
"I wanted the Rape Crisis Center, but Mom says I should look at this as a way to expand my résumé. She says I probably impressed them so much that when they didn't have a slot in the RCC they found one for me elsewhere."
"She's probably right," he said fondly.
"You're just saying that."
"No, I'm not," he denied. "Ever since Kathleen was born, you've been mothering your sisters and brother. Kids who are hurting need someone like you. It will be hard on you, but if you do it, you'll be great at it."
Again they fell quiet for a while, and then Maureen asked, "Do you know why I'm doing this?"
"I kind of figured it was because of what I do for a living," he responded.
"Shows how much you know," she teased.
"All right then, enlighten me," he requested.
"Remember when you visited Dickie's class when he was in second grade?"
"Uh-huh."
"Well, there was a little boy who asked you what he should do if his mom and dad were the people who were hurting him."
Elliot started feeling just the slightest bit ill.
"I remember that," he said. "I told him to tell Dickie and that Dickie would tell me."
Maureen nodded her head where it rested against his shoulder.
"Uh-huh. His name was Marvin. When he did tell Dickie what was happening, Dickie didn't tell you, he went with Marvin to tell the teacher instead. The police eventually arrested his dad and his grandma got the courts to let him live with her instead of his mom.
"Marvin was the best friend of my friend Marissa's little brother, Kurt. When she heard Kurt talking about how Dickie had helped Marvin, she came to me and told me her boyfriend had forced her to have sex in his car on the way home from a basketball game just the weekend before. I called mom and told her I was going to the library after school and that I would take the bus home. Then when school was over I took Marissa to the hospital."
Elliot had shifted to stare at her in amazement. How could all of this have happened and escaped his notice?
"I stayed with her through the examination. She still had bruises, and the boy gave her gonorrhea. It wasn't much, but the police were able to use it to get a confession out of him.
"While the nurse was out of the room giving the evidence bags to the police, Marissa told me she'd been thinking of killing herself. She was afraid she might get pregnant and that no one would believe her because she had waited a couple of days to tell anyone and that her parents would say she got what she deserved because they hadn't liked her boyfriend anyhow.
"I convinced her to tell the nurse, and the nurse called the Rape Crisis Center. The RCC sent a counselor out to talk to her, and the counselor helped her tell her parents. They didn't blame her at all. When the counselor got her to admit she was thinking about suicide, they got her help, and . . . well, now, she's majoring in premed at SUNY."
"You know, you saved two lives the day you told those little kids it was ok to tell when someone you love is hurting you."
"Why didn't you tell me what was going on?" Elliot fretted. "Why didn't either of you tell me?"
"We didn't want to worry you," Maureen said. "We didn't tell Mom either because we knew she'd tell you."
"Maureen, it's my job to worry about you," he pointed out. "I'm your father."
"But that's just it, Daddy, there was nothing to worry about. You taught us what to do and we weren't afraid to do it," she insisted. "When I saw how relieved Marissa was to be able to tell her parents, how much it helped her to confront the boy who had hurt her, I knew I had done a really good thing, something that mattered. I'd helped her get through something really bad, and I liked the way that felt. I want to be able to do something important like that with my life, Daddy. That's why I worked at the Rape Crisis Center on campus, and it's why I'm going to take this internship with Safe Horizon."
He kissed her hair and said emphatically, "Don't ever forget that feeling, Sweetheart. If you decide this really is what you want to do for a living, there will be times when it's the only thing that makes you get out of bed and go into work."
Maureen sighed. "Sometimes I wish you didn't have such a hard job, Daddy."
"Then you know exactly how I feel about what you're doing, don't you?"
"Yeah, and you know why I'm gonna do it anyway, right?"
He squeezed her closer to him, sighed quietly, and said, "Yeah, I do."
A few minutes later, Kathleen came in and curled up beside him on the other side and the three of them sat quietly in the dark watching the Christmas tree lights twinkle.
"I know what Mom got you for Christmas," Kathleen teased him in a whisper.
"Yeah, what?"
"It's a secret," she said.
"I'll secret you," he laughed and tickled her a little.
She jumped and squealed and he grunted softly as the motion jostled his still-healing ribs. Then she carefully cuddled close again. "You're going to like it," she told him.
Again they lapsed into silence until Dickie and Elizabeth came scampering in.
"A Charlie Brown Christmas is on!" Dickie said excitedly trying to squeeze in between Elliot and Kathleen.
"Watch the ribs, Tiger," Elliot admonished him, and Dickie moved more gently as Kathleen slid over to allow him room.
"And after that, they're showing the original version of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas!" Lizzie said as she climbed on Elliot's lap, careful not to move too quickly.
"Hey, what is this? Hop on Pop?"
"Yep!" Lizzie nodded and she picked up the remote control and turned the TV on.
"We're not hurting you, are we?" Kathleen asked with concern.
Lizze was a little big to be climbing on him the way she was, but she was growing up so fast, he knew this might be his last chance to hold his baby in his lap, so he didn't complain.
"Nah, I'm fine," he said. "Just don't squirm around too much and I'll be ok."
Kathy was the last to join them. She came in bearing a tray loaded with mugs of hot chocolate and graham crackers. Dickie slid down to the floor so he could sit at the coffee table to eat and drink. Kathy took the spot he had vacated beside Elliot. When she snuggled up close, he didn't know what to feel.
Part of him was brimming with happiness to have his family surrounding him again, another part was scared to death that they would be leaving any day now that he was ambulatory, and in the back of his mind was the stark terror that his children were on the verge of stepping out into the wide, wide world, and he couldn't protect them anymore.
"Our Christmas Concert at school is the twenty-third," Lizzie said.
"Holiday Concert," Dickie reminded her. The school had to be politically correct, so the teachers were always correcting them when they called it the Christmas Concert. "We need to be respectful of everyone's beliefs and not everyone celebrates Christmas."
"Call it what you want," Elizabeth said. "Our school is more than ninety percent Christian. In a democracy, the majority rules so it's already a respectful gesture to include Hanukah songs for the thirty Jewish kids. If we really respected everyone, we would call it the Winter Concert because 'holiday' comes from 'holy day' and there are a few atheists in school who don't observe any 'holy' days. I am respectful of everyone, and I think calling it the 'Holiday Concert' is disrespectful to anyone who isn't Christian because it implies that we don't think they're smart enough to realize what we're really celebrating when eleven of the fourteen songs are about Christmas, only two are about Hanukah, and one is 'Let It Snow.'"
"You've given this some serious thought, haven't you?" Elliot asked.
"We had a debate in Civics today and I beat him with the same arguments then, too," she said proudly.
"And what did your non-Christian classmates think of that?" Kathy asked.
"They agreed with me and appreciated my honesty," Lizzie said, "and they don't really care that we have a Christmas Concert at school. If they're religious, they have their own celebrations at their own…um…whatever they have instead of a church, and if they're not, they still get two weeks off school."
"So," Elliot asked, tugging gently on her pony-tail. "Are you going to be a lawyer or a diplomat when you grow up?"
"I'm going to start out as a Constitutional lawyer," Elizabeth said perfectly seriously, "but then I'm either going to become a judge and get appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court or run for Congress and become Speaker of the House because that's where the real power lies."
"Oh, really?" Elliot said, trying not to smirk because she sounded so certain of her destiny.
"Yep. Because they get to decide on the final interpretation of the Constitution and determine whether laws are constitutional, the Supreme Court kind of gets to make laws without having to go through Congress to do it," Elizabeth explained, "and the Speaker of the House pretty much runs Congress."
"Since when have you been so interested in politics and government?" he asked.
"Since Mr. Caldwell has been our civics teacher," Dickie said before his sister could reply. In a falsetto voice he added, "He's just sooo handsome and his eyes are to die for."
"Shut up, Dorkey," Elizabeth said and kicked him lightly in the back. "You're just jealous because I mopped the floor with you in the debate."
"Both of you be quiet," Maureen said. "Charlie Brown is on."
Kathy looked up at Elliot and smiled. He smiled back, kissed her chastely on the forehead, and made up his mind to enjoy the moment.
16th Precinct
Special Victims Unit
5:34 P.M., December 19, 2005
"Listen very carefully Mr. Norwood, and there's a chance you might walk out of here a free man," ADA Casey Novak said as she faced down the rather unkempt man sitting across the table from her.
Besides DeVane's fingerprints, the lab had found a woman's DNA in blood and vaginal secretions inside the car, and Sylvester Norwood, a known car thief with a rap sheet full of petty crimes stretching back to puberty, had left his prints in numerous places as well.
"Hey, y'all, what's the sex police want with me? I'm just a car thief. I ain't raped nobody an' I don't mess with no li'l chillren."
"No, but the guy driving that Chevy Impala you stripped for parts in Harlem did and he does," Fin told him.
Casey took a sheaf of papers from her briefcase and dropped them on the table in front of the public defender who had been assigned to represent Norwood.
"You'll find everything is in order," she said. "If he gives us information leading directly to an arrest, he gets a walk. If he gives us a solid lead, he can plead out to a misdemeanor and get probation. It's already been approved by the DA."
The other attorney riffled through the pages, satisfying himself that everything was indeed as it should be, then asked, "What if he cooperates and you still come up empty?"
Casey wasn't playing games. Norwood was a nonviolent offender who had only ever committed property crimes. Hell, if he wanted her to take him out to lunch she'd do it on the chance that he might have information leading them to Roger DeVane.
"He gets brownie points for trying, and I'll talk to the judge and ask for leniency."
The public defender gave her an incredulous look and she nodded slightly. Turning to his client, the young man said, "I don't know what this guy did, but they want him bad. Tell them the truth, whatever they want to know. You'll never see a deal like this again."
"Yeah, I remember. Lazer blue metallic 2006 Impala SS, it's a 35,000 car. Something that sexy in that neighborhood was like a painted fingernail on a dirty hand."
"We're more interested in the guy who was drivin' it," Fin pointed out.
"He was a creep!" Norwood said. "He an' this little tart was shackin' up in the apartment below me. I guess she might have been a runaway 'cause she seemed pretty young, but he did her up to look like a little girl, so it was hard to tell."
"What do you mean, 'did her up'?" Fin asked, knowing he was not going to like the explanation.
"Made her wear pigtails, knee socks, an' a Catholic school uniform with a skirt so short you could see the stripes he laid across her ass the night before," Norwood said. "Man, I can understand a guy wantin' to pretend he was doin' a virgin every time, but you ain't supposed to hurt the woman you love, an' the way she was screamin'? I'm just glad they didn't stay long."
"So, it never occurred to you to call the police when he was beating her?" Casey asked.
Norwood shrugged. "Hell, some people are into that kind of stuff. I figure if she was old enough to leave home, she was old enough to leave him if she didn't like what he was doin' to her."
Fin and Casey shared a disgusted look realizing that, even if Norwood had understood how abused women felt trapped and needed help to leave an unhealthy relationship, he wouldn't have bothered to do anything. Even worse, if he had just made one call to the cops about the noise, they would already have DeVane in custody.
"Sounds like you know a lot about them for someone who had nothin' to do with them," Fin observed.
"He made her wear that getup in public," Norwood told him. "I saw her in the laundry room an' when she bent over to put somethin' in the dryer, I could tell she wasn't wearin' any panties."
"You say they didn't stay long," Fin reminded him. "When did they leave?"
"Not even a week after they got there. They had a hell of a fight one night. It sounded like he slapped her around pretty good. I heard some doors slam, an' that was it. When the car didn't move for a couple of days, well, heh-heh," Norwood flashed a grin that showed a platinum and diamond grill, probably bought with money made from selling stolen auto parts, "I did my thang."
"Would you recognize either of them if you saw them again?"
Norwood nodded. "Yeah, I think I would."
Fin showed him a photo array that included a shot of Annie Othmer. "Do you see the girl here?"
Norwood studied the pictures with concentration and finally shook his head. "Nope, she's not there."
Then he frowned. "What the hell is this?" he asked in a pissed off tone. "I tell you everythin' I know an' you don't give me a picture I can identify. Don't you think you can bail on your deal, man. I held up my end."
"We're not tryin' to bail," Fin told him. "We just needed to know if he was keepin' company with one of the women in that array. Now, do you see him in these pictures?"
Norwood studied the second photo array for about two seconds and thumped his finger down solidly on DeVane's picture. "That's the dude. She called him Rog."
Casey and Fin exchanged a look, and both nodded slightly.
"What apartment were they in?" Fin asked.
"I don't know," Norwood told him. "The floors ain't numbered the same, but they was right below me."
"All right, give me your address and we'll get someone to go into the building and find theirs." He handed a yellow legal pad across the table to Norwood and waited as he wrote.
"One-oh-seven West 146th, apartment 4D?" Fin read to make sure he understood the chicken scratch. "That's you?"
"Yeah, an' they were right down stairs."
He stood up and held the door for Casey. "You get started on the warrant. I'll call over to the three-two and ask them to have someone get the apartment number."
"Hey, what about me?" Norwood asked in agitation as they both walked out.
"We'll decide what to do with you once we see what's in that apartment," Fin said. "In the meantime, enjoy our hospitality."
"Can I at least get a sammich an' a cola while I wait?"
"Sure. I'll send a waitress right away," Fin muttered sarcastically as he pulled the door shut behind him.
Stabler Residence
72-12 Castleside Street
Glen Oaks, Queens
11:27 P.M., December 19, 2005
"You doing all right?" Kathy asked when she came back down stairs from putting the kids to bed. They weren't children any more, but they were her children, and as long as they lived under her roof, she was going to tuck them in as often as possible, even Maureen.
"Yeah, fine," Elliot said, flipping channels on the remote.
She crouched down beside him, put her hand over his, and with the other hand, slipped the controller out of his grasp. "Elliot."
Somewhere along the line, it had become their routine that she would ask him how he was doing, he would give her a meaningless answer, and then she would press him for something honest. It always used to piss him off when she would do that, but since he had been seeing Rebecca Hendrix, for some reason it was easier for him to talk with Kathy.
Meeting her eyes, he said, "Lately I have been mostly ok, but these past few days have been really hard. I've been thinking a lot more about what he did to me. I guess it's just because . . . "
When he tailed off, she finished the thought for him, "Because yesterday was the one-month anniversary?"
"Yeah, and he's still out there and I'm still stuck here."
"You could go back to desk duty until you heal up, you know," Kathy suggested.
"No, I couldn't, not right now," he said. "I'm not . . . strong enough yet."
He didn't have to tell her he was still afraid. She'd known him all her life and she could see it in his eyes. Pulling him into a gentle hug, she said softly, "It'll get better."
She sat beside him on the couch, and he rested his head on her shoulder as they watched the "Jay Walking" segment of The Tonight Show.
"I can't believe these people are so stupid," he said when someone gave a typical response to one of the evening's simple trivia questions.
"It's filmed in L.A., what do you expect?" Kathy joked.
He looked at her in surprise and she smirked.
"That's cold, Kath," he commented with a small laugh.
She shrugged as if it were nothing, which it was, really. They watched and laughed together for a while, and then during a commercial, Elliot asked, "So, when are you going back to your mom's?"
There was a long moment of silence between them, and then she asked, "Do you want me to?"
"No . . . but I can take care of myself now," he said, remembering the original plan.
"I just thought it might be nice for the kids to stay through the holidays if that's all right," she told him.
"Sure, that's fine," he agreed. There was so much more he wanted to say, but it was too soon.
The show came back on and they were quiet until the next commercial break.
"Mike and Linda Sorenson have invited us to their New Year's Eve party. The kids, too," Kathy told him. "I need to RSVP by the end of the week. You know how Linda likes to plan ahead."
"You should go," he said. "I'm sure the kids will enjoy it. Didn't Kathleen used to have a crush on their son? What's his name?"
"Michael," Kathy said, "Michael, Jr., remember? And the invitation included you."
"I . . . I don't know," he said, holding up his left arm. The cast was gone, but the splint was just as bulky, and according to Teddy, he might have to wear it for another month or more. "They'll want to know about this. What will I tell them?"
"Tell them you got hurt at work," Kathy said simply.
"And when they ask how?" he countered tensely.
"Some guy caught you off guard and beat you up. Elliot, nobody's going to ask for the details," she explained, hitting the mute button as Leno came back on.
"I would," he countered.
"And do you think that's because of your job or because it happened to you?" she asked. When he didn't reply, she continued. "Sweetheart, people don't want to be reminded that you do a job that they don't have the stomach or the backbone to do themselves."
He dropped his gaze, and then a moment later looked up at her through his long, dark lashes, unconsciously seeking more reassurance.
"I know you probably feel as if people can look at you and see what happened," she said, "but, Baby, they can't. Nobody will know unless you tell them, but if you stop living your life, then they will all know it was something terrible, and then they will start to speculate."
"What if I have a panic attack?" he asked. "I haven't been around that many people in a long, long time."
Kathy gave it some thought.
"You can take a Valium before we leave if you feel you need one," she said, "and I'll stay close while we're there. If it gets to be too much for you, tell me you forgot your medication and we'll go home."
"What medication?" Elliot asked in confusion.
"If anybody asks, we'll tell them you're on pain meds for your busted hand. Nobody's gonna know whether it hurts or not."
He was quiet for a few moments, and then asked, "What if they ask us about the separation? What will we tell them?"
"I think it would be best if we had the same answer to that," Kathy said. "I'm thinking the closer to the truth we stay, the better. Maybe, I came home when you were hurt so I could help you until you could take care of yourself. Now I'm staying through the holidays for the kids' benefit, and we haven't discussed anything beyond that."
"And if they want more details?"
"It's none of their business, Elliot," she insisted, "and if they're going to be rude by prying, I think we have every right to tell them to butt out."
Elliot grew thoughtful. He had to admit, the thought of going out and having a good time with his wife and kids was tempting. It had been a very long time since he'd had the opportunity to do that.
Slowly, he nodded. "Ok," he said, "I might not be able to stay for long, but let's try it."
Kathy nestled beside him again and turned on the sound on the TV. Some young new comic was doing a routine for Leno, hoping to make a name for himself. She heard Elliot's soft snort of laughter at one of the kid's jokes and smiled. He was taking baby steps, but he was walking in the right direction. She could only hope that he would let her make the journey with him.
Sorry for the hiatus. I hit a major writer's block on this story. I'm still working about 10 chapters ahead, but I really needed to sort things out there because some of the things in this chapter wouldn't be consistent with that timeline unless I fixed them first. Then I got distracted by another story idea for which I have already written over 25 chapters. Seriously, I have a shorter attention span than a hyperactive chihuahua. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this and please review. Jo